Why not blog it? (e-mails get lost in the shuffle.)

I’m trying something different. Today I took a tutorial at the Apple Store and downloaded a new Word Processing document into my Mac. The attachment above contains the latest Trip Chronicle, which also follows:

Some may think me a poor Best Friend after hearing the tale about how I got Trip into all the hot water with Pinky Lowery at Camp Stewart in 1956. That wasn’t the first time one of us got the other in trouble, nor would it be the last. I was on the receiving end of several of Trip’s masterminded pranks. Perhaps the one I look back on as the most stupid, and maybe the most dangerous, happened in 1962 when we were both college freshman, in Corpus Christi for Christmas.

Ricky Gilleland, another Camp Stewart alum, invited us to join him for a “sleep-over” at his house. HIs parents were out of town for the weekend, and he invited Trip and I, plus John Ed Brandon, another public school buddy, to join him. I can’t remember supper, but afterward we were all gathered at the Gilleland house when Trip began telling us “locals” about Stanford and his fraternity experiences, including his newly discovered affinity for alcohol. Didn’t take him long to challenge everyone, claiming he could drink more, faster, than any of the rest of us. I don’t know about Ricky and John Ed, but I had no experience with hard liquor. I had been drinking beer since age four or five, but only in small volumes. I know that must sound weird, but my Dad would come home from work, open a beer, and poor me an ounce or so in a little shot glass. Then he and I would read the paper together on the couch drinking our beer. It became a ritual and was no big deal to either of us. But chugging beer, or hard liquor, I didn’t get the point. But here was my best friend challenging me, and like the naive eighteen year old I was, I accepted.

Next thing I knew there were two glasses on the counter filled with gin — no ice, no mixer — just gin. Before I knew it we both had turned glasses bottoms up and that was that. Or was it? Someone suggested bowling so it was off to the bowling alley. When we pulled up in front of the alley everyone piled out, except me. I struggled unsuccessfully to unclasp my seatbelt, which upset none of the others. Laughing at my futility they went inside and bowled and shot pool, forgetting about soddened me. I remember nothing about that part of the evening. When the bowling was over, we returned to the Gilleland residence. Trip took responsibility for me and helped to get me inside. He helped me undress and go to bed. We shared a bedroom with a king-sized bed. I was asleep before the lights were out.

Sometime during the night I vomited everything that was still in my stomach, soiling myself and the bedding. Once again Trip took control of the situation. He carried me into the tub and turned on the water before putting the bedding into the washer. By the time he got back I was almost submerged, which he later told me frightened him big time. From then on he was watching me like a mother hen. After he put clean bedding on our bed we turned in for the last time, although I think he had a rough night due to all my thrashing.

Next morning I was in terrible shape: waves of nausea, splitting headache, terrific thirst. I was in no shape to go home. Trip was not prepared to tell my mother the truth about the night before. Instead, he took me to his dad’s place and helped me to bed. I couldn’t eat, but was able to drink water. Later Trip called my Mom and told her I was fine, busy doing something, and that I was staying over with him. She had no reason to be concerned and said “fine.” Trip felt terrible about everything. Turns out he had duped me. He had filled his glass with Sprite which had gone flat. The challenge had been staged, the plan being all along that he would drink a non-alcoholic beverage while I chugged pure gin. Everything had turned out as planned, except no one had any concept of what that amount of alcohol consumed that fast could do to a person. Plus the effects were ongoing.

Sunday morning I awoke less nauseated, but still dizzy. I was still able to drink and added Coke to my intake. Too many unpleasant sensations happened when I tried to walk. Supine I felt okay, so that’s the way I stayed. Later that afternoon Pam Wavell came over to Trip’s. She joined me in the TV room and heard the story behind my misery. She felt so bad for me she held my head in her lap and rubbed my temples. Later Trip had to phone my home once more and lie that I was fine and wanted to spend the rest of the weekend over at his place.

Monday morning I awoke feeling pretty normal. I wanted to go home regardless. No sooner had I walked in the house than Mom asked if I would like some eggs and toast for breakfast. I recall I had the urge to puke, but had nothing down there to come up. I drank black coffee and had some toast and went on to recover.

Did I learn anything from my idiotic decision to accept Trip’s challenge? I learned that chugging alcohol is stupid, and dangerous, with hell to pay in the way of consequences. Not until I got into medicine did I learn the seriousness of acute alcoholic intoxication. I learned that my best friend would double-cross me and then stand by me in a crisis situation. My three day recovery that weekend remains the record for my own hangovers. For ten years afterward the smell of gin made me feel ill, and I avoided it. When we moved to New Orleans for my residency and I felt that heat and humidity, I knew that gin had a place in my life once again. I admit I have gotten besotted again, but less and less as I have matured (I’m a slow learner). It isn’t worth the pain. And I learned once again what a part luck plays in the endings of a lot of stories, particularly those that involved Trip and me.

Just spent a brief 20 minutes with son Quinn learning "How to Do a Blog," only enough time to be overwhelmed. I've been thinking, I should write on subjects about which I know, or about subjects into which I have put a lot of thought, which is fairly broad ranged, including medicine, anatomy, health and exercise, backpacking, kayaking, birding, photography, journal writing, death, grief, books/reading, and perhaps aging. I haven't decided whether this blog is going to supplant my journaling -- I guess it could if I become adept enough at it to include my art and creativeness. Right now I need to quit; I'm not in the right frame of mind to concentrate on any subject worth writing or reading about. 

FIRST POST!

This is a first post, a test post, from Quinn.

Welcome to your new blog.

Here is a tutorial. And another. And here is another tutorial, as PDFs.

It's pretty intuitive to use this application. (Blogger)

I recommend farting around on your own, clicking on buttons, and using the back button when you find yourself lost. Format your settings, try posting, look at your "dashboard", where you see posts, stats, settings, etc. I can walk you thru a bit on the phone too, and eventually in person. And remember google. (e.g., "blogspot, labels", but without the quotation marks...)

Good luck.