Glory Days

I've often thought of sacrificing my personal lore on the altar of literature. I've always wanted to wait until I became a better wordsmith but, lacking any real apprenticeships in that direction, this may be as good as it gets for me. So I have alot of funny stories and I want to write them down.

Now, I'm not entirely certain whether people like to hear these stories because they are truly funny or because they show a usually overly serious Ed with his pants down (that's mostly figurative very few -- but not zero -- of these stories involve my pants). Regardless, we'll toss all of it on the altar and see what is and is not pleasing. It's better to bore than to have something worthwhile lost in the finicky haze of oral history.

Oral history in a modern age is, by itself, absurd. Each retelling alters things slightly. Were I left with nothing but oral history, in 600 years I'll be hailed as a major religious figure having sported such miracles as office furniture re-arrangement, limo voyerism, and feeding an entire birthday group with nothing more than a box of entamin cookies and a small bag of potato chips. Clearly our distant descendents must be saved from such mis-worship.

So I've decided to start cataloguing (and blogging) some of my favorite funny stories. And the "thank you bitch" and "gift re-givings" are a small start. I hope they are entertaining enough to provide a chuckle to passersby. I'll do my best to polish them up, one last time, so that they really shine in print.

So, why the sudden desire to move these things out of my head and into the cyber-ether?

I've become a broken record. If you are reading this and you know me, you know that. Several times in the last month I've started telling a story... an old favorite... and the poor person receiving this story knew it already. Beat me to the punch line, in fact. The most recent time that happened I rolled with it, changed subjects, kept talking, but in the back of my head was good ol' Bruce:


Well time slips away and leaves you with nothing mister but boring stories of... glory days




Yes... in my head my life has a sound track and, often, the lyrics are included.

Have I, at 31, had my fill of boring stories? I sincerely hope not. With luck there is still much farce ahead of me, and while I've tried my best to grow and accept responsibilities I challenge anyone to tell me that I've grown up.

So, if you are with me and I go into an "old favorite" kindly interrupt me, tell me to note it for blogging, and then goad my into doing something that will be a new story for some other time.

My thanks in advance.

-Ed