The world changed

My god it’s been a long time.

I miss being what you might call a writer or at least a blogger.

I miss days when it mattered.

I miss being creative, and living a life that routinely got me in trouble – I miss the trouble, and the people I used to get into it with. Well, certain people anyway.

It’s been a long fucking pandemic; will any of us ever be the same, when this is objects-closer-than-they-appear in the rear view? Not the over that people are pretending now, the ‘it’s not over at all but we’re too tired of it to know that’ kind of over thats’ whole-cloth nonsense. Will we ever, though, be who we used to be?

I need a martini, but I need it with the people I used to drink martinis with. My dogs are good company and all, but, well, it’s not the same, now, is it? They can’t mix a decent drink, and though they’ll definitely kiss, they also don’t kiss nearly as well as – well, as some other people –  and gin doesn’t cover dog breath.

I need to write something better than this. See if I still can.

Maybe i’ll be back tomorrow. Or maybe in another year.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

meet me at musso n’ frank

I’ve been having’ one of those days – weeks, actually – when I’m just craving a cocktail.

But not – you know, just alcohol. It’s not really alcohol I want. It’s the time, the place, the, you know, the thing.

There are those places you miss; not a place place, not Hawaii or London or the Scottish Highlands, Venice or New Orleans. That’s bigger, and sadder. That’s a spirit, a feeling.

No, I mean that smaller scale sense of missing. A coffee shop where one once sat, eating greasy food and drinking bad coffee after late nights. The book store where one used to sit and read in a dusty corner. The bar where one once met friends and heard local bands.

And it doesn’t have to be a hangout. Some places I’ve been, they got under my skin after one visit. A pub by the river in York; a fish n’ chips stand on the Royal Mile; a bar down below canal level in Brügge.

One such – and the place I’ve been visualizing now – is a silly place indeed. You know the place if you live in Hollywood; you know it by rep if you read about LA. If you’ve read crime novels by Michael Connely or Robert Crais or Jonathan Kellerman, you know the place as if you’ve been there, eating steaks and drinking mid-day with rough men.

Musso and Frank. Hollywood’s oldest eatery they call it; it feels like it. It feels like it’s seen more old hollywood action than any studio or any mansion. You can imagine Welles, Chaplain or Valentino; the Mark brothers or Clark Gable. You can imagine writers, Bukowski, Faulkner, Hemmingway. They live on in the dark walls and worn tables.

It’s the kind of dark, wood paneled room, the kind of old-fashioned chop house ambiance, that just seems to have ghosts and seem to inspire dreams.

Aside from that kind of cuisine, aside from the feeling that someone very important or deeply sinister may’ve sat in this same seat yesterday or may tomorrow, the thing one goes to musso n frank for would be martinis. And that’s what I’ve been salivating for. Ice-cold, served with an odd, tiny carafe on the side (so you get an extra pour), this is place that understand exactly how a martini should taste.

And I’ve been sitting here all day, trying to concentrate on incredibly dull but important data gathering (to prove with numbers what everyone already knows to be true). But my mind is in that dark, smokey room, (because never mind the silly laws, in my head it’s smokey, like it would have been in those days), with a fine, mysterious dark-haired girl beside me, and we’re drinking icy cold martinis.

Outside it’s daylight – because it has to be. But here inside, I shade my eyes with the brim of a hat, and I breath in the perfume of her, and sip icy cold gin – always gin, never vodka.

Thats where I am today. But the martini I might make when I get home – or not – wouldn’t taste the same. Because the scene is what I want, and the company, the company of ghosts and beautiful, mysterious women. The drinks? Well, they’re just the taste on my tongue.

sake bombs away

some weeks just make your head wanna explode. You know how it is when things that should be simple wind up growing up to be problems, and then children of problems, and then problem-clans? They start as a spark and end a conflagration, start as a single point of data and fan out into a […]

some weeks just make your head wanna explode.

You know how it is when things that should be simple wind up growing up to be problems, and then children of problems, and then problem-clans? They start as a spark and end a conflagration, start as a single point of data and fan out into a cone of ill-logic?

No?

Maybe it’s just me.

In any case, that is the week I’ve had, on the heels of the month I’ve had, and there’s the year, 1/3 gone and a foul, swampy road it’s been.

I think I had an entry here but as usual, my thoughts scatter like roaches when a light’s turned on; fuck it, I think it’s time for sake bombs.

Pink Elephants on Parade

I could stand the sight of worms And look at microscopic germs But technicolor pachyderms Is really much for me I am not the type to faint When things are odd or things are quaint But seeing things you know that ain’t Can certainly give you an awful fright! What a sight! Chase ’em away! […]

I could stand the sight of worms
And look at microscopic germs
But technicolor pachyderms
Is really much for me
I am not the type to faint
When things are odd or things
are quaint
But seeing things you know that ain’t
Can certainly give you an awful fright!
What a sight!
Chase ’em away!
Chase ’em away!
I’m afraid need your aid
Pink elephants on parade!
Pink elephants!
Pink elephants!

There’s a brilliant remix of Sun Ra’s version of that song, mashed-up with the original Disney video – BoingBoinged here.

This story has very little to do with Pink Elephants, Sun Ra, Disney, or the DTs. But you’ll see in a moment how it all connects.

Read more “Pink Elephants on Parade”

Tequila®

Do you have feelings of inadequacy? Do you suffer from shyness? Do you sometimes wish you were more assertive? If you answered yes to any of these questions, ask your doctor or pharmacist about Tequila®. Tequila® is the safe, natural way to feel better and more confident about yourself and your actions. Tequila® can help […]

Do you have feelings of inadequacy? Do you suffer from shyness? Do you sometimes wish you were more assertive?

If you answered yes to any of these questions, ask your doctor or pharmacist about Tequila®.

Tequila® is the safe, natural way to feel better and more confident about yourself and your actions. Tequila® can help ease you out of your shyness and let you tell the world that you’re ready and willing to do just about anything.

You will notice the benefits of Tequila® almost immediately, and with a regimen of regular doses you can overcome any obstacles that prevent you from living the life you want to live.

Shyness and awkwardness will be a thing of the past, and you will discover many talents you never knew you had. Stop hiding and start living, with Tequila®.

Tequila® may not be right for everyone. Women who are pregnant or nursing should not use Tequila®. However, women who wouldn’t mind nursing or becoming pregnant are encouraged to try it.

Side effects may include dizziness, nausea, vomiting, incarceration, erotic lustfulness, loss of motor control, loss of clothing, loss of money, loss of virginity, delusions of grandeur, table dancing, headache, dehydration, dry mouth, and a desire to sing Karaoke and play all-night rounds of Strip Poker, Truth Or Dare, and Naked Twister.

(I don’t know WHERE this comes from originally, but it rocks – props all the people who sent it my way)

Does the name pavlov ring a bell?

I’m looking at my hit logs – as usual. And I see it a hit from Porto, Portugal. And suddenly I’m sitting here absolutely salivating for a glass of port. I would kill a man right now for a vintage tawny. Good lord, I’m so suggestible. Must. Have. Port.

I’m looking at my hit logs – as usual. And I see it a hit from Porto, Portugal.

And suddenly I’m sitting here absolutely salivating for a glass of port. I would kill a man right now for a vintage tawny.

Good lord, I’m so suggestible.

Must.

Have.

Port.

more referral nonsense – dirty margaritas?

Ok, so I’ve talked about the whole referrals in the logs thing. I get all sorts of useful info about who’s reading (Hello out there! Yeah, you! I see you!), where I’m getting hits from (how’d I get on Sam Burns random blogroll, and how can I get her in bed?), and all sorts of […]

Ok, so I’ve talked about the whole referrals in the logs thing. I get all sorts of useful info about who’s reading (Hello out there! Yeah, you! I see you!), where I’m getting hits from (how’d I get on Sam Burns random blogroll, and how can I get her in bed?), and all sorts of random searches on skulls and tattoos and pirates and martinis and taco flavored kisses.

But I just got a hit from someone looking for a recipe for ‘dirty margaritas’.

Now, I don’t think that’s even a real drink, I think that was a confused user. But all I can think is, ick.

I’m trying to find a way to make that sound like a good drink, or to make it something dirty about a nasty little seniorita. But it’s not working. All I get is, tequila, lime, cointreau, and olive brine. Hell, that might even be good, but it sounds vile.

On the other hand, I’m now thinking, in this order:

  1. Mmmm, tequila
  2. Mmmm, nasty little seniorita

But that’s not really a surprise, is it?

A vile drink

I keep thinking I should try it, but when it comes down to it, I’d rather just drink. I’m throwing a luau today; mai tais, hawaiian food (vaguely hawaiian, anyway), hawaiian music.

No, I’m not gonna roast a fucking pig. I keep thinking I should try it, but when it comes down to it, I’d rather just drink.

I’m throwing a luau today, for my daughter’s 7th birthday; mai tais, hawaiian food (vaguely hawaiian, anyway), hawaiian music around the pool.

My goal for the day – don’t kill anyone. Because, you know, it could happen. Rum makes a man crazy, sometimes. And almost without exception, I’m armed with sharp, pointy things.

     “it is a vile drink that turns even the most respectable men into complete scoundrels.” — Elizabeth Swann

It’s true, and I must say, any ladies of age who choose to show up in bikinis had better watch out. There’s no question, no question at all, that I’m feeling my inner scoundrel today; and that’s just the coffee so far. When we add ol’ demon Rum to the mix, watch out.

Tequila!

I’m in the mood to get fall-down, piss-stinking, bar-fighting, crazy-talking, fuck-anything-that-moves drunk…. I don’t mean a fairies and sunshine, glinda-the-good-witch sort of magic.

I’m in the mood to fucking drink.

I’m in the mood to get fall-down, piss-stinking, bar-fighting, crazy-talking, fuck-anything-that-moves drunk.

This kind of drunk, it has to be, has to be tequila.

There’s a magic about tequila. I don’t mean a fairies and sunshine, glinda-the-good-witch sort of magic. No, this is a bad-juju-bart-no-like magic. This is a dark-fire-in-the-skull magic.

The old joke goes there’s a reason they call it ‘ta kill ya.

Tequila isn’t a beverage. Fuck people who serve it in snifters and pretend it’s cognac. Tequila is a drug. Tequila is meant to be shot, gulped, slammed, pounded. Sucked from a bottle, or if you’re really, really lucky, from a beautiful woman’s mouth. It’s not for fucking sipping. You want to taste it more? Drink more.

I don’t particularly like expensive, super-high-end tequila. Fact is, I’d rather drink a good blanco than a great anejo. The anejo tastes good, sure, but tequila needs to bite. Tequila needs to hurt you when it goes down.

You know what I hate? When people call the lime and salt training wheels. The lime and salt is ritual. It’s part of the process, like rolling a joint or cutting out a line or prepping a shot. And it tastes good, dammit. It’s flavor compliment; it’s not to cover the taste, it’s to enhance it, like seasoning on a steak. I don’t care how good that steak is, without salt and pepper, it’s just flesh. With the seasonings, it’s cuisine.

Give me a shot, make it two, make it three, and quickly, fucking quickly.

Alas.

I’m off to meet a friend for dinner, and you know, I must be a grownup. It’s tuesday, and I have to work tomorrow, and so does he, and I’ll have a twenty-five mile drive home after I drop him at his hotel. So this isn’t the night for fighting and fucking some stranger. We’ll have a few, I’m certain, but…

Sometimes it sucks being a grown-up.

Raincheck on that, ok? I need that tequila drunk. I haven’t been good and pissed since St. Patrick’s day, and that was on on Irish. I’m still needing that tequila drunk, and soon.

…and they use too much vermouth.

Quotes on Drinking from http://cocktails.about.com: “When I have one martini, I feel bigger, wiser, taller. When I have the second, I feel superlative. When I have more, there’s no holding me.” William Faulkner “One martini is alright, two is too many, three is not enough.” James Thurber “Do not allow children to mix drinks. It […]

Quotes on Drinking from http://cocktails.about.com:

“When I have one martini, I feel bigger, wiser, taller. When I have the second, I feel superlative. When I have more, there’s no holding me.” William Faulkner

“One martini is alright, two is too many, three is not enough.” James Thurber

“Do not allow children to mix drinks. It is unseemly and they use too much vermouth.” Steve Allen

“Whenever someone asks me if I want water with my Scotch, I say, “I’m thirsty, not dirty”. Joe E. Lewis

“Man, being reasonable, must get drunk; The best of life is but intoxication.” Lord Byron

“One can drink too much, but one never drinks enough.” Edward Burke

“The three-martini lunch is the epitome of American efficiency. Where else can you get an earful, a bellyful, and a snootful at the same time?” Gerald R. Ford

I love me some martini quotes.