No Rest For The Wicked

Indeed. We are far too busy hatching nefarious plots and corrupting the pure of heart.

I seem to have run up a remarkable sleep deficit this past week or so. Satchel Paige once said ‘the social ramble ain’t restful.’ I’ve been rambling quite a bit of late, and on top of it all, Bunny’s back in town for the holiday. Which means that no matter where I go during the course of the evening, (and I’ve been wandering farther afield than is my usual want) I return to the local to wind up the evening talk talk talking past last call on into that zone where the lights in the bar come back on. Because we have many many things to discuss, everything from the Red Sox to the ways and wiles of women.*

It should be understood that the topics Bunny and I cover are of great weight and much gravity. Topics that must be seriously pondered and considered, looked at first from this side and then that one. Topics such as…

… is Back in Black or Van Halen I the better album, song for song?

(Van Halen I is the better album by the way; Jamies Cryin’ tips the balance.)

…degrees of insanity we’ve witnessed in the female species i.e. Nature’s Way of Saying Don’t Touch.

(The act of stalking or sending weirdly sinister packages automatically merits Level I Red Flag status.)

…new drinks to be served at our some day to be opened Irish-Italian bistro/bar.

(Black and Ham anyone? Nothing says goodness like layers of prosciutto floating in Guinness.)

…Linwood pizza vs Town Spa pizza: the eternal battle

…the evil that clowns do.

…was Grady wrong to leave Pedro in?

(Yes, we still discuss this. Bunny insists on being wrong-headed.)

It should also be understood that the purpose of these debates is not necessarily to reach any sort of conclusion. Often they devolve into contests over who can make (and support) the most bizarre claims. This is especially true when strangers or newcomers, who may not comprehend our particular brand of silliness, are drawn into the conversation. Bunny’s newly-of-drinking-age little brother ventured down to the local last night and was somewhat bewildered by claims that Tron was a far better movie than Kill Bill. And once you’ve got hold of a ridiculous notion like that, the temptation to push it as far as you can is overwhelming. (What about Beastmaster – was that a better movie than The Godfather? Who would win a fight with pool cues – the Master Control Program or Hannibal Lecter?)

Good times, good times. I hope y’all have some over the weekend too. See ya next Monday my loyal half dozen.

*Of course one could make a pretty persuasive case that the Red Sox and women ARE everything, the rest mere details.