It's A Piggy World

I still haven't figured out a really good reason to hang around this Hotel California, but it's not for me to say when I check out.

Some things are easier. I can come and go on my own schedule. That's an important thing when you work the late hours I do. No more strange looks at the laundromat when I pull ladies' underwear out of the dryer.

I'm spending less money eating out because too many places have too many memories. In the past six weeks, I've not been to Acropolis, or Los Bravos, or Taj Mahal, or Wolf's, Biaggis, Applebee's, Olive Garden, Golden Buddah, Charlie's or any one of several other places we used to frequent. Lunch together was one if our few mutual indulgences. It may sound snotty, but we were so immersed in each other that we really didn't socialize beyond each other.

Being Kentuckians, the other obvious indulgence is basketball. I won't try to explain. It's a cultural anomaly, derived from living in a state which serves as the butt of far too many jokes. So the things which we excelled at became iconic. Coal, horses, tobacco, liquor -- whether legal bourbon or shine from the still -- when it came to these things, we could kick anybody's ass. And Kentucky especially kicked ass in basketball. Kentucky was Roxanne's adopted home state, but her blue passion was equal to mine.

Which leads me to the story of tonight, and the first official basketball game of the season. I only cried once, when Eric Bledsoe and Demarcus Cousins combined for this incredible full speed flash to the basket for a layup. It's the sort of play that brings you out of your seat, and if Roxanne were here in mortal form, she would have whooped as loudly as I did. It was when realized that I couldn't share it with her that I slipped for a moment.

I'm really getting stronger. Not to brag, but I'm a hell of a lot better than I thought I'd be. Yes, it's all relative. I'm talking about how I'm in command of my sanity and how I'm emotionally stable. Then I turn around and start talking to my Hershey Beanie Baby, or my UK Beanie Bear, or the giant UK stuffed teddy, or the house celebrity, my stuffed pig. (Piggy really is a celebrity, having appeared on Twitter. See Piggy on Twitpic.)

What worries me is that Piggy talks to me, through me. This is weird. I'm channeling a stuffed pig. Getting in touch with my inner swine, perhaps? Piggy sings more than he talks When I feel uncertain, Piggy sings his favorite song "It's A Piggy World."

"It's a Piggy World
You got to be rude, you got to be crude
It's a Piggy World
And if you ain't a piggy, you're pretty much screwed"

And they still let me walk around unescorted. What a great country.