This morning, we were awakened by the sound of one horn honking. The winter palace is located on a busy residential street - otherwise quiet, give or take the traffic, the cars roaring down the street from Ft. Sam Houston, and the occasional deceased house-pet.
Although the royal driveway is long, the fleet is large - and the Great Prince has a large supply of cars at any given time sitting on the street, in the driveway or otherwise nearby ... and so was the detriment of the Viscount of the Car-port. A Honda CRV came barrelling down the road today, and in the course of doing so, it took out the Viscount's car, a minivan behind it, coming to rest atop a Ford Contour one house down. It was the Contour's horn that blared at full volume as the SUV sat on its hood, the front passenger side tire passing rather eventfully through the windshield. I watched from a safe distance the mayhem one house down, until I was reminded of my legal status (the police were en route), at which point I wandered inside to resume my morning regimen of white wine, blogs, and web-comics. I had writing to do.
A few days ago, I would have made much of this incident; however, at the moment, it merely provides fodder for nostalgia and amusement. How often does one actually have one's parked car taken out by an Army colonel / nurse, or - in general?
I find myself reflecting on my 21st birthday, arguably the start of my Bacchanal. Sean and I started the day sitting in a quiet park, smoking a joint and drinking Sake screwdrivers. I was in awe that people did such things. I was in love with the boy across from me, who was my age and beautiful, brilliant and completely mad, and it was a kinder, gentler world ... did I mention that the night ended with, among other things, being locked in the trunk of my own car ... and, when eventually found and released, puking on a chartreuse velvet chair?
I still haven't decided - nine years later - if the vomit was a comment on Sean's boyfriend's choice in chairs, or a result of the 12 hours of drinking, or if perhaps it was just the inevitable and appropriate response to turning 21 (which likely combines theories #2 and #3 rather perfectly). In any event, sitting here at the Winter Palace, a plastic cup full of ice water on one side of me, my cell phone at the ready - for text purposes, and a small, crystal flute full of ice cubes and Gekkeikan (sake) on the other side of my $250 laptop, I find myself ready to face the evening, and the morning that will follow.
Meanwhile, there is still more sake, and the night is young ...
Although the royal driveway is long, the fleet is large - and the Great Prince has a large supply of cars at any given time sitting on the street, in the driveway or otherwise nearby ... and so was the detriment of the Viscount of the Car-port. A Honda CRV came barrelling down the road today, and in the course of doing so, it took out the Viscount's car, a minivan behind it, coming to rest atop a Ford Contour one house down. It was the Contour's horn that blared at full volume as the SUV sat on its hood, the front passenger side tire passing rather eventfully through the windshield. I watched from a safe distance the mayhem one house down, until I was reminded of my legal status (the police were en route), at which point I wandered inside to resume my morning regimen of white wine, blogs, and web-comics. I had writing to do.
A few days ago, I would have made much of this incident; however, at the moment, it merely provides fodder for nostalgia and amusement. How often does one actually have one's parked car taken out by an Army colonel / nurse, or - in general?
I find myself reflecting on my 21st birthday, arguably the start of my Bacchanal. Sean and I started the day sitting in a quiet park, smoking a joint and drinking Sake screwdrivers. I was in awe that people did such things. I was in love with the boy across from me, who was my age and beautiful, brilliant and completely mad, and it was a kinder, gentler world ... did I mention that the night ended with, among other things, being locked in the trunk of my own car ... and, when eventually found and released, puking on a chartreuse velvet chair?
I still haven't decided - nine years later - if the vomit was a comment on Sean's boyfriend's choice in chairs, or a result of the 12 hours of drinking, or if perhaps it was just the inevitable and appropriate response to turning 21 (which likely combines theories #2 and #3 rather perfectly). In any event, sitting here at the Winter Palace, a plastic cup full of ice water on one side of me, my cell phone at the ready - for text purposes, and a small, crystal flute full of ice cubes and Gekkeikan (sake) on the other side of my $250 laptop, I find myself ready to face the evening, and the morning that will follow.
Meanwhile, there is still more sake, and the night is young ...
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