For those who ask, since there’s been quite a few of you. There is only one thing I know of that could ever start me drinking: the reincarnation of Dorothy Parker. Somehow, I’m still fairly confident it’s going to happen one of these days. How do I know? It’s difficult to pin down. I suppose it’s this visceral knowledge that the planet isn’t going to let me die without first making a drunk out of me. Every time I sit down to work I can hear Ernest Hemmingway cursing.
Happy birthday, you crazy old bitch. The world of wit misses you.