When Nike laid me off forever – think virtual guillotine – I got paid until the new year when my stock options would fully vest.
Imagine how many more billions Phil Knight could give away, if he’d been just that extra savvy enough to keep me on.
Fall in Portland, Oregon, can be the best of times. Which is when I function optimally.
I knew I would never be the same.
Birthday coming up. That year, I turned thirty-eight.
10/24/84. Tequila Willie’s. El Torito Saloon & Grill.
“Celebrating 30 years of Great Taste.”
Rules:
- Never date a woman younger than your corduroy sports-coat.
- Never gamble on credit.
- Never arrange a drug purchase from a man plugged into the wall (wearing a microphone).
- Never believe anyone who says either “Trust me”, “I know best”, or “I’m doing it for your own good.”
- Have reservations about a person who exclaims, “This hurts me more than it hurts you.”
11/30/84. Tuxedo Charley’s.
[organize new activist group: DAMM – Drunks Against Mad Mothers]
A bar named “No Ugly Chicks.” None allowed.
Better: there ARE no ugly chicks; just a matter of how much you drink.
She could suck the color out of a bowling ball.
The problem, of course, the weather fades dark and damp cold and your bank account wastes away. Turns out alcohol is a depressant.