Thursday, February 16, 2006

brain dead

It’s late. I’m still at the office. Everyone else has left. And all I can think about is scotch. And the sweet sweet tinkling noise the ice makes as I swirl it around in my glass. And its sweet sweet feel as it courses down to my belly, the alcohol carving out tiny caverns inside my throat. Three glasses and I can finally wake up from this headline nightmare, having forgotten about advertising completely. Six and I’ll be scrawling scripted nonsense onto bar naps with the pen the bartender lent me. Eight and I’ll be telling everyone to fuck off and I hate them all. I hate this city. I hate my life. And you can all just fucking die. And then, thanks to the sweet sweet mind erasing benefits of sweet sweet scotch, I won’t remember a damn thing.

Hm. Headlines or not, I think it might be time for me to go home.

Wednesday, February 08, 2006

i miss miami

How appropriate. I am now a shot. My dear bartender friend in Miami has been threatening to name a shot after me, and he finally developed the recipe.

1 part chambord
1 part Godiva white chocolate liqueur
1 part Myers Rum

Layer them in that order and serve.

I was hoping that a shot made in my honor would be a little stronger, but apparently the recipe of straight tequila was already taken. So next time you’re at a bar, order la Concha Libre. And if the bartender makes a face of confusion, kindly enlighten him with the recipe.

May you always be happy and your concha be free.

(god I miss the beach)