There are more than just bananas in there...

Tag: absinthe (Page 1 of 3)

Eye Opener

I dropped my phone this morning and had to crawl under my desk to retrieve it. Huddled there in the dark I was taken back to the school drills of my youth which always seemed to ramp up during tornado season or whenever Comrade Brezhnev, Andropov or Chernenko decided to rattle their sabers. Duck and cover, that was the answer. Do that and you will be just fine; we can worry about the fallout later. We believed in preparedness. In the case of global thermonuclear war, jump under your desk, duck and cover. If it is a tornado, head into the hallway crouch and place your head against the wall in a position similar to, but not branded as ducking and covering. Was it effective? Well…it turns out that there were a lot of lessons that we learned while growing up that were not quite be true or at least not for the reasons advertised. While looking for my phone, I saw through the propaganda of childhood and found a bit of an existential crisis that I was definitely not looking for. I guess that is how it happens some days. So, in the spirit of misplaced nostalgia, won’t you join me now as we stand and make the Eye Opener.

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Italian Cookie

The Twelve Drinks of Christmas: Volume 2, Drink 6

It is all about the traditions of the season and one of my favorites is baking. There is little better than a day spent indoors baking cookies with the family as the chill wind blows outside. I always want to be one of those people who bakes all kinds of wonderful treats and then shares them with everyone I see. I also want to be the kind of person who remembers to make and send out Christmas cards on time. I fail more often than I succeed, but like they say, it’s the thought that counts. Still, I want to be that person and maybe if I believe hard enough, someday it will be true. So, with a nod toward those best laid paving stones to hell during this busy time of year, won’t you join me now as we stand and make the Italian Cookie.

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Cadaver Reviver

We reinvent ourselves all the time. Not intentionally, necessarily, it just happens as we grow. Growing up. Growing older. Growing wiser, hopefully. Growth is the driver for who we will become. We mostly don’t notice it, but when you look back over your life it is easy to see the people we were, the lives we have discarded when they no longer fit, as we have grown into something more. This is usually a good thing, but every once in a while, we lose a piece of ourselves in the transition and we wish we could have that part back, if just for a moment. That’s how nostalgia works. So, with a nod to those shadows on the cave wall of who we were, won’t you join me now as we stand and make the Cadaver Reviver.

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Corpse Reviver #2

Old habits die hard. They just keep coming back, no matter how hard you try to leave them in the past. It’s not like I don’t know better. I have been there before, done that, got the t-shirt and other scars to prove it. I know the score, but like Pacino says, “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in!” To be fair, I am at least partly to blame. I was feeling tired, kinda down, so when I piled up on the sofa and hit Netflix, I was already in a less than ideal state. I guess that is why , when I saw the “new episodes” tag, I clicked on it and, in spite of knowing better, and began watching the most recent season of The Walking Dead. So, with a nod to giving in to guilty pleasures, even when you know better, won’t you join me now as we stand and make the Corpse Reviver #2.

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Death By Morning

If you don’t start anything, you’ll never have to finish it. That sounds a bit pithy and wise, does it not? I could probably drop a dash after that and make up a name and folks would think I was educated for quoting someone clever. Sadly, that’s not the case, they are just some words I wrote down while trying to figure out how to start writing. Some days it is harder than others. Like most of my life it is feast or famine. Either I have million things to say and I am having to edit ideas out to keep things on track or I live in an inspirational wasteland. It’s not quite that bad, but I do want things to be good and somedays, well, you can just tell that the good stuff is going to hang there like Aesop’s grapes, just out of reach. So, in the spirit of doing the work, even when you don’t feel like you have it in you, won’t you join me now as we stand and make Death By Morning.

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The Crushed Nun

Obligation is a funny thing. It is simply defined as “a course of action a person is bound to do, arising out of a sense of duty or customs or law.” They go on and on describing edge cases, but it really does come down to “a responsibility that you assume” for whatever reason. I think that is the key part, the free will portion, which is funny because obligations are constraints, they limit freedom, by their nature. It is at precisely that moment when you make that choice to accept responsibility, a choice that will keep you from being able to make some other choices, that obligation begins. That has been on my mind a lot lately, those chains we bind ourselves with. Those ties to the place, family, groups, and the tasks that define us. Ultimately, these choices say a lot about who we are, who we can be and how we will get there, if we honor them. So, in the spirit of choices made, deadlines and commitments, won’t you join me now as we stand and make The Crushed Nun.

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Death In The Afternoon

The champagne was cold, but the girls were hot and I was as green as the absinthe swirling in the glass as they stepped on to the dance floor. That’s how it was in those days. I left home full of vigor, ready to prove myself a citizen of the world. I figured I had learned all they knew in school and it was time to see what lessons the real world could teach me. Mostly, it taught humility. Spain looked good on paper. I was living the life, as they say. A life mostly spent sitting in the corner of one club or another watching other folks enjoy that life I described in my letters home. As the cigarette smoke slowly rose from the ashtray, I signaled the barman with a nod. Sure, I’d have another. If I could not write like Hemingway, I could at least try to drink like him. So, won’t you join me now as we stand and make the classic, Death in the Afternoon.

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Negative Space

We are in my wheelhouse today, so to speak. Paying as much attention to what is not happening as to what is actually going on. Focusing on the silence, the space between the notes, the whitespace that defines the picture or gives the words their form. At its most basic, this is what I do most days, manipulating the relationship between background and focus, laying out graphics and words, seeing those words as shapes and always vigorously defending the field on which that particular game is played. So, in honor of the emptiness that defines the thing and the lies between, won’t you please join me now as we stand and make the Negative Space.

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Bananarac

One of the greatest difficulties we face today is a growing gap in cultural literacy. In addition to basic history, which we hope against hope will be covered in the kids curriculum, there are also thousands of fandoms, movies and music that a person needs to have at least a working knowledge of, in order to be a clever productive-ish member of society. Nobody told me that helping to educate the next generation would be so daunting. Just today I found myself explaining concepts I barely understand myself as the lad asked “What is a hollaback girl?” That shit was bananas, b-a-n-a-n-a-s. So, in the spirit of seeming clever by staying one step ahead of the class, won’t you join me now as we stand and make the Bananarac.

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Irish Cocktail

It was foggy and overcast as I stood on the porch, my breakfast tea in one hand, toasted soda bread the boy had made, slathered with Kerrygold butter in the other. I was reminded of another morning, nearly twenty years ago in County Cork, drinking tea, eating warm brown bread, watching a boat floating in the lough across the lawn. A boat without a passenger, in the middle of the water. I never wondered how it got there, why it was there or what it meant. Funny how that happens. I took a picture and it wasn’t till years later that it occurred to me that a pilotless boat in the middle of a lake is unusual. That image has stuck with me and on mornings when the mist comes in close, I often wonder what happened to that boat and the person who loved it. Just another mystery without an answer or even a proper question. So, in that spirit, won’t you join me now as we stand and make the Irish Cocktail.

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