January 22, 1999.

Last night was the annual Poet Inebriate Contest...soi dit because it is a drunken fundraiser, where the judging panel quaffs as much as the contestants. We went two years ago, and had a righteous good time - marred only by our large group's inability to write anything worthy of attention. We were far too serious, see - trying to write poem poems about life & stuff. But we learned from our mistakes, and came back ready to work the crowd. No less than 6 of our group were called up, and 5 of us were retained for the final judging.

My own entry was rather uninspiring doggerel, created in a mad rush to get it in by the end of judging. As the minutes dragged on, and I became ever drunker, I decided to do better. Scrawled out some flashy doggerel (inspired by a lecture on certain biographers of Samuel Johnson who claim that he was a secret pain queen) and got it in a half-second before the judging started. And for some reason, I made the final round, along with Saint John (poem on Nixon), Saint Peter (poem on rodgering the Queen) & Dirk (poem on prozac, with the choice gaming line "the 12th level elf"). We filled almost half the final circle!

And then...and then...I won 5th prize!!

Which was pretty amazing when you get right down to it. Paris and Saint Jack are published poets. Five of us were in the final circle. And only I came away with anything...it's the first and probably last "skill" contest I will ever succeed in. I rock!

But despite my self-aggrandizement, the best moment was spontaneously jumping up en masse to join in with Saint Pete on his finale of "God Save the Queen." It's a shame no one else in the audience will ever know it was unplanned - it's just something that we do. Other good moments included the blues band closing the night...the beer level was so high by that point that the dance floor was a gloriously unholy shambles, and I loved watching it. It was like Callahan's Place caught up with me for one night, and it was good to be home.

Oh, would you like to read it? Here then. Remember: I was VERY drunk.

Domination is more expensive than you think
Besides the costs of a normal date, there's also the fetters
I know you won't have much sympathy for a hard luck fist fuck pain queen
But I only have two more payments on my shiny boots of leather.

Brother, can you spare some shame?

It's been a pretty drunken week, and it shows no sign of abating. I under reported Wednesday night a bit - instead of the usual angst & buffalo fries, there was a general air of hilarity about, despite (or perhaps because of) Tymothi:J's obvious deep depression. I've never seen him drunk before, and he was curing some private sorrow by displacing his own weight in vodka. Before he folded for the night, semi-definite plans were in the works to drive him & his car for an impromptu road trip to the happiest place on Earth: Tijuana, Mexico! Fortunately, it all fell through. Not that I was invited..."they're college boys up to no good," and a den mother would've cramped their style.

That leads up to yesterday's revelry, which directly leads to my current state of bone weariness. As I said to the Boy this afternoon, 'I need to sleep now. You can be part of the solution or part of the problem.'

Later.