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The Power of Positive Drinking

It’s the long weekend in Canada, so revisiting an old post on libations, seems appropriate. Happy Canada Day weekend!

Senczyszak.com

It’s a well-documented fact that many revered authors were drinkers.  Not teetotalers, but hardcore, slam-them-back, liver abusers.  And aside from the moderation argument, is there anything outwardly wrong with that?  The love of libation is not reserved for the creative elite, far from it, but the fascination with prominent figures, especially their quirks and idiosyncrasies, accentuates their vices, and often defines them.

The list of authors who drank reads like a who’s who of the literary world.  As far back as Absinthe or ‘green fairy’ drinkers like Oscar Wilde, to more recent day spirituous writers like Kerouac, Fitzgerald, Faulkner, Chandler, and Hemingway to name a few, all indulged.  In common they were masters of their craft, lovers of the drink.  But did they also share a mutual belief in the inspirational power of the cocktail?

Let’s first consider a few select quotes from the masters themselves, perhaps revealing a glimmer…

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150 Words

Re-visiting an older micro-fiction piece.

Senczyszak.com

day of origin_ (2)
D  a  y     o  f      O  r  i  g  i  n

What began as an oddity, morphed into reality. Fueled by media frenzy, the phenomenon grew exponentially. Within days, revelations of oblivion amassed.

And this time, the world was listening.

My name is Richard Elston. And everyone I know is dead.

March, three years past it began. Six thousand people across North America died within a twenty-four hour period, reasons unexplained. Not so unusual, until you factor in one peculiar anomaly. All six thousand of them died on their birthday.

It got better.

The following day, over half a million people across three continents expired, on their day of origin.

Medical intervention proved futile. The dying would not be deterred.

Mass chaos ensued. Governments did little. While theorists theorized, the death rate magnified.

By the seventh day, obliteration hit overdrive. Fifteen million people perished, despite their birthday…

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The Eeyore Syndrome

I’m still holding a spot… at the nerd table. Care to join me?

Senczyszak.com

eeyore_self_deprecationSelf-deprecation is a personal trait I hold in high regard.

I’m not talking ‘Eeyore level’ self-deprecation, that perpetual deluge of negative commentary that borders on the psychotic. I’m referring to some old-fashioned unpretentious self-criticism, a few good-natured ribs; in other words, some genuine, unadulterated, anti-extroverted behavior. I find the attribute an admirable quality in others, an attractive idiosyncrasy that exudes sincerity and draws me in like a magnet.

self_deprecatingDespite society’s infatuation with self-assured confidence peddlers, self-deprecation—in metered doses, emits an aura of genuineness. It becomes a calling card of modesty, denoting an individual grounded in reality, unobtrusive and approachable. Self-deprecators, like insatiable introverts, prefer the solitude of shadow, avoiding the spotlight, until the stars align and the time is right. Then step back, and watch the magic unravel.

When it’s time to arrange the seating list, sit me at the table with the introverts and self-deprecators—away from the power socialites…

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