Vivant, where are you?

"Flu"? Really? Better "flew," or even (chimney) "flue." Methinks this "flu" has aught to do with a certain recent Saturday eve fuelled by many bottles of carefully chosen and not-so carefully consumed vino roja.

Missed you tonight, V. Does opening night of the fall ball hockey season "have drink"? Yes, yes, and yes.

Yogi for men

Bears in Yosemite National Park prefer Hondas and Toyotas for late-night snacks. According to 186 bear-incident reports, they broke into 26 Hondas and 21 Toyotas, but they broke into only 2 Buicks and 1 Lexus. Because bears rip into cars that contain food, Yosemite Park rangers warn visitors to keep food only in special "bear safes." Many visitors who ignored the warnings found that their cars had been opened like tin cans by the powerful bears.

Yoga For Men:

All at once more relaxed AND more at one with the Spirit Force.
Puff. Inhale. Hold. Hold. Hold...
Blowwwwwww......
Ahhhh....
Godddddd....

Monte Cristo Habana Robusto

Circa Summer 2009
Toronto, Canada
Complemented by day-old Niagara Pinot Noir
"But I don't need the cigar or the wine," he said, "all I need is the cooling evening air and my woman to ease me to sleep later...when the sun goes down."

If the bottle is sweating, then the Piano Has Been Drinking

The Bottle Is Sweating

But I am cool
Here
Outdoors
After the rain
Has cleared the air
And the evening sun
Has taken with it
It's light
And heat

i dont know how this happened.jpg

One minute doing report cards the next friends over for dinner and then smoking in the open june evening air.

Alcohol Free Family Fun?

Golfing and drinking

In the rain.

Drinking while golfing

Though I won't be drinking at the "Summer Solstice".

Beyond the pail/pale

Pictured is yesterday afternoon's pre-TFC prep for the biting winds of BMO field...thanks to Vivant for the match and for the pregame fortification. Sitting here tonight, at the end of my birthday weekend (the last b'day I'll celebrate before hitting 50 (unless I shuffle off this mortal coil before then). Listening to Little Steven's Underground Garage, my favourite radio show and the best thing about Sunday eve 10p-midnight. Little S. definitely has the drink, and so--below--did I, grasped fleetingly between my fingers.

Drinking revelation

I opened up this fine Portugese cheapie (always available for 10 bucks at the LCBO) and realized why I had never stocked up on a so-called 'house wine'. I had always chosen new world wines before (USA, Chile, OZ), but quickly became bored of the candied, predictable taste. So I abandoned the idea and ended up paying too much for wine that I really just wanted to go with KFC.

Then Periquita. Cheap, but with complex earthy tones. Something I'd not likely get bored of. The 'Leffe' of wines perhaps.

In this age of cutting back, I'm adopting this wine as my new house wine. I'll cut wine expenses 50 per cent and enjoy a better bottle in the process.

The key is Europe. When it comes to drinking, I think it still has to be our first stop.

Pinot

Sent from my BlackBerry device on the Rogers Wireless Network

Bolano's Liver

Mr. Ashdale,

I am reading this morning about the life of a writer you have referred to several times recently - the Chilean novelist Roberto Bolaño.

Apparently Bolano died of an unspecified liver ailment in 2003, at the age of 50.

Could the death of Bolano somehow be connected to your focus on the organ of drink?

People say that Bolano's drink of choice was heroin and that he died of it but...

"numerous Latin American and European critics and bloggers have taken the side of his widow, accusing American critics and publishers of deliberately distorting the writer’s past to fit him into the familiar mold of the tortured artist."

What do you think? Was he tortured? And did he have drink? I haven't read him yet. Though now that I recall the size of the book - I am not sure that I am up to another dismembering.

BTW - I am now intrigued by Bolano after reading the NYT piece and finding out he was a literary game player "who played with reality, who cultivated ambiguities and false identities".

One of my favourite writers in this regard is Nabokov - who by the way wrote a beautiful little autobiography called Speak Memory. I'm afraid now that I may have to tackle Bolano at some point, including his as yet unwritten biography. Damn. More f*ucking torturous reading. Why can't a book just be injected into one's head? It would be a lot easier that way and maybe offer a different type of pleasure - perhaps like taking heroin.

> Info Source

All You Need is Aspirin

I love coincidences.

Just after reading Mr. Ashdale's liver post, my son asked me to check the weather on the local newspaper site and the article at the top of the page announced a new breakthrough drug for...the liver.

The drug?

Aspirin:

"Aspirin's anti-inflammatory properties appear to be especially potent on the liver and may well help protect the blood-cleansing organ from the damaging effects of everything from drug overdoses to binge drinking."

Check it out.

Think I'll stop at the drug store after work today.

The hooking technique

I had my check-up last week. The doctor asked, "How many drinks a night?" When a doctor asks that question what does he multiply the answer by, I wondered.

Then followed by a liver exam. Specifically, the hooking technique:

Kinship with great writers who are famous for their drinking

Pinot -

Like you I have found that the comments in the NYT drink blog are almost as interesting as the posts themselves.

Here's a comment (#29) that interests me:

"I have a feeling all good teachers have something to help them unwind, and it seems that for many it happens to be drinking. As an English teacher, I feel kinship with all those great writers who are famous for their drinking."

> Info Source

Teaching and Drinking

I'd like to thank Pinot for reminding me of the superb NYT drink blog.

Yes - Pinot - a very interesting piece on teachers struggling to find a comfortable way to enjoy a drink - like the rest of the world.

I liked this idea:

"Unlike most other professions, this one drains you completely, refilling you with its own insular, infinite concerns. The intensity may ebb and flow, but it never disappears."

> Info Source

Meeting

Meeting #1
I am Drink Club
The Dora Keough
Wed Jan 21, 2009
730-930pm

Purpose: drinking and talking

Greetings Boys.

Thought I'd give this a try.

Early drinks, just a few, during a short time frame (thereby demonstrating our self-discipline) - whenever the mood strikes us. Any of the contributers can call a meeting, any time, perferably at the last minute - and no one is required to show. Totally optional, low pressure situation which in most cases will amount to me announcing when and where I'll be drinking and wondering if you might join in.

One of the benefits of these meetings could be improved content for the site.

Thoughts?

Anyways I'll be at the Dora at 730 tonight.

Love,

JV

Do Backyard Rinks have Drink?

Well, they might. Something about the process of creating and maintaining them does, anyway. Lately I've been spending untold hours in a frozen netherworld at the back of my back yard, preoccupied with boards, tarps, slope, snow, pipes, hoses, leaks, and, of course, weather. All this to provide my progeny with a 20' x 20' sheet of the slippery stuff to play our game on. More ice in my yard than in my drink, lately. But as I stood out there tonight in the -10 night air, my fingers frozen around the hose, swirls of snow gusting off the neighbours' garage roof and hissing gently into the 1/4" of water freezing before my eyes on my ice pad, I felt a special kind of winter peace enveloping everything out there, including me. Tomorrow the rink will echo with the slap-boom of the puck off the stick then off the boards, the grind & crunch of blades digging up the ice, and the clang of the red metal goalposts stopping some object's flight--but tonight it was all slow, quiet preparation. And a few snow-cooled Creemore to lubricate the process.

Vibrating kitty

Not sure why I placed my daughter's battery-operated massage Kitty (a Santa gift) beside this delicious bottle of Argentinian chardonnay, but at $13.50, this bottle is also able to deliver cheap thrills.

A strong buy next time you pop by a vintages LCBO.

Pinot
Sent from my BlackBerry device on the Rogers Wireless Network

Petalos 2006 Bierzo Spain

I am drinking it in Torontocanada in 2009 at 545pm.

Standard bar bathroom hand dryer

Dora Keough. Torontocanada. Circa 2009.

Boys weekend drink

Lots of guys, all full of drink this weekend. Seven friends from my distant past, a black ice skating rink, 5 km of skiing on nearby trails, and now tenderloin gets warm by the fire before roasting. Lots of red wine to come, with some laughs and a few ProLine tickets. Laughing and drinking. Too little of that in life, at least the laughing part. Here's to old friends, and to new. Great to laugh and drink with both.
Sent from my BlackBerry device on the Rogers Wireless Network

America

NY Bar Stays Open Due to Next Depression

A heart-warming story from our go-to news source, The NYT: A bar which would have closed during the old economy gets to stay open during the next economy:

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/06/nyregion/06emerald.html?_r=1&hp

This is also further proof that when times get tough, people make room for drink in their lives.

And what is drink? What is our belief?

That drink is not an escape; not an avoidance.

But that drink is inspiration; inspiration that is already within.

And it's nice to have age-old places to go to tap into that.

Father's Little Helper

I am sworn to Mrs. Ashdale that while on duty (M-F, 9-5) there will be no alcohol. Duty? I'm minding the tot. This pledge seems right.

Tot and I were known to visit in local establishments during the holidays to enjoy, say, a pulled pork sandwich, a pint and a bottle of formula. And hey, it's only a stroller walk home.

Parenting at home, around 3 in the aft, those holiday leftovers in the fridge can sure look tempting. Hello there, icewine.

While we're talking about authors, ask your local library for the heartbreaking Journals of John Cheever. Nice guy. Bad drunk.

My sons face looks small

Blonde womans son corks a riesling

Sons guitar lesson

Warsteiner dark and a book. Maverick's pub. A few doors down. Chauffering is not a bad gig with a beer and a book to pass the time.

Champagne and Music

Liquor store line-up

I need another drink.

Over-Shot the Liquor Store - Again

I know it's only 230. But it's New Years Eve and the shop was jammed with people stockpiling booze. I hate line-ups. I get anxious, angry. I needed a drink in order to buy drink. And there's no better instant courage than Guinness.

Misery loves company

I don't think I can put this nearly as eloquently as the Abbot, but snot, drippy poo and lung grease seem to sum up our Christmas nicely -- not to mention a somewhat unhinged middle child who gets a bit freaked out by illness.

I'm beginning to think that between the surreal and germ-infused 2008 Vancouver winter landscape, the crippling wood panelling of the burbs, and my own psycho Christmas, Abbot, Vivant and Pinot have crossed into some sort of twilight zone.

In such circumstances, The Plague is probably a great choice in reading. I find this to be a very mentally dark time of year to begin with, so, rather than fight it, perhaps it's best to wallow in it. Well wallowed Abbot. I'd rather face the darkness (or listen to the chorus of coughs) than drown it out with faux-happy thoughts.

I think I'll dust off my copy of Faulkner's As I Lay Dying. Short and accessible, unlike some of his other works. At this time of year, I can really only trust alcoholics to write the brilliant depressing novels I need.

Pinot

A pox on a plague house

Late night. Coughs echo from all corners of the sleeping house, keeping counterpoint rhythm with the stifled hacks issuing from my own chest. Five humans, five viruses. Or maybe one virus gone forth & multiplied five times.

Reading Camus. The Plague. It's an odd thing, to be reading about a city in which extreme precautions must be taken to keep the pestilence at bay, when one's living in a house in which small precautions are supposedly being taken for a similar reason. The medical workers and the journalist debate whether it's better to choose happiness (escape from Oran) v duty (staying to fight a seemingly futile war against the plague). Interestingly--and this reminds me again of why I enjoy the lack of moral certitude in these writers--nobody castigates the journalist for wanting to leave. Rather, they applaud his choice for happiness. It's the greater choice, they say. And they can't really say why they continue their fight. Yet they do. Like Sisyphus.

It's done nothing but snow and rain out here. I've hardly been out of the house. Yesterday someone saw a rat disappear beneath the foundation wall.

Hallelujah

When tending to an ailing mother, all is not completely lost. You help your mother out with little things and basically you sit around a lot. I hope I don't sound too much like Camus' fantastic character from The Outsider, Meursault (who didn't cry when his mother died), but I would like to simply focus on the positive and point out that this sitting around does leave time for pleasant things like - reading the paper. And today for instance, I read the paper beginning to end and found much of interest, many clippings - one of which was this piece on Leonard Cohen talking about the great man's revival and in particular the big hit of his song Hallelujah.

Here is one live version of the song:




Can you imagine how much p*ussy this man has had? He's a true artist, brimming with drink.

Hallelujah to the taking care of mothers. Hallelujah to the daily paper. Hallelujah to old poets...

Local beer local pannelling

How do spell panelling? Pane? Pain? Yes - Pain! Pain-elling. The suburbs - nothing but problems. You can't even spell their walls right. This would never happen in bigcityneighbourhoods.com. Everything spells right, smells right, in thebigcity.com.

Suburban crucifix global beer

Thank G*od.

The Abbots Gift

From Sardegna. How appropriate. Barn-yardy. I love it. Perfect for my steak and mushrooms. Thanks. I love you. Merry Christmas.

Christmas Beer

I mean cheer. A fine way to start off Christmas Eve. It's going to be a quiet one as The Blonde Woman and My Children have flown the coop to be with my mother-in-law, while I care for my ailing mother. But that's what Christmas is about right? Beer. I mean helping others out. Especially your mom. Here's to you Mom...

Snow-covered bird house

Out to shovel this morning and the drink of last night has surely left my system. And yet I am very much feeling the "drink" as I look upon a beautiful, quiet, snow-covered world.

Lilac Wine - Jeff Buckley Vintage

I lost myself on a cool damp night
Gave myself in that misty light
Was hypnotized by a strange delight
Under a lilac tree
I made wine from the lilac tree
Put my heart in its recipe
It makes me see what I want to see...
And be what I want to be
When I think more than I want to think
Do things I never should do
I drink much more that I ought to drink
Because It brings me back you...

Lilac wine is sweet and heady, like my love
Lilac wine, I feel unsteady, like my love
Listen to me... I cannot see clearly
Isnt that she coming to me nearly here?

Lilac wine is sweet and heady wheres my love?
Lilac wine, I feel unsteady, wheres my love?

Listen to me, why is everything so hazy?
Isnt that she, or am I just going crazy, dear?

Lilac wine, I feel unready for my love...

My Vocabulary Did This to Me

For those worried about the effects of drink, there may be some lessons in the life of West Coast poet Jack Spicer who drank himself to death in 1965 at age 40.

On his hospital death bed he blamed his imminent demise on his vocabulary.

Imagine that. What a tribute to the terrible power of words.

Here is the New York Times review of:

MY VOCABULARY DID THIS TO ME: The Collected Poetry of Jack Spicer

The review says that Spicer would often avoid conventional forms of poetry and expression and deliver his art without words.

So was it really the words, his vocabulary, that killed him in the end? Or was it something deeper, like the drink within?

And if so, when "drink" finds drink - is that really a deadly combo?

Now, another question comes up - who cares?

Life is short any way and the guy made his own choices - and he apparently made great art using words, vocabulary.

Would we be talking about this guy today if "drink" hadn't met drink?

Picking up the Sushi

Can be better than lazy-assed dope-smoking delivery. I brave the cold, crisp winter night - and arrive early: that way the sushi will be optimally fresh... and there will be time for an Asahi. Ah...

Recommended Reading

> Acting The Giddy Goat

Wanted

40-something pseudo-intellectual-ex-jock with few skills outside of blogging, dri*nking and f*cking, seeks:

A conceptual group of musicians, writers, drinkers, acrobats, and ship-jumpers who will get together whenever to do whatever circumstances require.

Please reply in comments section. Include any links that may illuminate the nature of your group - particularly any links to photos of tidy, pseudo-intellectual women who also enjoy dri*nking and f*cking.

Lilac Wine - Bottled by Elkie Brooks

It's around noon on a weekday. I need "drink" but cannot drink at this hour. I drink a lot and behave a bit crazy sometimes but - God Dammit - I do have some discipline.

So - what can I reach for? What can I turn to?

How about another dose of Lilac Wine - by a different producer?

Thanks for the recommend, Pinot:



I lost myself on a cool damp night
Gave myself in that misty light
Was hypnotized by a strange delight
Under a lilac tree
I made wine from the lilac tree
Put my heart in its recipe
It makes me see what I want to see...
And be what I want to be
When I think more than I want to think
Do things I never should do
I drink much more that I ought to drink
Because I brings me back you...

Lilac wine is sweet and heady, like my love
Lilac wine, I feel unsteady, like my love
Listen to me... I cannot see clearly
Isnt that she coming to me nearly here?

Lilac wine is sweet and heady wheres my love?
Lilac wine, I feel unsteady, wheres my love?

Listen to me, why is everything so hazy?
Isnt that she, or am I just going crazy, dear?

Lilac wine, I feel unready for my love...

Overshot the liquor store

Somehow ended up at The Dora drinking one of these little pieces of heaven. Harry Connick is the background singing Blue Christmas (not live). No sign of the Abbot's Circumstantialists. They are but a golden-ethereal memory. Days of Yore. I won't forget to go to the liquor store but what are the odds that after that I will forget to get the Romain lettuce The Blonde Woman sent me out for?

Alcohol and American Life

An interesting section of the NY Times:

It's a blog called "Proof".

Default

Not genius but this is the kind of basic track you might lie down on the floor for at your friend's place in the suburbs with your drunk head against the pounding speaker and think "I love this song":



So, yeah, not genius but... default for the suburbs when drunk head is against speaker...

Suburban stereo console

Band: Default
Track: Wasting my time
Me: Drinking beer: Stella

Just For One Day

onemoresong dot com

squeezeboxer

Legendary Riverdale night.

blowjobsareoverrated

Abott Ablur

My pint, my friend

The band is not playing and I know no one at this bar. I am afraid of the void and find comfort in my glass.

Sweet Canadian Wine

For when you're stuck drinking alone tonight:



"Coulda been here tonight..."

Drinking Alone

This disturbance goes out to Pinot - who dares to drink his rare Canadian wine alone - almost tauntingly - just because we get to drink the Abbot's music tonight in a superb Irish bar...

Don't cry for me

Cold snowy night, sick kid, missing Tanner's show again. As I sat here at home feeling sorry for myself, I asked "what would Mike do?"

Of course, the answer came to me in a flash: drink. And while Mike is a beer guy, I know he appreciates any form of drowning sorrows. So I've pulled out an old favourite- Clos Jordan - from earlier tasting times.

I'll miss the music tonight. But the drink will get me through. Here's to a great Christmas guys.

Pinot
Sent from my BlackBerry device on the Rogers Wireless Network

Little Bottles

Stuck in suburban town taking care of my ill mother I am grateful for the "accident" of these little bottles in my car. Is that haiku? How many syllables? Not a bad Christmas hearth in the background though here in the dismal suburbs. Kinda cozy. But the suburbs can fool you that way. "They" try to make you feel that way - cozy. But they - the burbs - all they do is lie to you. Try to trick you. And that's why you need - NEED - precious little bottles... They are a touche! Absurd v Absurd.

Abraham: did he have "drink"?

The question before the assembled gathering is this: did a guy who was willing to sacrifice his son to the Lord of Hosts, a guy who'd waited till he and his aged wife were three-quarters dust to have this only-begotten son, a guy who'd had the sack to bargain with the friggin' peevish Lord over how many righteous souls it might take to save Sodom from instant heavenly annihilation--anyway, did this guy, Abraham, have drink when he opted to bind Issac and raise a sacrificial altar unto the Lord, lifting his heavy blade on high, poised to strike--or was he just another misguided wanker held in thrall to an ethically bereft charismatic, like so many others before and since?
Remember, he didn't have to do this. He'd already been a religious enough fellow, sufficiently devout to go down as a major player in not one, two, but three key faiths. So what drove him? A devil-may-care insouciance, or simple, sad, lack of perspective?

urinal dora brick wall fantastic

How did i end up here? I'm supposed to come here "next" friday.

I like music

Tartarating

I've Got a Crush on You

I love needing a hair cut. It takes me across the city near to my buddy's wine bar. It's fittingly called "Crush". I'm waiting for the steak tartare to arrive and am sipping on... a beer! They have great Pilsner on tap here. The wine will come later. Did I mention that I love haircuts?

To love somebody

The Blonde Woman has crashed out after a long corpo - family day before 10 pm. It's not like I haven't been working my *ss off too. But all I'm left with is music and drink. No sex.

Blonde Woman evil.

Hard to accept. But... If a gun were to my head and I had two choices out of three, I'd choose music and drink. Both are the stuff of dreams. And a man - more than anything - needs to dream...

(Ironically, this beautiful anthem was on my digital music screen - pictured - as I waited in vain to get f*cked, s*cked. Brilliant. What does it mean - "to love somebody"? Does it mean to let them sleep when sleep is needed? Or does it mean - conversely - to fight off sleep and go rescue your husband from drink and music and reward him with f*cking and s*cking?)

There's a light A certain kind of lightThat never shines on meI want my life to beHere with youI wanna be with youThere's a way I hear everybody sayJust to do everything that I canBut what good will it doIf I can't have youIf I can't have youBaby, you don't know what it's likeNo you don't know what it's likeYou don't know what it's likeNo you don't know what it's likeTo love somebodyTo love somebodyThe way I love you*Guitar solo*I'm a manCan't you see that's what I amEvery breath that I take I take from youBut what good will breathing doIf I can't have youIf I can't have youBaby, you don't know what it's likeNo you don't know what it's likeYou don't know what it's likeNo you don't know what it's like*Musical break*No you don't know what it's likeNo you don't know what it's likeYou don't know what it's likeNo you don't know what it's likeTo love somebodyTo love somebodyThe way I love youThe way I love you*Musical break*No you don't know what it's likeNo you don't know what it's likeNo you don't know what it's likeYa just don't know what it's likeTo love somebodyTo love somebodyThe way I love youThe way I love you