Slouching into Oblivion

I drink when I write not because I believe it makes the writing better. It just makes it happen. And it makes it true. Shooting reality through the whiskey-prism releases inhibitions, self-consciousness, and the reluctance to call a spade a spade. After a couple of gin and tonics, I stop giving a fuck what other people think and focus on what I think, unfiltered. When I wrote a weekly newspaper column in the late-90’s, I met other writers and found most of them were quiet and reserved, so much so they needed a release, something that allowed who they were down inside, somewhere, to have a voice. I would see them in hotel bars, almost always alone and staring straight ahead. Sometimes sitting next to another suffering soul but saying nothing. But when they did say something, it was usually to share their disappointment, sometimes contempt, for the human race, not in an animated or mean-spirited way, but just as a matter of fact. Writers and others who rely on their imaginati...

2021. Another end. 2022. Another beginning. More resolutions and promises. Another pack of lies we tell ourselves and others that amount to this: this year will be better IF I change myself. Richer. Thinner. Prettier. Smarter. More productive, desirable, lovable. Better job, house, location. The list goes on. And it is all 100% low grade bullshit. Science has gotten a bad name since the moron-a-thon labeled life-saving vaccines a plot to steal the freedom they never had, but that same science tells us this about happiness: most of it is determined at birth. It is genetic. No different than how tall you are. It is how tall you were destined to be. And all the self-help and smiley-face books and YouTube and Tik Tok babbling doesn’t change a thing. You are congenitally happy or you are not. If you are, wonderful. Keep sleeping. And if you are not, it may be because you have been given the intelligence to see life for what it is: a mostly meaningless experience to which w...

Dear Jim, The dating pool here has become a very small little muddy puddle. I find an endless frigging line of men that just want to sleep with me or want me to pay for everything or lend them money. The men don’t just sleep around with all the women in town but sometimes sleep with other men, too. When you get to the point you are relieved that he is just cheating on you with other women and not with other men, maybe it’s time to stop. Marie Dear Marie, Don’t stop. And remember - 99% of the men you meet on Tinder or in bars are losers, drunks, perverts, and/or broke. I can help you. Here are a series of questions you should ask before letting a guy bone you. Don’t beat around the bush (no pun intended) asking open ended questions like,“Do you drink?” Of course he fucking drinks. You want to know how much he drinks. You want to know the magnitude of a guy’s dysfunction. As a long time drunk and sex addict (sez my ex), I know the questions a guy doesn’t want to answer u...

There is not much to be learned on the cocktail circuit these days unless you have a special interest in abnormal psychology, vacuous chatter, or alcoholism (other than your own). It also helps to have a good recollection for names of those who mean nothing to you and never will. “Hi, Jim. Welcome!” effused the hostess whose name I couldn’t remember and didn’t try. “Is this your new girlfriend,” she asked, not because she was interested but because the pause became uncomfortable when I didn’t introduce her. The truth was I couldn’t remember my girlfriend’s name. I mean I recognized her face but in that propitious moment I couldn’t put a name to it. It might have been the pre-party whiskey. “No,” I replied. “This is a hooker I see regularly whose name I don’t remember.” “Fuck you, Jim, you drunk bastard!” my girl snarled as she gave me quick punch to the kidney doubling me over. “Don’t pay attention to him,” she said politely. “He’s a drunk and a sex addict. I only stay wi...

I moved to Mexico 20 years ago for no good or apparent reason except to flee the world of shopping,  vacuous conversations and in your face lying about money and stuff, usually punctuated with hostility, greed, threats, envy, hubris, violence, inequality, stagnation, and the inescapable and predictable descent into authoritarian tyranny.  I spent most of those years practicing the dark trade of law, crossing the border the wrong way in the deep nights to make a buck so I could end up giving it away to wife number two, who I may sometimes refer to in these stories as “Plaintiff.”  Over the years, my world has gotten smaller, if only because I find most people everywhere self-important, willfully ignorant, repetitive, insincere, lacking curiosity, and still struggling to find meaning in a meaningless experience.   These scribblings are a part of an series of alcohol- and anger-fueled meanderings, complaints and convictions written over more than twenty years, some pu...