masterpiece theatre?

OK, I've heard it from two three people now: Why is your blog so depressing/somber/serious lately?
"You've lost your short, punchy sentences," said one critic, "and it's turned into these long, meandering tales of your life. It's very ... Masterpiece Theatre."

Yikes.

Well, to give you bloodthirsty carnivores some roadkill to chew on, here's a trashy and tragic tale of wayward youth.

One thing I didn't mention in my previous Pines post was that this also happened to be my company's annual day at the beach on Fire Island. And because I work for a gay company, you can guess what happens next. One word: Sloppy.
Not me, but a particular colleague, who I'll refer to as Beaver, felt the need to drop trou and show everyone the junk in his trunk. It was the weirdest thing: One second Beaver was seemingly stone cold sober. The next, he was just shy of Mel Gibson picking a fight with all the Jews in the world. Actually Beaver didn't pick any fights, but the sass and the ass were both forthcoming as he got friendly in the hot tub with, oh, everyone else who happened to be in the hot tub.

As one been-there-done-that-sniffed-the-bottom-of-the-bumper guest at the party confided to me, "I don't understand why people get drunk and naked at company events. I mean, today is Saturday, but it sure will be Monday soon."

Monday came today for Beaver, and he turned beet red as more and more tales of his tail came to light. There's even a video of him flashing his fanny and acting the fool in the water. I remarked to another colleague how Beaver sounds like a drunken Sherry Lewis on the video. "Lambchop's more like it," this wit snapped back, "considering that he had somebody's hand stuck up his ass."

Shall we go back to the navelgazing now, kids?