Posted December 15th 2003
Hello...is anybody out there? I hope so but I know I've been gone so long that maybe by now you've all decided to stop checking. To those of you who remain I beg your forgiveness for disappearing the way I did. Friends shouldn't do that to friends. And the thing about being away for so long is that after a while you don't know how to come back. I knew I owed you some kind of explanation for my absence and the longer I waited the more elaborate my excuse seemed to have to be. 'Maybe I can tell them I was kidnapped!...no…I've got it I'll say I had amnesia...yeah that's it...amnesia!' But that was a tough sell [even for an accomplished liar like myself] so I've decide instead to tell you the truth. This will be hard for me, but I owe you nothing less. So here it comes...the real story of my missing weeks...my 'lost weekend' if you will [will you?]. It began on the evening of what was for me the most crushing dream-killing end to any baseball season ever. As prepared as I tried to before that possible outcome [read my pre playoff column] ...to be 5 outs away and lose was a cruelty only a sadist would envision. When the end came I was left broken and shattered. To say I was despondent would be an understatement. I stopped eating...I stopped bathing, and a week later I was found wandering the streets of Cleveland dirty, dazed, and mumbling. Why Cleveland? Who knows-but I think I may have walked there. It was at this point that Joe, Rich, Stacey, and Leo stepped in and conducted an intervention. I remember it now as if it were someone else's life, sitting in a hotel room listening to them talk about me as if I wasn't there [which in a way I wasn't]. 'He's out of it,'said Joe. 'He's so out of it he doesn't even know he's out of it,' said Stace. 'Does a fish know he's wet,' said Rich. 'Huh,' said Leo. Realizing that my recovery could take some time they brought me back to the Fools Mansion [thank god for our private jet, a holdover from the glory days] and the process began. Over the course of days and then weeks I began to make a comeback, going from soup to solid food, single words to full sentences. And then one morning I got up and felt almost right again. But not quite. There was still some recovery work to be done but at least now I felt more in control of my own destiny. And so I set out traveling on what you might call a personal voyage of discovery. My travels took me to many exotic places. For a while I lived and 'went native' on the tiny south pacific island of Nonouti. [one of the Gilbert Islands for you map nuts] where the woman still go topless and the men wear only tiny decorative masks on their penises. [well tiny in some cases, and I don't mean to brag but larger in others]. And one day while walking the beach I had the realization that even a life filled with endless sex and coconuts could become boring. So I left that tropic paradise for Europe and ended in Sicily where, for a while, I taught an advanced class in Italian cooking. Wait a minute Mike--Girard's not an Italian name!! Oh yeah? Well I dare you to walk into any town square in Sicily and yell that out at the top of your lungs; and then don't be surprised if some of my relatives start aiming their assorted weaponry at you. We Italians are a peaceful people until you piss us off and then it's all over but the sobbing and crying and you begging our forgiveness while you try to pull one of our pointy shoes out of your butt. Sorry-I got a little carried away on that, but at least it's evidence that my natural passion for life has returned. And speaking of Italian cooking, it's rarely done properly over here in the states. In Italy my countrymen are a more earthy people who won't even look at a sauce unless someone's stinky feet have crushed the tomatoes in it. And why, they wonder, do we Americans buy vine ripened tomatoes and then throw away the vine? Over there it goes right into the sauce with everything else- bugs, dirt, gunpowder [the secret ingredient] you name it. it goes in. But enough about cooking. It occurred to me around this time that maybe the old saying was true: the best way to get your mind off your own troubles is to do something for someone else. It was in this spirit that I left Sicily for the arctic circle where the men and woman [in an effort to keep warm] still wear every form of clothing [except for the tiny decorative penis masks] known to man. I went there to study the real problem of global warming. Perhaps you read about a certain Dr. Drarig [Girard spelled backwards] who did some important work in the field. Yup, that was me, although I must admit that after a short time in that frozen place I secretly longed for warming of any kind-even global. And now, finally, I've returned. It's true that, in this age of world communication, I could have and probably should have kept in touch with all of you and for not doing that I apologize. But on the other hand I've come back a wiser and, as you've just seen, more truthful man and in the coming weeks I hope to continue my efforts to both entertain and educate you. I'm happy to be back and I hope you're happy to have me. O as they say on the island of Nonouti,' Ganna noo ta peelay, gabba lootoo ofay' which roughly translated means,' Is your penis mask rising or are you happy to see me.' Until next time [soon I hope] --adios amigos---mike"
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