Sparks. I only had the "real" Sparks once. The black kind, I think? Wait. That's a lie! I had the orange one too. I think. Lord, alcohol has robbed my memory. Anyway. The "new" Sparks, the faux Sparks, the energydrinkless Sparks- is... not as bad. But not good, either. The black one is, eh. Drinkable. 7% is a decent kick, served ice cold, and you're less likely to get looked at funny by cops if you're out in public.

I much prefer a good, strong, craft brew, or a dry red wine, or vodka. But, hey. Today seemed a good day for the Sparks sitting in my fridge, lonely and sad looking. So, here's to memories. Here's to endings. Here's to beginnings. Here's to not very tasty alcoholic beverages- cheers.

There are times where you need the numbing bliss that is called intoxication so powerfully, that you don't even bother to chill the vodka before you shoot it. You pay for it in the morning. You pay for it when you drink your cheap, plastic bottled vodka straight up, room temperature. You pay for it all over the place. But between gagging now, and gagging when you wake up? The numbing bliss of alcohol sure seems worth every bit of it. Cheers.

Stella

A beer to drink if you don't want something horrible but you don't
want something great.

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U2 - epiloge

Concert: awesome. Amazing. Could have been longer.

Girls in front of us: feeling superior cause I couldn't identify
random Asian children during the humatitarian portion of the evening.
I guessed Jackie chan and margret cho. This made them rather angry
with me.

Sobered up with a walk around the stadium parking lot; a nice
Long pee; a slice of pizza; and a glass of water at an African-
American populated kareoke bar. Sort of wish I was home.

Regrets: wish they had played 'in the name of love' or 'when love
comes to town'. Or 'desire' would have been cool too.

I ready for sleep.

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U2 - beer 6-9

U2 = amazing. Some newer shit. Some old shit. Some "With or without
you". Some "Sunday bloody Sunday". No 'war'. No 'in the name of love'.
So sad

I drank my millers genuine draft like a man who had no choice. Sigh.

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U2 - drink 7 or 8

Muse - alright

U2 - despite cliche they are quite amazing:

Positives: they rock. They played a lot of adequate new songs, some
songs from albums that had no business existing. However, obviously,
the old hits stole the show: I still haven't found what I'm looking
for; the end of the world; mysterious ways. But I'm a half gallon of
cheap beer in and wondering what else they're going to offer an old
school fan like me. I wanna hear the best they can muster. I haven't
yet.

Beers: expensive. They just stopped serving American Ale. And every
other worthwhile beverage. Stadium police shut it all down. It was
bad. I was desperate, and forced to do something rash.

Yes. I am drinking a Millers genuine draft. Sigh. The economy has been
hard on us all.

Still more to come. Ohhh I like this song!!!

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U2 concert - beer two

At the U2 concert at Giants stadium. You'd think it'd be hard to blog
with two American ales in your hand, but with determination you can do
anything.

Drinking: Two Budwieser American Ales similtaneously.

Who's playing: muse. They are sort of like radiohead but not quiet as
sad. Or old. Or good. But they don't suck.

More to come later ...... Beers are $8.25 by the way. Fuck me.

Flavor Wheel

Ghost Rider

I just saw a profoundly inspiring and deeply touching movie entitled "Ghost Rider". For those of you unfamiliar with this hugely entertaining treatise on the sacred and the profane, Nicholas Cage stars as a carnival rider who comes of age following the death of his father in a mild motorcycle skidding accident at the hands of Mephistopheles. With a knowing tip of the hat to Ralph Macchio in Crossroads, the young rider sells his soul under terms so ill considered that the story also serves as a cautionary tale to anyone who has ever signed a lease agreement. To tell more would be an injustice to the reader; I will simply say that the terrifying special effects, the inaudible and marble-like quality of Sam Elliot, the earthy performance of Eva Mendes or Daisy Fuentes, and the many veiled & subtle references to Faust and "The Ghost and Mrs. Muir", make this a movie I will want to watch again and again. It goes best with a 2003 or 2004 Chateau Marvel Cage aux Folles, preferably the 1 liter.

Companion thinks that "Ghost Rider" would make a terrific comic book.

Things that have caused me harm...

Vodka + Ice. Who needs ice.

Went to a restaurant called "The Grape" tonight. There was plenty of wine, cheese, and purple things to go around. What I was surprised to see was a new beer menu. No crap beer, either. It was a short list- maybe 10 beers or so- with the usual froo froo brews from Chimay and the like, and a few seasonal pumpkin brews. But nothing local! And all a bit overpriced. I like Dale's Pale Ale as much as the next chick, but 6 bucks? Hrmmm I think not.

Besides- I don't know about you, but I'd feel a little funny drinking a decent beer in a very obviously wine themed place. That's like going to a barbecue joint and ordering a salad. Grape- I wish your beer menu success, truly, but you're going to have to vamp it up, make it more visible, and lower the prices. If you can't do that- and if you can't train your waiters/waitresses to be as knowledgeable about beer as they are wine- stick to what you know best. Wine, cheese, and purple vomiting over everything.

Six

I almost had six anxiety attacks today. I need a fucking beer.

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Chateau Talonneur Wine Tour

My doctor, a man versed in the art of long-suffering, recommended Efitol for anxiety and was prescient in his prescription - Companion’s driving never fails to unnerve me and I took one as we made our erratic way upstate to the rustic Chateau Talonneur for their annual wine tour – or as Companion calls it, “Open Souse”. It was one of a hundred such scenes we had known before – elbow to elbow with other pilgrims, warbling music and rows of bottles waiting as did Henry Hudson’s ninepins to be mown down, not unlike my expectations. The Bordeaux was strangely complacent, the usually loving Riesling aloof and distant. It was at the end of this long table when I took up a glass of pale coral ambrosia – it swept over and through me like a the winds of Valhalla and restored my countenance, my faith in God and seemingly everything that had ever been taken from me.

My rapture was interrupted by a large man who, reaching to the place where the glass had been, absently looked about until his eyes focused on my hand. I apologized at once but also begged him to tell me where this nectar was from. He raised up box labeled ‘Waldstein’s Blush’, saying, “My wife drags me to these things. This is the only wine I ever drink – half the calories. Here let me fill you up, there’s plenty.” As he pointed the gun metal grey spout at me and pulled the trigger, I realized that I had drunk from the cardboard carafe – and I liked it.

On the way home I was ignoring Companion’s good natured ribbing by feigning to read the precautions on my prescription. I happened to glance at the words, “May cause changes in smell or taste.” Companion agreed that I was redeemed, but when I think about that glass, inside. . .deep down inside. . .I still love it. God help me I do love it so.

Ghost Rider

I think Ghost Rider would be the worst movie ever made if it wasn't for every other Nicholas Cage movie.

St. Hubbins

Companion is a dolt. "Espadrilles finally opened back up - we should go!"


I was nonplussed. Even at it's height Espadrilles, with marginal cuisine and a chancy wine cellar, was never at the top of my list. But do I protest? No; I simply shrug into my Clayton Fleece-Lined and step out into the rain for the interminable ride to w42nd and 8th Ave.


With a table overlooking the indescribably beautiful Port Authority Bus Terminal, we reviewed the wine list. Companion's heart was set on the St. Hubbins, a Shiraz I thought to be of questionable pedigree - nonetheless it soon arrived at the table in the hands of bow-tied extra from An American in Paris. With the first sip, I realized that my concern about pedigree was unjust. This was, in fact, the embodiment of Pedigree - as I sipped I could almost hear the can opener and feel the knife scraping its gelatinous contents into the expectant bowl of a salivating Fox Terrier. My gag reflex at once recalled the waiter, who asked if there was anything wrong. "Not at all," I replied, and summoning a courage not unlike that of Aquinas before the Tribunal, I smiling took a healthy draught to validate my words.


I have never been to a vinegar farm, but I imagine that with the air full of a caustic cleanliness, one observes a humble gathering of buildings; buildings that shelter what must be an abuse of fruit so severe that the acid is drawn from them as is poison from a wound. These at least were my fleeting impressions as I slid unconscious from my chair, coming to rest in the comparative dark and cool under the table cloth. The apologies of the house, the free dinner, the rejuvenating carafe of Pain de Pita were all salve to the start of the meal, yet in all it was long ride home. I feel that sometimes silence is the best rebuke.

Hefeweizen: 'They made a statue of us. And put it on a mountain top. Now tourists scum stare at us'

'They made a statue of us. And put it on a mountain top. Now tourists scum stare at us'

Drink: Samuel Adam's Hefeweizen
Place: Home
Song Playing: 'Us' by Regina Spektor
Mood: Creative desperately seeking outlet. Writing ideas make me want to clean. Cleaning makes me want to write. Sleep makes me want to run. Running inspires sleep. It all leads to a drink somehow. Cheers to good music anyway....
Notes: Wish I was drinking something stronger and darker. It's not that I don't like light wheat beers. It's not you, its me.

Quiet

I want to open a bar called 'Quiet'. I will hire librarians to work the door. They will be hot but studious.

Octoberfest

Finally a beer that tastes like a month.