Thanksgiving at my co-worker’s home was very pleasant. For the drink du jour, after much consideration, I went with a shot based on what is most commonly known as a “Buttery Nipple” and then a West coast variation on same called a “Cowgirl Clit-licker” which consists of butterscotch schnapps, Irish cream plus a little grenadine. I topped mine with whipped cream and cinnamon. So in addition to the deviled eggs, I came armed with supplies. The drink was a hit with everyone who tried one and almost everyone present did; so that makes me the guest who shows up with liquor and disposable shot glasses and then proceeds to serve shots with an off-color moniker to the host’s and hostess’ parents. In my defense, however, I only shared that moniker with the host and hostess who were both very much amused. A consensus on a proper name for the concoction was not reached, but I’m rather partial to the understated, “Butterscotch Sundae” (the grenadine really brings out the butterscotch flavor of the schnapps).

The funny thing is I can’t do this sort of thing with my own family. Only within the last few years has it become acceptable to show up with a bottle of wine at my own family gatherings; and while I would take a nice Cabernet over just about anything generally served in a shot glass, it is funny to note the boundaries that are allowed and, as in this case, encouraged to be crossed only by a guest.

Yesterday I noticed that Trigger’s dorsal fin had been torn. It was my intention to change the water anyway, so I changed it and made sure there was some medication in the water just in case there was an infection. I found no evidence to suggest how the injury occurred.

This evening when I woke up I could hear there was something wrong with the aquarium. The air-stone had fallen off its base and the air hose was pumping air into the tank unrestrained, resulting in the most turbulent two and a half gallons of water this side of Niagara. Trigger was swimming furiously trying to breach the stream of bubbles, I felt sorry for him, but once he reached the other side he turned around and went through them again. That fish is full of vim and vigor.

So twice in as many days I had to net Trigger and fuss about with his universe. Happily I was able to replace the air-stone without emptying the whole aquarium.

Trigger is reinstalled now and he seems quite content; even as I write this, he’s blowing bubbles at the top of the tank.

Awhile back, Daniel bought me a hat from the Village Hat Shop that I just love. It is a so-called Mad Hatter hat, but unlike so many of those, to my mind, it is not a caricature of that character’s hat, but what I imagine the character might actually wear:

The site has since replaced it with different version that is more of the aforementioned caricature variety:

I think that’s a shame, but since the hats are made to order, I hope that anyone who wants the original design can still obtain one.

As I’ve written elsewhere, when I was a child I was afraid of Santa. Today, while digging through the Courier Post at work to get to the crossword puzzle, I came across a photograph on the front page of the local section that reminded just why. The accompanying story was yet another insipid human interest story about pets being photographed with Santa Clause at local malls. This paper is capable of producing little else, and just which humans they think they are “interesting” is a matter of some debate. They missed the obvious story here which is that this Santa, despite his realistic beard, is hungover, in the midst of a nasty split with Mrs. Clause who left him for a younger elf and/or needs to drink the blood of the living to retain his power:

Whatever else one wants to say about him, that Santa looks angry; and, in my opinion, he looks downright spooky. Someone is definitely getting a lump of children’s souls in their stocking this year.

Is it really possible that after fourteen years the promise of a free soda gave Axl Rose the impetus to finish the new Guns N’ Roses album? You’d think someone from his record label would have thought of that a decade ago. Anyway, a bet’s a bet so if you live in the U.S. make sure to log into Dr. Pepper’s website tomorrow (Sunday, 23^rd November) starting at 1201 A.M. EST to claim your coupon for a free Dr. Pepper.

They say one should not get their identity from their significant other, but thanks to Daniel’s tireless efforts I finally I have a working OpenID. Expect to see me not lurking soon in a journal near you.

The waitress at dinner tonight bore a striking resemblance to Scarlett Johansson, though it was a bit difficult for me to pin down just how — something about the eyes and lips, I suppose. It was a tapas restaurant and one of the courses I ordered was a “Grilled Romaine Salad”. What appeared was a head of romaine lettuce with grill marks on it. Its appearance was somewhat surprising, though the thought crossed my mind, “Well, I don’t know what I was expecting.”

Later we went to a scotch tasting in the city which was being hosted by Macallan. It was like an infomercial with hors d’oeuvres and booze which was about what I was expecting, though I rather wish it had been more informative. Still they won major bonus points for including one of the glasses I had been admiring during the event in the gift bag. I now have a pair of Glencairn glasses; and I can now explain the difference between scotch and whiskey (scotch is whiskey made in Scotland and, as such, is not called “scotch” in Scotland). Also I have an idea of the difference between “single malt”, “blended” and “vatted”.

The host for the evening was an amiable gentleman from Scotland whose official title was something like “whiskey ambassador”. Most of his jokes revolved around the fact his job entails being paid to drink, I did note that when he was walking around before his introduction he had a glass in his hand and that he took a glass each “round”, but I got the feeling this really was work for him. Earlier in the night I noticed a man in attendance wearing a kilt, complete with kneesocks and sporran. I smiled and he answered a question I hadn’t asked by saying, “Someone had to,” which amused me. While each scotch was served (there were five in total) a video montage of pop culture and news events from the year in which the scotch was created was played. The scotches were increasingly old as the night progressed (and getting older by the minute), culminating in one from 1990, though I preferred the one from 1991.

There wasn’t a huge amount of alcohol to be consumed, but I did find myself feeling noticeably warmer on the walk back to the parking area than I had been on the way in.

I now have my very own Tippi Hendren qua Melanie Daniels Barbie!

To refresh your memory this is Tippi Hendren in Alfred Hitchcock’s “The Birds”:

And this is my Tippi Hendren Barbie:

The doll is very detailed, right down to her accessories and hairstyle, but it’s the plastic birds attacking her that really does it for me. This is probably the coolest Barbie ever.

Tonight at a Border’s Bookstore the girl on the cover of Lula enticed me to start flipping through the magazine. Inside I found an article, I didn’t even get to the text right away, because I was so dumbfounded to find myself face to face with four of my favorite characters not just name-checked, but with accompanying full page illustrations: Wednesday Adams, Enid Coleslaw, Margot Tennenbaum and Violet Baudelaire. Violet Parr and Lydia Deetz were in there too, just for good measure. The accompanying text was about outsider girls in film and literature.

It seems obvious now that all these girls fit a certain archetype. Still I never thought of them in those terms. They were just the ones I happened to relate to, and seeing them together like that was surprising and strange — though perhaps it shouldn’t have been.

A few months back at the height of the hurricane season, I was invited to a backyard barbecue and I was told to bring cupcakes and booze. For the latter, I did a little web research and concocted my own recipe to make a pitcher of hurricanes. I also brought garnishes in individual containers along with stirrers and toothpicks. They were such a hit, I was sent to the grocery store to buy more supplies and all that I bought was consumed as well. While I was mixing up a new batch, a woman asked if she could write down what I was doing and then she got stuck handwriting copies for several attendees, even though I offered to e-mail the recipe to any who were interested. I was conscripted to be the bartender next year at another get together.

This same acquaintance has invited me now for Thanksgiving dinner. When I asked what I should bring, she suggested I bring another pitcher of hurricanes. That doesn’t seem very appropriate though. So I am even now mulling over some ideas for a cocktail which I will dub, “Cranberry, Sauced”.

Cranberry juice is a lovely cocktail ingredient that often gets overlooked because in most places the stuff they use in its place is little more than sugar water and food coloring. I’m thinking I will go for pure unsweetened cranberry juice for tartness and for sweetness maybe butterscotch schnapps, maybe dark rum, maybe both (I need to do some experimenting). For a garnish I have in mind apple slices and cinnamon sticks.

I wouldn’t go so far as to say I have a philosophy when it comes to mixed drinks, but I do think it’s cheating to use vodka just to up the impact. I think every ingredient should be included for flavor. The hurricanes, as it turned out packed quite a punch (pun not intended), but that was sort of beside the point. The flavor was good, both sweet and refreshing.

And, for the record, my preferred title is, “mixologist”.