...
Maybe we all have to keep at least half an eye on it, lest we be sucked down the undertow of the ever-expanding list of nutrients no longer nutritious and fiendish lies being made flesh, but I am reminded of the moments in my life when I felt myself suddenly plucked from the jaws of the undertow and into a state of blissfully floating effulgence manufacture, drifting dreamily in the twinkling cosmos, by the arrival in my minutes of someone capable of bringing up something meaningful, something so near, so intimate, so lovable, so universal, so unspeakably eternal....
Oddly, so oddly, Drew Barrymore's father was one of those times. He was in Mendo World to get loaded with a friend who ran a B&B nearby, and by some twist of their drunkenness I ended up on a barstool next to him at the MacCallum House one night. I can't remember whether there are four or five barstools at that bar. It's a very cozy place to hang. And amazingly to me, the cheapest date in Northern California, drunk as he clearly was, he was not impaired whatsoever in the conversational mastery department. It was so long ago I can mostly only remember how exhilarated I was by it. I was having a very fine time indeed. I remember noticing the physical feeling of lift, of that floating, of us wafting out the window, over the headlands and out to sea.
At length, he excused himself to go to the men's room. He didn't come back. It was a bit of a letdown, but I just chalked it up to his drunkenness. I saw him the next day and asked him what happened. He told me he had to run out or I might've stolen some seed from him.
It took me some moments to decode this.
I swear, that had not even minutely crossed my mind. Not even a tenth of one percent of a time.
What is wrong with men?
...
A DASH OF CORROBORATION COMES UP THE NEXT DAY....
I'm, here, like, no shit man. He meant that.
.
