Kokomo Nights

Apparently, "Cocktail" was in need of a Bollywood Makeover

For this installment of W.T.S., I would like to talk about a serious issue... bar movies. Every man worth his ..um, boys.. has seen "Roadhouse". It is the single best thing you can hope to find on TBS at one AM. This was actually the only bar themed movie I had been familiar with.. until yesterday. Oh, sure, I had HEARD of "Cocktail".. the soundtrack scarred me for life as a child. There might even be a VHS somewhere where my mother and aunts made my brothers and me sing "Kokomo" (what do you want.. I was ten!). Despite that, or perhaps because of it, it took being alone at the family cabin this week for three days to actually watch it. I had burned through my favorites ("Total Recall", "Life of Brian", etc) and was face to face with the dreaded Bottom of the Camp Movie Box: "S.W.A.T."? bah, "Sister Act"? no thanks, "Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood" sure, if I start ovulating, "Cocktail"? hmmm.. why not?

Now that I have two contenders for "Best Bar Movie That W.T.S. Has Ever Seen", I feel there is only one way to settle this. Rather than go through the synopsis of both movies and save you four hours of your life, I will be using the sports section cliche of a "head to head" match up. I will be using my seven years of full-time bar experience as my qualification, and will be completely objective despite my obvious bias. Actually, I will put my own life in the match up as well. How about that! RH will stand for "Roadhouse", CT for "Cocktail", and WTS for me. Let the games begin..

Back Story
RH: Dalton (Patrick Swayze), a legendary bouncer or "cooler", is persuaded to leave NYC for EBF (look it up) to work at a rowdy.. you guessed it, roadhouse!
CT: Brian Flanagan (Tom Cruise) leaves the military only to find that his quest to become a millionaire is stymied by a lack of education. He reluctantly becomes a drink jockey to get by.
WTS: WTS, a functional alcoholic, becomes a bartender to avoid responsibility and someday perchance write the Great American Novel.

Edge? Me.
Objectively, whose life would you rather watch? If this was all you had to go on, back story; I honestly think I win. Flanagan sounds like many of my chums already, so he comes in  last. A legendary bouncer, working at a hick bar? I guess, but I only know a couple of interesting bouncers.

Protagonist Best Bar Attribute
RH: Kicking your ass twelve ways until Sunday.
CT: Flipping bottles and picking up bar skanks.
WTS: Making your damn drink.

Edge; Roadhouse
Dalton wins hands down. I come in second, only because I can pour ten drinks in the time Tom Cruise is flipping bottles like an asshole. He's also picking up your girlfriend. Actually, I might be too. Is she hot?

Douchiest Hobby
RH: Meditating in tights.
CT: Composing poetry
WTS: Composing poetry

Edge? Roadhouse
Dalton wins again! Or loses. Whatever. Tie for second biggest douche.

Buddy
RH: Wade Garrett (Sam Elliot), an even bigger badass, just a little past his prime.
CT: Doug Coughlin (Bryan Brown), a charming rascal, just waiting for his ship to come in.
WTS: Magnus Cockburn, a charming rascal, just waiting for his ship to come in.

Edge? Roadhouse
Sam Elliot. This blog just got more badass for simply mentioning him. Another two way tie for second.

Location
RH: The Double Deuce, where Jeff Healey might have lost his eyesight from the broken glass being thrown while he played. Where one attractive woman can precipitate the Battle of Thermopolis, except with pool cues and jagged bottles. This bar really sucks, actually.
CT: One corny late-Eighties Upper East Side bar after another, Jamaica, and back to New York for "Cocktails and Dreams" (gag)
WTS: A rowdy but not too dangerous bar in an Arizona ski town, and an oyster bar with an outdoor cafe in downtown Boston (come find me, if you dare).

Edge? Cocktail
This was close, but bartending in the eighties in Jamaica and New York? Hard to compete with that. I would rather work for the cantina at Mos Eisley than the Double Deuce.

Love Interest
RH: Dr Elizabeth Clay (Kelly Lynch), a small town doc who patches him up after a fight. Chicks dig bad boys.
CT: Jordan Mooney (Elizabeth Shue), an heiress who likes to draw.
WTS: So ronery..oh so ronery...

Edge? Roadhouse
Dalton found himself a doctor! Handy, when your job is "legendary bouncer whom everybody wants a piece of". If he didn't screw it up, Flanagan would have won hands down. A young Liz Shue whose father owns half of Manhattan..yes, please! A pregnant struggling artist who was disowned by her family and is a horrible server, I'll keep looking. Fun fact: Kelly Lynch played Swayze's love interest in Roadhouse and drew the attention of Tom Cruise's character as Bryan Brown's love interest in Cocktail.

Worst Line
RH: "I used to fuck guys like you back in prison!"
CT: "Cocktails and dreams.. you know that would be a good name for a place!"
WTS: "I'm out of booze. Want to come over for some.. water?"

Edge? Roadhouse
"Cocktails and Dreams" is a horrible name for a bar. It's a name for a template on "Tumblr" at best, not a bar. Still, the line from roadhouse is bad in an awesome way. Dalton gets the points, even though he didn't deliver the line. I get second because she said yes, much to my surprise.

Best Line
RH: "Be nice.. be nice.. until it it's time to NOT be nice."
CT: "It always ends badly. Or else it would never end."
WTS: "Now get back in there and arm-wrestle your dead mother!"

Edge? Cocktail
It wins for general quotability. I'm giving Roadhouse second for the same reason. As for mine, you had to be there. But if I were a movie, you WOULD have. You will just have to trust me on this one.

Soundtrack
RH: A bunch of blues songs covered by (mostly) Jeff Healey, plus a couple of tracks by 'The Swayz'.
CT: Oh God! Make it stop! Phew.. Okay, with a recurring Jimmy Cliff 'love-theme', a Beach Boys redux, and a list of artists both classic and unknown this soundtrack won numerous awards.
WTS: Hmmm. Tom Waits, "16 Shells From a Thirty Aught Six" and "Cold Water"; Talking Heads, "Slippery People" and "Swamp"; NEU!, "Hallogallo", Electric Six, "Future is in the Future"; Steely Dan, "Show Biz Kids" and "King of the World"; Cameo, "Candy"; The Clash, "Mustapha Dance"; Rick James, "Give it to me Baby"; just of the top of my head.

Edge? Me
Of course I am going to pick a soundtrack I put together to accompany my adventures over some tired, dated music from that culturally bankrupt period before the nineties.

And Finally, Cultural Impact
RH: Bouncers with Philosophy degrees
CT: Douchey bartenders who think they are poets and jugglers
WTS: Not sure yet

Edge? Me
First.. Do No Harm. I win, they tie for second. Of course someone may want to retally this after I get famous.

Added on 12/4
Last night I was visited by the ghost of Patrick Swayze, who reads this blog on the regs and was very disappointed in my arbitrary result. After a long night of shirtless pottery making, while listening to the Righteous Brothers, he convinced me that ties were unAmerican. He pointed out that the quote from Cocktail was the best, while mine was nearly unquotable. I agreed, and changed it as you may have noticed. This gave him the win. He also pointed out that I had neglected to mention villains. duh. So here we go..

Villains
RH: Brad Wesley, a local town rich guy that has people murdered and drives monster trucks over car dealerships. He also has henchmen, mostly bumbling of course.
CT: I don't know if there is one. Nothing bad really happens to him. Lame
WTS: WTS
Edge? Roadhouse
In my defense, at least Dalton could kill his villain. I'm stuck with the SOB my whole life.

Fight Scene
RH: At least a third of the movie. Roundhouse kicks and all.
CT: Tom Cruise punches three guys.
WTS: Most of my early twenties, I'll tell you about it sometime. Only a couple of roundhouse kicks, though. One beer bottle to the head.

Edge? Roadhouse
You, win. Swayze.

There you have it, people. The universe has been set right. Roadhouse wins by, I don't know.. 12. Well, it's ending badly for Cocktail. But it always ends badly, or else it would never end. What's that, Swayze? Did you just say.. "ditto"???

Is there gas in the caaaarrr?

The Dan, relaxing after a long tour.

Yes, there's gas in the caaaarrrrr!
Hello from the Abyss!
Welp, Summer is over, and with it the tremendous tequila soaked orgy that is my life May through September. I would first like to say to those whom I promised a new entry during that time, don't trust any thing I say at Zuma after six shots and eight tacos.

So what's new in my life? Let me tell you!

1. I finally got to see Donald Fagan and Walter Becker (aka STEELY F'N DAN!!!) play live for the first time. It was a "fan request night" to boot. With most bands, takeforinstanceidontknow.. Journey, that would be awesome. Nobody wants to hear new stuff with the little Malay guy singing in that eerie Steve Perry impersonation. They want to close their eyes and hear that diminutive leather-panted vocal doppelganger blast out, in  reverse order, Journey's Greatest Hits. (Reverse order because they can't make Don't Stop Believin' the second song. In reverse order it's the last song, with Only the Young as an encore, but I digress) Steely Dan fans are several, more varied types:

• The Casual Fan; This is your mom and dad, or whoever, who listens to WZLX or WROR and might have owned Aja but more likely Can't Buy a Thrill or Countdown to Ecstacy. They occasionally get the Doobie Brothers and Steely Dan confused. They might even think Dirty Work was by the Eagles. They want hits.. Reelin' in the Years, My Old School, Hey Nineteen, Rikki Don't Lose That Number. The songs that were played at parties when they were single and doing rails and smoking joints and having promiscuous sex. They all fall into the Journey concert catagory.
• The Music Snob Steely Dan Nut; This guy (or gal, but like with the Simpsons, Star Trek, Zombies, Metal or online war games most hardcore fans tend to be guys) could be a hipster, a musician, and/or a cynical a-hole.. Yes, I fall firmly into this catagory. They were in the balcony (65 bucks versus 200+) saying things like "I voted for Here at the Western World like 50 times!", " I hope they do Green Earrings or Razor Boy." or "I like this guy on guitar but I wish they were touring with Drew Zingg, I went to school with him." et cetera. Their arch enemies are the Casual Fans, whom they are afraid will doom them to a night with no deep cuts. They want to hear the songs that they listen to at Emerson or Berklee or in their parents' basements while doing rails and smoking joints and wishing they were having promiscuous sex.
• The Hybrids; These are people that want to hear the hits but know some deep cuts. They also want to hear Dr. Wu, Haitian Divorce, Bad Sneakers, Peg, Showbiz Kids.. popular songs but not necessarily hits. They know the drum fill in Aja but don't know the drummer's name. Some of these were friends or offspring of the two groups above. I won't comment on their drug use or sex lives, they were demographically all over the place.

So I 'hit the Wang' (Wang Center, tee hee) and sat in the nose bleeds with these characters. Donald Fagan looked like a white Ray Charles with the DT's, but sounded good. Walter Becker likes to play leaning on a chair with his ass. I mean he leans on his ass, he doesn't play with it. Fagan traded his awesome keytar for a rad melodica. The show was great, "The Hybrids" and "Casual Fans" won out with the rest of us muttering under our breath as we left that the voting site was dubious at best.

Well, that's all I have at the moment, what do you want? Nothing to see here.. (yes, I deleted the part about not drinking anymore. I KNEW that would be the kiss of death to my sobriety. oops)

Downtown Crossing Guard

Boston may be one of the safest and most tourist-friendly cities in America, but even the Hub has a few less than savory spots. One of the most glaring is Downtown Crossing, a once bustling area where now a giant orifice which formally was Filene's oozes decay over the entire area. I often recommend to my out-of-town customers not to walk through there at night, which is difficult due to the fact that all the train stations seem to be located around there, especially my train the Red Line. Because of this, I have come up with some ballsy ways to avoid being mugged in Downtown Crossing, in increasing order of insanity.

1. Wear a hoodie. Not the fuchsia one you got at Epcot Center with Figment the Dragon on it. A plain black one, with the largest cowl possible. If someone can't see your face, they are less likely to mess with you. Walk with a confident swagger. This is the method I use. If someone comes from the other direction, give him a nod and a quiet but confident "'sup". It helps if you've had a couple of shots of tequila and are over 200lbs.
2. Dress in a manner that is completely out of place, for instance a fisherman's yellow slicker, preferably replete with trident and net. It will give you an "I Know What You Did Last Summer" look. I'm pretty sure the entire ensemble can be purchased within the confines of Faneuil Hall. Whatever you do, no lobster or tri-cornered hats or anything else that makes you look like a hapless tourist. We are going for weirdo/oddball here, not chump.
3. Pretend you are mentally challenged. It helps if you carry a plastic lunchbox and wear a helmet. If someone comes up to you in a threatening manner, say "Do you want to be my friend? Mom packed me a sandwich this morning. A blueberry sandwich! I like pidgeons."
4. Act like you are insane. Yell gibberish. Channel Charlie Sheen channelling Gary Busey. Gesticulate wildly. Talk to Jesus like he owes you money.
5. As your potential assailant makes his move, grab your shirt and speak down to your chest loudly. Something like "The fox is in the henhouse! I repeat the fox is in the henhouse! Move in!" This works best if you have a cop mustache (May for my buddies and me). As the guy (hopefully) runs panicking yell "Suspect heading down Washington Street, southbound!" Then run like hell to civilization.
6. Turn the tables with creepiness. It helps if you have a sort of John Waters look going on for this method. When you are accosted, say something like "Oh! Mister scaaarrry mugger guy! Did Ramon from the agency send you? I suppose you want to show me how you stick up, huh?" Then unzip your fly or lick your lips or some other creepy gesture.  If that doesn't scare him off, you might actually have to go through with your bluff, so don't try this method unless you are down for that sort of action. I won't be using this method any time soon.
7. I was going to say packing a weapon and waving it around with abandon was the ballsiest solution, but after re-reading "#6" I am starting to wonder. About a lot of things. Jeez, where do I get this stuff?

There you have it. Seven increasingly ludicrous ways to safely get through Downtown Crossing after dark. On second thought, just grab the Orange Line or Green Line outbound at Haymarket and switch trains when necessary.

Mr. Wallbanger, I presume?

I was reading in the newspaper the other day that Dior fired their chief Boy George impersonator, John Galliano, for delivering a pro-Nazi rant in a Paris bar. Although fashion is more the realm of my staff celebrity gossip writer Klams Kardashian, I must applaud them for this move. I can't stand Nazis, and I hate Illinois Nazis. More to the heart of this post, Dior have fulfilled every bartender's dream; getting rid of Galliano.

For those of you who aren't bar savvy, Galliano is an herbal liquor with over thirty flavorings, but to me tastes like a liquorice marshmallow. It is viscous and neon yellow. The bottle is obnoxiously large and hard to place anywhere but the top shelf, where it stands out like Manute Bol (RIP-you are missed) in those old SNL sketches. It is used in cocktails such as the Harvey Wallbanger, the Slow Comfortable Screw Against the Wall, the Harvey Wallbanger, the West Indian Yellowbird (known at here at "The Dog" as the Mongolian Sweatervest), and the Harvey Wallbanger. The bottle is terrible to wield behind a bar, being 2ft long or longer. It is good, however, for smiting enemies and beligerant drunks.

I now present several ideas to help fellow bartenders rid yourselves of this menace;

• Pour it into narrow shot glasses or pousse cafe glasses (does anyone have those?) and float Jagermeister over it. Call it the "Maahhchand" and sell it to Bruins fans after games! (or Steelers fans, or Latin Kings, or Wiz Khalifa, or anyone else who likes black and yellow/gold)
• "Oh, you said mojito? I could have sworn you said Harvey Wallbanger. I'll just add it to your tab.." (rinse and repeat)
• Write in the snow in front of your snooty neighbor's house, preferably something like "Stop putting me in those stupid sweaters! I'm a frickin' dog!"
• Pour it into tiny glasses and float cream on top. Wait, that's actually a good idea. Elf-beer! (Keebler, not Legolas)
• Empty it into the toilet and say, "Man! Was I dehydrated!"
• Pour it into one of those ubiquitous creme de banana bottles that no one admits to having ordered and yet a new one appears every year.
• Apply it to the underarm area of your roommate's undershirts if he drinks your last PBR tallboy.
• Pour it into Chickalob Ultra to give it a more "beer-like" appearance!
• Apply it to a snowball, then eat it in the middle of Fanueil Hall.

I hope that I have motivated you to rid yourselves of this liquor in a fun and exciting fashion (ahem). Perhaps our children, perhaps their children, will live in a world where Galliano is relegated to Italian restaurants where it belongs instead of every bar in America. Drink a Harvey Wallbanger, if not for yourself than for the U S A, U S A, U S A! (or whatever country in which you happen to reside) Goodnight, and stay away from Nazis dressed like the female keyboard player from Prince and the Revolution.

Badfingers and a Pina Colada




Last month I gave a list of band names that I found lacking and attempted to explain why, rather than just being subjective. Of course this is always a divisive subject as there is no hard and fast rule to naming a band, and some of my favorite bands have names that I don't like. However one band name that I foolishly missed may be the ultimate proof of a bad name cursing a good band. (All specific info regarding Badfinger comes from an AllMusicReview article by Bruce Eder, Rovi)

The band Badfinger were never able to become the mega rich superstars that critics thought they should have been, despite scoring two huge hits in the early 70's with "Baby Blue" and "Day After Day". The Beatles were their biggest fans for Chrissakes! Growing up I always assumed that "Day After Day" was a Beatles track, and why not? Everybody I knew did as well, except for the people who thought it was Wings or Paul solo. Still, things never seem to go right with them, to the point where two members hung themselves (separately, and in desperation, not in some weird kinky way).

"But plenty of bands with bad names become hugely successful!" you say. You are correct. I posit that something about the specific way Badfinger is a terrible name somehow cursed them, subconsciously stacked the deck against them. For instance, to paraphrase George Costanza, think of the word "manure". Most people think of manure as a bad word, but if you break it down phonetically, it is "ma", a good word, and "newer", another good word.

Now apply the "Costanza Method" to Badfinger. We then get "bad", which is bad (except for a strange period in the late 80's, when it was good) and "finger", which has many unpleasant overtones in the modern world. When you put them together, the result is worse than the some of its parts. I believe that they would have fared better if they were named Manure. I can't believe I just wrote that.

A coworker who was there for the debate which led to "This is my sidekick, Mr. Mister", overheard my thinking aloud and rebutted thusly;

"But what about Vanilla Fudge? People loved them!"

To which I responded;

"Vanilla Fudge is an awful name, but in the Psychedelic scene awful adjective/noun names were forgiven, nay, encouraged! Badfinger sounds like something you don't want in your proximity. You would say 'Get away from me with that Badfinger!' but never 'Get away from me with that Vanilla Fudge!' It would be more like 'Bring that Vanilla Fudge over here, already!'"

I believe that the reason we never knew Badfinger growing up was that nobody wanted to say the words, especially around children. While I was not a twinkle in my parents' eyes when Badfinger hit their stride, I cannot help but think this was a case of a name affecting the fate of a band, somehow offending Fate or at least the Gods of Rock. Please send all band name ideas to me first, or this might happen to you. Good night, sleep tight, don't let the Badfingers touch.

World's Greatest Grandma

I know that I seem to have slowed down on the "inspirado" for this blog lately (mostly due to coming up with a plan for a book/ magazine freelance idea that will monopolize most of my free time). While I am quite sure that this hasn't affected anyone's quality of life too much, as a cheap substitute for a well thought-out essay, please enjoy the following excerpt from my daily life:


I was walking to the ATM to make a withdrawal and saw an old homeless woman sitting by the door. This made me think three things;

1. This was a clever, if incredibly annoying, place for her to sit.
2. It is really tough to guess most homeless persons' ages, those faces go through hell, she could have been 25 or 624 for all I knew.
3. I love numbered lists, but that has nothing to do with this story.

I had nothing in my pocket that resembled legal tender, or maybe I would have given her something. In Boston most bartenders know several bums by name and I had seen this one here before. Once she was wearing a "World's Greatest Grandma" T-shirt that almost sent me into a seizure of hilarity. I walked by and she made eye contact, the homeless tractor beam, and I told her I had no money.

"That's OK hun, have a nice night." she said. Dammit! Why couldn't she have cussed me out, or yelled incoherently about Jesus or Jebus or something? I was in the bank lobby for a while, doing a couple of transactions at the ATM, and a young woman came in and used the next machine over. "World's Greatest Grandma" came in, supposedly to get warm (yeah right) and stood in the corner as 120 bucks came out of my machine, fwwpt,fwwpt,fwwpt,fwwpt,fwwpt,fwwpt right in front of her. Now the woman walked by "WGG" and gave her a buck. Dammit.  I walked towards the door, and she was right there.

"Look, I can't give you a twenty, that's just not happening." I said.
"I think I have change!" she responded with no sense of irony, and fished her rheumatic hands into the pockets of her parka. She pulled out a bag of coins, and dug deeper. Her fingernails were an inch long on some fingers and short on others as she placed a two dollar bill on a ledge. "Look, a two dollar bill!" Then came the singles, one at a time, unbelievably wrinkled and soiled. "Three, four.." she went, unbearably slowly, one at a time, until "thirteen!" At this point I realized two things;

1. "World's Greatest Grandma" might make more than I do.
2.  I was getting change from a homeless woman!

"Look, I am running late for work, I don't have time for this. If I see you later I will give you a buck" I said, keeping my twenty of course.
"Wait! I have more bills!" she exclaimed as I hustled out the door and down the street.

I am sure that there is a moral to this story, but I am not sure what it is. I am pretty sure however that this woman was not the "World's Greatest Grandma", or else her parka would have been full of Werther's Original and her dollar bills would have been crisp and new and stuffed into generic birthday cards.

Mustache Jams

Since we here in "The Hall" are planning a calendar for "Mustache May", the time when all of our female friends tell us we look creepy, it got me thinking about the concept of creepiness. More specifically, I am referring to the older man making advances on a much younger woman type of creepy. To be fair, there is an "inner creep" in every man. Seriously, if you do not believe me, find the guy that you think the least skeevy (father, grandpa, that uncle with the cut-off jean shorts... wait, not him) and set up a nubile girl to walk by in something tight/skimpy. Notice his attempts to leer without being noticed. If you were not there he would follow her for a quarter-mile out of his way. I am not only a man myself, but I work at a bar full of fifty-something customers located next to a three story "Abercrombie and Fitch", so I know what I am talking about.

Now that we have gotten that out of the way, there is a different level that separates a 'normal guy' from a 'true creep'. Here is a partial list, in ascending order, of creepy hit songs that one hears in supermarkets and drugstores regularly. [To be clear, this is just covering age-gap creepiness, "I'll Be Watching You" will appear in a different post, or maybe in my future book tentatively titled "Taco Tuesday"]

5. Steely Dan, Hey Nineteen; I used to appreciate this song because it is a great little souless, jazz-inflected, 1980's coke jam, with creepy lyrics like "Please take me along when you slide on down..." and "Skate a little lower now!" Things have changed since I am now at the stage in life where Donald Fagen probably was when he wrote this song; just north of thirty, at the bar talking to a girl 'a bit' (ahem) younger than him, who has no clue about the references he is making. Now I don't consider myself a creep per se, but when this song comes on as I am telling a story with "...so the internet had just been invented..." to a twenty-two year old, I kind of do. (Two of you are probably saying to yourself, "Wait! Cousin Dupree is a MUCH creepier Steely Dan song!" You are right, but Star Market does not have that song on rotation.)

4. Michael Jackson, P.Y.T.; This feels like a cheapshot, considering that the allegations were never proven, but tell me your opinions on this classic piece of pop mastery aren't tarnished a bit post-1990ish. I really wanted to leave this off the list, I swear, but I can't... resist... MJ... jokes.

3. Neil Diamond, Sweet Caroline; OK, some of you who know that I am a huge Red Sox fan might think I put this song on here because I feel it cheapens my Fenway Park experience. Truth be told, I enjoy Neil Diamond because I love all things cheesy, and I do a mean "Cracklin' Rosie" at kareoke. No m'am, this song is on here because it was written about a twelve-year old! You see Neil is older now and felt like answering that long-asked query "Who is Caroline?".  Thanks, Neil, could'a kept that one to yourself.

2. Neil Diamond, Girl, You'll Be a Woman, Soon; Yes, the Diamond is on this list twice. I am noticing a pattern here...

1. Benny Mardones, Into the Night; This song opens with "She's just sixteen years old, leave her alone they say..." 'Nuff said. Actually, no, not enough said. Yeah, creep, leave her alone, at least for two years to avoid statutory charges. Certainly DO NOT "...pick [her] up, and take [her] into the night.." because that is called kidnapping and if you take her across state lines you are REALLY screwed. I, uh, saw it on Law and Order SVU, I swear.

I need to go and trim my beard into a stylish mustache for "National Porn Day" which I've been told is Sunday. Remember it is rude to not take candy from strangers, and if a guy in a van tells you he lost his puppy, give him a hand.

The Emerald Arches

Bostonians going to McDonalds

I was watching TV on my day off and I couldn't help but notice that every travel show had the host being sherpa'd around by a 'food blogger'. [Yes, I just turned 'sherpa' into a verb, and past tense no less.] This made me wonder, why am I slaving over a keyboard trying to make an original (I hope) and clever (ditto) humor blog when this whole time I could have been writing about food!? I did post once about food so maybe I should try it again. Here goes:

Working in downtown Boston, there is a plethora of dining establishments at my fingertips. Sometimes it is easy to overlook an ethnic cooking style even though I walk by one of its most famous eateries everyday. Today I say "never again!"

The establishment I speak of is "McDonalds", a very popular Irish establishment on the corner near Faneuil Hall. At first I thought it may have been a Scottish restaurant, but on entering I noticed that a large number of the customers were wearing green jerseys that said "Celtics", which I assume is some local football club. One popular jersey, unsurprisingly,  was "O'Neal". Yes, this was Eire, and there would be no haggis, neeps, or tatties in my immediate future.

The clientele was not primarily Irish, although there were brogues to be heard. It seems that all walks of life have come to appreciate the Celtic cuisine of this "McDonalds". I must say that I was a bit intimidated by the pronunciation of the name. Juanita the cashier assuaged my fears by assuring me that the proper pronunciation is "meek-DONE-als".

The heritage was obvious in the naming of the food. The "Filet O'Fish" sounds like it could have been lifted off the special board of a Galway pub. The prefix "Mc" was also commonly used on the menu. My research into Irish culture taught me that McDonald comes from Mac Domhnuill which, Anglicized, means descended from Donald. Therefore I assume that the McChicken was, at some point in history, descended from chicken. I am not sure about the origins of the McNuggets, but they were formed into the traditional Celtic "lucky charms" shapes; hearts, moons, stars, and clovers (as well as a 'boot' shape for some reason).

Most Americans think that corned beef is traditional Irish cuisine. This is a common misconception, but corned beef only became a staple after immigrant populations settled in proximity to Jewish neighborhoods and adapted brisket to their tastes. Therefore you will find no corned beef at McDonalds, but you will find the old world staples of Big Macs and Shamrock Shakes. The potatoes, rather than being boiled, were fried in a "French" style (I assume as a slight to the Brits). In the mornings they are apparently served in a patty, where they are eaten with the traditional Irish Breakfast, the Sausage McMuffin with Egg.

I was chagrined to find out I had missed the semi-annual "McRib" festival, which I take it is honor of some obscure Catholic saint of pork products.  Apparently during this time otherwise sensible people who hardly ever go to McDonalds gorge themselves on a sloppy pork patty 2-3 times per week! Live and learn, I surely will be in line the next time this porcine proselyte is given his due.

I hope that I have broadened some horizons with this post. Remember that there is a world of food in your neighborhood that may seem exotic, but may become something that stays with you for a long time. I can imagine that the food I ate today is going to stay with me for a long, long time.

French Onion Spoof

Local Blogger Thinks He Could Write a Fake News Article
January 24, 2011/Issue 47-10














Boston, MA- On his blog today, local blogger W. T. Urkey posited that he could, if he was challenged to, write an article for The Onion.

"Well, that is just one of the several 'fake news' outlets for which I think I could write something. I can imitate a newspaper. I don't end my sentences with prepositions. I also generally use 'your' and 'you're' (as well as 'there', 'they're', and 'their') properly, which is a dying ability. Sometimes I use 'to' instead of 'too', but only when I am typing to[sic] fast." He is reported to be able to type fifteen words a minute.

There is more to writing 'fake news' than grammar, however. When asked about his sense of humor a coworker, who wanted to remain anonymous, was quoted as saying, "Yeah, I guess he is funny sometimes. If you talk that much you'll hit eventually. I usually tune him out though, most of us do, it's sort of a survival mechanism really."

W.T. Urkey has not applied to any of these organizations to which he referred, but said that a friend told him he could probably do the job. "Well, she said they probably have a staff of professionals, but that if all of them fell to cholera or something, maybe I could get a chance to write about something. It's not like it's that ambitious, I'm not trying to write for The Wall Street Journal or The Metro here. I just try to devote my time to what 'pays the bills'." Sources say he rarely pays bills.

When asked what sort of article he would write, Urkey said, "I don't know, maybe "Server Complains About European Tourists" or "Twenty-One Year-Old Man 'Totally Knows How to Score' After Reading Maxim" something like that. Unless those have already been done. They seem to have covered a lot of ground over the years."

His father had this to say, "Writing for an onion? We have a whole bag of them sitting in the pantry! Why doesn't he write for a new place to live instead?"

W. T. Urkey believes that the nearly 300 page views that his blog has received in the last few weeks shows that he has potential. "I'm really not sure, maybe fifty or sixty,"  he responded when asked how many of those views were from his own computer, "That's still pretty impressive, right? I mean I've only promoted it on Facebook."

At press time, Urkey has no actual plans to write anything that will help him financially.

This is my sidekick, Mr. Mister

I have been (briefly) in bands, and I know from experience that naming a band is one of the hardest things, aside from getting a drummer to show up. This process causes endless debate, which often spills out into the outer circle of friends, and the bass player is typically ignored. Sometimes you hit; Guided by Voices, The Clash, Judas Priest, The Rolling Stones, etc. Some bands become really enamored with their names, ie Bad Company wrote a song called Bad Company for their album Bad Company. Big Country did the same thing with their name. Some band names are bad enough that I wonder how they were picked, and which names were voted down. I started a game of thinking of the worst band names I could think of. The rule was that the name had to be bad, the band could be good or bad. The hardest part was being even-handed and not picking on bands that I don't like and sparing ones I do. This is the (abridged) list that we came up with, special thanks to Ben "Danger" Didsbury, bass player for "Coo & Howl" (ahem). [also Al, Tom, Ali, and Paul for their imput.]

Numbers are an almost certain sign of a bad band name (and a bad band) except U2 and the B52's.
Eve6, 7Mary3, UB40, Maroon5, SR71, Blink182, Sum41, Matchbox20

Animal names are suspect, especially ironic ones, and for Pete's sake use some new animals.
The Lime Spiders, Pink Spiders, The Arctic Monkeys, Poi Dog Pondering, Three Dog Night, Band of Horses; Sea Wolf, Wolf Tickets, Wolfmother, Guitar Wolf, Deerhunter, Deertick, Deerhoof, Pepper Rabbit, Frightened Rabbit, The White Rabbit Band, White Rabbits, Bad Rabbits, Big Bear, Minus the Bear, Grizzly Bear, Panda Bear, Bear Hands, Bear in Heaven... and the worst of all, A Flock of Seagulls

Spell the damn word correctly, I am looking at you, late 90's!
Staind, KoRn (I know the 'R' is supposed to be backwards, even worse!), Puddle of Mudd, Mudvayne, Linkin Park, Limp Bizkit, N'SYNC, RATT (ok RATT is from the 80's)

Some genres seem to favor bad names universally,'emo', 'jam', 'psychedelia' and 'third wave ska' specifically. I am not letting them off the hook.
Jimmy Eat World, Sunny Day Real Estate, Taking Back Sunday, 30 Seconds to Mars, Fallout Boy; moe., O.A.R., Leftover Salmon, Deep Banana Blackout; Bloos Magoos, Strawberry Alarm Clock, Buffalo Springfield, Jefferson Airplane, Moby Grape; Less Than Jake, The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Big D and the Kid's Table, Big Lick, Reel Big Fish

Some bands are just trying too hard with their names.
Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, ... and You Will Know Us By the Trail of the Dead, Under the Influence of Giants, Godspeed You Black Emperor, Death Cab For Cutie, Vampire Weekend, Sixpence None the Richer, The The, Mr. Mister, Lady Antebellum, TV on the Radio, Neutral Milk Hotel

Don't use names (or nicknames) that aren't yours, and then get mad when people think they are your names!
Hootie and the Blowfish, Belle and Sebastian, Margot and the Nuclear So-and-So's, Dexy's Midnight Runners, Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros, Echo and the Bunnymen

If you are a 'rock band', try to sound like you a have a pair.
Angels and Airwaves, Candlebox, Golden Earing, Silverchair, Lifehouse, Afghan Wigs, Trust Company

Try to make your name fit your sound
Five for Fighting (some hardcore band could have used that name, what about 'Two for Flinching' instead?)

Some names just scream 'douche'!
Savage Garden, I Love You But I've Chosen Darkness, She Wants Revenge, Avenged Sevenfold, The Artist Formally (and currently) Known as Prince, Spandau Ballet, Wham!, Depeche Mode, Cream

If you must name your band after an illness, make it a cool sounding one like Anthrax.
Mono, Dengue Fever, the Hives

Hey 1970's, don't think you're getting away...
The Doobie Brothers, Bread, Ambrosia, Stealers Wheel, Ginger Baker's Airforce, Mott the Hoople

I just plain don't like these names (some of these acts are awesome, some suck eggs)
Rascal Flatts, Better Than Ezra, The Flying Burrito Brothers, The Smashing Pumkins, Soft Cell, Nickelback, Godsmack (sorry I know I said I would wait a month!), Kings of Leon, Plain White T's (I just threw up a little), The Shins, Can, Hot Tuna, Boz Scaggs, Captain Beefheart, Radiohead, Audioslave, Velvet Revolver, Englebert Humperdink, Fountains of Wayne, Blonde Redhead, Los Lonely Boys

It is so hard to end this list, so I am going to end with bad names that describe the band, which ironically makes them good names.
Insane Clown Posse, Miami Sound Machine, Men Without Hats, She & Him, Four Non-Blonds, C&C Music Factory, The Band

For the record I know that other people have written on this topic, and there are many, many other terrible band names out there (you should see my notebook!). So feel free to comment with more!

To Catch a Monkey Predator

New Feature!

Being that it's winter, and therefore I'm broke, I have rediscovered the cheap entertainment that is Redbox. Everytime I visit my local 'Caja Roja', I tend to rent one movie that looks like it might be good, and another that I know will probably be terrible. Yesterday I rented "Predators" starring Adrian Brody and "The Lost Tribe" starring Lance Henriksen. I know, I said one should be good, but I liked the first Predator movie so much that I'm a sucker and watch all of them. "Get to the Choppah!"

Since I like making rules for survival so much, the new feature is "How to survive a Red Box horror movie!" In "The Lost Tribe", a team of anthropologists discover the 'missing link' on a remote island north of the Antilles. This 'missing link' so offends the Catholic Church that they send a team of mercenaries, led by Lance Henriksen of course, to kill all of the witnesses. Of course the 'missing link' is still alive and kills everyone. So here is how to survive on an island full of 'monkey predators'.

1. Stay away from Lance Henriksen.
This is pretty good advice in general. I know, he has been the hero in a few of  these movies, but not lately. In the movies where he wasn't a bad guy, pretty much everyone around him dies, so I might avoid him even in real life.

2. If you think you saw something in a treetop, don't say "It was nothing!"
If it was nothing, you would not be staring at it, would you? It could be a 'missing link predator', staring at you with thermal vision.

3. 'Monkey Predators' are dangerous, so if you see a camp full of guns grab a couple!
If you are stuck on a tropical island and people keep disapearing, and you find a tent full of heavy ordinance, at least grab a pistol!

4. If you are alone, and being pursued through a jungle by something scary, slide down a muddy slope.
This worked for Arnold in "The Predator" and it works for 'random blond actress #1' here. She goes a step further and uses viscous sludge that drips off of a grape-like plant as well. The point is, just because your pursuers are primates, doesn't mean that they don't have thermal vision! Assume everything in the jungle has thermal vision and active camouflage. Besides, being covered in mud makes everyone look more 'bad-ass'.

You be the star!

Just because you aren't in a Redbox horror movie, that doesn't mean you can't make your own movie (and I am not talking about the kind from my last post). Here's how;

Find a station (usually on the low-end of the dial) playing modern piano music. It should ideally be sparse and slightly ominous. Chopsticks Variations 7-9 by Margo Guryan (thanks 88.1!) works very well. Also acceptable is "Don't Let it Bring You Down" by Neil Young. Then drive somewhere in the rain. Tell me you don't feel like you are in a movie and something momentous is about to happen; like you are about to get home and find your wife cheating, or arrive at work only to be laid-off, or you are about to run-over a cat, the owner of which ends up being the love of your life.

Try pulling up to a bar with your windows rolled down blaring "I just want to make love to you" by Foghat or "Do ya think I'm sexy" by The Revolting Cocks and bask in the R-rated confidence. It's like you are about to go and pull the hot woman at the bar who turns out to be a vampire or wanted by a Mexican cartel. Either way it is more interesting than the night you had planned.

There are, of course, many more examples of this car/music phenomenon, so there will me more to come. I guess that makes two new features in one post!

Urkel Urkel Motorcycle

Diamond in the rough

Since my last post was probably too educational (read not-funny), I will make up for it now by promising no intellegent content in this post. I am sure that you, like me, have worn out your copy of the Screech Powers (Dustin Diamond) sex tape (kidding of course), and are wondering which 80's to early 90's television star will be the next to release a lurid video. I have come up with a list using the latest in scientific research and late night television watching. Try not to get too excited while reading this list.

Jaleel White (Stephen Urkel); He always made an effort to show off-set that he was a normal, cool, dude with no predilection for high water pants and cheese. What better way to do that, and regain some national attention to boot, than to take a dose of 'boss sauce' and go all Stefan Urquelle on some girl. He could end the video by looking in the camera and saying, "Diiidd I do thaaaat? Hell yeah I did!"

The Olsen Twins (Michelle Tanner); Something must be out there, one was apparently engaged in drug-fueled sex with Heath Ledger the other shares an 'ex' with Paris Hilton. (Thanks, Wikipedia!)

Soleil Moon Frye (Punky Brewster); Please?

Betty White (Rose from Golden Girls); She has had the best career revival I've seen for an octogenarian, and what does she have to lose?

Eric Estrada (Ponch from C.Hi.P.'s); He seems to do any commercial or celebrity appearance offered to him, so I'm kind of suprised nothing has 'leaked' with him and some forty-something groupie.

Road Rash

Speaking of people on motorcycles going down, here are some bad things that have happened to me on my old Honda 750;

Getting stuck in a dry riverbed north of Fountain Hills, AZ.
You know how in cartoons when someone is stuck in the desert they always show vultures circling? Well, it really happens. I rode onto some reservation land, miles from the nearest human settlement, to take a picture
that never really came out. I went over a bump and ended up in a deep wash, with my front and rear tires stuck in the dirt. I had no water, it was over a hundred degrees with no shade, and it took great effort to get free. Those vultures took all of ten minutes to start circling. Thanks for the vote of confidence, you ugly bastards!

Dropping my bike after getting it free from the riverbed.
I was so excited once I was back on the dirt road, I rode with no-hands going about 20mph, yelling. Yeah, and I fell. Of course there was a jeep full of people who saw it (where the hell were they when I needed help?) and laughed.

Getting run off the road by a truck with a 'WWJD' bumper sticker.
Apparently the Lord would run me off the road in the middle of the woods and leave me bleeding in the dirt.

'Splatting' my way through a cloud of moths near Albuquerque.
Speaking of Jesus, this was absolutely Biblical. It was like a rainstorm of moths. I had to keep wiping yellow bug guts off of my glasses at 50mph. Luckily most bounced off of my skin (ouch!). I still have the leather jacket I was wearing, and it still had little specks all over it.

So there you go, motorcycle follies and eighties television.

Birdland

Hey, have you heard? About the word?

I'm sure that most of you have heard about the birds that have been falling from the sky recently. Those who have read the "Testimony of the Mad Arab Abdul Ahlrazed"  will of  course recognize that this is merely the first sign of my ascension. For the rest of you 'future minions', I figured I would discuss the species that have been plummeting so inauspiciously to the tarmac. (All information courtesy of  -http://www.birds.cornell.edu/ and http://www.allaboutbirds.org/.)

red-winged blackbirds; I really couldn't find any cool facts about this bird. It sucks that they fell and all, but all they do is look pretty and sing and don't bother anyone (snooze).

common grackles; These 'blackbird look-a-likes' are iridescent in color and eat your garbage. Not just your garbage, anyone's really. They also like to eat crops, especially corn. By the way I lied, they really do prefer your garbage.

European starlings; These are regular visitors to downtown Boston. Every fall when it gets cold and at least once one will fly into the outdoor bar and stare at me. I, of course greet it with, "Well hello, Clarise." (Anyone get the Agent Starling reference?) One hundred of these birds were brought to Central Park between 1890 and 1892 by Shakespeare enthusiasts (I can't make this stuff up) and released into America. They now number around 200 million. I figure that was the environmental equivalent of a bunch of Micheal Creighton fans releasing 'velociraptors' into Manhattan.

brown-headed cowbirds; These birds are unable to raise their own young. Seriously, they can't nest, incubate, or raise their chicks. They have evolved to go into the nest of another species where they push an egg out and replace it with one of their own. If the 'host' bird discovers the scam and pushes the cowbird egg out, the cowbird is known to return and destroy all of the host bird's eggs. Yes, these birds are dicks.

Tailspin

Since I've been discussing birds' falling down, perhaps it is time to discuss what makes me fall down. It is quite possible that the name 'cocktail' does in fact come from the remains of a dead bird. One common (if incredibly apocryphal) explanation for the name tells of a Revolutionary War widow who stole a chicken from an English neighbor. After serving the pilfered poultry to her French and American soldier guests, she employed the feathers of the chicken as drink-stirrers. The elated French toasted "Vive Le Cocktail!". Do I believe this story? Not on your life, but I like a good story and this is a pretty good one.

There are a million and one good cocktails, but in the spirit of this thread, here are some cocktails that fall flat before they get a chance.

1. "Can I get a top-shelf Long Island Iced-Tea?"
This order is more common than you might think, meaning once a year in my experience. What this person thinks he (always a he) is saying to the bartender is; "I know I'm thirty-four, but I still party like a twenty-one year-old, except now I'm not afraid to pay extra for the prestige of top-shelf." What the bartender is thinking is; "I can't wait to charge this asshole fifteen bucks for this drink and see how he reacts (with that girl he's trying to impress watching)."


2. "Can I get a blue drink?"
First of all let me say that some of my first libations in a bar were at a Polynesian lounge, and for that reason tropical drinks will always have a special place for me. Now that I got that out of the way; Blue is just a color! It imparts nothing to the drink but a sense of whimsy. So please don't order a drink just because it's blue, you will be disappointed.

3. "Can I get a [vodka brand] and vodka?"
Ok, this is a sign you are about to be cut-off. You want to order a 'brand x' and tonic, but instead you keep saying '[vodka brand] and vodka, repeating it multiple times, getting more indignant each time. The bartender keeps repeating your order to you, hoping that you realize your error, but you probably won't. The variation on this is "Can I have a rum and vodka?". What you want is a rum and diet. Oh, inebriation!

Well, now that everybody has heard about the birds,  I must go and raise a glass to my favorite Bird (#33  of course). Good night and safe flying!

Epic

Rock Hard:

I was watching a truck commercial the other day, rather, I heard the music for a truck commercial the other day (watching implies intent) and was puzzled. The background noise was some Creed meets Godsmack (last time I pick on Godsmack this month I promise) drivel that sounded something like "Smo, smi, ssmmerrrii, how cool is tha-yat?!". My friend asked why they would use such dated sounding cock-rock. I informed him that for a good portion of our great nation, Nickelback is still a relevant band. Here in Boston, like many other cities, saying you're in a hard rock band is like saying you are a swing revivalist or some other anachronism from 1995.

If the conversation were allowed to continue the response would be something like; "Oh, two guitars in one band? That's so retro. In my band, 'The Assless Chaps', we have a cello, a wave generator, and a therimin. We call it 'space chamber', we're getting a lot of buzz in the blogosphere." Blogosphere, what a bad word.

Word to your Mother

Speaking about what an unfortunate word 'blog' is, I actually put off starting one for ten years (dumb) because I hate that word so much. Since nobody writes epic poems anymore (does anyone?). I suggest we misappropriate the word 'epic' instead. That way, the next time I meet someone the conversation will go from this;
"So, you're a writer? Anything published?"
"Well, I write a blog." <girl walks away>
to this;
"So, you're a writer? Anything published?"
"I write epics. People dig them." <WTS gets phone number>

Syphilis is another bad word, at least as nasty sounding as 'blog', but syphilis is always bad. The name is completely appropriate. (Future blog post; ill-fitting v well-fitting words) If you asked someone who did not know what syphilis was, "Do you want syphilis?", they would know by the way it sounded, "Hell no, I don't want syphilis!". If you asked the same benighted person, "Do you want a balloon?", they would say, "Hell yes, I want a balloon!" because the word sounds so innoccuous and friendly. Blogs are better than syphilis, even with modern antibiotics. Why should they be stuck with a name that bad?

Cougar Woods

Sicker than your average Poppa..

This might sound crazy, but sometimes I don't mind being a little sick, maybe once a year. I look at it as my body's way of telling me to 'slow down, take better care of yourself'. Besides, there aren't many other good excuses to cover oneself with multiple blankets and drink copious amounts of ginger-ale. If I did that for no reason on my days off someone might have me committed. All I need is for WLVI 56 or Channel 38 to come back on the air so I can watch 'Lost in Space' and 'Gilligan's Isle'.

These last two days are a different story. Let's just say I was slipping in and out of consciousness for about twenty four hours, fever, chills, the works. This got me thinking about another time I felt close to the grim reaper, albeit in a much, much closer way. This brings me to (drum roll please)...

WTS Guide to Wilderness Survival

This is a short list of 'rules' based on a disastrous mountain bike ride I took several years back. Much like the SS Minnow, I went out for a three hour tour and ended up stranded. Since, unlike them, I had no coconuts (from which you can apparently build anything), I was screwed. I'll save the whole story for anyone who wants to hear it over a ginger-ale sometime, and cut it down to these basic rules:

1. When being chased on your bike by a mountain lion do not turn your head to see said mountain lion!
Yes they are one of North America's most impressive creatures, rarely seen by humans due to their reclusive nature. Yes, I know, you may think you want to see what is about to eat you. Trust me, it is better if you do not. Remember Halloween and Friday XIII, the fleeing teenager usually dies because she turns around to look at what is chasing her, falls, and cannot get up again.

2. When being chased on your bike, be on a steep downward grade and pedal as fast as you can.
'Wait a minute', you astute readers are probably thinking, 'if you didn't turn around, how do you know it was a mountain lion? You are such a fraud!'. To which i reply, the mountain lion is the apex ambush predator in the southwest, well known for attacking humans (especially runners and cyclists) and dragging them by their necks up a tree like 'The Predator'. But rule number one applies to anything in the mountains aggressive enough to chase a human, so if you want to substitute an elk or bear in my story, go right ahead. As to the downgrade, you better hope someone upstairs likes you, which leads me to...

3. Do not be afraid to petition a deity or two that you may not normally.
No atheists in a foxhole.

4. When you hear a western diamondback rattle near your feet, and you cannot see it, throw your bike in the direction of the rattle while jumping away and yelling 'aaaahhh!'.
I know it is an unorthodox strategy, but it worked for me.

5. When you make you final push towards civilization, think of something you want to see again, like a loved one.
For me it was a quarter-pounder with cheese and a large hi-c. Don't judge me.

That ends this installment of WTS Guide to Wilderness Survival. Just stay out of the woods altogether.

Love Me Tendons...

Fee Fye Pho Fum

As anyone foolish enough to allow me to corner them after lunch knows, I love banh mi. I've even learned to make them myself. For those of you who have escaped my gastrological ramblings, a banh mi is a Vietnamese sandwich (they call them 'French sandwiches' from their perspective) composed of a baguette, pate, mayo, meat, cilantro, and pickled carrot and daikon. The meat is traditionally ham and head cheese. This head cheese is not the European kind, but sort of a 'stained glass' composed of cartilage and snout. It is really fun to pull the stuff out and make one's dining companion uneasy. It's my 'day off' tradition. Hard to believe I'm not married, huh?

Last week I was chagrined to realize my closest sandwich stand was closed due to a power outage. The restaurant next door, however, was open. I should have known better. This was a hardcore traditional menu, and totally intimidating. I ordered pho, but not 'white boy' style like I should have, the 'nasty cuts' way like I'm Anthony Bourdain or something. What arrived at my table was approximately 2 gallons of broth and the most unreconizable pieces of mystery animal I've ever seen. I recognized the inner stomach lining thanks to dim sum with a Cambodian friend, and I knew I could eat that. The rest looked like slaughterhouse floor scraps, blood vessels, huge chunks of cartilage and tendon, maybe some intestines. I tried to eat it but my brain wouldn't recognize it as food and my hand wouldn't lift the stuff to my mouth.

I went to a friend's house afterwards to show him the 'to-go' contents that the server insisted I take home. He was equally grossed out and flushed it down the toilet rather than have it fester in his trash. The moral of the story is when experiencing a new culture, take it slow. Just because you enjoy the head doesn't mean you'll like eating the rear.

The Bitter Truth

Bitters are a wonderful thing, sort of a bartender's best friend. I was able to cure nausea with it the other night, as on other occasions it's been an anodyne for everything from hangovers to hiccups. Beware any bar without bitters, seriously. The thing that's interesting about bitters is that there is nothing to them but alcohol and a few semi-mysterious herbs like gentian root (the key flavor of Maine's favorite- 'Moxie'). The key ingredient is faith in its effectiveness. I like to use lemons, limes, honey, sugar, cherries, even salt, in mysterious preperations for the patient. While she watches, I am a modern day houdoun or alchemist, making strange gesticulations and macerations to build belief in the magic of the final product. What she ends up consuming is a big dose of Mary Poppins, but it works.

Stoke City

I saw a Manchester United match the other day and they were playing a team called "Stoke City". This is the raddest name ever for a town. It sounds like it should be populated by surfers, snowboarders, mountain climbers, and extreme athletes of all types. I expect that the rivers there are full of Red Bull, and in the morning Mountain Dew collects on the grass. Their rival should be Psychedville, and they compete to see who the gnarliest dude is every year. I'm sure it's just another mid-sized city in England, and not that 'X'-citing, but a man can dream.