Say What?

I'm getting tired of hearing pols and other muckety-mucks using the term “at the end of the day...”. They gotta come up with something else because, at the end of the day, I go to bed.

One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer

I'm not a bartender, but I played one Saturday night. My daughter's high school had their annual fund-raising crab cioppino fest, and I helped. I came across quite a melange of folks and had a good ol' time.

We had a slight equipment malfunction at the start and the head barkeep ended up wearing a few pints of Prohibition ale. I thought it looked good on him but he decided to head home for a wardrobe change. His wife ably stepped in until his return.

There were a few interesting requests. One lady wanted an appletini. I almost went McEnroe on her. “Are you serious?!!” I also briefly envisioned myself channeling Bruno (see 9/6/06 post). But after doing my self-relaxation exercises, I calmly explained that we would regretfully not be able to fill her order. I can't recall what she ended up having, but it was not an appletini. Another request was for a Roy Rogers. Not being a master mixologist, she had to explain to me that it was grenadine and Coke. She got a Coke.

A few folks were stuck on which beer or red wine they wanted and I gave them a little taste before making their decision. I'm always willing to go the extra step. That and the fact that I gave a good pour made me popular, garnering repeat customers. But when things got busy, I had to switch gears. With about 20 people in line behind them, two young ladies asked how the white wine was. Not having tasted it, I declared it excellent without hesitation.

One couple ordered vodka and soda. They looked a little too young to have kids there but I thought it would be imprudent for me to ask why the hell they were spending their Saturday night at a high school crab feed. I also wanted to question their drink choice. I understand we all have different tastes but my taste is most important, and I don't like putting soda water in perfectly good vodka.

One of the highlights of the evening was an exchange I overheard as I was opening a couple cases of the rare wine we were serving. There was a geezer who wanted a diet soda. He was told we were out but he was like a dog with a bone. This guy was not going away until he got his diet soda. I recalled we had a couple at the bottom of the bin and fished one out before somebody cold cocked the codger. I handed it to him and got high praise while he denigrated my fellow barmen. I said “Have a good evening”, which when translated from the British, means “Piss off”.

Ex-Rodent

That rodent I mentioned Thursday has ceased to exist. Needless to say, the story about my daughter was apocryphal. I would never send my delicate little girl on a rat hunt. A mouse maybe, but not a rat.

You may not have heard, but there is an Eggo shortage. Since that is the breakfast of choice for Sonny Boy 2, I have concerns. I hope we don't have to buy the off brand product.

Are any of my readers as obsessed with Robert Pattinson as I am?

By the way, I've changed my name. You can now refer to me as DJ Ochocinco.

Smoke 'em if you got 'em

I'm Global

That's why I was up early this morning, getting ready for my 6am meeting. I caught a bit of Morning Joe as I sipped my morning joe. They were discussing the Time magazine cover story on helicopter parents. As I watched, a rodent scurried by. Not being a good example of the topic at hand, I woke up my daughter, gave her a piece of cheese and a baseball bat, and told her to take care of the situation.

Holy Cow

I just remembered I gotta blog at least once a week. Never mind, I'm good 'til next Tuesday.

Tabloid Report

I picked the wrong line at Safeway earlier this week and had more time to check out the reading material. On the cover of Life and Style magazine, Kourtney Kardashian proclaims that she “loves being pregnant”. Which part? Is it the need to pee every five minutes? She also stated that she's nervous about being a good mom. Oh Kourtney, that's a common feeling. Lots of people, including myself, are nervous about you being a good mom. Elsewhere on the Kardashian front, I hear Khloe and new hubby are trying to have a baby too. I guess this guarantees the next generation of reality TV shows, as well as the complete collapse of what's left of American culture.

There was another headline stating that Clint Eastwood was “frail”. I need to send a letter to their editorial brain trust to let them know that sometimes happens to people approaching 80. However, I'm not buying it. I'm pretty sure Clint can still kick my ass.

A Punch in the Gut

Aerosmith, at least as we've known it lo these many years, is no more. I weep.

Being a superannuated rock star can be difficult. The rigors of travel have to take their toll. Also, Steven Tyler stated he wanted to do something "Steven Tyler" Hey, who doesn't? But I suspect that he just didn't want to be away from his hair stylist for more than a week at a time.

SLA

No, this is not a primer on the Symbionese Liberation Army. As many of you know, SLA stands for service level agreement. Big time corporate types, like my FC posse, bandy it about.

I had dinner at #2's house Saturday night. Fortunately he fortified me with vitamin V to help me stave off the onslaught from #1. Often SLAs are negotiated but this one was more like an ultimatum. But when #1 talks, DJ listens, especially when his hits are dropping precipitously.

Let me back up a bit. I had a one on one with #1 at the get together. I commented that I hadn't seen him checking my blog lately. He said something to the effect of “If you're not going to put the same effort into as I do...” Ouch! I know reading this crap is strenuous, but come on! So we “agreed” that I would post at least once a week. He even followed up with an email today to mention that my average since August had met the SLA, but also pointed out some serious gaps. At least we're still communicating. Bygones!

I was happy to see the health care bill pass the House, but I'm a little concerned how it will fare in the Senate. Lindsey Graham – aka jowly Dave Foley per Jason Linkins of HuffPo – called it DOA. And I'm not expecting any help from Joe Lieberman, the so-called Senator from Aetna. Linkins had this to add:

"Where were you when the House did this? Me, I was girding myself, with liquor, in advance of the moment when that saggy and unloved sack of malted bile, Joe Lieberman, ruins everything."

OK, I gotta save a little for the next post, which will be out within a week. Now its time to pour a glass of Rosenblum Harris Kratka Zin and chow down on the asparagus, red onion and fontina cheese frittata I cranked out earlier.