Writer’s block is real, y’all. Somedays the words just won’t come. You won’t even have an idea of where to go with the narrative or even what to make. I find that when this happens, you can best get past it by staring at the blank screen for awhile, quietly bearing the subtle taunt of the flashing cursor, till inspiration strikes. This can take some time. Once upon a time, I’d go outside, have a cigarette and stare off into the distance. That often works. You can almost always have a good idea about a third of the way through the smoke. This gives you enough time to forget that inspiration while you finish and return to your desk. So you find yourself back at the beginning, armed with the knowledge that you actually have ideas, you just can’t access them. Sometimes I just write a starter sentence, something like “Writer’s Block is real.” Then I add a “y’all” to make it feel more personal. A couple more lines describing the difficulty figuring out how to begin writing, maybe a longing look back at a former life and suddenly you are off to the part were you can legitimately say something about the drink you are going to make and get into the more formulaic portion of the text. So in the spirit of telling them exactly what you are doing, while you do it and getting away with it, won’t you join me now as we stand and make the Rum Walnut Alexander.
It was a dark and stormy night, that’s how the stories are supposed to begin. It sets up the tone for what is to follow. You know nothing good is coming next. Unless Douglas Adams is doing the writing, he might go anywhere. “It was a dark and stormy night when Joel sent off for the clown school correspondence course…” Of course, that could definitely go ominous pretty quick. I apologize for bringing up the clowns, or at least the specter of a possible future clown. Anyway, tonight is actually a dark and stormy night, so in the spirit of being spot on and totally transparent won’t you please join me as we stand and consider the classic Dark ‘n Stormy.
I bought this mug for the wife way back in September, when he was still just “the child” or Baby Yoda, set adrift among the stars with the Mandalorian. I had planned on making a drink in it for her birthday, but things change as they so often do. This little fella languished in a box for a while, not forgotten, but not getting any love either, even after he revealed himself as Grogu. Last week, during the Snowpocalypse my son and I built new shelves to showcase our cocktail glass collection, with a special area for the tiki mugs and this guy took center stage. Even since, he will not stop subtly reminding us that he still has not had his moment in the twin suns and that he sort of needs that. He’s got abandonment issues. So, in honor of late bloomers everywhere, won’t you please join me now as we stand and make The Castaway.
They say that the best place to start is at the beginning, so I am going to make an effort to take us all the way back to where it all began, allegedly. They also say that today is National Margarita Day, a holiday clearly needed by the masses and the “frozen or rocks” lobby. The answer is rocks, by the way. They don’t tell you that, they just roll their eyes and laugh at you as they walk away if you get it wrong. I hope to answer the bigger question of how did we get here, but that may be a little too ambitious? For now, let’s just delve a little deeper and look for prime causes as we stand and make the Brandy Daisy.
We still have snow, but the temp is in the 50’s and the thaw is on in earnest. It looks like the biggest danger is going snowblind, but I have shades, so no worries. They have already called off school for tomorrow, but hopefully by then the last of the ice pack will be gone. I am not taking any chances though, so I am sticking with a pseudo tropical theme. Won’t you join me now as we stand and make Three Milks.
Today the sun is shining…on the snow. The good news is, it is slightly above freezing and the road is looking better so maybe tomorrow we can sneak out and let someone else make the coffee. Before I was even out of bed, Laura suggested a new drink and it sounded terrible, but we could do a cool and timely presentation. Today we are going with form over function as we spend yet another day on the farm waiting for life to restart. So, in honor of those who quietly go stir crazy as they wait for the defrost cycle to begin, won’t you join me as we stand and make the Frozen Ice-olation.
A little more snow, a lot more ice, another quiet day at home with hours to fill. I could have been productive and cleaned off the desk in the office or organized the rums or dusted my trophy case, but we skipped all that in favor of blueberry pancakes, introducing the boy to The Munsters, watching YouTube cooking videos, finally finishing Ace Combat, oh and day drinking. So, in the spirit of making the most of forced confinement, won’t you please join me now as we stand and make the classic Pearl Diver.
We awoke to a winter, ummm, what’s the opposite of wonderland? Our snow storm turned out to be a glazing of ice, covered with sleet pellets. No chance for a snowman and making ice and slush angels is way less fun than it sounds. So we spent the day mostly indoors. Sure, I’d venture out from time to time to go for a walk around the property or down to the end of the driveway to check out the ice on the roads, look and see if anyone had run off the curve lately, write my name in the sleet, you know the important stuff. Now that the sun has set, I figure it is time for a drink, so in the hopes that something from more temperate climes will warm our hearts, won’t you please join me as we stand and make the Port Royal.
It is Valentine’s Day, which seems like the perfect opportunity to make a nice sweet drink with some depth and complexity then follow it up with an even sweeter story of incredible depth and levels of complex beauty only dreamt of by mortal man. I could do that. Sondheim would have us believe the “opportunity is not a lengthy visitor” that can be missed before you even realize it has arrived. Of course, he would take at least an hour and a half before revealing that wisdom just after intermission. So, in the spirit of cutting to the chase and not beating around the bush, won’t you please join me now as we stand and make the P.S. I Love You.
Once upon a time, that’s how you are supposed to begin a tale, right? I am pretty sure so many stories start with that one sentence because just staring at the black page is one of the hardest parts of writing. The getting started is daunting. In some ways it is even worse in the computer age, instead of a patient piece of paper waiting for ink, you have a little cursor winking on and off, sort of tapping its imaginary foot as you try to figure out how to begin. It reminds me of the old side scroller game “Captain Goodnight” whose title character would take out a yo-you and stand there in all his 8-bit glory playing if you weren’t giving input. I want to talk about a terrifying evening in college but it is really more than we should get into tin the intro and I have already taken up a good bit of space talking about how it is hard to start, which means, we have in effect, already started, so I’ll get to the opening catchphrase and pick up the storytelling after the break. That is, if you will please join me as we stand and make, the Red Light.