Dawn

Across the Atlantic, revellers await the sun in Oxford and the angelic voices from atop Magdalen tower, as you lie restless a world away pondering spontaneous journeys and what's next. Taxes filed a few days ago on the 26, ironically the exact day chosen in 2006 as well. Depressing timeframe for the loan payback, but otherwise there is still financial room for whatever is desired, within reason, I suppose.

Wonder what it will be... A few glorious spots ahead - of weddings and following Hemingway's footsteps through Paris and my own through the centre of Brussells, from Niagara's Falls to the Grand Canyon. But always the broader breakthrough goads, on daily walks and at the bottom of unconscious TFI. And someday, the lightening will strike again, until one fine morning, off we shall go to the races again.

I know I speak the words often. I need do so, to keep the sentiments conspicuous. All in good time, and surely that time is coming. Krapp's second tape is approaching, and shall be recorded hilariously during an all day and night sponsored TFI on George's island. I don't know about the 3rd, but the 4th shall most certainly be recorded in exotic lands. Between the pyramids and great wall? As the last picture and the Cake song say: "perhaps"

message of mediocrity

It wouldn't be a liberal leadership Friday without a trek out in the rain for the dark rum and coke. As it was before, let us say it shall be again.

Capitaine - I know you used to be here and I miss it. At least know that the memory is preserved, that I am keeping alive at least, this marvelous friday - our favorite ideal, the dark rum mixed in cokes in the bathroom between speeches. As you might have said, "jesus fuckin' christ".

Love ya. And love you to granddad. To this you would only smile at as unimportant. And your example makes it right.

The True Beginning of our End

Friday again, old friends. And to each his own, in the spirit of Churchill's line to Diefenbaker upon learning that he was a teetotaler, but not a prohibitionist: "Well then, you hurt only yourself." One wonders if the Chief responded with a similar (or even the identical?) quip.

More political shenanigans underway tonight, just across the river. We go by bus and ferry. Now only debating whether to return home and don more business-like attire - all things considered I'd rather keep the Guinness rugby shirt on, but something tells me I could use the credibility of the suit as the evening wears on (surely) into an incoherence that our man Quince might appreciate:

Enter QUINCE for the Prologue

Prologue
If we offend, it is with our good will.
That you should think, we come not to offend,
But with good will. To show our simple skill,
That is the true beginning of our end.
Consider then we come but in despite.
We do not come as minding to contest you,
Our true intent is. All for your delight
We are not here. That you should here repent you,
The actors are at hand and by their show
You shall know all that you are like to know.

THESEUS
This fellow doth not stand upon points.

LYSANDER
He hath rid his prologue like a rough colt; he knows
not the stop. A good moral, my lord: it is not
enough to speak, but to speak true.

HIPPOLYTA
Indeed he hath played on his prologue like a child
on a recorder; a sound, but not in government.

THESEUS
His speech, was like a tangled chain; nothing
impaired, but all disordered. Who is next?

Like a tangled chain, eh? Here's hoping we get in to see the speeches of this race, though none expected to be remarkable, to observe the dreams of some resilient contenders. And if not - at least ye olde hospitality suites await thereafter. To another glorious TFI then.

Math, pub nights explain mystery of beer foam

Never really regret not having become a scientist. Although at times I do wonder how I'd enjoy tackling the world's mysteries. Like this one:

Mathematicians have come up with a formula that predicts how the head on a pint of beer will change after pouring.

Their advance could shed light on why the foam on a pint of lager quickly disappears, but the froth on a pint of Guinness sticks around.

Beauty, even when couched in jargon-laden titles such as "The von Neumann relation generalized to coarsening of three-dimensional microstructures", the dream of the perfect pint lives on.

The Bard's Birthday

What is love? 'tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What's to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty;
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty,
Youth's a stuff will not endure.

Once again the day to celebrate the birth of old Master Shakes. I trust the festing at the Bureau tonight will be in your honour, and the flowers are piled high upon your grave as they were in 2005. To another year of words, words, words...

Un Tequila Legendario

Oh - how wonderful to receive such a present as this, direct from Mexico:


(thanks to Tequila in Tucson for the picture) Now the question is - when to find the proper occasion to actually open it? Third anniversary of June 5th the likely date. And what to expect? These reviews have me over-eager:

Tequila Aficionado:

Of all the momentous events of 1942, among them the sinking of the Queen Mary, the premiere of “Casablanca” and the births of Muhammad Ali, Paul McCartney and Manolo Blahnik, perhaps nothing was more historically consequential than the founding of a tequila distillery in Los Altos, Mexico, by a 17-year-old named Don Julio González — at least, that’s the consensus among hardcore tequila drinkers, and, really, does anyone else matter?

Today, it is the luxury brand of choice for many a sophisticated tippler, but back in the ’40s, when tequila was known as “mescal wine,” it wasn’t exactly the sort of spirit being served in the haunts of the haute monde. Young señor González helped change that by producing tequila made only from prime sweet blue agave grown in a near-perfect micro-climate around his hometown of Atotonilco el Alto.

A few years ago, in commemoration of his 60th anniversary of making tequila, the company introduced the 1942 ($125). This brilliant anejo is the color of a Hawaiian sunrise and tastes like dulce de leche spread on an apple wedge. There’s some spice to it as well, but it balances the sweetness rather than overwhelms it. The 1942 is aged at least 2 1/2 years in American white oak barrels and made with the company’s most exclusive distillate. This goes without saying in good company, but I’ll say it anyway, since there may be cretins among us: the 1942 should never be polluted with margarita mix nor is it to be slammed down the gullet frat-boy style. This is primo stuff best served in a snifter and enjoyed one delectable sip at a time. 1942 is a tequila 60-plus years in the making; it deserves a few moments of your time.

Booze Reviews.net:

I think this could be my first 200 point review...

Full Review: People give me booze for Christmas. I mean, everyone I know does it, even the ones who don't know everyone else does it. This should probably tell me something about myself, but fuck it.So this year, among other outstanding bottles which will also be reviewed, a friend dropped off a bottle of 1942, and all I can say is Holy Shit.

Holy Shit.

The box states that this tequila is the lifetime achievement of the distillery, which may seem a bit much; but a glass and a half into it and I'm starting to see how they could make this claim. 1942 is a perfect tequila. No, actually, it's a perfect spirit, period.

Oak's apparent in the nose, straight away, but it doesn't whap you upside the head with it... it's just a high-level whiff that gives way immediately to the heady vanilla body with just a hint of caramel. The vanilla carries over to the glass, and it's surprising in the first taste. The agave is unbelievably balanced, the sugars so perfectly apparent in the glass, but not overpowering. It drinks like wine. In fact... it would be way too easy to drink half this bottle right here and now; though this is one I think I'm going to have to make stretch-- there are just too many people I want to share it with. But don't get me wrong here, it's tequila through and through-- this isn't some fluffy shit-- it's just unbelievably mellow. I've never tasted a tequila like this. This is the kind of tequila you could serve at a meeting between the President of Mexico, the head of the Tijuana cartel and the head of the CIA and none of them would kill anyone, lie or any make covert deals until the bottle was done. In fact, they might not even talk until the bottle was done-- too much of a distraction.

I wish I could be more literate about it, but I'm half drunk and more than half distracted by how unbelievably good this tequila is. I mean, how many ways can I say "good"? Really-fucking-good. Un-fucking-believable. Goooooooooood. Wow I need to change my undies good.

Yes, it should serve a good year or two's enjoyment indeed.

If wishes would prevail with me...

BOY

Would I were in an alehouse in London! I would give all my fame for a pot of ale and some safety.



Meeting with, amongst others, a Tor, Timo, and Veselin. Engagement through Chavez. Such fascinating hours through the end of winter doldrums, although the end of the journey near the horizon makes a mockery of the wait. As days tick on, toward inevitability. Close to Tit Monday in Halifax today, but not yet. We await desert and ocean and monsoon, good annotator. Attired in wonder, and not yet sure of what to say....

But that's all just a little bit of history repeating.

the Immortals

This Friday, as we toast Vonnegut, we also toast Ned Ludd of luddite fame. And of course the Reverend Thomas Lushington, our first "lush". And of course Master Shakespeare, who did more to impart new and brilliant sayings on our language than most others.

CASSIUS
Did Cicero say any thing?

CASCA
Ay, he spoke Greek.

CASSIUS
To what effect?

CASCA
Nay, an I tell you that, Ill ne'er look you i' the
face again: but those that understood him smiled
at one another and shook their heads; but, for mine
own part, it was Greek to me. I could tell you more
news too: Marullus and Flavius, for pulling scarfs
off Caesar's images, are put to silence. Fare you
well. There was more foolery yet, if I could remember it.

On TFI, we always remember. Even the Greek parts.

The Year of Vonnegut

Or so 2007 had been declared in Indy. And now it takes on a more profound significance.

You have to love how that AP article editorially describes how "his watery, heavy-lidded eyes and unruly hair made him seem to be in existential pain" and everyone who reads it will agree. An indispensible character of the modern era, it's a shame that he - like Hunter S. Thompson - didn't live to see the end of the current Presidential administration. But so the clock ticks on, and it is later than we think.

I always had a soft spot for the Bokononism, particularly the "peculiar travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God" bit (dancing lessons from something anyway). And let me repeat with others the following - hoping the old man found something in that undiscovered country -

God made mud.
God got lonesome.
So God said to some of the mud, "Sit up!"
"See all I've made," said God, "the hills, the sea, the sky, the stars."
And I was some of the mud that got to sit up and look around.
Lucky me, lucky mud.
I, mud, sat up and saw what a nice job God had done.
Nice going, God.
Nobody but you could have done it, God!
I certainly couldn't have.
I feel very unimportant compared to You.
The only way I can feel the least bit important is to think of all the
mud that didn't even get to sit up and look around.
I got so much, and most mud got so little.
Thank you for the honor!
Now mud lies down again and goes to sleep.
What memories for mud to have!
What interesting other kinds of sitting-up mud I met!
I loved everything I saw!
Good night.
I will go to heaven now.
I can hardly wait...
To find out for certain what my wampeter was...
And who was in my karass...
And all the good things our karass did for you.
Amen.

Seven Hundred Pounds and Possibilities...

Enjoying a lazy recovery from an infected throat and the miracle of quick Lunenberg out-patients and anti-bacterial pills. That, family cooking, card games, and the commercial-free Masters an absolute tonic. Ashes laid to rest together with dreams of an august return to the Seine. The old man would surely smile his approval. Sadly, looks like I must miss the 25th International Regatta of Bathtubs (seriously), but other "good gifts" - jazz festival and perchance even the Tour on the Champs again? - await us unpredictably. Il faut pratiquer le francais pour le Comedie.

ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS
You're sad, Signior Balthazar: pray God our cheer
May answer my good will and your good welcome here.

BALTHAZAR
I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your
welcome dear.

ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS
O, Signior Balthazar, either at flesh or fish,
A table full of welcome make scarce one dainty dish.

BALTHAZAR
Good meat, sir, is common; that every churl affords.

ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS
And welcome more common; for that's nothing but words.

BALTHAZAR
Small cheer and great welcome makes a merry feast.

Idle Amusements

Everyday now I walk to work through such bitter cold mornings, but warmed by the fact that glorious "Tit Monday" is approaching ever so quickly.

Last night partook in the democratic process at a "place of amusement" (so said the license affixed to the wall - it would be fun to make our apartment into an officially recognized one, but the $239.63 fee is a barrier. Why oh why the extra 63 cents?). Again left wondering if other voters saw the same candidates and speeches. A strange and shifty business, politics. Not hard to see why the blissful combination of world travel and Shakespearean rhetoric has been winning recent battles of the soul... But where next?