PK Weekend - The Sweet Smell of Survival

In August of 1978, as I prepared to return for my sophomore year at Texas A&M, I had an idea. As my buddies and I would soon be falling back into the strictly regimented life of "Pissheads" in the Corps, why not get together for one last carefree weekend at Possum Kingdom? My parents had a rundown, two room "cabin" and I could haul the Glassmaster behind the '77 Pontiac Grand Prix. Let's do some skiing, drinking, farting, belching and smoking (tobacco for all you deviant potheads out there) before we returned. After all, once back in the Corps dorms...skiing would be a thing of the past. The other activities would continue unabated of course.

I called my buddies on the rotary phone and told them of my idea. It resonated with a couple of them, and as a result, I was joined by Ray Hengst, Jaime Anderson and Kevin Hendrick for what would become the "First Annual Big, Bad,Bodacious Bonfire and Cheap Wine Party". As I recall, there was no wine that year. In fact, the name would not come into usage for several years. The only true and lasting tradition that began on that weekend 30 years ago, was fire and the singing of the song "Over There". On Saturday night, for reasons only John Barleycorn can explain, Ray and I sat on the front steps, burned a Coors beer carton, and sang "Over There".

As the years passed, a new challenge and tradition emerged. Who could bring the nastiest wine? It had to be domestic, and had to have a screw top. You only think "Mad Dog" and "Thunderbird" are bad. My buddies set new standards for crap. It culminated in the year known infamously as "The Year of the Purple Haze". I broke the domestic rule, because I had found the craziest bottles of "Dago Red" I had ever seen. Each bottle held three liters of awful Italian Red wine. One (which I still have in my home collecting loose change) was in the shape of an elephant, sitting on its haunches with it's trunk in the air. The trunk formed the neck of the bottle, and extended approximately three feet from the floor. The other (which was mercifully broken before it could be uncorked) was a snail, with it's antennae rising into the air to form the neck. Ray was the unfortunate consumer of most of the first bottle, and proceeded to pave the dirt road in front of the cabin with purple bile. Hence..The Year of The Purple Haze.

Since then, the rundown shack has been replaced by the nice 3 bedroom, air conditioned home across Purple Haze Road. We have gotten older, gotten mortgages, taken more prescription drugs, sent our kids to A&M and generally become more responsible. However, the weekend continues. Sure, it has been moved to early September, instead of early August. We found the heat was hard to take, and who needs to be back in school in September anymore?

Tomorrow, I depart for the 30th Annual Big, Bad Bodacious Bonfire and Cheap Wine Party. So what, that the ever growing bonfires we used to burn with purloined lumber have regressed back to the original burning of a beer carton. (My setting myself on fire led to that change). Yes, the consumption of huge amounts of stinky feet wine has been replaced by cigars and Single Malt. But, we will gather again...as we have done for the 29 previous years to catch up and insult each other...and yes, probably drink, fart, belch and smoke together. Ahhh, the good life!