tellhimfred.com

Notes from the armchair

Hey Fredders. Been a few days now, hasn’t it? Barry’s started his new job, so he’s been busier than a one-armed paper-hanger that has to do his job while being attacked by vicious insects, and me, well, I’ve had my hands full with other stuff.

I’ve managed to break my ankle. How did I do that you ask? Good question. I have no idea. How come? The answer, my friends, lies in two areas: human physiology and pure distracted stupidity.

I went out last Thursday, when the fiancée was busy, to do three things: have dinner, drink some beers and read my book. I felt like taking a walk, so I headed out about 10 blocks to my old favorite spot, the Pour House.

I found a seat at the bar and settled in with my book: the third volume in the “His Dark Materials” trilogy by Phillip Pullman, called The Amber Spyglass. For those of you lucky enough to have missed the shitty-ass movie a couple of years ago based on Pullman’s book, The Golden Compass, let me give you a quick run-down: it’s a fantasy trilogy, based in a world where the Catholic Church is the biggest enemy of humanity, and there is no real God, just a pissed off angel who pretends to be God and calls himself “The Authority”. Having been raised Catholic, and being aware of the many evils committed in the name of the church over the years, I find this guy’s blatant hatred of the Church both fascinating, and fairly easy to understand. Add to that the fact that he’s actually a damn good writer, and you get the perfect storm of a book for me to read.

Anyway, when I get into one of those rare, captivatingly good books, I can read it anywhere, in a crowded airport, in a noisy bar, even in the Jiffy Lube waiting area, which everyone knows is the most inhospitable environment in the universe. So there I am at the bar, I order my first beer and my nose is buried.

Now, you’ve been there. You order your first beer when you’re hungry, and you forget that you’re even hungry. It’s happened to everyone. But let’s fast forward several hours. I’m completely lost in Spyglass, and I’m just horking down beers. Totally forgotten about dinner. At some point, I explain the book to a couple at the bar who asks me what I’m reading, and after a short conversation, agree to take a shot of Jameson with them. No biggie.

Around 12, I pay my bill, say goodbye to the people at the bar, and head out.

This is where things start to get a little…hazy.

So picture it, I’ve been sitting on a stool for the last three and a half, four hours, swilling beer, not moving much, and not eating. Now I’m taking a brisk walk in the cold, about 10 blocks.

All the booze in my stomach swirls quickly into my blood, as the booze in my blood swirls quickly into my brain. By the time I get to within a block or two of my house, I can barely see, let alone stand, and that’s when it happens.

*twist, snap!*….

fall over like a chopped-down tree onto the sidewalk…

… break the nose, out like a light.

I awaken to two cops asking me my name and where I live. I’m covered in blood, and I have no memory of where I am or what I’ve been doing. I can’t stand up - every time I try I scream and fall down, which I can’t figure out either.

Eventually the cops figure out who I am, and that I live right *over there* (pointing) but that I can’t walk. They summon the EMTs, who cart me off to Boston Medical, the GSW capitol of the city. Good place for trauma.

Anyway, long story short, I managed to break my ankle somehow, and they wrapped me up in a cast, told me that I drink too much, and sent me on my way. All I can say is thank God (or “The Authority”, whichever) for my fiancée, who came down to trauma central at 4 in the morning to cart my sorry ass home.

So, I get to wear this awesome thing for the next three months or so, with nobody but myself to blame for the whole incident.

Yeesh. And how about another big hand for my fiancée, who now gets to spend the next three months waiting on my slobular ass and carting me around! Yaaaay! If we come out the other side of this, Fredders, and she still wants to marry me? Best. Wife. Ever.

Till next time, folks!