The Storm

After experiencing the loss of someone close to you, what follows is partially about healing, but also largely about learning and adapting.  Healing has a connotation of mending so that one can get back to the life before the injury.  But there is no full return.  After a loss, one learns many things about oneself -- feelings, thoughts, and ideas, but mostly feelings -- he or she would never have otherwise known.  Then after the learning, one takes the experience and merges it with the life going forward.

Some people experience pure grief.  Others postpone it so that they may forget about themselves and help those who suffer.  Some people go back to work in order to maintain some level of equilibrium.  Ultimately we all feel things at different speeds and in different colors.

Three months ago, I posted a short piece called "Awake" announcing on this blog that we were pregnant with our first child.  I have since regretted that post deeply, because I now have to write this follow-up.

We lost the pregnancy and our little boy with it.

It's been a difficult year, probably the most difficult one I've faced in my first three and a half decades.  My health has not been its best.  Our home has been (mostly figuratively) polluted by our neighbors.  My job has become insufferable.  I have spent over 500 hours on the road going to and from work over the past 9 months.  I've seen dozens of drunk drivers swerving all over the freeway first thing in the morning.  I have seen housepets with their eyes torn out and beheaded on a Tuesday, crushed by gardening equipment on a Wednesday, flailing to death after being run over by a truck on Thursday.

It's safe to say that I have retreated from society a bit.  I have gotten even worse at returning emails and calls, for I which I am very sorry because the only lightness I have found is in the people I have met.  From doctor's offices, to operating rooms, to supermarkets, to restaurants, to living rooms, the people in my life are the best part.  And I am thankful for them.

This blog, with all of its whisky posts, has been a welcome distraction.  If it ever becomes too much of a distraction, I will openly address it.  But for now, it allows me to fixate on something I enjoy.  The next two whisky reports (one this week, one next week) will be bittersweet because they were the pregnancy celebratory whiskies.  I will be retiring them from my life with those posts.

I feel very conflicted writing this post.  This blog was originally intended to be about my personal journeys, not just about one particular amber restorative.  Yet the 200+ whisky posts have brought an audience much wider than my local friends and family.  Thus many of you don't actually know me.  And here I am disclosing private things; wounds, scars, and all.  Come for the whisky, stay for the despair?  No, if you're here for the booze, thank you.  Just think of this as a bit of additional perspective to my thoughts on the next two whisky posts.

If you're here just to be here, thank you.  I still intend to post non-whisky things someday soon, but for now, this is all I can focus on.

Awake

My dreams are mostly the same.  I'm lost in the middle of a city.  I'm going somewhere, but I don't know the destination.  As a result, the journey seems like nonsense as I travel further along.  It's all vaguely familiar, but I've never really been here before.  It is said that every dream visual is based on something the dreamer has seen in his waking life.  But I've never seen these cities, these streets, these buildings.  Many lamp lit dark alleyways and their shaky metal fire escape ladders leading up buildings without roofs or windows.  Steep downhill avenues, unnavigable from within a car without brake pedals.  Old concrete boulevards without turns and without end.  I'm travelling through a blurry version of someone else's memories and I'm getting more and more lost as I go.  I'd be terrified if I wasn't so benumbed with exhaustion.

Awake, my life is much the same.  I have gotten more confused and frustrated, understanding my life less as time has gone on.  What I thought were endpoints were distractions, each hope emptied into another abyss.  As the destinations to this anxiety soaked journey have dissolved away, a certain blank numbness had formed.

In my dreams, I'm alone.

But awake, I am not.

March 13th marked ten years with the best person I have ever known.  Kristen is filled with more hopes and patience and focus and selfless love than I can comprehend, even after ten years.  She laughs and embraces just like the 20-year-old girl I'd met a long time ago, while becoming stronger, wiser, and more beautiful with each year.  It is humbling watching a girl become a woman right in front of me.

The love Kristen and I share has been clear and true, refreshing and bright, totally unlike anything else I have ever experienced.  With her, I have experienced moments of comfort and quiet, home and (yes) happiness I've never felt anywhere else.  Those profound swirls illuminate the shadows when we live as a team.  As a single working unit we will be magnificent in the face of any challenge.

For our team, a challenge has now appeared, tremendous, nerve-wringing, insane yet ever normal.  Something very new.  A destination, in fact.  A real destination in the flesh.  A cosmic exclamation in the form of a protostar.

I am not dreaming.  I am awake.

I am going to be a father.

Opening the family whisky

So.......there's this:

Immediate facts:
Johnnie Walker Black Label
1.2 quarts (1135 mL, 38.4 fl. oz.)
86.8 proof (43.4% ABV)
Bottled in Kilmarnock
Sold only through Duty Free
Unopened

Fact from research**:
Bottled in the late 1970s

Yes, that is whisky sediment raining down around the edges

Background:
As of last Christmas this whisky was the property of Robert and Wilma Perry, my wife's grandparents.  It had previously belonged to one of Grandpa Bob's cousins.  But for many years it sat in a cold Ohio basement.  This past December, Grandpa Bob, who is currently kicking cancer's ass, gave the bottle of whisky to me.

It's part of our family.

It was likely bottled around the same time I was born.

Oh, and one more thing.  When I first met Kristen, I discovered that this 20-year-old fox was drinking Johnnie Walker Black Label.  While men hit on her, they were drinking Sex on the Beaches, slamming Jager bombs, drinking Bacardi and Cokes.  Meanwhile, Kristen sipped Scotch.

She's my wife now.  And while she prefers barrel strength rye -- yeah, she pretty much rules -- she can smell a glass of JW Black from across a room.  So there's some actual emotional weight to this bottle of whisky.

And as the youngest whisky in this blend was distilled in the Johnson administration, some of that malt coming from distilleries no longer in existence, there's some financial value to it as well.

But I'm opening this whisky up.  And this weekend, I'm going to tell you why.

** - Many many many thanks to Joanne Bergstrom of whisky.com; Christine McCafferty, the Archive Manager (!) at Diageo(!!); and the handful of whisky collectors who weighed in at the whisky.com forum.

Wife returns from foreign lands, with treats in tow

As mentioned last week, I had a whisky shop in Yorkshire truck a Ledaig 15yr parcel over to Kristen's hotel in Worcester.  I am indebted to her for many things, and I must add this to the list.  She couriered the bottle (box and all) back to me in her luggage with nary a gripe.

Actual bottle shot.

She was also in Wisconsin (twice) and brought us back a cold!  More importantly she brought herself back.  Both times.

Then she was in Australia...

 Where there are birds like this:

They bite people.  Probably just self-conscious about the tail issue.

Then she brought back this:

Buddha approves

First off, Vegemite.

Secondly, The Singleton of Glen Ord.  Diageo bottles three Singletons from three different distilleries: The Singleton of Glendullan (for the North American market), The Singleton of Dufftown (European market), and The Singleton of Glen Ord (Pacific market).  Of the three the Glen Ord is preferred by Serge V, the rest of the Maniacs as a whole, Michael Jackson's Guide, and Jim Murray.  The grand slam is it not?  So when Kristen (bless her) called me from Sydney Kingsford Smith International Airport's duty free shop and ran down the whisky selection, the Glen Ord arose as the most intriguing (and affordable) option.  Can't get it here, only out there.  As I keep reading about all of its floral, orange, hazelnut, and chocolate notes, I'm doubting it will stay sealed for very long.

And the Sullivan's Cove Double Cask Single Malt?  Now that was unexpected!  Many thank yous to Chris and Connor for this very nice surprise!  It was an international effort and I/we owe you a drink or two.  In the meantime, shall I pair this with a Vegemite sandwich?

Breckenridge

I'm in dramatically gorgeous Breckenridge, Colorado with Kristen for her brother, Andrew's, wedding. The lovely Leslie has officially joined the Perry family. Yes, I've tried Breckenridge Bourbon (tastes very similar to Bulleit Bourbon), had some Scoresby (not bad neat but folds instantly under water), tried to dance at 10,000 feet (tried), and now I'm at the world's tiniest Celtic festival drinking Guinness draft and eating (Celtic?) candied pecans. Will return home soon but I don't really want to. Why would anyone ever want to leave this town?

Birthday Recap!

A tangentially-related prelude:

This morning, our paraplegic military veteran neighbor, who is perpetually mad at his neighbors and probably the rest of the world, was sitting inside his car within our closed garage, playing the hell out of a harmonica.  The man has The Blues.

---

THURSDAY EVENING

I sampled a number of new whiskies at an OC Scotch Club event in Fullerton.  I hope to report on some of these in the near future, especially since I'm probably going to do a 180-degree reversal on a previously reviewed single malt.  Which one could it be????

More importantly than all the booze stuff, it was great to spend some time with good people on a lovely evening.

I'll be talking this club up from time to time, if you're in the OC and like the amber spirits, you should stop by an event.  It's very laid back and President Bob is a very swell dude.

---

FRIDAY AFTERNOON

I went to see Cosmopolis at its opening 2:30pm showing at a theatre one mile from my front door.  I smuggled in a couple ounces of Powers Gold Label, because.

I'd just read DeLillo's novel a few months ago, so the whole thing was still fresh in my mind.  Surprisingly, Cosmopolis fits easily into Cronenberg's oeuvre -- detached characters struggling within an alternate reality, compressed space, and portals portals portals everywhere.  I'm not saying that the film was great (it was all telling, no showing; and DeLillo's dense dialogue can be burdensome to a film's actors and audience) but the subject matter is timely and I'm game for any Cronenberg flick.  Plus the final scene actually achieved some level of emotion amongst the verbal histrionics.

FRIDAY EVENING

Back home, at 5pm, I brought out the birthday whisky.  A bottle of a 1978.  As well as a 34-year-old dram.  It was a grand two-hour slow whisky experience.

After the year I'd had, there was nothing quite like pouring myself a second helping of 30+ year old whisky straight from the bottle.  I will be reporting on the whiskys this week (Weds and Thurs, I think).

Kristen roasted a big chicken and baked a flourless chocolate cake.  Yes.  My wife.

I received many great gifts from my families.  And, yes, there was a whiskey gift that damn near blew my mind.  I didn't officially open it on Friday night because had I started it, I wouldn't remember a bloody thing the following day.  It will be opened soon, though...

I put on a DVD of Orson's F for Fake.  Kristen fell asleep.

---

SATURDAY EVENING

To Hollywood!

We met my buddy Geoff near our old drinking grounds.  We went to Stout, where I had a good burger with an Old Rasputin from the tap.  Then we went to The Blue Boar Pub where I had glass of Highland Park 12, which keeps getting better every time I try it.

The main event was at Piano Bar.  I've thrice previously mentioned Piano Bar on this blog.  I'll say it again.  IT'S AWESOME.  Go there on Saturday or Sunday night to experience Brother Sal & The Devil May Care.  I often make the fifty-minute drive to do it and I feel the loss during the months when I don't.

So we went, meeting up with my buddy Sean.

Sean and I are twins

And Brother Sal seriously hooked us up.  He is a saint.

I had some great reliable glasses of whiskey (Blanton's, Redbreast 12, and Buffalo Trace), but it's the blues-rock-honky-tonk-saloon-soul dynamite issuing forth from the stage that always alters the air and space around me.

Aww yeah.

We left when the music stopped, around last call.  I can't remember the last time I stayed out until last call.

We're still catching up on sleep and I'll be drying out for a couple of days, but it was grand.  I have many great people, great experiences, and great things in my life.  And I am thankful for all of them.

Wedding Anniversary 02

Two years ago today.

Kristen and I really only celebrate our anniversary on March 13th, the start of our relationship.  Last year, it seemed odd to hit the reset button after seven full years together.  But June 20, 2010 was the most joyous day we've shared, especially since we were able to experience it with so many loved ones.

Life has been a trip ever since.  I'm forever blessed to be sharing this adventure with her.

Cupcakes for Kristen

Since K's birthday was in the middle of Passover, I had to delay the birthday cake baking.  Thus the caking commenced today.

I may cook successfully from time to time, but baking?  Well, the meme said it best......

(source)

A day later, I'm happy to say that the condo remains intact.  And...

BOOM. Cupcakes.

Red Velvet Cupcakes with Cream Cheese Frosting.

When Kristen came home, they looked all cute and neat sitting there on the stove in the clean kitchen.

She has no idea what a g*ddamn Buster Keaton movie it was during their three-hour assembly.  You know, the Keaton film in which he calls a spatula a "******* ****!" seven times.

This is the recipe I used, though I added more (non-alkalized) cocoa and used a 1/3 of the coloring (because it's an industrial chemical additive).  It's actually a very easy recipe, I'm just a saphead.

The cake is good, the frosting is ridiculous.  I'm still riding my sugar high, 20 hours later.

Happy Birthday to my Kristen!

Birthday Girl, Sweden, sun shower

Wife returns from Cannes and Husband makes a whisky schedule

The conquering hero hath returned.  And by hero, I mean my wife.  She sailed for France two weeks ago, and the Gauls surrendered upon her arrival.  She did a proper pillage then returned home.

Two weeks.  In Cannes.  For work.

Source

She enters the condo and says, "You didn't do any cleaning, did you?"

She has no idea that I transform into a 12-year-old when she's gone.  There's candy and movies and llamas and marching bands and upside-down trash cans.  Then on the day of her return, there's a mad 3-hour scramble to turn a Dadaist masterpiece back into our condo.  I don't know how socks get into the spice cabinet, but they do.  Anyway, she has no idea what goes down.

Well, she does now.  Thank you, blog.

She opens the bedroom window and says, "It smells like boys in here."  I say, "Would you prefer if it smelled like girls?  And what do you mean boyS?  What do you think goes on around here?"

Let us not dwell on that.

Dwell on this, the Flying Llama.  (Source)

I'll tell you what section of our home remained perfectly organized for two weeks:  The Whisky Cabinet.

This going to be a great month for whisky reportin'.  Tomorrow begins a series on World Whiskies!  I've got yer Irish, Swedish, Dutch, Indian (two actually!), American, and maybe something from the land of the Scots.

If there's any time left over in April, I'll be exploring cheap Scotch blends.  My bottle of Black & White is nearing its retirement (not a moment too soon) and I'm determined to find a quality Scotch blend in the $15-$20 range.

But first, tomorrow, the viski voyage begins on the island to the west of the Irish Sea.

......

......

......

Ireland.  I'm talking about Ireland.

Post 200 - Our Ninth Anniversary

The evening of February 22, 2003, my brother's 21st birthday party, was a drink-filled celebratory night in Boston.  I knew only a handful of the people at the party, and I certainly had never met that hot tall slender brunette standing near the bar with the champagne in hand.  I had to talk to her.  That apparently was one of the rare periods in my life wherein I'd walk up to cute girls and introduce myself.

She was smart, funny, and from UPSTATE NEW YORK.  We talked a bit then cut a rug (to Iio's Rapture, I believe).  She made an early exit and I went in for a smooch.  DENIED!

I returned to LA a few days later and went back to life-as-usual.  Except I couldn't stop thinking about her.  It was crazy, she was a girl (of 20 years!) of whom I knew very little and lived three-thousand miles away.  But there she was, in my head.

Life is an infinite series of moments, almost all of which instantly vanish.  But there are those moments separate from all others, when you meet Her.  You're never in your comfort zone.  Something is always slightly off, like a dream but bright with lucidity.  And there She is.  And for days and years you look back at that moment, that girl you once met.  And it drives your inner artist mad with romance.  It's not just her lovely face, it's not just the connection you had.  It's the fact that the universe still allows the wall of somnambulant reality to fracture and let slip through a burst of the Devine.  You keep that with you, a little bit of magic, a little bit of cosmic momentum.  Then you continue with your ritual sleepwalk until it's over.

March 13, 2003, nine years ago, I could no longer let that moment just be.  She was a real person and I was willing to jeopardize the moment in order to talk to her again.  I emailed from work that morning, not sure if she remembered me.  Not sure if I'd be written off as some e-stalker.  Or wind up in the junk mail folder with the Nigerian bank account scams and the Replica watches.

She responded promptly, ending her email with "It was great to hear from you-- write back soon!"

So I did, immediately, like a good possessive obsessive.  And then she replied again.

Within seven days she was quoting e.e. Cummings and I was quoting John Lee Hooker.  By Day 9 we were discussing God.

Our first phone call was to happen on Day 11.  As I held gauze to a bleeding infected to-the-bone hiking leg wound, I called her from my car at the agreed upon time.  She told me to hang up the phone and go to the emergency room.  A reasonable suggestion.

We have completed nine full years together.  There have been a multitude of homes, states, coasts, and countries.  We have been around death and we have seen new lives.  She's the most fascinating person I have ever met and she's more "lovely and fun" than I'd told her she was on 3/13/03.  She's probably added years onto my life.

So, what did I give Kristen for our ninth anniversary?  Bronchitis.

I'll work on something better for #10.

Year One

Year Three

Year Five

Year Eight

Year Nine

The things I collect

Yesterday I had 60 T-Shirts.  60.  We have our own washer & dryer.  There are 7 days in a week.  60 T-Shirts.  I threw away 10 and that was a chore.  I won't even tell you what the sock drawer looked like.

To be fair (to who? myself?) a third of those Ts were for the gym.  For those folks who don't know, after I exercise I look like I've just jumped in the pool with my clothes on.  So I set aside specific Ts for that abuse.  About 16.

Clearly, I like T-shirts, but there's more to it than that.  I collect things, often without knowing it.  There's a genuine Hoarder gene in my family so I have to be on the lookout for signs of its prevalence in me.

The act of accumulating non-perishable consumer goods outside of wartime is connected to other existing human psychological complexities.  Don DeLillo might say that it's part of our desire to postpone death.  Freud would probably agree then loop in issues with libido.  Jung might reference a disconnection with a spiritual center.  Psych 101 would likely suggest depression or repression; holding onto physical things provides the illusion of control.  A good communist scholar could say that it's one of the end results of capitalism, the unnecessary and imbalanced accumulation of goods.

So here are some things that I may or may not have collected:

Yes - T-Shirts.  I'm now down to 50.  In my defense, 16 are for workouts only (as mentioned above).  I can't wear those out into public because after a couple of hours The Ghost of Sweat Past haunts them.  8 more are white undershirts for winter or work wear.  Another 6 are long sleeve Ts.  That leaves 20 normal-wear short sleeve Ts.  In my defense, I live in Southern California so it is T-shirt weather for seven (or more) months of the year.  Thus one T a day for about three weeks.  Not in my defense, we do have that washer and dryer inside our condo...

No - Canned food goods.  We eat them within two weeks after buying them.

No - Boxed food goods.  I don't even buy 'em.

Yes - Baseball cards.  I had 22,000.  Now I have 5,000.  See here for my considerable efforts to rid myself of the 17,000.  I started collecting cards in 1985.  I stopped in 1993.  Then a haze of depression reignited this flame from 2001-2003 as I sought something that I could control.  That was an illusion, I never had control <-- to paraphrase Jurassic Park.  I stopped collecting permanently because I wanted to be more mobile, not wanting to haul countless boxes of cardboard behind me wherever I went.

No - Toilet paper.  We may buy big packs of it, but it is used and flushed with regularity.

Yes - Books.  Every few years I go through my shelves packing a box of books to go to a donation center.  I don't buy too many books anymore, but the shelves keep filling up past the bursting point.  Maybe the books are breeding.  The thing is, I'm not reading all of them right now.  I couldn't possibly read all of them again in this lifetime.  So why are they there?  To make me look cultured?

Yes - Movies.  First it was VHS tapes.  Then it was DVDs.  I have a 7-foot shelf packed solidly with the thin rectangle cases.  It used to be something I could be proud of.  My collection is of nothing but the best.  But with digital video on the rise, and constantly getting better quality-wise, the collection is beginning to look like an anchor rather than a creative skiff.

No - Wives.

No - Cats.  But to be honest, I understand The Cat Lady.  Go ahead, walk into a pound.  See the dozens of caged little domesticated animals who are there through no fault of their own.  Dozens of clean, self-reliant little buddhas who will die if I don't adopt them all.  Go ahead, pick just one.  Or two.  Or three.

Yes, sorta - Coins.  I wasn't responsible for their collection.  They're from family and old family friends.  It's a very impressive lot.  It's swell to have stuff from the 19th century.  Money that's been in America longer than my family has.  I don't add to the collection, but I do keep it.  It weighs about 50 pounds.  It's odd and hideous to move.

Yes - CDs.  Dear G-d, I've been trying to move these things out of my home.  Every CD that has intact liner notes and cover has been shuttled out to Amoeba in exchange for store credit.  But I still have 200-300 of 'em.  They've all been digitized, but I don't have any of the stuff that came with them.  So they sit, lined up like cells in a silent organism.  I will seriously sell them all for $200 (or best offer).

Yes - Items in my Amazon "Saved for Later" cart.  Yep.  Guilty as charged.  That's more an act of sloth than any sign of neurosis.  Right?

"No."

No - Stamps.  Never understood the need to collect these things.  Probably healthy.

No - Video games.  Probably healthy.

Yes - All of my hand-written writing.  And...

Yes - Printouts of every draft of every script.  I'm sure this stuff can really be disposed of, but part of me can't let go.  I created it, now I'm going to throw it away?  What kind of parent would I be?  A parent of paper, I guess.

No - Shoes.  Can't afford to keep buying new ones.  The old ones look and smell bad.

Yes - Photos.  I think I can defend this as a human thing.

Yes - Receipts.  I can't defend this as a human thing.  More of a financial thing.  Luckily, I part with a pile every year.

No - Scalps.

No - Recipes.  Though I probably should.  They don't take up much room.

Yes - Internet Bookmarks.  Holy Sh*t!  I have hundreds of them!  What are these sites?  When did I go there?  Why did I go there?  Why did I think that I would need to go back there again?

Maybe - Whiskies.  I can't afford to collect whisky.  But if I could, THAT WOULD BE AWESOME. And...And...And in defense: Whisky can be consumed.  Whisky can be shared.  And then bottles can be replaced by new ones!  Sweet!  Oh wait, that's just my fantasy.  In reality, yes, I have twelve bottles.  Soon to be eleven.  As mentioned in my year in whisky post, I'm not trying to make money from them.  And I'm not saving them until eternity.  But I spent some good money on them.  And I don't drink to excess.  So they'll last a little while.  And occasionally gain neighbors.

I guess that's it, though I'm sure Kristen could enumerate those I've missed.  Moving from home to home puts one's collection habits in check......depending on the size of the home.  We've been living in apartments and condos, and we pay professional movers to haul our stuff, and I'm married to a woman who dislikes clutter.  Thus I have the motivation to reduce.  So, I feel like the collection gene is in control.  For now.

Marriage and the Honda CR-V

Ladies and Gentlemen, behold, the new Honda CR-V commercial:

(please watch before continuing)

To recap:
In the rain, under an umbrella, a 30-something man asks a 30-something woman if she wants to get married.  She looks at the camera, stopping time, bending reality, necessitating special effects, and says "Married?  There were so many things I was going to do first."

She walks us through those things:  Hike the Appalachian Trail.  (Commercial shows her in the CR-V with three lady friends.)  Learn to Play the Drums. (We see some dude who's not her beau loading a pink drum into her trunk.)  Finish her short film.  (We see some Ed Wood-ish Sci-Fi set.)

Then she turns back to her umbrella-grasping man and says, "Okay, but we have a lot to get done first."

Then voice-over guy says "Before you make your leap, make your list.  Then get going in the completely redesigned CR-V."

---

Honda presents: Marriage As Death.

Seems like a grim way to sell a car.

The woman's immediate reaction to the prospect of nuptials is to state she can't hike the Appalachian Trail, learn to play the drums, or finish her short film after she's married.  But she also specifically says that "there were so many things" she had to do before entering marriage.  So there are clearly other "things" out there.  And she says it with an odd tone of perky fear that communicates that those things she had to do were things she would like to do.

She's saying, once she gets married she won't be able to enjoy herself, find fulfillment, or learn new things.  She's agreeing to a FAILED marriage.

If she had said...

"Married? There were so many people I was going to do first.  That guy at the music store who really wants to put his pink drum in my trunk.  That terrible actor that I only cast as the Martian so that I could cover him in body paint and humiliate him sexually.  And those three friends of mine who wanted to get high, drive into the woods and experiment...  Okay, but we have a lot of people to do first."

...that would make a little bit of sense.  She wanted to get run through a few more times before betrothing.  It's probably best she addressed that first.

But she doesn't say that, sadly.  To her, she cannot do the things she wants to do nor learn anything once she has become a wife.  So marriage means the end of joy, the end of growth.

The fact that she says "okay" to it is an acceptance of this death.  She embraces The End when she says "I do."  Very brave...within a dire world view.

I want to tell you, make-believe reality-shifting woman in the Honda commercial, that nothing is stopping you from continuing your life while you are married.  You can still hike.  You can still learn stuff.  You can still complete your (WTF?) film.  You'll even have a teammate now, supporting and encouraging your hopes and dreams.  You can even *gasp* share those things with your husband if he shows interest.

Otherwise, yeah, you're in for some sh*t.

She also uses the word "WE", as in "we have a lot to get done first."  She's now including her groom-to-be within her terror by intimating that he too will be unable to go on living once he's her husband.  His joy will be not be valid.

Now, at this point in the commercial -- when she tells her fella "okay" -- this is only from her perspective, and not from Honda's point of view.  But then Voice-Over Guy gives the Honda logline:  Before you make your leap, make your list.

With a grim usage of an old cliche, Honda is now confirming:  Marriage is bridge-jumping suicide.  Pack it in.  Buy our car.

Really, Honda?  That's the worldview you're promoting?  That's how you're selling the CR-V?

You could have tacked on, at the end, a one- or two-second shot of Woman and Man driving the CR-V along a mountain range.  Perhaps even still wearing their wedding clothes.  Hiking gear in the back seat.  *JUST MARRIED* on the back window.

That's my pitch to you, Honda.

As a husband, I'm not even offended.  I'm disturbed a writer wrote this commercial.  And a producer okayed it.  And an ad agency ran with it.  And Honda approved it.  Everyone responsible either has a terrible marriage or is scared sh*tless about the future.  And they're sharing their failures and fears during primetime.  How's that going to sell a product?

Because, seriously, marriage is not death.  Children are.

*wink wink*  *tempting fate*

Hangover

FROM:

TO:

What is a hangover?

From the NIH-published Alcohol Hangover: Mechanisms and Mediators by Robert Swift, M.D., Ph.D. and Dena Davidson, Ph.D.:

A hangover is characterized by the constellation of unpleasant physical and mental symptoms that occur after a bout of heavy alcohol drinking. Physical symptoms of a hangover include fatigue, headache, increased sensitivity to light and sound, redness of the eyes, muscle aches, and thirst. Signs of increased sympathetic nervous system activity can accompany a hangover, including increased systolic blood pressure, rapid heartbeat (i.e., tachycardia), tremor, and sweating. Mental symptoms include dizziness; a sense of the room spinning (i.e., vertigo); and possible cognitive and mood disturbances, especially depression, anxiety, and irritability. The particular set of symptoms experienced and their intensity may vary from person to person and from occasion to occasion. In addition, hangover characteristics may depend on the type of alcoholic beverage consumed and the amount a person drinks.

From Wikipedia:

A hangover is the experience of various unpleasant physiological effects following heavy consumption of alcoholic beverages. The most commonly reported characteristics of a hangover include headache, nausea, sensitivity to light and noise, lethargy, dysphoria, diarrhea and thirst, typically after the intoxicating effect of the alcohol begins to wear off. While a hangover can be experienced at any time, generally speaking a hangover is experienced the morning after a night of heavy drinking. In addition to the physical symptoms, a hangover may also induce psychological symptoms including heightened feelings of depression and anxiety.

And concisely phrased by the Mayo Clinic:

A hangover is a group of unpleasant signs and symptoms that can develop after drinking too much alcohol.

It can start before the night is over.  It can hammer down in the morning.  It can pin a body down onto the carpet, dizzying the universe.  It can seize one's neuro-receptors and make one weep while listening to syrupy pop music and sitting in traffic.  The more religious-minded of us see it as cosmic punishment for our pleasures.  It feels like failure.

They set up shop in the brain with greater ease the older that brain gets.  I drank irresponsibly for at least three years of undergrad, hangover-less.  Then the morning after graduation, the lead-heavy beast seized me up into its raging grasp and squeezed my brains until nightfall.  But now, after my second glass of red wine the headache sneaks in and nothing is fun anymore.  Yet those red wine aches are mere squeaks compared to the nerve-shredding toxic spills of the morning after a lovely party-night.

Everyone has their own remedies.  To some folks, a good puke does wonders.  Bloody Marys for others.  Or a greasy cheeseburger with a fried egg on top.  I used to go for a long run to sweat it all out......TEN YEARS AGO.

I've actually only had two hangovers since I've been a married man.  One of them was this weekend.  You see, normally, a couple glasses of whisky and I'm set.  But my dearest wife and I decided to check out a local sushi place as well as an Irish pub (both walkable!) and......we had cocktails here at home before it all began.  It was a great night.  It was a terrible morning.

---

Here's a list that I made when I was feeling like a sweating lump of coal with a headache:

Things that are good for a hangover:

Cold Water

Vitamins

Powerade

Quiet early-era Miles Davis (volume low)

Fried potatoes (any kind)

Dominoes Cheesy Bread - OH MAN I JUST FOUND OUT ABOUT THIS STUFF

Club Soda

Beer - Just one or you're starting up a whole new problem

Dinner for breakfast, Breakfast for dinner

Football on TV

Sunglasses (indoors)

Curling up on the floor

Antiques Roadshow Marathon

The magical nap - The one where you fall asleep at 11am and wake up at 1pm

Other people's pity

Blogs

Things that are bad for a hangover:

Light

Dark

Sound

Consciousness

Sweat

Gravity

Constipation

Fire Ass

Fire Trucks

Harleys

The bad nap - The one where you fall asleep at 11am & wake up at 11:15am, feverish

Brushing teeth - It hurts, it hurts

Nodding head "Yes"

Shaking head "No"

The smell of day-old spilled liquor

Loud avant-garde Miles Davis

Physical intimacy beyond "Hi."

Weeping

---

There really aren't any consistent remedies, though hydration and zinc can go a long way to letting your body repair what you'd just f**ked up.  What you can do is avoid the hangover in the first place.

How to avoid a hangover:
Don't drink
Hydrate between drinks
Pick your poison - None of this beer-then-whisky-then-vodka-then-wine-then-gin-&-tonics
Stay away from mixers - All of their sugars contribute to the impending horrible crash
Don't do shots

Don't get old
Cut your head off

Drinking is a lovely thing.  There's no need to be physically punished for it.  Sexually?  Maybe.  Ere, I digress.  It's about treating yourself right.  Having a glass of great single malt scotch is treating yourself right.  Drinking everything that's wet and within arm's length is not treating yourself right.

Since you're reading this blog, you know that I like a malt beverage from time to time.  So I don't say this lightly:  Drink Responsibly.  Don't punish yourself over a love of the good things.

True story from the road

Picture this:

Kristen and I are in a hotel room, having set aside a few hours to do some important work.

She needs to take a practice test in order earn a professional certification.  I have a ton of story fixes that I need to make before I can start my script's 3rd draft.

We're seated, facing away from each other, computers on.  Silence.  Twenty minutes go by...

"Awww," Kristen peeps.

I don't turn around. "What's up?"

"Something I really wanted to buy has totally sold out."

"Me too."

"Whisky?" she asks.

"Whisky. And you?"

"A big silver wishbone."

Silence.

"A big silver wishbone?"

"A big silver wishbone."

...and Scene.

Back to work.

Dulles Layover

My wife is great to layover with.  I mean, in the airport.  I mean, nothing is better than laying over with my wife.  I mean...

I'll start again.

Due to our early flight, my alarm was set for 3:20AM this morning.  You can always count on that being a restful sleep.  So, after laying in an anxiety swamp for four hours, I crawled into the car with my wife.  We did a sweet beeline up the empty 405 in the dark.  Parked, bussed, checked, securitied, and got to the gate with time to spare.

We got upgraded to first class.  Wife versus Trip, 1-0.

Slept for 30 minutes, had a free meal, finished a Film Comment mag, and was too batty to take advantage of the free booze.

Got to Dulles Airport on time, which means a 3-1/2 hour layover.  First thing we always do in this situation is hit the Potbelly in Gate C.

Here we enjoy some Potbelly sandwiches and Yuengling, neither of which are available in LA.  A song about LA plays on the speakers as Mohammed (that's what the receipt says) serves us.

After this, we walk past two Duty Free shops where I complain, as I always do, that it's ridiculous that I can't buy Duty Free-only whisky bottlings while flying domestically.  Kristen pretends like she's never heard me complain about that before.  I feel self-righteously correct.

Now we sit in a United Club.  Free internet, free shortbread cookies, comfortable seats, and Glenlivet 15 French Oak(!).  Wife versus Trip, 2-0.

I am spoiled today.  Had I been travelling alone, I'd be laying on the floor at my next gate, complaining to strangers about my earache and crappy seats as I chew antacids for lunch.

Thanks, K!

Welcome to our happy home, Part One!

Goodness knows the laundry list of mishaps within and without the walls of our condo grows every week.  But I'd like to focus on the positives right now.  Each corner of our condo has been gradually evolving from a mess into a home.  When things go sour, I forget that this transformation is happening.

For instance, our hallway.

BEFORE:

AFTER:

BEFORE:

AFTER:

Here's our dining room:

BEFORE:

AFTER:

And the living room:

BEFORE:

AFTER:

This is our place, evolving into a home.  Sometimes we need to step back and look at this.  It's not all wilderness and despair.  It's work, but towards good ends.

Also, please note the happy wife in the last photo.  She's mine.

The Mold Room becomes The Office

HOW THIS:

BECAME THIS:

First there was the removal of the popcorn ceiling.  That required soaking, scraping, sanding, priming, and painting.  It looked like this:

And this:

Then there was the wallpaper removal, which turned out to be considerably more challenging than we had expected.  First we scored the crummy painted-over-NUMEROUS-times wallpaper with a little device that shrieked like metal nails on a chalkboard.  Then we scrubbed the wall down with a toxic wallpaper removal fluid -- its effectiveness debatable.  Then we peeled the wallpaper off.  Then we scrubbed the wall again with the remover.  Then we scraped off the wallpaper adhesive.  Then Kristen hit the considerable mold growths with a bleach tincture.  Twice.

This is what success looked like:

Here's an example of the brilliance we have to deal with:

The previous owner had painstakingly wrapped the INSIDE of the vent cover in wallpaper.  With the outside of the cover encrusted in multiple poor paint jobs and the inside smothered in this homely blind-grandmother-from-the-1950s schlock, it went in the garbage.  I can't wait to see what awaits us when we remove our home's other vents.

Kristen hit the ceiling with primer and Ceiling White.  Then we pondered paint shades for some time, settling on Misty Lake from Olympic.  Then she deftly applied primer and two full coats to the walls, staying up past 1:30am on a weeknight.  Here are some action shots:

While she was doing this, I was making dinner:

Teamwork!  Wherein "Michael painting" ∉ "Teamwork".  Math joke.

One more time:

This room's transformation from mildewed disaster to cozy living space has gone a long way towards making our condo feel like a home.  Thank you, Kristen!