Irreverent 2009 & 2010 Years in Review

Cherished Friends and Family,

I have heard your despondent cries from the desert of my correspondence . . . your gnashing of teeth . . . the flickering torchlight at the breach of

my drawbridge. Behold! I give you the 2009 and 2010 year in review.

Be warned . . . what appears to be another innocent Christmas brag sheet may impart fretful tales of isolation and disaster upon eyes that were prepared only for yuletide tedium of how Brittany and Dakota received good marks and will be summering at Camp Punky Brewster. Nay! You will receive nothing of this sort from me. My epistle is the electric pig poker of Christmas narrations in a quagmire of bland and listless holiday tripe. It has a body count and Excel spreadsheets! Brace yourself as I recount my tale of daring Drew!

Why no Christmas letter in 2009? Overwhelmed by events, I realized that my best material was already posted on my blog: http://drewskidoo.blogspot.com/ Why should I kill myself to reproduce all the knee-slapping joy I provide year round? I turned my focus to the teetering apocalypse of my publishing empire and quickly realized I’d made a huge mistake: Most poetry contests and reviewers use copyright date to distinguish contest year eligibility. By publishing in December 2008, I was requiring myself, without knowing it, to enter every possible poetry competition in the 31 days of December.

To add insult to self-injury, I instead focused on hosting my cousin Jenny and her son Justin for Christmas. By January 1, 2009 I was disqualified from most contests. Doh! If I’d only put 2009 on the book, I would have had a full year to enter the book into competitions. There was nothing to be done, as it was impossible to reprint the book.

I consoled myself with a rollicking urban adventure with Karen and Susan Miles in snowy Chicago. We laughed for days, and ate like kings (Chicago without a doubt has the best food in the United States). Special guest stars included cousin Robyn Williams and Hyperion colleagues Emily and Will. Weeks later, I sprang to Minneapolis to visit friends Lois Ottmar, and the Baker family. Though a drive-by Drew-ting, a good time was had by all.

In May 2009, friend Jacqui Cintron took me to Peru in another flagrant attempt to kill me. Though I regularly demonstrate she’s not in my will, she persists (She must be doing it for the sport). The complete deposition is on the blog, and is hilarious, if I do say so myself. Best memories include projectile vomiting on UNESCO world heritage sites, wheezing my way up the Inca Trail, dodging an Indian riot / train blockade, and surviving a demolition derby ride in the Amazon rain forest at night. In short, the Lojack in my underwear totally paid for itself in the end.

Pilgrimages to my hometown of Ormond Beach, Florida proved time there stood still. Nothing in Alfie’s beachside café had changed since 1983 (especially the ground beef)! My friends and I sat in the mauve booth by the door, listening to Journey Musak and reminiscing about high school. I realized I’d stopped “Belivin’.” The graduating class of 1984 had their 25th reunion in August 2009 . . . lemon juice in the paper cut of growing old. I guess it beats the alternative . . . yes, working at Alfie’s.

Finally! . . . in September 2009, the Florida Publishers Association awarded EAST OF POURING the gold medal for poetry during the FPA 2009 President’s Book Awards. A speckle of recognition and positive reinforcement! I milked that sucker like Elsie the cow!

I attended the beautiful October wedding of friends Charlotte and Dwayne McDuffie, and passed that autumn weekend with Joy and Dave Borresen in Nashua, New Hampshire.

I spent Thanksgiving in North Carolina with Dad, and wrote the Thanksgiving poem read by my family before the meal. I noted how far I’d come: from prodigal son studying art at my own peril to someone whose words were welcomed at my father’s table.

Then wham-bam 2009 was over. That was it. That is what you missed last year, and what you have finally ripped from my bosom you clinging voyeurs! Are you Happy?! I thought as much. I supposed you want a complete report on 2010 now . . . will you never be satisfied? . . .

In January, 2010 I attended the Key West Literary Seminar and Workshop. The Seminar was a cavalcade of America’s most famous poets, followed by workshops with several of them. The fellowship between poets from every walk of life and geographical region was intense.

Newly inspired, in April I went ballistic for National Poetry Month in downtown Orlando. I convinced famed poet Carol Frost to grant permission to display a poem on the side of the Orange County Public Library, and even got my ode to city zoning bureaucrats stenciled on all the streetlights so that low flying airplanes could read my magnum opus!

I conducted a Poetry Garden at Leu Botanical Gardens and arranged for International Academy of Design and Technology students to interpret my poetry as art installations in vacant downtown shop windows. It was a huge success (costing me thousands of dollars), but by the power of castle greyskull, I had finally gotten something accomplished.

After that, I had the summer from hell: June 9th a pipe burst in my house and flooded the master bath and bedroom. I spent two weeks in a sleep deprivation exercise (with Servpro machines blowing the smithereens out of the walls and floors). The day after they packed that crap up, at the other end of the house another pipe burst and flooded the guest rooms and garage! Naturally, you have to wash both ends of the house!

Simultaneously, my phone was broken . . . so every time I tried to call anyone (plumber, water reclamation, etc) I had to align the phone with the third house of Venus rising and stand on one foot (typically in a pool of rapidly rising water!).

To make things EASIER on me, my mother proceeded with knee-replacement surgery . . . obligating me to drive to her house and feed and walk her dog twice a day! Another session of sleep deprivation; second verse same as the first. But wait, there's more!

To avoid further floods, I re-piped the house, knocking holes in 39 walls and fishing modern hose to all fixtures. $4000 dollars later, I had a Swiss house (full of holes) and no vacation money. The summer has ended with dry-wall repairs, a new water heater, $3600 in car repairs, and my father having emergency quintuple by-pass heart surgery.

Luckily for my father, my experience re-plumbing my house completely prepared me to advise his cardiac surgeon . . . and goes a long way to explaining why he has a vessel sink permanently installed on his superior mesenteric artery. As you can imagine, quintuple by-pass patients think they are the center of the universe. Give me *my* medicine. Take me to *my* doctor. I think *I’m* having a heart attack. Help *me-me-me.* Blah, blah, blah. I mean really. Scoot over on that gurney and make room, my feet are killing me! And buzz me up some hotcakes from room service while your at it, and I’ll show you what a massive coronary really looks like you bunch of fakers.

To make things EVEN EASIER on myself, I refinanced the house, installed new wood flooring and had the interior repainted (of my house, not my father). During the course of these events the painter did a full body slam on the glass coffee table (without injury to himself suspiciously) and my mother broke and entered my house (literally broke the storm door) to exact her washer and dryer replacement ring (though she had a key to the back door).

The house, now decorated for Christmas, feels new (mostly in the wallet). If I can just get the bathroom lights up and the garage window repaired . . . I might swing a little holiday spirit in 2010.

And to make things ESPECIALLY SUPER EASY and y'know, REALLY, REALLY, REALLY, REALLY EASY on myself: Simultaneous to all of this home reclamation crap - I forced Orange County Florida to pass a human rights ordinance that included sexual orientation and gender identity against the Mayor's will. Wow, You say. Seriously! Say it! WOW!

All I did was spam the county until the cows came home. The real credit goes to my peeps in OADO (Orlando Anti-discrimination Ordinance Committee) who make magic happen just by being the great and wonderful people that they are. If you want to meet some rocking good people . . . come join our organization! I love you OADO! I tOADOlly dOADO!

I hope this season finds you and yours happy, healthy, wealthy and wise. I’ve made it through a very difficult year. Let’s prepare for the blessings and good luck of 2011. All my love and warmest wishes!

I'm having a bad day . . . all week.

I'm having a very bad day . . . all week.

On Tuesday, I thought I was coming down with something. I started coughing while at work. Once at work though, you're in. My company's attitude is, if you could drag your self in in the first place, you are probably not sick. So in short, employees become sick during their own time. At work, your germs should be doing something constructive . . . or my team lead will find something for them to do.

But after a bit of hacking in contiguous cubeland (or is it contagious cubeland) . . . my co-workers, on the brink of their summer vacations, kindly suggested I take my collapsing respiratory system out to the parking lot. I headed home . . . thinking to myself . . . well this will be nice: Finally, an afternoon to catch up on all the things I'm running behind on!

As I commuted home unicorns ate puffy cloud pudding and whinnied 'til they wet themselves. Silly rabbit, they said!

Within seconds of reaching my sanctuary, the respiratory virus hit will full karmic velocity. Not only will I *not* be doing anything productive this afternoon . . . but I will spend most of the next four days trying to cough my back out my left nostril.

Where I could have picked this illness up? I had just returned from South America, via Miami Airport. I was in the Amazon rain forest and climbing at altitude in the Andes. Hmmm. I work with people from all over the world . . . but no, neither environment seemed connected to the cough. Then I remembered: Disney World. I had been there the first weekend in June, and was very likely exposed to disease carrying midgets from planet "Petry Dish Memorial Elementary School." There it was. I had the D1SN1Y virus!

Hey Imagineers, I have a new idea for a ride at Disney world called "Bleach Mountain" (sponsored by Dupont). It's a roller coaster where Disney characters in Hazmat suits hose you down with sterilizing agents before you leave. They even give you a souvenir goofy surgical mask!

But wait there's more . . .

After two days, work was convinced that I was faking it, so they scheduled a meeting for Friday morning, and over the phone let me know they expected me to be there. Ever Pollyanna, I assured them that I am *never* sick for very long, and fully expected to be better by Friday.

Friday morning, still sick, I dragged myself into the office. I was informed that the morning meeting would be a conference call held in a teeny tiny utility closet near my department of open cubes. In I went, channeling Brenda Vaccarro during her chain smoking days, and sealed the door behind me. In the utility room were my boss and team lead, cowering behind cupped hands. I thought to myself: this is what justice feels like.

After four hours at work, I went home half day . . . for the second time that week. But it was Friday, and now I'd have the weekend to rest, relax and recover. It would be good to return to work Monday restored . . .

But wait there's more . . .

Friday afternoon, water began draining out of my air conditioner. It was very very hot and humid, and the A/C was pulling buckets of condensate out of the air every hour or so. The draining water would fill a catch basin, trigger a water sensor, and automatically turn off the air conditioning. So sick and covered in flop-sweat, I'd have to crawl out of bed, waddle across the house, empty the bucket, and return to bed . . . every 45 minutes or so . . . through the night.

Saturday morning I called the A/C repairman. I was told he could not see me until after noon. I decided I wanted A/C over the weekend, more than I wanted to go to the doctor. So I canceled my doctor visit and waited for the repair man.

He arrived and told me, for $113, that it was a simply drain clog. He blew high pressure air down the hose, handed me the bill, and was on his way (Let it go. It's not that funny). Ah. Air conditioning. The catch basin continued to fill with water, but I did not have to dump it as often. Things must be improving, right?

But wait there's more . . .

Returning from lunch with my mother and sister on Sunday, I entered my house to find the center of it flooded with water. The kitchen, laundry room, Hall and A/C unit were all standing in an inch of water. The dry wall and cabinets had soaked up the water and wrinkled. They looked like I felt: old - sick - and bitter.

Before you could say "Poor Slob" I was on all fours with a wet vac, sucking the life out of my floorboards. (Let it go. It's not that funny). I turned off the A/C and called the repair company. Now, it's a Sunday afternoon at 3:30. I also have no voice. So wheezing, I call and say "My house is being flooded by the air conditioner!" The first operator, Charlie, hung up on me.

I called back, now furious - - but unable to shout at him. I got operator number two . . . who would be willing to try to leave a message for somebody.

The story is more excrutiating, but I'll cut to the end. At 9:45pm a repair man finally shows up. He actually blows out my hose, instead of just saying that he will (yes, I hear you snickering).

But wait there's more . . .

This morning, before I can leave for work, I push the washer and dryer, and the oven back against the wall. I put down the carpets and arrange the wet shoes to dry. I empty the wet vac and put the towels in the washer. I'm standing in the kitchen, dressed for work . . . . tired from the drama of the weekend . . . but literally thinking to myself "There. That's better."

AT THAT VERY MOMENT, a bottle of Champagne (really Spanish Cava) that had been on the kitchen counter explodes. The cork shoots across the kitchen knocking over the dish rack, and profuse bubbles of champagne shower the kitchen I'd just cleaned the night before.

That is when I lost it. I LOOOOOOOOSSSST IT. Though I have absolutely no voice, I said the "F-word" 8 bajillion times, cursed, broke a commandment, and a small cow came out of me. I named the cow Frederico, and then flogged his little brains out with a champagne saturated dish towell. Then a roll of paper towells. I stripped off my work clothes, and again on all fours (yes, doggy style dam mit), I cleaned the freaking kitchen again!

I'm hoping there is no more. I can't take it. I am full up.