Monday, August 08, 2005

In Vino Veritas

I whistle an innovative counterpoint to most Billy Joel songs, I worship Itzhak Perlman, and Red, Red Wine will improve my mood by at least twenty-five percent no matter how wong my day is going. I absolutely cannot bear the Beatles, or the music of any individual component post-dissolution. John Lennon falls way short of “musical genius” in my book. I am rabid about this conviction. How can he possibly be compared to Andrew Lloyd Webber or Chopin or Wagner or Johnny Cash?

In my jumble of class notes on chemical equations and zinc orthophosphates and Variable Frequency Drives, the words EPIC FABLE are also scribbled. I’ll do something with that someday. Last week it was all I could do to worry about the syllabus for Enhanced Water Treatment, which included such subjects as Pumps and Pump Maintenance, Cathodic Protection (which Jeff calls ‘electrolysis,’ much to Travis’s amusement), and Coagulation Aids, just to name a few.

After class Wednesday evening we met Bud at Kate’s for drinks, where the conversation flowed effortlessly until almost 11:00 when we realized we never got around to dinner. Our NALCO reps, Celeste and Scott, made it back to the Dunmar in time to get salad. Topics ranged from all things water- and wastewater-related to politics, families, drugs, climates, stand-up comedy, and all the random debris of life that seems so relevant after a few glasses of Yellow Snow. Travis, the evening’s token domestic dispute victim (“just one beer, and then I’ll be home, Honey, okay?”), wound up sleeping in his truck; he said the next afternoon, “but we had fun, right?” Of course right. I did feel a little bad for being the first to say, “you’re already in trouble, Trav, why not have another?” But I was in no way the last one to say it.

After his fifth glass of red wine, Bud got on a soapbox about passing his important industry contacts at the DEQ and elsewhere on to the next generation. Sonny, who bought one of Daisy’s puppies this last spring, waxed enthusiastic about “Hershey” for an hour straight, which was gratifying. The local hard-living electrician brought his new Harley by to be admired. Sue was so glad to see me being social (yes, it’s that rare) that she nearly fell off her stool. Scott kept going into the broom closet instead of the men’s room. I got a kiss from Barry in addition to the usual brotherly bear hug on my way out the door, and I got mistaken for my sister at least twice by people who have seen her around town, which always amuses us. All in all it was an interesting evening, but I was sorry for everyone else the next day in class. I have a convenient genetic resistance to hangovers.

2 Comments:

Blogger Shepcat said...

Outstanding. Someone else who can claim a resistance to hangovers. Whenever I say I've never had one, people grill me to make sure I know what they are. Now I can warn them that our numbers are growing and that we're going to conquer the world some Sunday morning around 8:30 a.m.

I'm also impervious to brain freeze, but no one seems quite as baffled or impressed by that trait.

August 9, 2005 at 2:31 AM  
Blogger A said...

Dang! You may possibly be the perfect drinking buddy: immune to the dual peril of daiquiris, mai tais, and margaritas- and great conversation to boot.

And seriously, I'll join your army anytime. I'm so tired of people saying "then you've never been drunk enough!" and trying in vain to help me realize suffering. It never, ever works.

August 9, 2005 at 6:12 PM  

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