Listen up.
I don't go out enough to marinate my soul in contentment. Instead, it stews in venom. In fact, one of the reasons my soul is shriveling up is that socializing at my age and in my social circles involves a lot of talk about medical issues and a minimal amount of fun and demented laughter.
Not my thing, baby - not my thing.
The antidote? Paul and Lisa. They live in our village, although they spend a lot of time in other places, world travelers that they are. Luckily, they were around for one night last week.
My idea of a perfect night out involves music, food, and booze - can't lose. After I worked another grueling day at the library (the work has been compared to coal mining, or roofing in 95 degree heat), we went to Patrick's Pub and enjoyed just that.
I've been on a mission lately to experiment with creative cocktails. Typically when we go out I'll have a Blue Moon and, later, a Crown Royal. Predictable, but oh so tasty. But my taste buds are searching for more lately. I think it's a reflection of me trying to pack as much living as possible into my remaining years. So I ordered a Whiskey Advocate - a drink consisting of Knob Creek Maple bourbon, Bulleit rye, a Bing cherry, garnished with................................. a slice of bacon. Candied bacon.
It looked ridiculous. A crispy strip of bacon was laid across the top of the glass. But who the hell can resist bacon? I chowed that protein. A bite of bacon, a sip of whiskey heaven. Until my self-control ran out and I just gobbled what was left of the bacon. Which left me the time and inclination to sip my drink in peaceful, unhurried bliss.
We enjoyed great meals, while a talented dude played acoustic guitar. This guy covered a wide spectrum of music, and he did it well. He was great. I asked to be his roadie but he replied "You're too old, grandpa!"
Fucking musicians.
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