“Sean, what the hell are you doing now? What are you working on?”
Oh, so happy you asked. I have a number of dumbass unmarketable irons in the fire related to my constant attempts to become a PAID horror author. In the mean time, at the behest of others who know more than I do about what I am best at, I am still chugging away at my book of satirical essays. Here is one that I wrote JUST today. Enjoy, or don’t. And go buy my novel you cheap freeloading bastards.
Again I note that the list I originally conceived was constructed now almost a year and a half ago. Its funny how some things can be utter codswallop (odd, no acceptable spelling for that word, thank you Bill Gates, I’ll just go with an A and assume it is correct) or completely unappealing to you for almost forty-five years and then whammo, you like them. When I wrote the list (or more A.A Milne to say, “The List”) I had for years had an utter disgust for scotch whiskey. I had tried it unsuccessfully straight (or “neat” as some will say, on ice, in water, even mixed with cola (which seems to make even the vilest of liquors palatable, or completely palatable if one is trying to impress nineteen year old models when one is twenty-seven and newly single and all they have at their apartment is “Mexican Spoogewater” or “Tequila” as it is known in North America. )… Pardon me, I digress… I promise to relate this tale in my next book, that being my autobiography, tentatively named “Well I found it Pretty Boring” or “Please Read Drunk Because That’s How I Wrote It”. What I mean to say is three years ago I had no use for scotch. Now I do: drinking it.
My father, an ex-member of the Scottish Regiment known as The Black Watch, was very good at pretending to like scotch whiskey, though I can never actually remember him having any in the house (his preferred mind-numbing potion being Brador beer). Based on my youthful assumptions that ones father is immortal and omniscient and would never tell a lie, I took his advice mentally and assumed it was a good and useful liquor. I tried it and hated it and felt less a man for such. I told myself, often when in the company of people that DID imbibe the amber nectar of the Speyside, that one day, one blessed day when I became a true man, a hairy man, a man who golfed more and didn’t do so because ones father made him, a man who read poetry one moment and chopped down a tree with a chainsaw the next, one day I would grow up and like scotch. Then I turned 30 and realized this was hogwash.
At the age of forty-three I went for dinner with my wife at a tres-expensive restaurant on Bay Street in Toronto. It was one of those promotional summer deals whereby you get a “hundred dollar a person” meal for the equivalent of a cheaper meal at a fairly decent place in a much smaller city. At the suggestion of she I looked at the drinks list and as I had recently discovered an affinity for cognac thought perhaps I would have an aperitif. I reviewed with interest the ridiculously long and insanely expensive list of scotches. Throwing cares to the wind like primitive islanders in an eighteenth century tsunami, I picked a thirty five dollar a glass Speyside made twelve year old something something named something with lots of rolling R’s and an”aughch” somewhere in in it.I sipped it. It was good.
I discovered that my problem was I had been treating Scotch like one SHOULD treat rum.. the cheaper and thicker and higher the alcohol content and younger the age, the more likely it would be good. (Its called the “Pirate Rule of Drinking Rum”. I invented it. (See section entitled Rules of Sean at the end of the book.))… Scotch is one of those things that unlike women is in fact better the older and more expensive it is. Its not a lie made up to sell more liquor.
Therefore as much as I had originally been completely accurate in my addition of scotch to the list of things I dislike, it has henceforth been removed and replaced with Internet Memes. I have also removed country music as my wife has explained to me that as I like what I and marketing folks deem “Alt-Country” or “Hipster-Country” and old school cowboy “Western Music” I cannot say I dislike country. But I do still despise the Blues and blues fans with their little soul patches, sunglasses at night and raspy cigarette raped voices.
Note: Invest in some whiskey stones. Keep them in the freezer. Carry one in your pocket all the time along with your twenty sided die so you always have TWO conversation starters as in “Here let me see if I have some change homeless man. No, sorry, oh that? That’s a twenty sided die, for playing role playing games. Sort of like when you pretend to not be on crack. That, well, that’s of no use to you. Its a “WHISKEY STONE”. Its for making drinks cold but not watered down. Nevermind. Please don’t touch my shoes.” etc.