Write a blog post? Me? Jeff Resnick? I want to say fuggetabout it ... but some hack has chronicled a bit of my life and, much as I value my privacy, I think people should know what happened last fall--to me, and my family.
Okay, sometimes you need them. Often you need them a lot more than you'd care to admit. At least I do. They say you can pick your friends but not your family, and that's true. But in the last year, I've been lucky to pick my best friend, who also happens to be my brother Richard.
(Although . . . in my corner of the universe, it takes years and years for me to experience weeks and weeks. I gotta think about that one . . .)
I'm a bartender. Don't look down your nose at me, it's an honorable profession. (Sometimes you end up playing shrink with a cocktail shaker in one hand.) I started out as an insurance investigator. That ended with a downsizing. Then I got mugged. Some piss-ass teenager with a baseball bat needed my wallet more than I did, I guess. He broke my arm and my skull. After that things changed. The way I looked at things changed. And the thing is . . . now I know things that I shouldn't know. Some people say I'm psychic. I don't buy that. I just say . . . I know things. Nasty things. Usually about death. And not peaceful deaths, either.
Which leads me back to my latest adventure. Pretty much everybody I know has been cheated by death in one way or another. I know I have. And that's the name of the book that just came out last week ... Cheated by Death. It's available on Kindle and Smashwords. (And one day, I hope, in print.)
If you're interested, you can find out more about me and my other adventures here. (And if you come back in a month or so, it'll probably look a whole lot different.)
Okay, I gotta go to work at the Whole Nine Yards sports bar. Gonna pour some beers and wash a lot of glasses. And listen.
That's what bartenders do.
And what do you order from your favorite bartender?