The answer, to those who have been asking, is YES, I am alive. And well. Too well, actually. And when Valannin has nothing to bitch about, Valannin doesn't feel much like writing. In fact, you might go as so far as to say I'm relatively happy. It's true; I haven't had a drop of Scotch in months! Wine, beer, Vodka, Tequila and a little crack, but no Scotch. Partly because I'm all out, but mostly because a lot of the reasons behind the drinking of the scotch have somewhat vanished.
Give it a few months; I'll be back on the sauce. Optimism abounds.
Don't worry, I haven't lost my edge. I still think someone should stuff Al Gore and Michael Moore into a burlap sack, shove them into the back of a Ford Thunderbird and drive it into the Hudson river. Live Earth, what a joke. Millionaire rockstars who took their private jets to the venue and then plugged in 50 or so 100 watt amplifiers to play overprocessed corporate rock under 1100 spotlights are going to tell me to conserve energy? Get fucked.
But I'm calm, see? No fifteen-paragraph rants about it, no vitriolic accusations, and no links to hypocritical articles. Just two little words: "Get Fucked". There is beauty in simplicity.
So where does this sudden inner peace come from? Why the 180 degree turn from alcohol-soaked pedantic missionary for all things rational to this laid-back, huggable soul? No, I didn't find Jesus, discover the meaning of life or become a vegetarian. In fact, if you call me "huggable" to my face, I'll shoot you in the kneecaps and then eat your liver. It's just that in three weeks I'll be making the long trek to the Roof of the World to hobnob with the monks, take 4200 pictures of brightly dressed locals shopping for yak cheese, and buy regionally produced beaded necklaces for 1000% more than they cost to produce.
So, yeah, I'm going to Tibet. Why, you ask? Let me start out by saying that booking trips like this usually involves careful consideration, planning, budgeting, and preparation. In true classic Valannin form, however, Tibet became a reality after a imbibing an entire bottle of Gewurztraminer amid the discovery of a credit card with a fair amount of the limit remaining. (not my credit card, mind you, thank you travelling partner!). That was about three months ago, and in 25 short days, we shall see what hath been wrought.
I'll be sure to keep you all updated on how a pack-a-day smoker is going to survive at an altitude of 20,000 feet, especially in a country that has never heard of Filet Mignon, baseball, or flush toilets.
Oh, and be sure to check out my new MySpace page at:
http://www.myspace.com/pantheonoutcast
There's nothing there at the moment other than a really great song, but I want to be one of those MySpace whores who have like 1100 friends, so shoot me a request or add some comments.
Please, no pictures of your fucking cats.
Namaste!
Give it a few months; I'll be back on the sauce. Optimism abounds.
Don't worry, I haven't lost my edge. I still think someone should stuff Al Gore and Michael Moore into a burlap sack, shove them into the back of a Ford Thunderbird and drive it into the Hudson river. Live Earth, what a joke. Millionaire rockstars who took their private jets to the venue and then plugged in 50 or so 100 watt amplifiers to play overprocessed corporate rock under 1100 spotlights are going to tell me to conserve energy? Get fucked.
But I'm calm, see? No fifteen-paragraph rants about it, no vitriolic accusations, and no links to hypocritical articles. Just two little words: "Get Fucked". There is beauty in simplicity.
So where does this sudden inner peace come from? Why the 180 degree turn from alcohol-soaked pedantic missionary for all things rational to this laid-back, huggable soul? No, I didn't find Jesus, discover the meaning of life or become a vegetarian. In fact, if you call me "huggable" to my face, I'll shoot you in the kneecaps and then eat your liver. It's just that in three weeks I'll be making the long trek to the Roof of the World to hobnob with the monks, take 4200 pictures of brightly dressed locals shopping for yak cheese, and buy regionally produced beaded necklaces for 1000% more than they cost to produce.
So, yeah, I'm going to Tibet. Why, you ask? Let me start out by saying that booking trips like this usually involves careful consideration, planning, budgeting, and preparation. In true classic Valannin form, however, Tibet became a reality after a imbibing an entire bottle of Gewurztraminer amid the discovery of a credit card with a fair amount of the limit remaining. (not my credit card, mind you, thank you travelling partner!). That was about three months ago, and in 25 short days, we shall see what hath been wrought.
I'll be sure to keep you all updated on how a pack-a-day smoker is going to survive at an altitude of 20,000 feet, especially in a country that has never heard of Filet Mignon, baseball, or flush toilets.
Oh, and be sure to check out my new MySpace page at:
http://www.myspace.com/pantheonoutcast
There's nothing there at the moment other than a really great song, but I want to be one of those MySpace whores who have like 1100 friends, so shoot me a request or add some comments.
Please, no pictures of your fucking cats.
Namaste!
Comments
Enjoy your trip, find enlightenment and all that jazz.
Tell the Dalai Lama I said, "hello."
Take care. :)