No doubt the woeful silence in this arena can be attributed to the finishing, even just this morning, of my senior thesis, the alluringly titled "The Aristocratic Egalitarian: Gregory of Nazianzus and the Nature of Rich and Poor in the Fourth Century Episcopate". This piece, soon to be turned in and soon, no doubt, to be published and raved on about endlessly, will assuredly be available not only from the learned shelves of Amazon.com, but most likely in airport "bookstores" and even in the check-out aisles of cultured grocery stores. If you would like a signed copy, these will be obtainable via the comment box. I'll charge for shipping of course. All rights reserved.
That being said, each of the two previous evenings have ended, unsurprisingly, with bourbon. Wednesday saw a quiet sipping of Black Maple Hill, and Thursday a greedy gulping down of Evan Williams. The former, of course, much better than the latter, but "the last shall be first" and "the first shall be last," thus I advise you to aim somewhere for the middle: they'll be those upon entering the queue of the kingdom of heaven who won't have to switch places at all. Which is a pleasant thought, I think, because I picture the whole affair to be rather stressful.
Tuesday, April 24
Hard to match the glories of yesterday, nevertheless I do not despair. I drain the dredges of old E. Williams from the flask in the bright sun of the afternoon. In the evening, much later, a decent drop of Black Maple Hill accompanies me to bed. The baby is crying. I finish the drink quickly and head towards another pyrrhic defeat.
Monday, April 23: Birthday Journeys
Five different bourbons today.
We begin with Evan Williams in the flask. Somewhere I am sitting in Homeric Hymns, eating donuts (donuts?) off half a sheet of paper and taking quick pull with friends. Oh God, here comes the teacher. Hide the booze! Hide the donuts?! Panicked visions of pockets full of maple bars come to mind. He doesn't mind the donuts. I don't think he can smell the booze. How old are we anyways?
Ah, Cabin Still. Ten dollars or less. I get the last pour from the last bottle. It's actually rather charming save for the smell, taste, and effects.
Redemption High-Rye Bourbon. Lord, we're gettin' fancy 'round here. I eat some cheese pasty and roasted tomato alongside. Hell, where are the hot dogs and darts?
Here are the hot dogs and darts. I'm actually at this point drinking a beer, but the lady - blessed be her name - is downing the Turkey. I drink some in sorrow after her unforeseen comeback victory on the dartboard. $13.50 for two hot dogs, tater tots, a beer and a whiskey. Ah fair America, thy charms are at times irresistible.
Back home now, it's later at night. The child is sleeping (where the hell has she been during all this anyways?) A birthday present presents itself. Lord, it's Black Maple Hill. Rounded peak of glory! Lightly-elevated perch of kings! Grassy knoll of ecstatic alcoholic instantiations! We have little pours now: I've had lots of bourbon today.
Ah, Cabin Still. Ten dollars or less. I get the last pour from the last bottle. It's actually rather charming save for the smell, taste, and effects.
Redemption High-Rye Bourbon. Lord, we're gettin' fancy 'round here. I eat some cheese pasty and roasted tomato alongside. Hell, where are the hot dogs and darts?
Here are the hot dogs and darts. I'm actually at this point drinking a beer, but the lady - blessed be her name - is downing the Turkey. I drink some in sorrow after her unforeseen comeback victory on the dartboard. $13.50 for two hot dogs, tater tots, a beer and a whiskey. Ah fair America, thy charms are at times irresistible.
Sunday, April 22
Well, ignoring what lies behind us and pressing towards what lies ahead. Evan in the afternoon, Evan in the late evening. The day of reckoning, of many papers turned in and many finals taken, is now not far off. Sanity is departing, love has left our home, and the daughter no longer recognizes me as anything but that bearded man who occasionally comes around. You'll understand then, the occasional lapse into nonsense and the more often than occasional taking to the drink. Sweet and almost smooth. Listen to the ice pop. Sit down, son - take a sip.
Saturday, April 21
Go to hell, you bats! You bats! You bats! Go to hell! Flying is no justification! We are free-falling from tendencies.
Two E Wills and a couch of cats. If you don't believe me, come over.
Two E Wills and a couch of cats. If you don't believe me, come over.
Thursday, April 19
No avian deaths today to speak of. Home late from work, I take an immodest pour of E. Williams from a tall glass and stumble towards the couch. Yes, friends - the couch. The reasons are not as forthcoming as you'd like them to be. At any rate, I sleep long and well. Too busy these days to enjoy bourbon for itself. It has become merely (and sadly) an accessory to progress. We are on the cusp of graduation. I'll drink to that.
I turn twenty-eight on Monday.
I turn twenty-eight on Monday.
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