This is a picture of Carlton and me from earlier this summer. My parents will probably KILL me for having a cigar. Even though I smoke fewer than two a year, it’s still grounds for my death. Not from cancer, mind you, but from their verbal bludgeoning. They would further argue that I’ve ruined a perfectly good picture. I disagree. Carlton and I shared a cigar and a glass of bourbon at one of his work functions. It was a lot of fun, and as a matter of fact, this picture was taken on the day I credit with being the "upswing" in Carlton’s happiness. He had been really stressed by work, life,…. ME, and he slowly but surely changed his outlook for the better. I love how happy he looks in the picture.
I am aware that most blog entries (including my own) are plagued by angst and what I call blogorrhea, driven by a need to be poetic and eloquent. It’s the common person’s way to seem artistic. As U2 once said, "every artist is a cannibal/every poet is a thief/all kill their inspiration/then sing about their grief." I think comedy and lighthearted themes are much more difficult to convey without being too much like a syrupy movie.
No angst: this one’s just happy. I love this guy.
Uh oh. Am I Nora Ephron?