Self portrait

Emmancipated robusto

Rubusto in a box

the Abbot's Friday morning rhymes

All together now: you fill in the words!







OR...

A miilon days

Kids have been dropped. No hangover today-I had only four beers and two glasses of wine at the silent auction last night. I'm nestled in the van on this crisp, bright November day. 21st. Birthday. 43rd. How many years left? How many days? Prince is still in my dashboard, singing now: "...only been gone for an hour but it seems like a miilion days..." A million? Hmm. What does that mean? Sounds like a lot. But it's not infinite. It's not eternal. I think I'll smoke one of those three robustos after work today. Would be nice to share them with someone. Get a gift. Share a gift. I learned that yesterday while sat infront of my blogmachine. Blogmachine good. Abstinence bad.

Silent auction

Raising money for a school is beautiful. Bid quietly. Drag that lead pencil. Buy drink tickets. Drink your drink. But stay on your toes. Someone might swoop. My the neighbourhood ladies looked fantastic tonight. As fantastique as my own. But wait Johnny those were your Buddies' Bitches. Sorry Boys - just caught up in the community spirit. Or perhaps it was the music. Yes! Blame the DJ. But never the barkeep. The passions soar. I look heavenward and see a hoop. I am deafened by wanting to give.

It's Official

Only had four drinks last night. Not hungover. Driving in to work. Prince is blaring on the stereo:

"Sometimes i just want to sit on the stoop and play my guitar...and just watch all the cars go by..."

It's official: music is more powerful than drink.

Sex and Drink

My kind of drink, my kind of woman:

Music AND Drink

745pm

Back to white. Mixing red and white. 4th drink in two hours. What does the research say about that? More important - should I drive or dial (or blog) after all that drink?

Robustos

Pistols are singing "no future for you" as I eye Cohiba Robustos my un-puritan EastEuro mother just brought back from Cuba. Do I dare light one up on a "school night"? Or...should I go downstairs to check on the kids? Damn. The wine is good and the cigars are tempting but the thing I really can't tear myself away from just now is the Pistols...the music. Is music the most powerful drink?

711pm

Same glass. Same wine. But topped up. Third drink essentially since initial 540pm post. New location: Office. Sitting in front of precious blogging laptop with sex pistols beautifully obliterating all things "puritan".

God Save the...Puritans

Guilty Puritan message 2

Don't drink and drive--especially in the snow.
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Puritans and drink

I've always been a worrier about drink- and how much is too much. It must be the puritan in me that I inherited from my grandmother - who I must say was a lovely woman but did not have the drink in her at any time and in any way.

So as I sit here with a Newcastle and savour its brown blandness, I can rid myself of any guilt by incorporating some puritan messaging through photos.

Today's puritan photo message: never dial drunk.

I think my grandma would be proud.
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605pm

Glass of red. Cab Sauv. I was feeling "red". Know what I mean? Yeah. It's not too soon after the other glass is it? Let'see. 25 minutes. Hmm. A bit tight. But what is time? This feels right. And...tastes right.

540pm

Kids have been collected. They've even been fed. It's dark already outside. Snow is falling. The wife is out tonight. I'm feeling cozy here. Feeling calm. I'd like something to compliment this feeling. How about a drink John? What a fabulous idea. That's what drink does. It compliments one's life. And 540? That's not too early is it? No John. It's never too early or too late. It's merely a question of what feels right.

Cup, with Drink

The booze talking ?

Whenever newspapers or websites lack drink, I often turn to nytimes.com for the possibility of something interesting or inspiring.

Today, in clicking on a link to a feature asking Condoleezza Rice about what President Obama will inherit, I was taken to a page that also had a link to a story entitled "What Is Art For?"

I chose to read the art story instead.

I guess I am really interested in art.

That piece - which I am still in the middle of - is mostly about writer and intellectual Lewis Hyde. I was interested enough in Lewis Hyde, a one-time McCarther Genius, and then learned that one of the works he is famous for is: "Alcohol and Poetry: John Berryman and the Booze Talking". Just the kind of idea I am preoccupied with these days - as are you, my fellow drinkers...

I love those kind of cosmic coincidences.

Anyways...the work is described as such:

"This pamphlet won the first Pushcart Prize for its remarkable exploration of alcoholic addiction as a disease of "spirits." Beginning with spiritual thirst as the human desire to move with powers greater than oneself, Lewis Hyde asks and answers what would compel anyone to become addicted to intoxication rather than inspiration. John Berryman's poetry provides the imagination of alcoholism."

I guess the only difference for me (perhaps I am in denial?) is that I don't see my "alcoholic addiction" as a problem.

As you know - I see drink as a partner, a friend, a brother and perhaps a mentor to the drink within.

But perhaps I am in denial?

I haven't read the Hyde piece but I have real doubts - atleast in my case - whether "it" really is the booze talking.

Somedays - in some situation - the very same, equally powerful, intoxicating and joyous drink rises up in me, even when I have not had a "drink".

It happened this morning for instance when I arrived at the hockey rink at 8am with my son and the sun lit up a tall golden-leafed tree just outside the doors of the arena. The sight of that tree, against the grey and white sky, in the midst of real quiet and crisp November air - filled me up for much of the day.

It was just so surprisingly beautiful - and powerful.

I felt that and saw that and yet I had not had a drink. I mean who drinks in the morning but "alcoholics" right?

The Drink of Celebration

Relaxing at home. Yes, Odysseus found this tiresome, after 2o-odd years away from wife, son, dog, and swineherd. But sometimes, after three or four or eight nights out, I like a night round the hearth-fire, glass of mead in hand. No wine-dark sea in sight...instead, I see dark wine, in this case a cheapie called Nero. Not zero, hero, or Fred Shero, but Nero--to be drunk only when the palace is burning.

So lately there has been much celebrating, and celebrating has drink inherent in it. Celebrating a friend's achievement--and scoring 500 NHL goals over 18 years verily smacks of drink. Celebrating 30 years out of high school, and particularly the smashing of those hideous walls that kept groups from groups. The bringing down of those barriers has drink. Celebrating no sleep--and celebrating sleep too, when it comes, and comes again. Celebrating, now, the cusp of another chapter in the celebrated annals of WPBHL-rooted sport, as we stand poised on the precipice of five months of intense hour-long tilts in the gym. All of this veritably smacks of drink.

Greatest Hits of Drinking Water

Took me a while to find this. It's perfect.

Chris Chambers - a poet with drink.

He starts the poem with Guinness - my drink of choice post-fast.

Listen > here... and drink up ^

Drive Thru

4pm. Suburban coffee drive thru. Back soon to urban centre noblese to cavort with cocktailing intelligentsia. I'll take this weak, watery, sugary drink for now. Anything to speed up and distract from the dismal highway drive.

The Effects

This morning I sit in a coffee shop enjoying a double espresso and an expensive Saturday newspaper telling the story of The Bubble. I feel good. I feel fresh. And how can this be given that I had big plans to celebrate the end of my drink-fast last night? Well...I fell asleep on the livingroom couch at 730pm and couldn't really wake up until 530 this morning. That's right my fellow Drinkers. Asleep at 730. Do you see how abstaining f*cks you up? Perhaps it was the fact that I had gotten up at 4am Friday morning then had two delicious pints of Guinness straight after work - after not drinking for three lonnnnng days. Maybe. Maybe those two pints put me under. I did have a couple of nice glasses of California Pinot at the house later too. Yes they must have contributed too. I was planning to watch The Abbot's band play at 9pm last night but, suffice it to say, I never got there. I never got to drink his music. All I got was sleep.

Liquor store stop on way home from first drink in three nights

It feels like it's been three years not three nights. Joan Baez is playing in the background. She had drink. (Is she the first femme-mention on this crazy-assed blog?) I thought I'd just stop here because we needed to replenish our table wines for the house. Trouble is that the "Vintages" section is looking so inviting....

Coaster

I couldn't use my flash for I am in a proper pub - and people would look at me strange. But there it is - a shadow in the dim light of the room on the bartop infront of me. Ready to be had. I lift the glass of Guinness and before I can drink, I laugh. The custom Guinness coaster it sits on has a much more beautiful image of the legendary pint than mine and the caption: "Good things come to those who wait." Perfect. I love advertising. So fun. So concise. The few people who knew I was fasting - otherwise known as "experts" - said that my first drink would be worth the wait. And? You know what? (He takes his first sip) The taste is wonderful; perhaps a little more wonderful after three days of fasting; but worth the sacrifice? I don't know. I'll decide later after I open that Pinot Noir at home. What I do feel is that I was more on my game during the day because I wasn't up late drinking for three consecutive nights. I might even have felt "the drink" (the muse; inspiration; joy) during the day - without the drink - if you know what I mean. Surely by now we have established the difference between drink and "drink" - haven't we? But I digress. And oh, look!, half of my Guinness is gone now! What was I saying? Oh there's the coaster again - and the caption. Yes - my precious - good things come to those who wait. But - my precious - good things also come to those who just drink without think.

The Wife

This shameful person is my wife. She tries to hide from the camera. And so she should. I'm am challenging myself with a three day drinkfast and she comes home from a night out drinking with her corporate girl friends and has the nerve to ask "Why are you denying yourself? That's crazy. That's not like you. Help me finish off the Sancerre..." She is clearly drunk. But she has no "drink", no morals. Wait! She is now trying to tear my clothes off! She is clearly hammered. How on earth is a guy supposed to "fast" under such conditions? And ontop of all this my friend is sending me photos of his nine-year-old drinking beer at a bar. I take three days off from drink and I begin to see the world for what it really is - f*cked. No wonder we drink. It's a circle. And as long as we stay inside that cirlce in which drink brings out the drink within us - the world is beautiful. Step outside of it for three days and...well...read the above.

The Filter

This is the third and final night of my "fast" from drink. I am staring once again at coffee in the evening instead of wine, beer or scotch - and I am reflecting - as I like to do.

Now - I had more energy today and didn't feel rough. I slept well last night. But I am drowsy now. It doesn't really compute since alcohol is a depressant and if I for instance had a nice little glass of the California Pinot Noir nestled in my basement - "No! Don't do it John!" - I just know that it would pick me up. And more than that the beautiful wine would raise up the drink in me and send me to a dreamland...

But I won't do it. I'll just replace the filter and drink my coffe and wait patiently for after work tomorrow at which point I will go to my favourite pub which pours the best Guiness in Canada - and I will drink.

The question is - will that Guiness taste better than ever and will all of this "fasting" have been worth it?

Drinkfast

I don't know who ever thought of this but I am in the middle of a fast - from drinking - and can't say that I see much benefit in this type of "life-style". Hence I am at 7pm perched in front of a coffee pot instead of flexing my wrist with a corkscrew. 3 nights without drink is the plan. Tonight is night number two. I can do the three nights. No prob. The question is why? "Why" is of course the eternal and universal question - and I suppose I ask that too. Why not drink? And why not tap into the drink within? Is it so self-destructive to reach for the corkscrew of life and the soul on a daily basis? Isn't it noble to go deep everyday and and take the pain of physical and emotional hangovers when they inevitably arrive? Oh! Coffee's ready! Mmmm. Hot. Perky. But no muse.

I am cup

Hall of Fame

If you were a star athlete retired with cups aplenty what would you desire on your induction to a "Hall of Fame"? Well...drink of course...and music (which is drink)...and women in dresses (which is...women in dresses).

Brilliant french photography on their walls while I am drink but not drunk.jpg

I am art. I am photo. Who was France? Why was photo? Let there be photo. For I see. Is there something in those cheesy prints? Must be. They were art first. Before they were mass-printed. Let them hang on the walls of the masses instructing the next generation of slaves.

The Obama Sparkles

Leftover Wolf Blass Cabernet Sauvignon....

..Borrowed New York Times travel section, evening light streaming into my second floor office. I sit on my couch with legs outstretched. I feel great calm and quiet. It is Sunday. I believe that I will sleep well tonight.

Here for a good time...

...Not a long time.

With my buddies at the bar: drinking singing:

The muse ic:



ILoveYouBuddy.com

Free beer

November

When I look into your eyes I can see a love restrained But darlin' when I hold you Don't you know I feel the same Nothin' lasts forever And we both know hearts can change And it's hard to hold a candle In the cold November rain We've been through this such a long long time Just tryin' to kill the pain But lovers always come and lovers always go An no one's really sure who's lettin' go today Walking away If we could take the time to lay it on the line I could rest my head Just knowin' that you were mine All mine So if you want to love me then darlin' don't refrain Or I'll just end up walkin' In the cold November rain Do you need some time...on your own Do you need some time...all alone Everybody needs some time... on their own Don't you know you need some time...all alone I know it's hard to keep an open heart When even friends seem out to harm you But if you could heal a broken heart Wouldn't time be out to charm you Sometimes I need some time...on my own Sometimes I need some time...all alone Everybody needs some time... on their own Don't you know you need some time...all alone And when your fears subside And shadows still remain I know that you can love me When there's no one left to blame So never mind the darkness We still can find a way Nothin' lasts forever Even cold November rain Don't ya think that you need somebody Don't ya think that you need someone Everybody needs somebody You're not the only one You're not the only one...

http://www.metrolyrics.com/november-rain-lyrics-guns-n-roses.html

It's not drink - It's music

I had this thought just after midnight at a little bar, full of greeks and trend-meisters. Greek-techno music was boom-boom-booming. I had had about three million drinks by then. It was Halloween. I was celebrating this - my favourite "holiday" of the year.

Isn't Halloween a ton better than Christmas?

Mind you - I live in a neighbourhood that's totally over-flowing with pagans.

I must say I was really feeling pagan last night - drinking up life on a night of death.

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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