When I drink, sometimes I reflect mid-sentence: will this embarrass me tomorrow? At that point I either say, yay or nay, continue or desist. Tonight I told the Viggo Mortenson story, which mostly involves rubbing elbows with the man himself at a ballet (literally), and the John Cleese story, which mostly involves the man hearing me pee. Neither of those men would remember me if pressed, but I remember them, oh yes. And I invoke their names to break the tension.
As I told the V. Mortenson story, I realized that the whole room hushed and was listening to me. At that point I generally lose the thread and ramble, but tonight I think I did okay.
Now I ... Jer just called. We are all caught up. Tomorrow my work day will be roughly a gazillion hours long or 13, whichever comes first. So off to bed I go!
2 comments:
Here's hoping you dreamed of Viggo....
The good thing about going out with all of the higher ups is that they drink excellent wine. I don't remember my dreams but they certainly didn't trouble me that night. I count that as a win.
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