Steven here absolutely dotes on his two cats. From what I've come to learn, he's acquired these cats by simply feeding and petting them as neighborhood strays, allowing them to ease into his apartment and get used to him until they eventually decide to simply stay in his apartment with him. This is a pretty good analogy to how Steven here, as well as many of my other Quirkymen, end up in my contrived and imaginary “family” of YouTube Quirkymen. A video of theirs pops up in my suggested feed, I click on it, I become interested, and I go deep diving into pretty much their entire catalog of videos.
In Steven's case, like a few others, their stories are so interesting that I just spend hour upon hour viewing video on video hearing everything about their entire life. This is how I've been spending the past few days.
He's been vlogging for about six years and has over 400 videos to show for it. Apparently he had many more but needed to delete a bunch because information in the videos doxes who he works for and his employer was not thrilled about that so he had to self-censor. If I were him I personally would have just put them private and then when he decides later to leave the company he's with, he'd be free to just put them all public again, but whatever floats his boat.
His life is quite fascinating and let me tell you after about three days of almost non-stop vlogs, I could pretty much tell you everything about him. But I won't. You can click on his videos and learn all about him if you like as you can with any of my Quirkymen. They're not mine, after all. I don't exclusively own them. They're there for the world.
I will say this, the post prior to this one where I just simply put up a picture of me holding up a can of high ABV IPA has a lot to do with this bingeing of his vlogs. Yes, Stephen and I have a lot in common. Including, our dysfunctional families, our fucked up childhood growing up in Rhode Island, naturally, our orientation and of course, our liquid curse. In his case, it seems he's found sobriety in the Jeff D. way, through the, IMHO, pseudo religious cult of AA Style recovery programs, but to each his own. As they like to say, Live and Let Live.
My chemical method may not be as impervious as previously thought since, of course, I do, as evidenced by the picture from the previous post, occasionally cave in and fork over an Andrew Jackson to procure another rung on my ladder to my descent into eventual liquid death. Or something dramatic like that.
But you know what? Steven’s vlogs actually helped redirect my craving from last night. Instead of going hog wild with the six pack of Atomic Torpedoes, I drank just one. Yep. Just one. Then I watched a few more videos, and quietly went to bed with just a very mild buzz.
What will happen to the remaining five in my fridge? And what about the bottle of Evan Williams Eggnog I grabbed on the way to the cashier at the ABC? And what about half a bottle still left from the Bacardi Gold that I bought three days ago because I watched one of my veteran Quirkymen, Jimi the Hobo, and got triggered by him drinking Smirnoff Smashes?
Denial sure the fuck ain't just a river in Egypt, bitch. Oh well, One Day at a Time. One fucking Day at a Time.