Dashboard light when being driven home by wife

Rich people's basement bathroom sink when I having been drinking but am not drunk

Leffe blonde back at Allen's

C'est vrai, mes amis--la biere de la belle pays Belgique est encore au Allen's. Maintenant on peut boire comme nous avons bu en des jours anciennes...

Funny, though, how after just three of these beasts I feel right blasted, whereas after three of most other brews (friend Kevin H's Grasshopper, eg) there's much less effect. Leffe seems to have more of the drink in it. I think a drink can have more or less drink in it than others similar in all other ways. I've heard it's an "active yeast beer," though I suspect that whoever told me that was just talking shite.

Was at a friend's house with money too recently. On Sunday, in Forest Hill. The place looked like the UBC Museum of Anthropology--except it had big-screen sports, air hockey, etc. Stella in the fridge.

By the hearth at rich friends drinking

Why is all the money north of the city? But who needs money? When you have the drink within?

In the evening time

Relax boys. I am not drinking yet. I am merely thinking about drinking - and, more specifically - thinking about "drink". Yes - I think a lot. In fact, I think all day...

Anyways...

In the lyrics to "Melancholia" from the album, "Days like this", the great Van Morrison pours out these words:

"And it's in my life and it's all the time

It doesn't go away when the church bells chime

In the evening time when I drink my wine

In the evening time when it's on my mind

Melancholia, melancholia, melancholia"

You can't find a Youtube version of this song - because Van the Man is (a) such a f*cken control freak or (b) a shrewd business man. So you'll have to play your own CD - which I'm sure you have.

I wonder if Van was such a c*nt before he gave up drink.

I'll tell you - he sure had drink when he drank. He has produced some of the best tunes of my life. What I am not sure about is whether or not his drink was as powerful when gave up drink, or aged, or whatever happened to him.

My anger at not finding that song on Youtube has utterly distracted me. I don't know why I am in front of a computer, blogging, when I could be by the hearth with my family - drinking my wine.

8pm. Drink atlast.

Long day. Long evening. Teacher guy. Family guy. Finally reclining. With drink and music. Drink to the power of two. Exponential. Actually to the power of three given also the drink latent in me.

John Lennon. Now there was a man with drink in him. And he hated air travel, too. And probably wouldn't have liked Wolfgang Puck's either. But he probably liked steak. Oh, no, wait--he was a vegetarian...at least for a while. But he probably didn't like them.

Is it possible to be a thing and not like others who are that thing? I think so. The corollary is that I dislike in others what I most dislike in myself. Ah, all this self-indulged revelatory crap...

Tonight I ate lamb--with a sharp steak knife--and drank (am still drinking, actually) a Cline "Syrah." With its own personalized cork & all. Why not? Self-respecting beer bottles have their own caps... Anyway, from the label: "A Syrah is a Syrah is a Syrah and also a Shiraz but not a Sirah (Petite type)! Syrah originated in the Rhone Valley..." etc. and so on. So: I am a wine drinker, but don't like the people who wrote the gibberish on this label.

What I do like is drinking a bottle of wine given me by someone. This was given me by one of two people (can't remember which one), but I like them both.

Air Travel

Pinot-

Do not despair. Do not imagine the other side. Do not become anonymous. You have drink eternally. You are drink. It is in you - for you to tap into at any time.

I know, I know - air travel is so f#cken uncivilized. Especially when compared to where our minds and souls can fly; can be transported to.

You know Pinot - this could be a time to have that extra drink - when you can't get to the drink within. Sometimes that symbiosis just disappears - between the parallel worlds of drink and "drink". Not hard when you're at an airport.

The Abbot and I are there for you - there to help your spirit soar.

We advise you to "drink up".

Losing my drink

Ever had bad drink? Stranded at a Wolfgang Puck at O'Hare. But have a glass of Kendall Jackson pinot. Noir. Still, it's unsettling waiting out a long delay and drink isn't doing it. Could the drink within be gone? I like John Vivant's space much better. Steak and wine and a backyard. Ahhhhh...
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Steak knife

Not a great steak knife. But it is a steak knife. And that implies steak. And steak by itself is a beautiful idea. And of course "the beautiful" is drink. And vice versa.

Red meat empty glass autumn evening open air grill

Duh - Australia's daily drinkers happier

Here's a story from UPI.com which comes verrrrrrry close to our emerging theory about drinking and "drink":

"Researchers at Australia's Deakin University said a survey indicates that those in the country who consume alcohol daily are happier than those who abstain. The researchers said their twice-yearly Australian Unity Wellbeing Index, which was created from interviews with 2000 Australians, found respondents who said they drink alcohol every day also reported being the happiest overall, The Age reported Wednesday.Those who do not drink at all were found to be the unhappiest by the survey. Bob Cummins, a professor of psychology at Deakin and author of the study, said the happiness reported by daily drinkers was likely the result of the socialization often accompanied by alcohol consumption and not a consequence of alcohol itself."

"The people who do well are those who have one or two glasses," he said. "That probably means having a beer with your mates after work or going home and having a glass of wine with your partner."

"It's almost certainly that social connection that is facilitated by the process of moderate drinking that is beneficial to well-being rather than the alcohol itself," Cummins said.

"He said the findings of his study should be of interest to politicians who have attempted to crack down on the binge-drinking culture that involves many of the country's young people."

"Understanding the circumstances in which they drink and what they get out of it will result in a much more informed set of decisions about how we tackle binge drinking," Cummins said.

Hmm -

There's a lot to swallow here.

There are a number of interesting notions:

1. drinkers are happier
2. it is the process of drinking that is beneficial to well-being rather than the alcohol itself
3. drinking is a question of what people get out of it

But is there more to it than that? While I am certainly a big fan of the "process" of drinking, why is it that I can be as happy or sometimes happier when I drink by myself?

Yes - I do admit to that taboo activity.

But there are other things that I also do by myself and they are not necessarily...oh wait...they might be taboo too.

Damn Puritains!

F*ck the process then.

The big question for me is what is "drink"?

And why - despite my "drinking" so much alcohol - do I feel as though the drink is actually within me before I put a drop into my mouth?

Why - when I take in that first mouthful - does it seem as though the drink is meeting drink; that one drink is summoning up another?

And why, why, why do I also feel the drink when I run in a rain storm, score a goal, hear a brilliant song , read a great line, write a great line, see something beautiful, seduce something beautiful...?

What is that? And why does that drink last - have legs - like that buzz from that first mouthful?

Keeping your eye on the drink

At the age of 42, Jean-Dominique Bauby, the editor of Elle magazine, had a stroke and was left with only the use of one eye. And yet this is how he saw the world until the day he finally died:

Not bad huh? He could have curled up and died; well actually he couldn't have - he was completely, totally, irretrievably paralyzed - and so he couldn't even choose to die. But still the drink remained in him. And not only that but the journalist in him, the writer, despite the titanic effort, still had to write a book about his world, the world. He composed the book with one eye - blinking where he used to compose with ten fingers. He left us with The Diving Bell and the Butterfly: a beautiful book, a beautiful film. One note about the film: there is not an ugly woman in it. His wives, the nurses, the therapists are all stunningly beautiful French women. This fact alone makes the film well worth drinking.

Greetings from the Abbot

Welcome to the Abbey...a place where there are no rules save rulelessness. A garden ripe with contentment, congeniality, and joie de vivre. Where the vine is plentiful and the wheat itself runs gold with whiskey, where the sun never dims and the leaves never lose their shine--and the Leafs never lose their Schenn.

Musings inspired in equal parts by a Mill Street "Wit" (all connotations only to obvious) and the Buds' gritty win over the Sens. Now only a week and a bit till Sen O vanquishes Sen McC. I'd venture that Sen O has "drink," a timeless drink running from its source here in the Abbey through Pericles, Charlemagne, Botticelli, Jean Genet, and Jean Beliveau.

Whiskey Leafs

I text to you from a "basement" in Trendy Toronto, Canada - home of ice hockey - where over the last forty years - a good stiff drink has been required when watching the local team, the Toronto Maple Leafs. Tonight, in this rather cosy basement I am sipping on something Irish - Redbreast 12 year old. It is good - the whiskey - but entirely unnecessary as Toronto are drink tonight, playing with great intensity against their rivals from Canada's capital city - Ottawa - and leading 2-1 in the second period. Outshooting Ottawa after two periods 33-13. It's amazing - they get rid of their "best" players, hire a new coach and suddenly they have drink. A drink worth bottling I think.

American drink

Espresso in Chicago. Now that's a start to a morning. Now in it's time to drink in this amazing city. A first time for me, but what a stunning place. Buildings that take you back in time. People who smile. A river that snakes through some of the coolest architecture of the 20th century.

And a pinot blanc from Alsace last night on the 16th floor overlooking the Wrigley building. Alsace never tasted so good.

More to come.
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National Post round 2

I'm not feeling the drink this morning. Feeling flat. Not bad. Not down. Just flat. Just normal. What is wrong with normal? Could be a thesis is that somewhere. But I'm rarely normal. I'm either feeling rough - hungover or suffering from back pain or I'm feeling inspired - high on life; tapped into the muse; drinking my own drink. My 6 year old daughter has been dutifully dropped at her 10 am art class and I am at a cafe - Euro-style - Le Gourmande at Queen and Spadina. Double espresso, chocolate croissant and Saturday National Post. The Post has been recommended by Pinot Paul. I am assuming that on Saturdays only (and despite it's being labelled by Leftists as a Third Reich Rag), the Post is brimming with drink. While I'm certainly no wannabe fascist - and am certainly not implying that Pinot Paul is either - I am open to the possibility of all drink - the drink inside me, the drink inside a glass...and of course the drink inside the heart of great writing. Give me great writing this morning. Get me out of this disturbing state of equilibrium.

Is music drink?

Here I sit alone now. In the "TV Room". But my favourite channels are not "T" - "V". Who really needs "T" "V"? Me? I prefer the digital music channels - after of course the specialty sports and porn channels. And I'm drinking just now. Drinking my wine. Drinking in my music. Eric Clapton is backing up a song by JJ Cale called "Danger". And I'm feeling it. Can you drink music? Could music be a more intoxicating drink than "drink"? It is conceivable. The question is - did Clapton really give up "drink" when he gave up drink?

Costello has drink

I've somehow ended up with a Tawse 2005 chard $50 - despite a nose debilitating "sinusitis". How could I serve this when so disabled? Guests over and didn't get to the wine shop. I really need a cellar. A deep one - since I can drink a good cellar down real fast. But who care-eth about squandering a $50 wine on a sick nose when the alcohol is working and pointing my soul to the music being emitted from the digital channel: Elvis Costello: Watching the Detectives. What a track. Costello - now he has drink. I could sit here without a glass and drink his drink. Genius.

Glenlivet 12 with family in background

Just back to the homefire after a long road trip. Warrior's day done. Dinner prepared for me. Sun's down. Music is playing. No television anywhere. A little Scotch. Second glass already. But it's not the Scotch that's raising up the muse. No. I summon the muse whenever I want it/her. She is at my beck and call. She is in me. The drink is in me. And I need not "drink" - though I just happen to be drinking a very nice little scotch.

Hotel ice bucket

Have you tapped into The Hotel Ice Bucket Within ?

I think it's in us all. And it's beautiful.

Raymond Carver and the reality within

Talk of Hemmingway (who I liked but never loved) got me thinking about two alcoholic writers that I do love -- William Faulkner and Raymond Carver. The first was known for his novels, the second for short stories. Both American, both drinkers, both dying of non-drinking causes at relatively young ages. But more importantly, both holding up a mirror to our lives in a way that showed like few others the true gut-wretching pathetic-ness of our existence.

Why am I drawn to such dark writers? Here's a sample from Carver's story "Vitamins":

"A week or so into the new year, Patti and I were having a drink. She'd just come home from work. It wasn't so late, but it was dark and rainy. I was going to work in a couple of hours. But first we were having us some Scotch and talking. Patti was tired. She was down in the dumps and into her third drink. Nobody was buying vitamins. All she had was Donna and Pam, a semi-new girl who was a klepto. We were talking about things like negative weather and the number of parking tickets you could get away with. Then we got talking about how we'd be better off if we moved to Arizona, someplace like that.

I fixed us another one. I looked out the window. Arizona wasn't a bad idea."

Carver's stories are all like that. Mood and drink -- and that damn mirror held up to our everyday existence. Both Carver and his characters had the drink in them. For all the woozy drunkeness, maybe there's a clarity there that few are willing to admit to.

Was Hemingway an alcoholic?

I should be napping, trying to get rid of this cold - the Doctor called it sinusitis. Whatever. I can't sleep. All I can think about is drink, or more precisely, think about this drink blog.

I have been wanting to finally get Hemingway's name on our "Drink Board" - our standings for which great historical or famous person is most known for not simply drinking, but having "the drink in him". Hemingway was going to get in there eventually but I grew impatient.

So, I thought I'd justify Hemingway's entry then by simply Googling: "Hemingway Drink".

This pull of the Internet slot-machine resulted in discovering a site which answers the question of whether or not Hemingway was an alocoholic in this manner:

"It has been reported that during the last twenty years of his life, Hemingway got himself into the habit of consuming a quart of whiskey a day. To many, such drinking behavior would indicate alcoholism. Hemingway did like to drink and was blessed with the ability to drink great amounts without showing the effects (don't know if this is a blessing, to some I imagine it is). Towards the end of his life when his health began to deteriorate and his doctors told him to lay off the bottle, he did, but only temporarily. Whenever he felt the urge, he would pick up the practice again. It wasn't the alcohol though that killed Hemingway in the end. It was a shotgun blast to the head. Hemingway was passionate about so many things in his life, alcohol just happened to be one of them. He carried this passion with him wherever he went. Alcohol truly was his moveable feast."

A good answer to the question for us, I think. By looking at drinking as a passion it gets closer to our thesis that while drink is something to consume, it also something powerful and beautiful within us.

Do you have the drink in you? Are you drink - in the way other great people are or have been?

If so, drop us a line.

On the road with my little footballer

A punishing six hour drive. Eastward, cutting through a landscape of gold. All for a footie tournament. Beautiful October. But hard. Hence the cooler. A few pilsners thrown in at the last minute. And the only wine I had left at home - Franciscan Chardonnay. California. Here at a suburban Hilton in Quebec. The landscape is drink. The road travelled is drink. A good hotel room is drink. A faithful red cooler is drink. Drink is drink. Life is drink.

You'd think I was in a vineyard...

In the countryside. In Europe or at least in Niagara. But today the city is on fire as well - with leaves dying, decaying so dramatically on an October of record warmth and sunshine.

What is new? Nothing. I am barbeque-ing, have a glass of wine in my hand - and the muse has risen up! The drink has stirred up the drink within me. God I love this life, this planet.

The next bubble - Drink

We had the tech bubble, then the real estate bubble. What's next? Well, if people's fear's are realized and we enter another "Depression" - apparently drinking is going to go way up.

' "Consumption rose considerably during the Depression," says Laura Panter of the Martini Club, who, with partner Michelle Hunt creates new cocktails, provides beverage research and puts together some of Toronto's hottest parties, including the annual Drinks Show.' ( Source )

And I thought an economic depression was supposed to be a bad thing.

I can't wait to see more of my muse.

Hey - should I be investing my money with companies that produce cheap domestic beer or manufacturers that make do-it-yourself moonshine stills?

"When times get tough, you need champagne. "

Moet & Chandon's ancient slogan.

> Info Source

I was drink

Waking up this morning, and thinking about drink, I realized that I was alone, sober, and not sure that drink was in me anymore. I questioned my drinkeness and thought for a moment that "I was drink", not "I am drink".



I quickly had a cup of coffee and the feeling went away.

Appearances are everything

Up at the cottage? Don't want family and friends to know your drink secrets? Mix up a shooter and serve it in an espresso cup - and no one will know - that you have entered a world of dreams. But sip slowly and nod knowingly from time to time while everyone 'round the hearth is generating mindless chatter...

Wood panel basement. Stemless crystal. Ten dollar wine.

Thanksgiving in soul-less suburbia. Oakville. A reminder of the "Tough Times" of Yesteryear. No proper glasses. No proper wine. But it's wine nonetheless. Drink. Thank goodness for drink. Drink transports me. To places I've never been. To a self I long to be. With drink - tonight - I can be in Toronto and be a Torontonian - though I am submerged in the faux wood panelling of suburbia. The cultured are at cottages drinking up black lakes, green pines, maple trees on fire, while I drown in brown and beige and grey. But I have drink - such as it is.

The beautiful death of a leaf

Toronto, Canada

October 2008