My work on the road sometimes took me to the north slope of Alaska and the Kuparac Oil Fields. The pay was incredibly good, but the hours were extra long which was probably just as well because there's nowhere to go when you're not working. And the oil companies have a REAL strict policy: No liquor allowed and no sexual fraternizing allowed. After a few weeks on the slope we'd always find ourselves horny and thirsty for a shot of rum.
    The flight from Prudhoe Bay to Anchorage was always a wild time. More than once we managed to drink up all the booze on board the flight. The flight crew even considered giving us a special commendation for our amazing ability to consume vast amounts of liquor.
    Once we were in Anchorage, it was standard operating procedure to pay a visit to the Bush Company Bar. Yes, a strip bar. Imagine that. A bunch of horny roadhands in a bar with some of the best looking women on the planet wearing no clothing. It was an amazing sight and not without more than a few fond memories.
    During one stop on our return trip from Prudhoe Bay, several of us lined up at the edge of the stage, swallowing vast amounts of liquor, spending money we shouldn't and enjoying some delightful entertainment. The conversation began with a discussion of what we'd do if we had any of the dancers in bed with us. As the liquor hit us and the clothing came off our conversation and attention wandered off to other subjects. (It seems my theory that total nudity is less interesting than a wee bit of clothing, is true.)
    There was a statuesque blond beauty dancing and she was intent on attracting my friend, Danny's attention. Nothing she did was working and her level of frustration grew exponentially with the time elapsed. Finally her set ended, she jumped down from the stage, marched over to Danny and peered at him intently. "How did you like my dancing?" She asked with a distinct air of impatience.
    The booze had hit Danny hard and he was semi-coherent at best. He mumbled a smart-ass response. Not what the dancer wanted to hear apparently. Her eyes widened, her lips curled into a sneer as she swung her body to the left and back with the force of a sledge hammer. Wham! She hit Danny in the side of the head with her boob hard enough to damn near knock the little guy off his stool. Without a word, she turned and marched off to the dressing room a proud smile on her face.
    Danny's still trying to figure out what happened. Rumor has it he got a face mask like hockey players wear, for Christmas that year.

    In my last post I made reference to my ongoing inability to deal well with moderation. My friend, Prank's profound comment set me to pondering how I've lived my life.
    Some would smile, shake their head and insist that old Captain Morgan's never been long on self-control. Wrong! There was a time in my life when I probably had too damn much self-control. It kept me imprisoned inside myself in ways I didn't understand.
    A few years before I turned thirty I unleased the animal inside me. It was then I discovered how much I disliked moderation. Nothing I did in my life was done with even a hint of moderation. I worked hours that would make a slave cringe. When I played I was wild and crazy. I spilled more rum than most people drink. I celebrated life in ways many never even consider.
    Then it happened. Adversity began to wash over me and I felt like I'd been dropped into an acid tank. I didn't drink rum because I wanted it; I needed it to get by. I kept a bottle of pocket rockets in the top drawer of my tool box. They were what I affectionately referred to as my "vitamin pills". Vitamins indeed. But they did the job. So did the rum. My weight dropped. My body began to rebel. My usually mellow temper became less than pleasant. I became more cold and more distant. Some would say, almost unapproachable.
    I flew life on one wing for awhile, then the engines stalled and I came in for a landing. It was a mess; pieces of me strewn up and down life's highway like chunks of twisted metal and broken glass. I poked around in the wreckage and salvaged what I could. Over time I put myself back together again. I rode the Hitchcock Railway many times. I went back to Chago Canyon in my mind and somewhere, somehow I rediscovered the magic. Maybe it was there all the time and I just didn't know it.
    The animal in me remains unleased. I still refuse to consider moderation, but I've learned to trust the magic and I've learned a whole new kind of balance. And sometimes I close my eyes, walk slowly down life's highway and trust a stranger to lead the way for a little while. Then I open my eyes and there it is! Life look'n back to see if I'm look'n back to take a look at it. Hell! Maybe it's just the magic of some sexy perfume wafting through the air.
    Now, if you promise not to giggle and point I'll wander out back and dance a happy dance just for you!

1> I'm fascinated by motel rooms. I've stayed in a thousand of them over the years and no two are exactly alike.

2> I'm fascinated by perfume. How can such a small amount of liquid stimulate so much powerful emotion?

3> I'm not much good at moderation. Fun, mischief, sex, cigarettes, it doesn't matter. If some's good then MORE should be WAY good.

4> If my hands are tied I can't speak.

5> Profanity is an important part of the language I speak.

6> I never get dressed the same way two days in a row.

7> I like my music loud.

8> I love to drive fast.

9> I don't deal well with apathy.

10> You've got to feel it to believe it.

    There you have it. A few more pieces of the puzzle that is... Captain Morgan.

You Are 8% Shy

You aren't shy at all, in fact, you're probably quite outgoing. You are comfortable in almost any social situation, no matter how difficult.

You Are a Kinetic Learner

You learn best by doing, and you have a talent for complicated, physical tasks. You excel at athletics, drama, and fixing things. You would be an excellent Olympic athlete - or a Broadway star!