Life lessons at the liquor store...

So, I'm at the liquor store.  I have a purchase in mind (Glenfiddich 15 for those of you who are curious).  When at the liquor store, I like to take my time and window shop and see if anything new, exciting, or exotic has been stocked since my last visit.  I slowly go up and down the aisles, taking in all the bourbons, Scotches, Irish, ryes and Canadians.  As I'm doing this, a nattily dressed gentleman of about 70 years of age briskly walks into the store.  He immediately goes to one spot ignoring all the other glistening bottles around him.  He grabs one very specific bottle of something (a Scotch of some sort...I didn't look that close...it all happened too fast) and makes a beeline to the register.  He pays and directly leaves.  Time in store from selection to purchase to exit?  About 47 seconds.  This guy knows what he likes, and doesn't have time for all the other superfluous bullshit.  He's probably been drinking the same whiskey for 40-50 years, and could give a rat's ass if another brand has an essence of honeyed heather or has been aged in port barrels.  He simply doesn't have the time for such meaningless distraction.  "Listen junior...are we having a dram?  Or are we pulling our dick?  You want to go "shopping"?  Then perhaps you'd be better off looking at shoes with your lady.  You want a drink?  Get in.  Get out.  Go home.  Pour two fingers (all things in moderation) and begin."  I had the impression this guy was the Yoda of distilled spirits.  I had to fight the urge to go over and shake his hand.

Although there's a fair chance this guy may be an alcoholic, I was left pondering on the greater philosophy that his approach to whiskey purchasing reflected...especially with romantic relationships.  Find one you truly like, stick with it, and be satisfied.  You can go on some sort of Quixote-like quest endlessly searching for perfection and undetectable nuance (triple matured in two kinds of oak and finished in three kinds of sherry casks!), and hold onto the belief that different is always better.  It's not.  It's all just marketing...even with people.  Different is different, and not always better...and sometimes far worse.  If you truly know yourself, and are capable of making rational, mature, as well as heartfelt, decisions, the odds of you continually finding something better are non-existent.  So, really, stop fucking around, grow up, and start really enjoying life.  Stop continually wondering what is just around the corner, and start enjoying what's actually right in front of you.*


* There's probably a joke to be made about enjoying a special someone and "two fingers" (to complete the whiskey/relationship analogy) but I am FAR too classy to make it here...although, safe to say, in my head, I already did.      

2014: RIP Hipster Culture

The destruction of hipster culture by corporate America is almost complete: a car ad featuring a bearded 28-30 year old with ironic handlebar mustache, desert boots and a vintage blazer (yes, I own some of those clothing items myself, but let's stay on point here). When Toyota America and KFC start identifying you as a target demographic, your days as the underdog, rebel, and counter culture icon are pretty much over. Sorry, but you've been officially assimilated by The Borg, and resistance is futile. Welcome to adulthood. So, what do you have to look forward to, hipsters? Nothing...for about 15 years...and then you'll notice golf, e.d. drugs, and Cadillacs will start being marketed to you. It should be fun. I can see it now: a bearded, skinny jean wearing man with salt and pepper hair, staring lovingly at his wife as she sits at a pottery wheel (it's either a pottery wheel or "his 'n hers" outdoor tubs on an island beach somewhere) when a voice over begins "You just never know when the moment is right, but when it is..." and Bon Iver plays quietly in the background...

So, enjoy your last frosty PBR, as your days going forward will be filled with looking in the rearview mirror and wondering where all your "edginess" went (answer: it left with your 20's...nobody wants an edgy 30 or 40-something. "Edgy" makes for shitty employees and unreliable romantic partners. Upside? You'll have a few dollars in your pocket now so you can drink something OTHER than PBR, AND afford to treat your partner to some cuisine other than something served from a truck parked outside your favorite ironic dive bar).

Here come the holidays...

The holidays are inherently depressing because nothing you experience in reality will ever measure up to the spice scented, baking cookies, steaming hot chocolate, cheery fire, warmth of kith and kin fantasy being offered up by Hollywood (or to the yearning of our own pathetically ever hopeful hearts). To take this scenario a step further, factor in always seeming to break up with somebody right at the beginning of the holidays and you get to be the token single person at all your married friends holiday parties. This leads to a witches brew of holiday “meh” syndrome. I’m also a person from a very small, somewhat anti-social (and mildly dysfunctional) family, and I tend to be able to feel oddly isolated, uncomfortable and alone in a crowded room full of people (although you’d never know it, as I fake being at ease really well). A scenario like this makes me want to run for the door when I’m forced to make chit-chat with essential strangers about “How come I haven’t remarried after ten years” (answer: I may be a masochist, but I’m not stupid) or “Aren’t you seeing anybody? What ever happened to so and so?” (confession: nobody has ever said “so and so”. Confession #2: I am often tempted to answer this question with the most sincere face I can muster and say: “She died of anal cancer. It was gruesome. Just horrible. She died in complete agony. Just…just…awful. I’ve only, well, just today actually, stopped crying over her and have only recently gotten off of my meds, but talking about her now….it seems…I don’t know…I just….will you excuse me?” and then start uncontrollably sobbing and make a huge scene. Who knows? It’s holiday party time right around the corner…I’ll keep that one in reserve in case I’m truly bored). Point is, the holidays tend to leave me with a big ol’ empty hole in my gut…a total lack of fulfillment. I suspect I’m not alone in this regard (obviously). The upside to having nothing but married friends is they usually throw the above mentioned parties, so I get to have a few weekends of free food and drink. But the hustle and bustle of the family/social lives of others around the holidays makes one (well…me anyways) reflect on their deceased parents (my father passed away twelve years ago, and every Thanksgiving/Christmas I think about how he continually ruined the holidays with his alcoholism…when I’d rather not think about him at all), their own failed relationships, or the seeming pointless consumerism of it all. It seems to me the holidays are a giant bait and switch, except with lots of food, booze and forced smiles. “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas…um….ennui….”