Alcoholism was a trait which had no effect on love.

I


  watched Leaving Las Vegas with Matthew Hart this afternoon. It's a sweet infuriatingly depressing movie about a guy killing himself with booze in the gawdiest city on Earth, and the beautiful prostitute who falls in love with him and sees him off. Alcohol is mothers' milk and the chief protagonist a helpless little baby, and watching the greedy consumption of the former by the latter was enough to make me reconsider the beer in my hand. The movie definitely did not glamourize drinking, though it didn't condemn it either. Alcoholism was a trait which had no effect on love. Matthew, who of late has been acting as something of an alcohol evangelist, considered the alcohol to be the single saving grace of Leaving Las Vegas.

...a little desiccated frog, the sort of thing Jessika would wear on her necklace.

Speaking of alcohol, Deya's mother arrived while we were watching the tube, and she had gifts for Sara and Jessika, whose imminent arrival we were anticipating all day. One of these gifts was a half gallon of vodka and another was a little desiccated frog, the sort of thing Jessika would wear on her necklace. By the way, yesterday was Jessika's 22nd birthday.

Matthew and I went on a mission to get a gallon of Carlo Rossi Paisano (the light chianti that is our most favourite vino). Matthew also had me get a half gallon of gin, God only knows why. I think he was still inspired by Leaving Las Vegas.

I drank a little vino with Deya and Matthew and then went off to take my prework nap.

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Everyone loses baggage on Greyhound once, and then you learn that you must see with your own eyes that your baggage is actually getting loaded into your bus.

T


he nap was terminated at about midnight by Sara Poiron, fresh off the bus from Philadelphia. She was full of herself and eager to get me out of bed so I could entertain her. She made lots of references to her job as a dominatrix, shouting "Submit!" while swatting me on the ass and offering to ash her cigarette in my mouth (something that normally costs her customers $120, but which she offered to do for free).

I got up and went downstairs. Jessika was on the phone trying to track down her baggage, which Greyhound had lost.

I remember vividly the existential void Greyhound cast me into when they lost my baggage back in 1986. That was a hell of a way to begin my stint at Oberlin.
In the end I had to carry the bag -which was four feet long, two feet in diameter and weighed at least 50 pounds- back from Elyria on my bicycle, wearing it like a back pack.
It seems everyone loses baggage on Greyhound once, and then you learn that you must see with your own eyes that your baggage is actually getting loaded into your bus.
Jessika was in a bad mood because she's very particular about her stuff. It's that Taurus Rising thing. She said she'd be going down to the bus station at 7am to see if her bag had yet arrived. It didn't sound like my idea of a fun way to begin a vacation.

Deya, Matthew, Peggy, Zach, the Baboose, Monster Boy, and Dr. Steven Louis Weiner (who'd been calling all day) were also present. It was a regular Big Fun reunion.

I couldn't stay long; I drank a glass of celebratory vino and headed off to work by bike.

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Get a sense of what I was like exactly eight years ago and one year ago today.

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