Thursday, July 5, 2007

The Spirit of America - Explosives and Liquor

Well, I had a fan-fricking-tastic 4th of July at the beach, in spite of the fact that the weather suuucked. I was in such a cranky mood early on because I had that feeling like, I don't know what to do, but I don't really want to do anything, but I can't start drinking yet, because it's too early, and I'm bored, but I don't want to watch a movie... you know the feeling. So I had a delicious lunch at Taco Bell, which is not my first choice for Mexican fare, but was there and beckoning me. One Crunchwrap Supreme later, I was ready to take on the day with renewed vigor.

I got back to the beach and decided, hey, I know I'll be disappointed, but let me take a look at the water anyway. I really wanted to go surfing, and I was feeling stubborn. I went in anyway, and caught some rad waves but got tossed around like a sock in a dryer because it was really windy and rough and the swell was building. Tired, but satisfied, I left the water, victorious over nature once again.

Then came the shower. Then came the drinking. Then came the party, the friends, and the exploding of the fireworks. Then the lethargy, the uncomfortable notion that I drank a bit too much, and finally sleep. The fireworks were awesome. I've never been on the beach actually under fireworks, and a lot of people were going crazy blowing them off. I totally thought at some point a child would wander into the fray and get something blasted clear off his/her small body, but no such harm befell the evening. It was cool though, because a friend of ours brought a trunk full of military-grade stuff that proved to be pretty freaking fun.

And the best part was that there were so many people doing it, the cops didn't even bother showing up! It was super cool. Quite a spectacle, indeed.

Is there anything more indicative of a freedom celebration than drinking a lot and blowing things up? I seriously doubt it. And if there is, I'd like to see it.


Tuesday, July 3, 2007

Whiskey, whiskey, yum yum yum.

As some of you already know, my go-to day-to-day BFF whiskey is Wild Turkey, for its sippability as well as perfect price point. Sure, I like the fancy stuff, and have been known to drop plenty of the really fancy stuff at holidays (ask me sometime about Glenlivet 21-year old single malt at Christmas time and you'll see a wiiide grin creep across my face). But by and large, as I said, it's all about the Bird. Sometimes, though, I scan the rest of the shelf, just to see who he's keeping company with. The last time I picked up some 5-minute-mood-changer at my favorite neighborhood spirits distributor, I noticed some odd neighbors.



Old Overholt Straight Rye Whiskey. The dude on the label looks very much like that most awesome of awesome forefathers, G-Dub. (BTW, please click this link, because it is one of the most piss-your-pants worthy things I've seen in a long while.) I mean, we all know this guy was a serious badass, so it stands to reason that any beverage kind of sort of almost bearing his resemblance must be pretty rad too, right? The guy had teeth made of WOOD, people. Wood. He made a tree go in his mouth. Pretty awesome by my standards.



Rebel Yell. The pride of the piece of our country that never really wanted to be a piece of our country. I didn't even think it was legal to sell this north of the ass-end of Virginia, but here it is, in all its Dixie-lovin' glory. I wonder, if you drink enough of this, do you begin hating blacks and gays? Do female family members begin looking just a bit more... tasty... than before? Perhaps we'll do a controlled experiment sometime.



My personal favorite, Fighting Cock. Any whiskey that slaps a warbird like this on its label deserves a taste. Tired after a long day at work? Feel like kicking back with some organized animal slaughter? Do you just like watching birds peck the shit out of each other? FIGHTING COCK. Fighting Cock is life - everything else is just details.

I really should get a buddy of mine to have a tasting with me. Perhaps in the spirit of the day we should make sure we have a busted-ass car on blocks, and one of us should convince a hot cousin to saunter by in shorts. Or something.

Monday, July 2, 2007

The Five-Point Plan

First of all Rat, you never let on how much you like a girl. "Oh, Debbie. Hi."

Two, you always call the shots. "Kiss me. You won't regret it."

Now three, act like wherever you are, that's the place to be. "Isn't this great?"

Four, when ordering food, you find out what she wants, then order for the both of you. It's a classy move. "Now, the lady will have the linguini and white clam sauce, and a Coke with no ice."

And five, now this is the most important, Rat. When it comes down to making out, whenever possible, put on side one of Led Zeppelin IV.