Just got back from the weed dispensary.

[NNadir]

14. Well I assume the music will be the Greatful Dead.

I'm not sure I know what weed smells like anymore although there was a time I confess, I did know, and may have had trouble in those times spelling the name of a martial art, while failing to notice that the musicians were out of tune.

I have to be prudish about substances. I know that about myself.

I'll take your word for what the places are like. There are some things I really don't want to know.

My back pain hasn't prevented me from being able to get up off the floor yet, which is a good thing in case I get punched in the eye and am floored.

The only words of wisdom that my father passed on to me from his violent, alcoholic, deadbeat father was, "It doesn't matter how many times you get knocked down. What matters is how many times is how many times you get up."

It counts even if you need help to do so. Accepting help is a good thing.

There was one other piece of advice my father passed down from his, a chef when he wasn't drunk. My father put salt on his food and his father stuck a knife in the table near his hand and screamed "Taste your food before you season it."

I passed that one on to my sons, albeit without the knife in the table and the shouting. They love that story, and now repeat it replete with the Scots accent.

Recognizing that my good DU friend can be stranded on the floor until his witty wife comes home to pick him up, I will honor my previous commitment to not punch you in the eye.