Most of the spirits that have come into me have entered through my soul instead of my mouth.
I am not a drinker. I am not self-righteous about it–it’s just not a part of my practice.
I do overeat.
It’s not as if I don’t participate in human activities that are capable of pleasure but also can quickly become foibles.
For me, it has always been an inability to get over the taste. Recently recovering from a throat condition, I was astounded at how horrible cough syrup is to ingest. To purposefully pour such intense fluid down my gullet on an ongoing basis is beyond my comprehension.
It started when I was eighteen years old and went on a trip to Nashville, Tennessee, with my soon-to-be wife. We decided to go out to a bar to catch some lively “Music City” entertainment. This particular establishment had a two-drink minimum. That meant you had to order two alcoholic beverages to be able to sit and listen to the music. I probably could have ordered a soft drink, but at age eighteen, such ineffective communication of maturity was unacceptable. I was allowed to order a drink, so a drink would be ordered.
I asked for a Michelob. When it came to the table, I took a huge gulp, which nearly regurgitated back in my direction.
It was so terrible.
I saw other people sitting around drinking it freely, as if it were some sort of pleasurable experience. Years later, working with a group of artists in Louisiana, we thought it was extraordinarily Continental to order wine with our dinner. After a couple of weeks of this practice, I had to turn to my companions and tell them that I was ruining my hamburger by having to survive my vino.
I say all this to admit to you that talking about a mixologist–or a bartender, in this case–is really beyond my scope. The only bartender I actually knew was a fellow I met in California. He was a minister who tended bar part-time in order to counsel and help folks who were drowning some of their sorrows in liquid refreshment.
I doubt if he’s a typical purveyor of the intoxicants. I’ve often admired bartenders in movies, mixing their blends together with such style and speed.
But I am the worst person in the world to write an article on bartending.
So I think I will stop.
Thank you for enjoying Words from Dic(tionary) — J.R. Practix
Mr. Kringle’s Tales … 26 Stories ‘Til Christmas
“The best Christmas stories I’ve ever read!”
From the toy shop to the manger, an advent calendar of Christmas stories, beginning on November 30th and ending on Christmas morning.
We need a good Christmas this year.
Mr. Kringle’s Tales will help you make it so.