Friday, December 02, 2005

Smirnoff, my friend

Its not easy to get over one's phobia of something. Something as deeply ingrained in the psyche doesn't just go away immediately, but after a few years I think one ought to face one's demons in a head on combat, and in my case, its with vodka.

Its no secret that vodka remains one of the popular spirits for its mixability in cocktails, as compared to say, whisky. Vodka becomes the automatic poison of choice when you don't want to reek of beer, or hey, whisky. But many years ago I valiantly celebrated my new year with half a bottle, and I was gone. What happened after that can be described in as few words as: regret, dizziness, despair.

Since then it has always been my kryptonite or sorts. Vodka? No thanks, I'll drink anything else, but please, hold the vodka.

A few months back I tried it again, but this time with mixers, yes, signs that I've grown smarter, but of course I immediately realized that it wasn't the smartest of choice. Whatever goes down easy, brings *you* down easier. Needless to say that night I was gone. Perhaps it was out of frustration with life, or the need to vent my frustrations that particular night, but I did, and I wasn't proud of what I did that night, but I didn't regret it either. I had accomplished what I had set out to do that night, which was to go all out, forget myself, and have a good time.

Recently I've been reintroduced to my own evil, arch-nemesis, albeit in the form of a rather classy Grey Goose. What was it that it could command a RM174 price tag? From the supermarket, no less. So that night I had Grey Goose. Its probably psychological then, that nothing interesting happened, I wasn't anything, I was actually fine. Perhaps it was the weeks of training beforehand, but since then I realized that drunkeness has a positive correlation to psychology. If you think you're drunk, you probably are. Of course many times I tell people I'm not drunk but they think I'm in denial, so who's to say what's true right?

Damn it I hate my bloodshot eyes.

My recent consignment, which roughly translates to (the stash of liquor directly behind my table in the office), consisted of 4 bottles of Smirnoff. I still remember this stuff from my party way back. Oh how I loved my parties. Such detailed planning and organization and such happy times. I still have remnants of the bottles of booze left behind. I never consumed it because it was opened like 5 years back so I don't think I ought to dig into an old bottle of alcohol, but there is a theory that alcohol lasts forever. I don't know if that's a valid statement or something concocted by thrifty alcoholics, but as long as I have new consignments I will not want to dig into an ancient bottle of *anything*.

But my appreciation for all things with an alcoholic content has greatly increased since those days of wanton purchasing. Which mainly consisted of going to the supermarket - Tequila! Vodka! Rum! Gin! Without much thought or afterthought even, and then we'd just experiment with everything that night, watching as our helpless victims get plastered and nodding to ourselves knowingly that we have done our job and delivered a great time. But this time, I'm actually *tasting* the Smirnoff. I drink much of my liquor neat these days for fear of a)dilution, b)introduction of foreign elements in my otherwise pure drink. I know if I'm getting something weird in my drink if I'm used to what it tasted like originally, see? If you don't know, then they could add other cheaper spirits and you wouldn't be the wiser. Except of course in a few hours when you have a splitting headache and you wonder why that is. Its much like olive oil. I love olive oil, and if its extra virgin, then that's the way you should go. You don't want adulterated, skanky oils. I wonder what other olive oils would be known in that world. Perhaps it would always be tormented on the shelves with something that starts with an 's' and ends with 'ut'.

Well, its a lovely Friday night. I'm all tired from woodworking the whole day, with the finale tomorrow, so I'm just taking it easy with some stuff from the 60s in the background. Just me and my Smirnoff.

Monday, November 28, 2005

Jaded canines

After months of construction unrest they've finally completed work on Phase One. Phase Two begins after we get the CF for the building which should be approximately a month to two from now, which gives me enough time to kick back and relax and now worry about anything.

Which is pretty much how it is like every year. I like Decembers for its relatively laid back holiday mood. But of course being laid back has its drawbacks. Especially if there is real work to be done.

What I don't like about Decembers is the fact that its the season where the bills seem to exceed the income. I hate that. Every year its the same thing. The season of merriment has its price, and we love to be merry.

My two dogs of different characteristics are funny, though. Freida is an excited dog, a show off, a howler. Asta is the uglier, realistic, daring one, and recently I noticed she's picked up on something I didn't even teach her, its a command called 'jaded', and you don't even have to tell her that.

'Sit!' I say. She looks at you with a puzzled look. She's got that 'what does that really accomplish?'

Then you begin to think, yes that is quite true. Apart from our dictator-like satisfaction of being able to tell her what you want her to do, it really doesn't accomplish anything. The real question would be, why should I sit?

I recently taught them the command called 'Quiet!' or 'Shut up!' or sometimes 'Shut your mouth!' but of course when they're really worked up they really can't be bothered to listen to you. So I remembered this technique of giving treats. The theory is that if they do something right when told you have to give them a treat so it registers in their head that if they do that particular something, then they get treated. Of course they dont respond to their dog food (yes, the jaded thing comes up, its like, 'I eat this') so the other day I tried beer.

And they like beer.

So everytime they shut their mouth, they get some beer.

Problem is everytime they look at me now they have this lip-smacking look on them. Perhaps I should've kept to canine products.