Drunk blogging...

Okay, now that I have internet, here's what I wrote for Drunk Blogging Day. Somehow it ended up in a horrible attempt at screenplay format, but it's un-edited. I haven't read it since I wrote it, so enjoy.

INTRO SCENE: A 27-year-old white boy in an “IOWAT” T-shirt and great sweat-shorts sits at a couch with his knee in a brace and ice pack on top. A bottle of beer, pack of Marlboro Ultra Light cigarettes, green Bic lighter and a whole bunch of other crap rest on the same coffee table as his white MacBook. The writer stares intently at the computer, incessantly typing while occasionally stopping to sip his beer or smoke a cigarette.

CAMERA ZOOMS IN ON THE COMPUTER.

BEGIN NARRATIVE:

Today is the day that Ernest Hemmingway and Charles Bukowski would have loved had they written on computers — National Drunk Blogging Day.

In honor of said holiday, I’m spending the evening at home with a six-pack of ice cold Miller Lites and a small amount of painkillers in my stomach. It’s not as that I’m suicidal or want to drift off into some delirium-soaked rant about the faces of Coltrane or something (Movie, anyone?). Nope, it was emergency room trip number three for me this year.

First, it was a broken ankle. Then it was a car accident. Now, it’s a stupid trick I was trying, not paying attention and then slamming my knee full force into the end of a grind box. For those of you playing the home game, take your right knee, find some exposed steel pipe with ragged edge and take a flying leap at it. That’ll get you four stitches and swelling and bruising so bad you’d think the center of your leg was an eggplant.

Then again, thanks to a comp day, I get the luxury of drinking on a Monday night while icing and elevating. My other plans were evacuated after the hospital, so fate stepped in and said, “Hey, have some beers and blather away on the laptop.”

GETTING UP TO ADJUST HIS LEG BRACE, THE WRITER WINCES IN PAIN, REALIZING THE ON-SITE PAINKILLERS ARE WEARING OFF AND THE SWELLING IS IN ITS MOST PAINFUL STAGES

WRITER CRACKS OPEN SECOND BEER AND SLAMS HALF OF IT. HE CHASES IT WITH MORE IBUPROFEN.

Fucking ow! Seriously, I didn’t think it would be this bad. I know I smacked the hell out of it but c’mon this is nuts.

OPENS THIRD BEER

Really all I want to do right now is lay down and watch episodes of “No Reservations” on my computer until I fall asleep. I’m normally not this big of a wuss, but the swelling is the worst part.

The silver lining to my lacerated crowd is that I’m not shy of ideas to write about.

What is all of this about? What is the grand message behind every scar on my body? Why continue doing things when pain, rejection and disfigurement are eminent?

Perserverence. Challenges. Goals.

I’m going to go into work limping — as I have many times before — and I’m going to be made fun of. I’m going to be mocked. I’m going to be asked, “Are you finally going to quit skating?” Every bruise, gash, broken appendage, and that question comes up.

There’s the simple answer: No. No, I’m not.

If I quit everything I wasn’t good at, I’d never really do much. I wouldn’t write. I wouldn’t skate. I wouldn’t get dressed. I wouldn’t speak. I wouldn’t work. I wouldn’t have sex. I fail at a whole lot of things, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have my successes. I’m not special this way. Everyone is built this way.

We garble our words the first time we try to talk. We fall the first time we try to walk. We will most likely run into some inanimate object with our cars at least once before we die. We will most likely fail a test. We will most likely get turned down for a job. Hell, as humans, the only constant thing in our lives is failure. Anytime we try anything for the first time, we don’t do it right. Hopefully after long enough, we get something right. It’s either that or we give up. I’ve seen those guys. They’re the ones drunk all the time, sleeping in cars and waiting for a handout because they’re sick of trying. (Okay, not all of them, but at least a few.)

WRITER GOES ON TANGENT

You know those people in college who drink a certain kind of booze (almost always girls and Jack Daniels), get incredibly hammered and then swear to never drink it again? What’s with that? Isn’t the point of drinking an abundance of alcohol to get drunk? Well, if I drank anything like that, I’d be all over it again. And by “if” I mean “because.”

Is it the booze’s fault? No.

Lesson of the day: if you drink a bottle of Jack Daniels, you will get drunk. So drunk, in fact, that you’ll probably do stupid shit that seems like the shit at the time. My words of advice, do it to it as much as you can within non-lethal means. That’s why they make it. Think of the distillers, they have families to feed, too. (You’re welcome, Joe)

WRITER FINDS TOPIC AGAIN

Am I ever going to go pro at skating? No. Does it make me feel great, keep me from become a fat slob couch muffin and foster creativity? You’re damn right it does. Maybe if I were smart I’d quit so I wouldn’t creak and moan so much, which gets worse every single day I fail to take better care of my body. But, because of skating, I’ve traveled the country, met some of the coolest people in existence, and reconnected with what’s important in life — friends, bullshitting, fun and not being afraid to get hurt.

I’ve heard way too often that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over expecting different results.

WRITER OPENS FOURTH BEER, SMOKES A CIGARETTE AND THINKS FOR A BIT WHILE STRETCHING OUT HIS LEG

If we all dictate our lives by our failures, we’ll end up doing nothing. If we know something is important, if we feel we need it to truly be free, there’s no need to fear rejection, failure or pain because perseverance is the greatest virtue.

You’re going to fail. Admit it. I have. Admit it and move past it. Try, fail and give it another go. Collect people who hate you because the more you do with your life the more people are going to hate you.

Basically, follow the philosophy of a great street wise-man — a.k.a. comedian — Dave Attell: No matter what you do, someone can find a way to call you a dick.

Get bloody. Get dirty. Even if you stay squeaky clean, someone who thinks they’re on Mt. Everest looking down on you will make you feel like crap. You can either prove him wrong, or ignore the ass-face. Either way, do what you want because hopefully that guy will get AIDS and die. Even if he doesn’t, know that his feeble words did nothing but keep you on fire for your passion.

You ever have a Bloody Mary that was nothing more than just mix and vodka? Well, I’ve had one with olive juice, pickle juice, mix, vodka, pickled mushrooms, pickles AND a beef stick. A goddamn beef stick in a drink! God bless Wisconsin! Anyway, let everyone else be that mix and vodka drink, while you strive to be the one with the beef stick. If you get there, or die trying, you’ll be my hero. Guys on the couch never make history. (You’re welcome, Travis.)

THE WRITER PAUSES, SIPS FROM HIS BEER AND WONDERS IF ANY OF THIS IS MAKING ANY SENSE

There’s a reason I framed my first write-up from my editor. There’s a reason my first rejection letter from an agent is on my fridge.

There’s also reasons why I keep writing, despite criticisms, rejections and nay-sayers. There’s a reason I keep skating, despite emergency room trips, pain, bruising and swelling.

There are things I want to do in my life, so I’m working on them. I know I’ll never be perfect — I don’t try to be. I have my slacker days but there are days I work myself raw. I know you’re all the same way.

Pain goes away. Scars remind us of our great adventures. The trials, the errors, the assholes, they all serve their purpose. It’d be better without them, but we deal with them because we’re not going to sit around and be complacent with what others deal for us.

Then again, another great philospher — Dr. Dre — once said, “Fuck ya’ll, all ya’ll, if ya’ll don’t like me, blow me.”

Hells yeah.

WRITER OPENS FIFTH BEER AND STOPS WRITING.

National Drunk Blogging Day...

Tomorrow is National Drunk Blogging Day. The name itself is pretty self-explanatory, so if you need clarification, pick up your keyboard or laptop and beat yourself in the head. It should come to you then.

So, in honor of such a great day, I plan on having myself some spirits tomorrow, getting on the ol' Mac and cranking out something I probably shouldn't.

But, while dispensing my neurological diarrhea, there's so much on my mind lately that I could write about. And, since I'm trying to make this whole writing thing a full-time gig, it's you — the reader — who really matters.

I'm looking for ideas. Sure, this blog is about my book and writing adventures, but is that's all that's in my life? Not one bit.

Let me know what you want to see me write about while sloppily drunk, whether it be the beauty of B-grade horror films or who I'd stalk if I had to stalk someone.

Comment. Give some suggestions. For all I know, I might be able to cover everything.