What luck, what timing, what a terrible turn of events for your friendly bartender. For just when he thought the world was his oyster ready to slide down his throat in one sexy gulp, the world took the shell from his hand an tossed it away. And what, you ask, symbolically, was on that shell? Well I’ll tell ya’, loveable barflies, I’ll tell ya’.
First off, my long awaited and inevitable knighthood aptly scheduled on the heels of the British Olympics (I’m a scosh English), had to be suddenly called off to the Queen’s dismay. Then my marriage proposal to a Lady of the Court (maybe not quite as inevitable) had to be quickly postponed until further notice. And my recent invitation to St. Pat’s Cathedral where I’m sure His Eminence, Cardinal Dolan, was prepared to mention my name at the height of his sermon, had to be tossed in the ash can along with my hopes. And finally and most disturbing, the defense of my current and coveted crown in the National Marbles Tournament held in New Jersey, from which I refrained this year, had to be sadly forfeited leaving a wide open field and a victory for a sharp-eyed sixth grader.
So, are you starting to see a pattern, dear reader, as to what all these missed opportunities have in common? What, no idea? Well it’s the fact that each of those heralded moments require my kneeling on one or two knees at some point. Which I simply can’t do. For I happen to be “patella non grata” and have been for quite some time, as I recently went and received an artificial knee. A partial replacement. I guess all those years of pacing the mats ensuring your glasses were full and the party kept going, finally took their toll on my ragged left hinge. And rather than look like Chester from “Gunsmoke” (Google it, all you young-un’s) I thought going under the knife was a better way to go.
“But seriously, folks,” as the Borscht Belt comics were prone to say after bombing badly with an intro as I have here, I have been laid up for quite a while which is why I haven’t been blogging (Yeah, Scrib, let’s go with that!) and why I’ve kinda’ been vegging out here in general. Percocet also played a hand in that for if I did try to blog while under its spell it might come off like a Timothy Leary manifesto. I’m not very good on any kind of drug regardless of whether it’s legal, I’d rather have a Maker’s on the rocks but that’s not a pain killer. So veg out I did!
However, I’m happily rounding the far turn now and heading for the welcome home stretch, and I’m pretty much mobile without the use of a cane. But the hard part remains (ergo the title) before and after my walks, the fact that I have to deal with 69 steps. That’s right 69!!! See I live on the top of a five story walk-up (all right, in the penthouse if you must), and they really have been a bitch for me to negotiate. I’ve thought about hiring a Sherpa guide to set up a base camp in the lobby, who can follow me up the escarpment in case I fall backwards, but try finding inexpensive Sherpas here in Manhattan. Ever since Sir Edmund Hillary you can’t touch ‘em!
But hey, I’m rounding that far turn as I said and even though all of those above events will not be a part of my legacy (one doesn’t get a second chance with Queen Lizzy), just bouncing around this city again is reward. Which I intend to do tonight for the very first time. I look forward to seeing good friends again and downing a glass or two, and look forward to doing some blogging again on week-ends.
And as far as my getting behind the stick which is something I haven’t done for over four months, that’s still on hold for now and I sure don’t mind it. We’re still in the process of trying to reopen and until such time you’ll see me on your side of the mahogany. (I’m the handsome guy at the end of the bar in shades who’ll be signing autographs, and showing the ladies his scar to play the sympathy card.)
But before I go I want to say “thanks” to all who have still stopped by despite my disappearing act, and I hope you’ll keep on coming in the weeks to come. But as I mentioned before in a previous post… not tending bar has sorely sapped my Barland update reservoir, so perhaps I’ll write about outside the bar for a while. After all, there was that Pulitzer Prize business that… aw, never mind, you read the papers!
All the best til next time, dear reader,