Exactly: Gin & Tonic

Apparently it's gin & tonic season. I'm working on number four or five for the night; I've lost count. I should have stopped after number two, when my wife called me in to her television & paperwork nest in our bedroom to say something was wrong.

Quickly, I went to see what was the problem; she was experiencing an alergic reaction. She had a rash all over her stomach and arms and legs. There were red marks and welts that appeared to me as though they'd be painful, but she said they were not. But she was concerned, as was I.

After determining that she was having no difficulty breathing or swallowing, I went for the computer an asked WedMD to tell me what was wrong. While I'm not 100% sure, it seems pretty obvious: she has developed an instant-onset allergy to either crab or salmon. She bought crabcakes for dinner tonight, but knowing two little crabcakes would not be enough, she bought a smoked salmon spread to serve as an appetizer on some wonderful crisp crackers she'd found someplace not long ago.

At any rate, WebMD told me not to worry unless she had breathing or swallowing problems. So, I advised her to take an antihistimine, like e-doctor said, and tell me if anything changed. And then she went back to read or watch DVRs of her reality shows or whatever it is she records religiously. And I went back to my gin and Food Network and related gluttony-training-programs.

Not long before 10 o'clock, I noticed that the bedroom light was out. Sure enough, she had gone to bed without bothering to let me know. Not unusual, but annoying nonetheless. I kept wandering into the kitchen to assess the extent to which the salmon spread remained fresh and tasty; each time, I was satisfied that it might last a little longer, but I could not judge whether the crackers would last as long or not long enough. So, I had to measure that, too. As I type this, the crackers are holding their own, while the salmon spread has almost left the building.

Anyway, the monstrous rash apparently had been (and, as far as I know, still is) primarily a visual event, lacking the itching and such that e-doctor says is possible but rare.

Back to the television, where that woman whose name I can never remember was talking up San Antonio like it were a glutton's promised land. Rachel Ray, that's it! She and her boyfriend or husband or gigolo were chatting up the wonders of Mexican food in San Antonio and they mentioned Mi Tierra, which was, 25 years ago, my favorite place in town. Either I nodded off or the show ceased to be of interest; the next thing I knew Rachel and boy-toy had left the screen and had been replaced by Guy Fieri, who also was talking Mexican food, but this time in Cleveland. He succeeded in convincing me that I must go to Cleveland to have authentic Cleveland-influenced Mexican food, because Cleveland-influenced Mexican food is nothing short of orgasmic. And if there's anything I need right now, it's an orgasm. Oh, wait, that's not what I meant to say. Well, you know what I mean.

It didn't take long for me to tire of Guy Fieri and friends, so I made G&T number 5 or 6 and attacked the internet, looking for truth and fulfillment. Let me tell you, folks, it's not here. If you, you out on the interwebs, were communicating with me now, maybe I'd find some truth and fulfillment, but you're off doing your thing, being happy and fulfilled without me. Assholes. Sure, just leave me to my own devices, which will lead to the inevitable demise of another half-gallon of Seagram's gin (it was on sale...we bought two half-gallons last time it was cheap).

Completely off-message here: Anonymous stopped by and left a message on my blog during the last day or so (surely you've read the work of Anonymous; he or she is quite well-known in literature). I responded. In my response, I suggested that I might one day elaborate on five (or more) places I'd like to spend 20 years or a few years in each to add up to 20. Or some such thing. And I will. But you see I have to decide what's more important to me: people or environment (or a combination thereof).

Some people might be surprised to see Woodburn, Oregon on my list. "Where the fuck is Woodburn, Oregon?" many may ask. Don't worry, you'll learn more. Or at least you will one-day have the opportunity. For I shall write about that place, and about Dubrovnik and Stockholm and places foreign and domestic where I think I may like to spend some time. The key issue for me is this: how can I pick a city when I know that my heart wants the country? Of course, I may be wrong. But how can I know until I experience the country? Exactly.

"If you love, tell me so, if you don't, then just let go." I believe that is a lyric to a song I once heard or sung.