Dumb Stuff We Hear On NPR

There's a LOT that might could fall in that category; this is just the latest:

And what that means is that 1 in 3 adults drinks excessively.

What counts as excessive? Less than you might think.

Women who consume eight or more drinks per week are considered excessive drinkers. And for men, excess is defined as 15 or more drinks a week. (The researchers defined a drink as just 5 ounces of wine, 12 ounces of beer or 1.5 ounces of spirits.)

Well, now.  It appears that I drink excessively, what with two beers every afternoon and a couple o' single malts or bourbons... on rare occasions more than two... after dinner.  This adds up to a grand total of about 28 drinks a week on average, nearly twice what the quoted study defines as excessive.  I'm not gonna worry my semi-pretty lil head about this, however.  According to my doctor I'm as healthy as the proverbial horse... aside from the fact I can't breathe, which has nothing to do with alcohol.  I trust my doctor one whole helluva lot more than I trust these so-called studies.

Alcohol and Related Indignities

I coulda titled this piece "The Sunday Re-Run" but didn't.  But the fact remains: this IS a re-run.  Onward and upward...

Warnings

My Buddy Ed In Florida sends along the following:

Alcohol Warnings

Due to increasing products liability litigation, beer manufacturers have accepted the FDA's suggestion that the following warning labels be placed immediately on all beer containers:

*WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may make you think you are whispering when you are not.

*WARNING: Consumption of alcohol is a major factor in dancing like an asshole.

*WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may cause you to tell the same boring story over and over again until your friends want to SMASH YOUR HEAD IN.

* WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may cause you to thay shings like thish.

*WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may lead you to believe that ex-lovers are really dying for you to telephone them at four in the morning.

**WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may leave you wondering what the hell happened to your pants.

*WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may make you think you can logically converse with other members of the opposite sex without spitting.

WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may make you think you have mystical Kung Fu powers.

**WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may cause you to roll over in the morning and see something really scary (whose species and or name you can't remember).

WARNING: Consumption of alcohol is the leading cause of inexplicable rug burns on the forehead.

*WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may create the illusion that you are tougher, smarter and more handsome than some really, really big guy named FRANZ.

*WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may lead you to believe you are invisible.

*WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may lead you to think people are laughing WITH you.

**WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may cause an influx in the time-space continuum, whereby small (and sometimes large) gaps of time may seem to literally disappear.

WARNING: Consumption of alcohol may actually CAUSE pregnancy.

The asterisked items indicate tee shirts I acquired in my ill-spent youth.  

The double asterisked items concern themselves with a war story I've never told... the Reader's Digest version of which involved me waking up next to a totally bald woman (albeit one with a gray-haired wig askew on her bald pate) who had to be at least 70 years of age and who swore up and down that we had had intimate knowledge of each other not four or five hours ago (as best as I can determine: she did NOT speak English) and wanted to repeat the experience.  I declined her offer as gently as possible, and to this very day I do NOT believe I was THAT drunk.  Some things are beyond the pale and that was one such.  

To make matters worse I had been set up with my new-found geriatric companion in a fitting act of retribution by my so-called buddy, who also stole my clothes and left me buck-nekkid in this harridan's bed.  And why did my buddy set me up?  Well... basically it's because his lady friend and I got incredibly drunk together and argued about politics until the wee small hours (or until I passed out, whichever came first, or both) when she should have been doing something more enjoyable with my buddy.  My bud did NOT take kindly to that and I kinda-sorta ruined his night.  Ergo, retribution.

Back to the story...   I managed to wrap myself in a sheet and searched the premises for my clothes... which involved going from room to room in an establishment where that sorta thang isn't normally done, most especially EARLY in the morning... but I duly discovered where my clothes had been hidden after about 20 minutes of frantic searching... assisted by my semi-clothed elderly lady friend.  I then proceeded to get dressed and got the Hell out o' Dodge in that early morning hour and went searching for a restaurant with ANY sort o' greasy breakfast and a couple o' few aspirin.  Or six of same, because I was sufferin' from God's Own Retribution of a hangover, one of my Top Ten Hangovers of All Time.  I stumbled into a western-style hotel a few blocks from whence I came, and was VERY pleased to find their restaurant was not only open but featured "American Breakfast."  So we ordered about a half gallon of coffee, breakfast, that much needed aspirin, and soon the world was MUCH brighter.  As for the "western-style hotel" bit, all this happened in a country not my own, I should add.  So there's that.

All o' which reminds me of a lil sumthin' I post and re-post from time to time, to wit:

More on drunkenness from an old post I put up back in March of '06:

Apropos of nothing, as is my wont, of late. Quite some time ago I read Dan Jenkins’ novel “Baja Oklahoma,” which was a good tale…funny, creative and full of little folk gems. One of those gems impressed me SO much I took the trouble to transcribe the list and pin it to the wall above my desk. This, of course, was in the way-way-back. But…it’s a very relevant piece of work. Here, for your illumination/edification, are Dan Jenkins’ “Ten Stages of Drunkenness:”

1. Witty and Charming
2. Rich and Powerful
3. Benevolent
4. Clairvoyant
5. Fuck Dinner
6. Patriotic
7. Crank up the Enola Gay
8. Witty and Charming, Part II
9. Invisible
10. Bulletproof

I don’t believe I’ve ever made it to “Bulletproof.” Evidence of that fact is: I’m still alive. I have, however, been “Witty and Charming, Part II” on a few occasions and “Invisible” once or twice. The most common state I arrived at was Number Four and perhaps Five…achieved nearly every Friday night whilst I was living in SFO. Ah, nostalgia!

Truer words were never written or spoken. I usually only get to Stage Three these days. But Stage Five is not unknown...

When Stage Five happens these days (which is rarely, actually) I usually take a nap and then have a late dinner.  Coz dinner is important, Gentle Reader. 

The comments to the original post are (somewhat) interesting, in that the guy who hid my clothes weighed in.  That was one helluva night, Gentle Reader.

Sláinte!

Well, now.  This is rare: "The Truth We Won’t Admit: Drinking Is Healthy."  A few excerpts:

Not discussing the beneficial impact of alcohol on heart disease has been a systematic policy of the U.S. public health establishment, one example of which is the Framingham Study. The National Institutes of Health, which funded the Framingham research, forbad Harvard epidemiologist Carl Seltzer from publishing this finding, he later revealed. Why? NIH’s reasoning, published in a 1972 memo, still pervades American thinking:

The encouragement of undertaking drinking with the implication of prevention of coronary heart disease would be scientifically misleading and socially undesirable in view of the major health problem of alcoholism that already exists in the country.

Flash forward to 2011, when the 2010 Dietary Guidelines for Americans were finally released by the Department of Agriculture and HHS. One reason for their delayed publication was the uproar raised by public health organizations to the Guidelines’ alcohol committee’s report of “strong evidence” that moderate drinking prevents heart disease, and the “moderate evidence” that it prevents dementia. Such battles are old hat: Similar campaigns against mentioning alcohol’s health benefits are mounted every five years when the Guidelines threaten to include them, starting with South Carolina senator and teetotaler Strom Thurmond’s strenuous objections to the 1995 edition.

Epidemiological study after study (that is, research tracing drinkers, their consumption, and their life outcomes) produces consistent findings—there are now hundreds of such studies. But whenever any sort of research can be teased out to suggest drinking is bad for you, it will be put on full display to confuse the picture.

The whole article is worth the time you'll spend to read it.  There's one important caveat, however: not everyone should drink.  My mother was an alcoholic and it killed her, quite literally.  I've seen the damage alcohol can do to a person's life and to the alcoholic's loved ones and it's not pretty, believe me.  If I had to give thanks for one single thing in my life it would be that the alcoholism trait went missing in my genetic make-up (and that of my children, too).  Otherwise?  I believe I'm the beneficiary of alcohol's prophylactic effects.  My doctor agrees with me, sayin' my "numbers" are so good I'd prolly live to be 100.  If I could only breathe.

Sláinte!

A Sight for Sore Eyes...

... and a treat for deprived taste buds:

That would be a half-dozen bottles of Bulleit Rye.  I got a call from the Cannon Class VI store about an hour ago notifying me that my special order for Bulleit had FINALLY come in (it's been at least three months since I placed the order).  The store received a case o' the stuff so I went ahead and bought six... coz ya never know when they'll run out.  This otta hold me for a week or three.  Or a few days, if my name was Virgil.

After Dinner Whiskey Hour is gonna be SO much better than usual this evening.

Rye Resurgent

There's an interesting article in The Atlantic about the resurgence of rye whiskey over the past few years in these United States.  It may be the article is only interesting to those of us who enjoy a dram or two on occasion and you know who you are.  I thoroughly enjoyed the piece and you might, as well.  Here's a screen-cap of the first few grafs...

Bulleit... my favorite rye... gets a shout-out in the article.  That said, it's been a few months since a bottle o' Bulleit rye has graced my likker locker and the spirit is sorely missed.  It appears the Cannon Class VI is NOT a "decent liquor store" as defined by The Atlantic and more's the pity.  The incompetent management at the Class VI store can't even get Bulleit by special order... and I've tried.  Well, I suppose there's always the inter-tubes, eh?

Update, 1600 hrs:  I'm just in from Cannon Airplane Patch where we did the usual, customary, and reasonable things, which is to say pick up meds from the pharmacy, restock the larder at the commissary, and stop at the Class VI for beer.  While we were at the Class VI we took the opportunity to BITCH about that long-overdue special order for Bulleit rye, long and loud.  The management was all apologetic, saying that no, they hadn't forgotten me, and yes they were still working the order but it's a lot harder these days to special order stuff.  I didn't bother to ask WHY it's harder to fill a special order these days, not wanting yet another chorus of excuses.  Still and even, the woman said she would update me by phone later on this afternoon.  We shall see.

Today's Happy Hour Soundtrack

Pete Townshend with an acoustic version o' "Won't Get Fooled Again:"



I'm pretty sure I like Townshend's acoustic version better than the full-tilt, screaming Daltrey version one finds on "Who's Next."  But BOTH are excellent, classics even.

Speakin' about not gettin' fooled again... We're just in from a whiskey re-supply run out to Cannon Airplane Patch, about which we have both good and bad news.  First, the good news:  the Class VI store restocked with that 18-year Glenlivet that I find so attractive.  The bad news: the price went up.  We didn't find this out until we got to the register and the lady rang us up.  The price on the shelf is labeled as bein' the same as the 15-year old edition but in reality it's 16 Yankee Dollars more dear.  We went ahead and bought the stuff anyway, not wanting to (a) hold up the line while we (b) returned the pricey bottle to the shelf in favor o' the more reasonable version, and (c) not wanting to appear to be a piker.  That said, this will prolly be our last bottle o' the really good stuff for a while.

And we won't get fooled again.

One Minor Complaint and One Good Thing

We're back to this again.

Just in from yet another trip out to Cannon Airplane Patch to do the usual, customary, and reasonable things: restock the larder and the likker locker.  I need to get a handle on this "eating" thing; it's getting to the point where I spend waaaay more on food than I do on booze and beer.  That said, my monthly food bill is about half of my aggregate spend on booze, beer, and cigars... so mebbe I'm OK, after all.

While we're on about booze... there's still no 18-year old Glenlivet in stock at the Class VI store, which makes a lil over two weeks they've been out of stock.  Add in the fact the Class VI "can't get" Johnnie Walker Green any longer and the fact that Bulleit Rye has gone missing as well all adds up to a significant measure of discontent with the organization.  I suppose I COULD find both of these treats out there on the inter-tubes but the prices, Gentle Reader... the prices.  OTOH, the Class VI's price advantage goes right out the window if my favorite tipples aren't on the shelves.

It's always sumthin'.

In other news... on our way out to Cannon we were struck by how GREEN it is here on THPoNM right now, which is to say greener than I've ever seen it.  We've had well over six and a half inches of rain so far this year, which also makes this year the wettest year in my feeble ol' memory (which would include all 12 of the years I've lived here).  To put that in perspective, our average annual precipitation is only 16.81 inches per year and 8.7 inches of that is snow.  I really should have made a Cheesy Video to show you, Gentle Reader.  Then again, those of you who don't live in arid climes would be much less than impressed.  So there's that.

Home Again, Home Again...

... jiggity-jog.  I think that's how it goes, but memory ain't what it used to be.  But, yes... we're home after what passes for the Grand Tour here on The High Plains o' New Mexico, which is to say P-Ville ==> The Big(ger) City^TM  ==> Cannon Airplane Patch ==> P-Ville.  The Tart has eight quarts o' fresh, sparkling Mobil 1 in her crankcase, her shoes have been rotated, and her vital signs have been checked, which were all good.  Or so I'm told.  We then went to restock the likker locker at Cannon's Class VI store and just for drill we checked the prices o' scotch even though we have a half-bottle of that 18-year old Glenlivet left, the object bein' to buy another bottle if the price was right.  Well, the price was right but the Class VI was sold out.  No surprise there, obviously.  I should have bought two while the gettin' was good last week.  Yet another missed opportunity.  We contented ourselves with a bottle o' Woodford Reserve and a couple o' six packs and left somewhat chagrined.

It's a glorious day outdoors, just about two ticks to the left o' perfect... which is to say bright, bright, "hurt yer eyes it's so bright" and not quite 80 degrees.  I'm gonna shock the neighbors and pop a beer out on the verandah just as soon as I check the remaining overnight mail.

Speakin' o' overnight mail, there's this:

I know the B-2 is stealthy but I didn't think its runways and taxiways were too.  Ain't technology GRAND?

Barkeep! Another Round, If You Please!

OMG.  The unintended consequences of THIS photo had to be epic.  What a bevy o' beauties, eh?  I particularly like (??) the woman on the far left with her hand outstretched.  

Beer me!

Two Crappy Cell Phone Pics, a Lil Social Commentary, and a Lapse In Ethics

So, we're just back in from a run out to Cannon Airplane Patch for to stock the larder and the likker locker... where we saw this:

Childhood obesity?  Why, you'd never know WHY now, would ya?  Reese's for breakfast?  Sure... why the Hell not?

And about that lapse in my ethics...

What I normally drink is on the left and what we'll be drinkin' for the next couple o' few is on the right.  While we were perusing the scotch selection I noticed that the 18-year old Glenlivet was priced the same as the 15-year old stuff.  I did what any red blooded scotch drinker would do in this case and picked up the 18-year.  So, where's the ethical lapse, you ask?  This:  I know and almost any scotch drinker knows the 18-year old Glenlivet was wrongly priced.  Did I tell the cashier or management?  No, I did not.

I should have bought two.  In for a penny, in for a pound.

Another One of Those Days

Meaning the sort o' day where the folks from Shoebox have to step in and save my blogging bacon.  With this:

What?  It's too early to get drunk, even for me.*

* Full disclosure: I rarely... almost NEVER... get drunk these days.  While it's true I drink every day, it's always in moderation... read as: two beers in the afternoon and three fingers o' whiskey (bourbon or single malt, depending) after dinner.  Hell, I don't even get a decent buzz on that.

Saturday: Gotta Love a Happy Drunk

Late night entertainment on the last train home...



From the Tube O' You description:

Published on Jun 2, 2014

Forget singing in the rain - this is the hilarious moment a passenger led group singing on the train. The man - thought to be in his 60s and wearing a suit - leapt up to conduct a Southeastern carriage on the last train from London Victoria to Ashford International on Friday night. He then led the passengers - who had previously been sitting in silence - in a lengthy sing-along. The jolly reveller kept the call-and-response singing going for several minutes to applause and laughter. The Southeastern sing-along was captured by Maidstone man George Haswell.

How refreshing!

In Today's Mail

A box of Partagas 1845s in the Double Corona size, along with a freebie... two Partagas-branded "old fashioned" glasses of a rather unique design.  Like this:

I'll burn one of these during After Dinner Whiskey Hour this evening and I shall take said whiskey in one of these most-interesting vessels.  The glasses have round bottoms (as you can plainly see) and they're billed as being able to facilitate the swirling of your beverage of choice, all the better to bring out the "nose" in your libation.  We'll see how that plays out.

Added, somewhat later:  I didn't realize how unique the packaging was on these sticks until I unloaded them into the humidor.  The box is very well done, like this:

There's a bright white exterior box emblazoned with the Partagas logo which contains a glass and wood interior box.  The glass top is two-thirds frosted glass... with the logo worked into the frosted bits... and one-third plain glass; the top slides off to allow access to the cigars themselves.  Overall?  Big points for presentation value; I hope the cigars smoke as well as they look.

Added, 2000 hrs:  Salud!

We've only just begun with the cigar but the initial draw or three were quite lovely.  That's a couple o' fingers of 15 year old Glenlivet in the glass, which works as advertised.

Looking a Gift Horse In the Mouth

We received a re-supply o' cigars in the mail late yesterday afternoon.  I had ordered a box o' one o' my favorite sticks... the Partagas Spanish Rosado, in the Familia (6x54) size... so we proceeded to open the box and were disappointed to find four plastic baggies containing 26 loose cigars, only ten of which were Spanish Rosados with the remaining 16 being Padron Serie 1926 sticks.  The loose cigar thing isn't unusual but the substitution thing WAS.  I was not pleased.

Fast forward a couple o' hours and we lit off one o' those Padrons to enjoy during the hockey game, along with usual, customary and quite reasonable three fingers o' Glenlivet, repeated twice.  Or thrice... who's counting?  I was impressed.  The Padron, at nearly seven inches, lasted for the duration of the entire game and was also quite tasty.  Full-flavored but not harsh, easy drawing, and very robust.  "Not bad," thinks I, "I think I like these things."  And well I SHOULD.

Our curiosity got the best of us after the game (which the Wings won) so I hied myself off on to the inter-tubes and looked up the Padron Serie 1926.  Imagine my surprise:

Gad!  That cigar I so cavalierly smoked last evening costs 20 Yankee Dollars a pop!  I don't ever buy cigars in that price range except for the oh-so-rare occasional one-off and that was mostly in the way-back when I had access to Cuban cigars.  Nope... we smoke cigars in the five-to-eight dollar range (the Spanish Rosados are a hair over six bucks a stick, just as an illustration), buying an occasional ten dollar stick when I'm feeling sporty.

So now I'm gonna have to re-order, mainly coz I refuse to burn cigars that cost 20 Yankee Dollars all by myself during Happy Hour.  Nope, I'm gonna rat-hole the Padrons and only trot 'em out on special occasions.  Cigars like these need to be shared among very good friends and family.

In other (related) news... We made a run out to Cannon Airplane Patch to resupply our meds, the whiskey stock, and also bought food, while we were at it.  In so doing we saw this at the Class VI:

A bad mePhone pic, but you can get my drift.

I'm thinking our troops MIGHT be a bit overpaid if they can afford to buy JW Blue at 200 Yankee Dollars and change.  Just who in the hell... aside from generals/flag officers, and there ain't no generals on Cannon... can afford to buy that?  OTOH, mebbe it's not the active duty guys... mebbe it's retirees who smoke 20-dollar cigars*.

* Full disclosure:  I bought a bottle o' that 12 year old Macallan you see.  Cheaper, but only by comparison.

Serious

Ah, yes.  THIS woman and Lordy, is she not SULTRY?

I love the commercials wherein she flogs Dewar's White Label and have been known to rewind the teevee (I can do that coz I have satellite teevee, which lets you do such things) to watch her again and again.  She's always on about "getting serious" in her delectable Scottish accent which, according to her, has "serious benefits."  I think I'd like to spend a weekend with her so she could explain that concept to me in a lil more detail... and perhaps demonstrate what she means.

As for what she's flogging?  Meh.  Dewar's ain't on my list at all, serious or not.  I do love their choice in spokeswimmen, though.  And just in case you've never seen the ad?  Well, we live to serve:



Serious.

Hair o' the Dog, Anyone?

This from yesterday's WaPo...

Bombay gin (Democrat) and Kahlua (Republican) are the only brands on this chart that are regular features in my likker locker.  But it should follow that JW Green would be a solidly Republican drink, seein' as how both JW Red and JW Black are on the chart.  Further analysis (heh) shows that Republicans like their whiskey whatever the brand, at least more so than Democrats who, like true Commies, seem to prefer vodka.

Full disclosure:  I awoke this morning with a clear head, which could be interpreted as either good news or bad news, depending.  I also woke up alone, which could be either good or bad news yet again.

This and That

Lotsa folks are linking Dave Barry's Year In Review... or whatever ya wanna call it... so I guess I will, too.  It's funny but then again, DB is ALWAYS funny.  A sample:

This year was so bad that twerking wasn’t even the stupidest dance craze. That would be the “Harlem Shake,” which is not so much a dance as a mass nervous-system disorder, and which makes the “Gangnam Style” dance we mocked in 2012 look like “Swan Lake.”

We miss 2012.

I don't miss 2012.  I won't miss 2013 when it goes, come to think on it.

I drank what will prolly be the last o' this year's egg nog last evening but I WILL look for more when I go out later on today.  Just for the record: we consumed two gallons o' the stuff this holiday season... single handedly, no assistance required or desired, and by that I mean the period from Thanksgiving until last night.  One whole bottle o' Jameson's went into the nog, along with various and sundry other adult beverages.

In the "It's always sumthin'" department... I got an error message on my preamp (a B&K PT3, pictured at left) when I fired up the stereo yesterday, a cryptic readout on the digital display that simply said "PRESERVE ERR 8" (and yes: all caps, so I suppose it was shouting at me).  Subsequent googling did not reveal what that message might mean even though I did find a PDF of the owner's manual, which didn't contain a list o' error codes.  The system sounds fine and everything works but that error message bugs me, mainly coz it MIGHT be announcing impending preamp death.  And I really don't wanna buy a new preamp.

While we're on the subject o' electronics... It seems like ten years is the average life o' audio components, at least that's been my experience.  I bought my current system in 2000, so it has over 13 years use behind it and just might be ready to expire.  My teevees seem to last at least ten years as well, and then they either blow up or get replaced.  Other electronics don't fare so well; my computers rarely go more than four years before they're replaced, either due to failure or the fact I want something better, faster, MORE.  Let's NOT talk about cell phones, mmm-kay?  Those are a sore subject with me.

And finally... we're supposed to get back up into the mid-50s today.  That means we MIGHT be able to have an outdoor Happy Hour.  Yays!

Miscellany

We took our first beer and a cigar out on the verandah this afternoon, our first outdoor Happy Hour in ten days' time, or thereabouts.  The weather would have been conducive to an extended Happy Hour on the verandah if it weren't for the infernal wind... like this:

The sun was warm and bright but the wind she was intrusive.  So... one and done, outdoors.  We shall continue as we began, but indoors.

Speakin' o' that wind...  We made a provisioning run out to Cannon Airplane Patch earlier today wherein we restocked both the larder and the likker locker.  I was less than pleased to note the Cannon Class VI store was still out o' Johnnie Walker Green, this bein' the second time in as many tries, the last such bein' on Wednesday last (12/04/2013).  So we bought ourselves a quart o' 12-year-old Jameson, like this:

It's good to change up once in a while.  

But... wait.  We were goin' on about the wind, weren't we?  So, there we were... drivin' back home from the Airplane Patch at a pretty good clip and practicing our evasive maneuvers against tumbleweeds both big and small, which were blowing across the road in rather alarming numbers.  I'm thinkin' you can imagine what comes next... Yup, our best efforts failed us and we had a head-on collision with one of those damned beastly things... a LARGE beastly thing about four feet in diameter... at sumthin' just under 80 mph.  It wasn't pretty, Gentle Reader, and The Tart now has some impressive battle scars on both her hood and left front fender.  I'm hopin' the conventional wisdom... i.e., "That'll buff right out!"... holds true.  This isn't the first time this has happened to us... a tumbleweed took out the driver's side driving light on The Green Hornet some years back.

It's always sumthin'.

In other news... the timetable for my next foray out to the Right Coast has been ball-parked.  SN1 advised me earlier this week he got his first choice for his follow-on assignment from his staff tour at Air Combat Command's headquarters.  He'll assume command of the maintenance squadron at the storied 1st Fighter Wing at Langley AFB in either late June or early July and I've been put on notice that my attendance at the change o' command ceremony is mandatory.  We have some time to think about what OUR uniform of the day is gonna be (should we do a re-run of this?) but I've already begun the process.  I'm leaning very heavily towards a simple civilian suit this time around.  But I might could be persuaded otherwise.

A Quick Follow-Up and a Quicker War Story

Remember that frou-frou post I put up Saturday?  About egg nog?  Well, Martha Stewart has a take on that stuff, and it's pretty danged good.

Rule #2: You don't even have to follow the recipe if you're too drunk.

 

"3 cups of bourbon. Doesn't that sound good??? And I just made up this recipe! I just put all the good things in this that I thought everybody would love." 

Heh.  And the quickest o' quick war stories... My company (that lil boutique web services firm I worked for in SFO, not EDS) managed the "Martha Stewart Living" web site back in the day.  I made it known I wanted IN if there was even a scintilla of a chance to meet Martha and don't you even THINK of leaving me out, given I'm the director of site operations.  "Why?" asked The Powers That Be.  "Because she's one of my Lust Objects, right up there in the Top Five, to be exact," sez I, "and I wanna hit on her."  My 20-sumthin' and 30-sumthin' colleagues thought that was just fucking hilarious ("Martha?  Martha STEWART?  That old hag?") and never let me live that statement down or come close to forgetting it*.  

Heh.  Kids.  I feel SO vindicated.

* No, I never did meet Martha.

Frou-Frou...

... but good!

That would be our second Kahlua and egg nog o' the afternoon, which I'm findin' goes pretty good with Tom Clancy's last-ever novel... which we are readin' as we speak.  I've been doin' the more traditional whiskey/egg nog combination ever since Thanksgiving but decided to give this a go, seein' as how we have the ingredients on hand.  Not bad.  Not bad at ALL.

There are recipes for the drink if you're somewhat anal about it.  Me?  I just salt to taste.