Time In A Bottle- In Praise of Whiskey

It’s easy to be staggered by even a small selection. If the legendary Fountain of Youth were real and the Water of Life changed character and flavor with every drop, I’m not sure I’d care which one I got. When each “drop” can cost between $20 and $2000+, though… one feels the need to be a little choosy.

While my dad loves wine and passed his knowledge of tasting and experiencing wine down to me well enough, wine just never sang in me the same way whiskey and beer have. No less an art form, requiring no less craft and patience and care, people have spent their lives in pursuit of their perfect dram, let alone the perfect one. Among my goals in life is to have my own little whiskey collection- not large by any means, but each bottle curated with care to suit any situation myself or my guest might bring to my bar.

What’s stopping me? In order to have a collection of whiskeys, one must either make enough money to buy more whiskey than one can buy quickly, or drink it slowly enough that a collection can accumulate. Either track is, alas, remarkably challenging.

Tellingly, the word “whiskey” is derived from the Gaelic “uisgebatha,” which translates to “water of life.” If legends and folktales tell us anything, the quest for the Water of Life is anything but easy or short. In my own meandering experience, however, it is incredibly enjoyable.

Piss on picklebacks at your own risk.
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Checking In- Don’t Let Monstrous Times Make You A Monster

Where are you Matt?
What are you feeling?
Check in- what’s happening now?

This is the litany of questions that has gone through my head on repeat for the last few weeks. It’s one of the tools I use to ground and re-center myself when I catch my thoughts ruminating or spiraling.

You don’t “hate everything,” Matt. You are tired and sad. Hate and anger are easier to feel and parse than pain.

This is the other mantra I’ve found myself repeating over and over when I find myself slipping into depression. That’s been increasing over the last few months. The usual anxieties and tribulations of life seem to magnify themselves when you constantly poach yourself in a broth of bad news. It feels like everything hurts, and the world is too hard and painful to keep being kind in.

I insist on continuing to be kind, though.
My core values remain Patience and Compassion.
My “Way of the Floured Hand” dictates that “I choose love, I chose love, and I will always choose love.”
“It’s Chaos; Be Kind.”

I know that ideals like this will always be worth it in the end, always mebut that doesn’t mean it’ll always feel good.

Bilbo Baggins from Lord of the Rings saying "I feel thin.. like butter scraped over too much bread."
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Our Insecurities Can Speak Out Of Turn

My exercise routine has been yielding interesting results lately. After injuring my lats by increasing weight too fast on overhead presses, I decided to switch it up and give Romanian Deadlifts a shot, and while I will be going back to running in the spring I really enjoy just taking long walks in Mount Tabor Park.

The Romanian Deadlifts don’t seem to be doing much for my weight, but I’ve noticed I’m able to touch my toes more easily. The walks, similarly, have become less about getting exercise in and finding time to be quiet and mindful and piece my way through life.

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A Story Worth Telling in a Way Worth Hearing

Vixere fortes ante Agamemnona Multi: sed omnes illacrimabiles Urgentur, ignotique longa Nocte, carent quia vate sacro.
(“Many heroes lived before Agamemnon, but they are all unmourned, and consigned to oblivion, because they had not their sacred bard.”)

– Horace

I first read that quote on a webpage of Latin mottos where it was offered as just the first statement- “Vixere fortes ante agamemnona”- to mean that heroism exists even if no one notices it. Ironically, or perhaps appropriately, this is a perfect demonstration of the power of the pen. The quote itself extols the role of writers and poets in giving heroes immortality.

The metacontext of the quote is that when Horace wrote the passage in his Odes, he was simping for the original “sacred bard” Homer, author of the Iliad where Agamemnon’s story is recounted. Some translators have taken a little poetic license on this and interpret the passage (the way I first heard it) as “Brave men lived before Agamemon, but they died forgotten, for there were no poets before Homer.”

The meta-metacontext is that, if you read the Iliad at all, Agamemnon is pretty much an absolute knob, a coward, a monster, and absolutely responsible for all of his own failures including and especially his own death. So millennia of writers and poets have been needed to burnish his story into anything remotely resembling a hero.

That’s what we in the creative business call “serious workshopping.”

Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on Pexels.com
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The Staff Of Life, Liquified

Beer was liquid bread. Bread was solid beer.”

– Tom Standage, “A History of the World in Six Glasses

Walking in is as different at every beer hall as it is the same. Different decor, different vibe to the place, different service… different menus to be sure. Behind it all is a shared sensory vocabulary, however, that make each reminiscent of the others.

The arrangement of tables in the hall, sometimes, so that there is a selection of intimate booths for those who want to drink alone or in very select company and long linked tables for boisterous get-togethers and ersatz parties among colleagues. The general geography- you can see the seats and you can see the bar (the style and texture of which again reflects the mood and vibe of the place.) There is a clear order of operations to be observed here. A ritual to be followed and walked as carefully and unconsciously (for the faithful) as the Stations of the Cross.

A selfie of the author wearing an olive green newsboy cap, green tweed vest, and white shirt raising a pint of dark beer.
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