THE GLOVES ARE ALMOST OFF...
I hate it when young bloggers goad me. The next time I'm in DC I'm gonna find him and whack him with my cane. Unless I'm too busy doing Famous things, that is.

(Of course it's about me. It's always about me, dammit!)

Hmm... speaking of DC, I'm going to put away my spreadsheets and budgets and game of Solitaire meeting agendas and all that for a few minutes and tell you the Irene Ryan story. It's really not all that interesting -- then again, what here is? -- but I've been promising for months, so it's time to share.

As you know, my Friday Happy Hour is sacrosanct. Even in my rush to drink myself into an early grave, I will occasionally pass up nights out on other days of the week. But not on Friday.

So you can only imagine my distress a few weeks ago when I found myself in a suit and tie and SOBER in Washington, DC on a Friday night. So totally not found in nature. And all because of Irene Ryan.

Some background: my boyfriend was a college theater major, and maintains ties with the college theater community, also known as People We Make Fun Of. Years ago, after escaping from one of those mountainous square states, he landed a job at the Kennedy Center, home of the American College Theater Festival, also known as The Festival for People We Make Fun Of. And part of this fesitval is the Irene Ryan competition, which also serves as an annual reunion for my boyfriend and his square-state, mountain-dwelling friends. You could almost say that the Irene Ryans serve as his equivalent to my sacrosanct Friday Happy Hours, except with 1/52 the frequency.

Now, I do believe that relationships require compromise, and so I am willing to give as well as take, take and take. So I gamely joined went to the Kennedy Center, and sat through 75 college theater majors and their 75 acting partners doing 6,321 scenes as they competed for the coveted Granny Award, or whatever it was called. And then, while the judges drank behind stage and voted for the students they thought were hottest carefully deliberated, I sat while a few dozen minor awards were announced.

No drinking... no smoking... no standing... as hour after hour, the clock ticked and time crawled on, until, at some point Sunday morning, the winner was announced. And finally, one lucky student was crowned Miss Irene Ryan, 2005. I have no idea who that student was, of course, because I was shaking from the DTs and couldn't concentrate.

Now, I realize that I have shared far more interesting stories with you on this blog. I realize that the Irene Ryan story had no car chases, knife-wielding maniacs, parachute jumps, or Irish car bombs. But I am offering it to you for two reasons.

First, because I wanted you to know that I am a giving, caring person... a man who is willing to put the needs of others ahead of his own addictions desires.

And second, because now you won't ask me about it anymore.

The End.