I drink no bourbon tonight, for the first time since at least January. It's odd to be implicity anticipating something all day only to find oneself not doing it. I do push-ups and sit-ups instead. I eat popcorn. It's time for bed, early bed.
I post below for the benefit of my many readers the original scholastic proposal that launched this blog. Nostalgia, my friends, as any good Greek dictionary will tell you, is simply the pain felt when one wants to go home:
A Proposal for 100 Days
Being of legal age, I find myself enjoying a glass of Bourbon almost every evening. At times I sit beside this Kentucky-born nectar with text in hand. At times I take a brief pull, baptizing the night before heading out the door. At times I sit lamenting the discovery of an empty cupboard. Often I am led to ethically-centered aesthetic musings about my habit: Is this the sign of a well-cultured man? Or could this be nothing more than a slow descent into a pathetic state of spirited depravity? You see, I am no bachelor. I have a wife and child, bills to pay, responsibilities piling high upon my dust-ridden desk, and so on and so forth, ad infinitum.
Often my wet and tan companion is some wretched bottle of booze, caustic enough to make God cry. Brighter days do occasionally come, however: something better comes my way and I rejoice in thoughts of wealth and decent drink. Due to certain religious restrictions (and what is religion but restriction, yes…but restriction unto freedom?) I am not always able to imbibe as I’d like. This too provides fertile ground for contemplation. So this is my proposal: a glass or half or perhaps even a drop (a terrible thought, I know) a day, with reflection. I realize this proposal may be shot down as something outside the bounds of academic appropriateness. If this is the case, I do not have a back-up plan (Scotch, anyone?). Ah, but to put my late-night mystagogy to good use…
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