The Kentucky Derby Is Decadent And Depraved

I feel exactly as if I have been spit out the end of a meat grinder.

Which, of course I have.

Just did a stretch of 9 consecutive at Lompoc, and man did it suck. 7 days of exquisite torture followed by, caped off by, two solid days of physical extreme. Typical of this job. No break ever.

When a new sale starts, last month's displays have to come down or get moved around to new locations. New displays get set up. This results in an overwhelming amount of moving boxes of booze around.

They get heavy. They get real heavy.

Today I am physically and mentally exhausted. Of course I get mentally exhausted making the decision about what to eat for breakfast, so no big deal there.

But my back hurts, my legs hurt, my ego hurts and I am just down right wiped out.

Luckily I have one whole day to recover.

I'm feeling kind of bitter, kind of blue. Work 9 consecutive days and my one day off, on April 30, it is raining. Dark. Cold.

What kind of justice exists in that equation?

However......................, I do have today off. I am going to write because I must. I will kiss my cats. I will cook for Carol and we will enjoy a delightful meal and The Sox together.

I am going to clean. I am dedicating the entire afternoon to cleaning.

A brief explanation.

Keith's birthday falls on May 3. Used to be, way back in the way back, we would engineer a large family gathering to celebrate the birth date of our first born son. Coincidentally, his birthday falls right around Kentucky Derby Day. So we would gather on Derby Saturday, celebrate and incorporate the Derby into the  goings on, complete with a Derby pool.

It was an enjoyable tradition.

It died.

Kids grow up, they move on, nephews marry and have kids of their own, parents die, scheduling becomes impossible.

Or seemingly so.

In my obsessive quest to make 2014 The Year of Fun & Family, I have revived the tradition.

It hasn't turned out the way I wanted it to. First of all, neither of my sons or their women can make it. My brother can't make it. Paula & Bill can't make it.

These people are what I considered to be the core of the celebration.

In addition, our nephew Paul and his family cannot make it. This was a blow.

BUT

Sarge is coming and so is John. Kevin and Tawnya. Jeff and his family are coming.  Jason & Karen.

We will have a great time. We will have resuscitated a family tradition. And it will grow. We have planted a seed. Next year will be bigger; the year after that even bigger.

Carol and I are excited.

But I must clean. I will do so willingly and with extreme prejudice.

I will relax as well, I will smile here and there, I will re-connect with my soul just a bit.

Screw my job. It ain't nuthin' compared to the year I got in mind.

Kicked it off with a perfect day at Fenway. This is Step Two.

You better stay the hell out of my way for the next four months.

I am going to be a rolling, flaming, screaming ball of fun.

Editor's note: The title for this entry was stolen from Hunter S. Thompson. Early on in his career he was given the assignment to cover The Derby. What was expected was a reverent piece on this hallowed tradition. What they got was the truth. Hunter wrote about the insane drunkenness, the gambling and the class snobbery. In typical Hunter style.

It was magnificent.