Drunk Celt Was Taken

When I was looking for a interesting email moniker, back when the Al Gore was inventing the Internet, which was just the string between two orange juice cans, I had originally settled on “Strider” as a nod to JRRT’s LOTR.

Well that provider quickly folded – it was the wild, wild, west time of the Internet – and my Strider moniker was gone before I could set up a new account on a new server. Those Tolkien followers are fast.

I wanted to acknowledge my Irish roots, so I went looking for something with the word “Celt” in it. All the good combinations “Fighting,” “Drunk,” “Charming,” “Dancing,” “Singing,” and just about every other worthy possibility, including “Fucking,” was taken.

All except “Wise.” Go figure.

Now, at the time, the choice of “Wisecelt” was a leap of faith. Remember, this was the last century. Telephones were still attached to walls and only could be found publicly in Superman’s changing room.

I was young(er) and anything but wise.

I had not accumulated any wisdom at all, and my prospects were bleak. Indeed, my picture appeared in the dictionary above the word, “Folly”.

But I pulled a George Costanza upside down day and grabbed the name. And I never let it go.

I use it pretty much everywhere, on Twitter, Instagram and as my nom de plume on Amazon when I post reviews.

I see all kinds of other versions of Wisecelt now floating around the sargasso sea that we call the Internet, with numbers and other characters added behind it, and I’ve seen it appear alone in other email providers that are not mine, but I’m the original. Wonder what all of the doppelgangers are up to. Good luck.

And by now, just from surviving this long, I may even be a little bit wise.

However, yesterday was a first for me.

When I went to the mailbox, I received a package from England, with a wonderful book of poetry from the author, Nikki Rodwell, called A Mother’s Lament (highly recommend) inscribed to Lonnie Bell at MOS.

The package was not only addressed to “Tom Wisecelt” but it had the wrong zip code.

And it still got to me. Gotta love the USPS.

I felt like I just received a letter addressed to “Santa, North Pole.”

Anyway, I call that name recognition.

Well, given how the package had defied physics and arrived safely at my door, addressed to my alter ego, I felt obliged to race off to Mike O’Shays to get it installed in its proper place on the Literary Bookshelf.

Due to other obligations, it had to be a drive by, so I couldn’t wait for Lonnie or Jen to do the honors.

Luckily, Brian, the charismatic bartender at MOS, stepped up and handled the task with all of the appropriate decorum. Thank you Brian. You rock.

So, if you ever stop by MOS while passing through old town Longmont Colorado, on Main Street, stop in and have a few drinks and a meal, and ask Brian, or whomever is behind the bar, if you can check out some of the inscribed books on the MOS Literary Bookshelf. It has become a real thing. Quite international. It’s the Shakespeare and Co. for NoCo. You other writers out there, feel free to contribute copies of your inscribed books. Just address them all to Lonnie Bell.

If you see Kyle Dooley sitting at the end of the bar, sidle up next to him and ask him anything about The CLaire Trilogy or Finding Jimmy Moran – he’s a character in the latter.

That’s Kyle and his mom.

Oh, and Lonnie mentioned that they were reinstituting Irish nights on Friday and Saturday, so stop by then and get your Celt on. Wise or not.

And don’t forget to check out the eternally askew MOS Coat of Arms. That’s what started the entire ball rolling. The Sword in the Stone. Ask Lonnie about it.

Okay, it’s Wednesday, so I need to get my hump on.

But first, a kitty cuddle, my rounds and the dreadmill – made more dreadful by the fact that I cannot play music because Lisa is off today and sleeping in. This is going to double suck.

But you fine, five readers get on it. You can always see Friday waving at you from the top of the hump.

And make today a great one.

Best wishes, Tommy Wisecelt.

#IAMWISECELT