Sometimes I can become easily distracted. It's not always obvious when this happens, but in undertaking the very ordinary task of purging some old emails this past weekend, I came across a note that was too good not to share. I won't publish the whole thing (my life isn't t h a t exciting) but here are the meat and potatoes of it that are fit for public consumption.
To set the stage, it would appear that I was taking a break from some yard work last fall when a case of the written runs hit me, thereby - of course - requiring me to share my thoughts with a long suffering friend via email. Ergo, the following literary gem bounced off a satellite at some point and now exists in perpetuity:
"... my mind was wandering while taking a break from yard work, so I decided to grab a beer, my hockey, stick, and some tape, and retape my stick. It's fairly shredded and that's disrespectful because I rely on my stick to give me the leverage I need to haul my ass up off the ice after it's been unceremoniously deposited there. I digress. Then I moved quickly to the notion that I really didn't have a clue if I was taping it properly, and from there I found myself immersed in how much I loves Ottmar Liebert (Nouveau Flamenco) since that's what was coming out of my iPod as I sat in my recliner on the deck drankin' my beer and pulling year-old tape off my stick. I never used to incorrectly pluralize the word love but seem to be doing so now, and I wonder if I'm being terribly unoriginal. And then I began mulling over how my iPod is such a train wreck and my taste in music should not be dictated by this train wreck, and before I know it I'm wondering how The Woody Allens chose their band name. An incomplete thought since I immediately began giggling about a particularly good bit in Mia Farrow's autobiography, whereby she related how upon being told of Woody Allen's infidelity with her adopted daughter, Frank Sinatra called her up and offered to have his people break Woody Allen's kneecaps. And bam, I flip to an interview I was reading this morning in which Rick Mercer, when asked to divulge his favorite stuff at home and abroad, said his favorite bar is Allen's (not to be confused with The Woody Allens or Woody Allen), which is my favorite watering hole and has been for years - fantastic food, the best patio in the Big Smoke, and the most wonderful, old school bar with smart people and awesome story tellers pouring drinks. That brought me around to beer, which somehow tastes more refreshing than usual when consumed on a hot, sunny day on the back deck in mid October. Oh yeah, I was taping my hockey stick, wasn't I? I don't think I'm doing it right at all."
I suspect I might have had one coffee too many that morning...
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