October 20, 2010
A couple of friends and I went off the deep end developing Boozy names for well known literature. too much fun not to share (and for those who were part of the genesis and are sick of this already…apologies!)
- Tequila Mockingbird
- Huckleberry Gin
- Rabbit, Rum
- A Cocktail of Two Cities
- Goodnight Moonshine
- Bourbon Of Proof
- The AudDaiquiri of Hope
- The Greatest Gineration
- Rum With A View
- Flagon of My Father
- Mommie Beerest
- Absolut Power
- A Time To Swill
- The Old Man and the SeaBreeze
- Glen Livet, Glenn Ross
- The Sun Ouzo Rises
- A Confederacy of Rum Punches
- Billy Budweiser
- Oliver With A Twist
- Uncle Tom’s Cabernet
- I Know Why the Caged Bird Swigs
- Absinthe of Malice
- From Beer To Eternity
- Cat Did A Shot Of Gin On The Roof
- Of Mice and DeMenthe
- Charlotte’s Keg
- The Joy of Sex On the Beach
- Waiting For Merlot
- The Girl Who Played With Firewater
- The Jewel in the Crown Royal
- Booze For Rummies
- Rum For Dummies
- The Maltese Flagon
- The Man With the Molson’s Golden Arm
- Motherless Brooklyn Lager
- As I lay Ryeing
- Love In the Time of Alcoholera
- Doctor Chivasgo
- The House of Seven and Seven Gables
- The Turn of the Screwdriver
- Romeo and Perrier Jouet
- For Whom the Bellini Tolls
- Somewhere off the Cotes de Rhone
- Cannery Rose
- Dewars and Peace
- A Tree Grows in Bourbon
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February 17, 2009
Have you ever stubbed your toe? Of course you have. Have you ever noticed that stubbing your toe, like getting cut off in traffic, has an almost 100% probability of eliciting an audible curse from an adult? It usually goes something like this:
Stub. Searing pain. Hop on good foot, grab injured toe and squeeze hard.
“Gah-DAMMIT! OW! DAMN! %$#@! @#$! etc.”
Now take it a step further: have you ever stubbed your toe in the vicinity of a child? Everything cited above still holds true, but when your wife comes in and asks what happened, her heretofore angelic child will dutifully tell her, “Daddy banged his goddam toe.” With a smile no less. And much as you would like your child to forget the aforementioned word, it will pop up again and again. And again. Usually in front of your parents. Or a prospective employer. Or a member of the clergy. Read the rest of this entry »
January 20, 2009
I had a birthday recently. I am now 44 years old. Yippee.
What to say about 44? For starters, it’s a palindrome (the same thing forwards and backwards). And. Um. And…and I think that’s it. I suppose I could add something about how when you divide it by two, you get another palindrome (22). And if you divide by two again, you get a THIRD palindrome (11). Guess I’ll have to wait until I’m 88 before I see excitement like THAT again.
When it comes to getting older, most men have a very strong (make that impenetrable) filter that blocks out what is happening to our brains and bodies. We never allow ourselves to see the whole, rapidly degenerating, picture. Instead we see what we want to see, which generally has us nodding appreciatively and saying, “Hey, not too bad. I still got it!” while our wives and significant others shake their heads sadly.
I’m no different. For example, I tell people that I play full court basketball every week. Truth is, I play on a two thirds court, but since it’s more than a half court, I round up. And I only play with others in my age range (no 20-somethings to make us feel slow or ground bound). These are just two of dozens of shielding mechanisms used by the Captain of the Filter. His mission? Keep out any and all data regarding graying hair, sagging muscles, and my sudden inability to remember ANYTHING that isn’t written down. And then, one day – a day that starts no differently from the one before it – the filter becomes completely clogged with overwhelming data and the truth comes pouring in. As you will see below, it is NOT an enjoyable day…
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January 5, 2009
“Go To Bed!”
In many households, including my own, those three words are generally delivered in an ominous and authoritative manner, the tone meant to convey thunderous consequences should obedience not follow immediately. Unfortunately, instead of the hoped for reaction (6 year old child hops up quickly from most recent activity saying, “Oh, yes Daddy, I shall brush my teeth right away and put myself to bed anon”), I am often met with a sudden inability on the part of an otherwise intelligent and perceptive child to hear what I am saying or to decipher the English language.
“Yaniv. GO TO BED!”
Nothing. Feigned deafness, the thinking goes, will allow him to eke out another few minutes of computer/TV/Lego/reading/coloring/trains/staring at the ceiling rather than going to bed. If you don’t believe me on this point, don’t move from the spot where you issued your last disregarded edict and whisper very softly, “want some ice cream?” and see how fast they’re standing in front of you with a bowl, a spoon, and a smile.
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December 15, 2008
Have you ever tried to explain something to someone that you felt was pretty self evident but it just wasn’t getting across? Where you were positive you were explaining it clearly, but they clearly weren’t getting it? No? Try describing a rotary dial phone to two girls under the age of nine.
It started with a question that really threw me off balance:
“Daddy, was there television when you were little?”
I regarded them sourly. They had to be kidding. I mean I know I’m old enough to be their father (ok, I AM their father) but still. Television?
“Yes, of course there was,” I answered not a little defensively. But then I started thinking. Was it really the same? Their childhood experience of television is a flat screen on a wall, a billion channels in full color (some in hi definition) and you change the channel by pushing a button on the remote in your hand. About as similar to our Admiral black and white set (biiiig box on a rolling table, seven channels, horrible reception that only improved when one of us stood next to it and held the antenna, needed to be unplugged to be turned off, and required a visit to the set to change the channel) as a cheetah is to a housecat…same species, sure, but hardly the same thing.
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November 25, 2008
When Anna was 6 years old, we got into a big argument over who knows what. No matter what you think going in, how much success you had in your high school debate class, your degrees from college and grad school, your years of work experience, a debate with a child invariably sinks to their level and you end up saying things like “so there!” and engaging in endless rounds of “No I didn’t”, “yes you did!”… but I digress.
We parried, thrusted, salvo after salvo. At one point I said to Anna with great conviction, “You’re SO wrong. Wanna bet on it?”. I was expecting immediate capitulation. Instead I got cool appraisal. For at least a minute. It was unsettling. She ended her once-over by looking deep into my eyes. Without breaking eye contact she said, “Sure”.
Intrigued with where this might go I asked, “What do you want to bet?”
Her prompt reply: “One million dollars.”
I had her now…I controlled her allowance! There was no WAY she had that kind of money.
“Ha! You can’t do that…you don’t HAVE a million dollars!” And I sat back smugly.
Nonplussed and even a bit bored, she said, “I don’t need a million dollars. I know I’m right.”
Game, set, and match: Anna. No more Father Knows Best. The new show is Daddy, Bested Yet Again.