Honeymoon in Italy

My wife and I went to Italy on our honeymoon. When we returned she created one of those photo books online. Once she finished most of the grunt work she asked me to write an introduction for the front. This is what I wrote:

Honeymoon in Italy

A few hours earlier we left Rome; a city haunted by memories and history. The Coliseum, the Pantheon, The House of Caesar Augustus; these things previously existed as legend but were made real. They had been seen, touched, inhaled and admired.
The last few days had touched us. We had walked tree lined Italian streets. Each day we stopped to enjoy a new bottle of wine at another perfect sidewalk Café. Tiny bowls of snacks and bottles of Prosecco became our companions. It was our honeymoon and we enjoyed each other.
We reflected on these things as our driver teetered precariously on the cliffs; winding through streets which looked too narrow for a single car, let alone the truck passing us and thirty seven scooters which buzzed around our car like flies. Cameras in hand, we tried to digest the view, it was stunning on all sides: from passing Mt. Vesuvius to rounding the corner and….
There she was: our golden dome, our town, our love, our Positano. She balanced on the cliffs. No, she nestled in the cliffs, she was a part of the cliffs and for a time we were a part of her.
A canopy of flowers hung lackadaisically over its wooden frame, fumigating the walk with romance. The Hotel Buca di Bacco; our home. Our balcony gave us lasting memories of sun soaked cliffs and crystal water; of ancient towers and modern fireworks. We met friends and ate food, we discovered wine and wisdom and beauty. But most of all we discovered each other. What Rome gave us in reverence, Positano matched in Love. This was our Honeymoon in Italy and part of us will never leave.

I'm smarter than you (at least I used to be)

I used to be a genius.
My mother told me so.
I have no reason not to believe her.

I used to have it all figured out, I was going to be a writer; have people pay for my thoughts and beg for more.

Why wouldn't they? I was a genius after all and this plan sure beat the reality of a cubicle and a boss over your shoulder right?

Then...
The last 15 years are a bit fuzzy. Somewhere along the sidewalk of my world, which lay strewn with bottles and buzzes and bands my genius left my side; our paths diverged. There was no Dear John letter and I couldn't tell you the exact date it happened but I am no doubt dumber now.

I am still unsure if this intellectual collapse is due to the chemical chorus which has continually serenaded my brain or if my awareness merely caught up with reality; either way: it happened.

Luckily, (for at least one of us) I still have some juice up there. Eleven years of collegiate philosophy is floating around somewhere and if I hunt long enough perhaps some wisdom can be wrung out.

So...
Here is your introduction. Here is your invitation. Visit at your own risk. Much of my mind is minced and I'm not entirely sure what you'll get but I've managed to escape my box and my headset and for now, I'm free. I offer you what I have: opinions on music and sports and politics, observations, hazy memories, random writings. Free Beers for you, how can you beat that deal?

Sold yet?
Ready to subscribe?

Let's see what we find up there.

-K. Michael Beers