Monday, September 12, 2005
THAT T-shirt
Thievery is next to Artistry, I say. In his latest post, the estimable Whisky Prajer writes of a certain t-shirt he willingly owns and of the opportune times he mulls over when to adorn himself with it. An empathetic wince brought me to this (self-appointed) meme. Thanks, WP! So, here's my take on the beloved t-shirt carefully folded and tucked (deeply and darkly) away in one of my dresser drawers.
When I first started driving da son (who hasn't updated his site since Father's Day!?!?. His blogging license may have to be suspended), to college, it was a trip laden with adventure, usually of the imagined kind. He was leaving the family home for a multi-state-away place, where he would be growing in mind, stature, and experience. Where he would also be away from the prying eyes and ears of his (devoted but nosy) parents. It was a last chance for me to have some of that clicheish Q-time with the young innocent lad before the big changes that college would grind him through.
Get a lie of the land.
That sort of thing.
Well, after 7 hours of vigorous interrogation, both the interrogated and the interrogator were exhausted. Upon arrival, we sat in the overstuffed car gathering our strength. After unloading what seemed to be all of his worldly possessions into a tiny room and then brushing off the dust & grime of confessions, excuses, rebuttals, and exhausted pleas of "No Mas", it was time for a refreshing ice-cold beverage. The little town where the university is snuggled into offered a few choices. Brews seemed the most self-explanatory, so we dragged ourselves in and poured ourselves into a booth table. Being the sweet (and under 21) lad that he was, da son opted for some pop (as soda is so cutely ordered here in the Midwest). For me, the waitress recommended something from the Hydra-headed tap.
"How'z a Bastard for you?"
"Uhh, pardon me?"
"A Bastard! An Arrogant One!"
Well, it's not often (unless you regularly dine at Croatian restaurants) that a waitperson is so open and honest and hits you with a wet bar towel of an insult before you left a lousy tip. And if you wanted a bastard, why not go all the way and adjectivize it to an arrogant one. I closed my eyes and murmurred a "Yes, that'll do." and waited for a bop on the head or a slap on the face. After a few seconds passed and no physical assault was being launched, I peaked through partially shut eyes to see her sashaying over to the bar and give the barkeep our drink orders.
The waitress' offer was true. Arrogant Bastard Ale is a fine brew. Quickly mellowing, thanks to the calming suds and the bar's easy manner, I stared at the bar and the merchandise behind it. My eyes typewrote across, right to left, top to bottom, taking in all of the offered wares. Da son, thankful that words were not bombarding him, must have noticed. He also noted where my eyes came to rest.
It was a surprise that the following Christmas, a wrapped t-shirt has my name on it. I must have been staring at it at Brews for a long time to give him the idea that this "t" was for me. How prescient of him!
You probably know some guy from your past or maybe in your neighborhood who owned a Harley, or a dog named Pissant, or a rusted-floorboard perpetually-open-tailgate pickup. This is the kind of t-shirt he'd be sporting, except it would be beer-soaked and grimy with oil and spittle.
My eight-speed (yes, 8 speeds, a long story involving freighter travel, Livorno, Italy and trust) was the closest I got to a Hog. My family had a toy poodle named Bacio, which is Italian for "kiss"; I think Pissant would have had Bacio for dessert. Throw in some 20-30 trips around the sun, and this t-shirt was as appropriate for me as a nun's habit is for the Hilton sisters.
But, I loved this t-shirt! And it was a gift from one of the kids, immediately adding on untold value to the piece of cloth. I wore it outside and was not warmly received. I was not worthy of the title. I had an urge to start fights. I was considering tattoos, and not of Mickey, Minnie, or Goofy. The shirt was cool, it was me who wasn't.
So, with care and love, the Arrogant Bastard was carefully folded and tucked away. Occasionally, when the fam's out of the house, I'd break it out and perhaps drain an ale or two. Then, with footsteps on the porch, I'd carefully sequester it back.
Now, I noticed something on the Stone Brewery site. Hmmm. "I Am Very Bitter. And I like it!" Now, that seems quite age appropriate. A declaration I could comfortably walk around with. Christmas is only 3 months or so away..... And that would fit me to a Tee.
Thievery is next to Artistry, I say. In his latest post, the estimable Whisky Prajer writes of a certain t-shirt he willingly owns and of the opportune times he mulls over when to adorn himself with it. An empathetic wince brought me to this (self-appointed) meme. Thanks, WP! So, here's my take on the beloved t-shirt carefully folded and tucked (deeply and darkly) away in one of my dresser drawers.When I first started driving da son (who hasn't updated his site since Father's Day!?!?. His blogging license may have to be suspended), to college, it was a trip laden with adventure, usually of the imagined kind. He was leaving the family home for a multi-state-away place, where he would be growing in mind, stature, and experience. Where he would also be away from the prying eyes and ears of his (devoted but nosy) parents. It was a last chance for me to have some of that clicheish Q-time with the young innocent lad before the big changes that college would grind him through.Get a lie of the land.
That sort of thing.
Well, after 7 hours of vigorous interrogation, both the interrogated and the interrogator were exhausted. Upon arrival, we sat in the overstuffed car gathering our strength. After unloading what seemed to be all of his worldly possessions into a tiny room and then brushing off the dust & grime of confessions, excuses, rebuttals, and exhausted pleas of "No Mas", it was time for a refreshing ice-cold beverage. The little town where the university is snuggled into offered a few choices. Brews seemed the most self-explanatory, so we dragged ourselves in and poured ourselves into a booth table. Being the sweet (and under 21) lad that he was, da son opted for some pop (as soda is so cutely ordered here in the Midwest). For me, the waitress recommended something from the Hydra-headed tap.
"How'z a Bastard for you?"
"Uhh, pardon me?"
"A Bastard! An Arrogant One!"
Well, it's not often (unless you regularly dine at Croatian restaurants) that a waitperson is so open and honest and hits you with a wet bar towel of an insult before you left a lousy tip. And if you wanted a bastard, why not go all the way and adjectivize it to an arrogant one. I closed my eyes and murmurred a "Yes, that'll do." and waited for a bop on the head or a slap on the face. After a few seconds passed and no physical assault was being launched, I peaked through partially shut eyes to see her sashaying over to the bar and give the barkeep our drink orders.
The waitress' offer was true. Arrogant Bastard Ale is a fine brew. Quickly mellowing, thanks to the calming suds and the bar's easy manner, I stared at the bar and the merchandise behind it. My eyes typewrote across, right to left, top to bottom, taking in all of the offered wares. Da son, thankful that words were not bombarding him, must have noticed. He also noted where my eyes came to rest.
It was a surprise that the following Christmas, a wrapped t-shirt has my name on it. I must have been staring at it at Brews for a long time to give him the idea that this "t" was for me. How prescient of him!
You probably know some guy from your past or maybe in your neighborhood who owned a Harley, or a dog named Pissant, or a rusted-floorboard perpetually-open-tailgate pickup. This is the kind of t-shirt he'd be sporting, except it would be beer-soaked and grimy with oil and spittle.My eight-speed (yes, 8 speeds, a long story involving freighter travel, Livorno, Italy and trust) was the closest I got to a Hog. My family had a toy poodle named Bacio, which is Italian for "kiss"; I think Pissant would have had Bacio for dessert. Throw in some 20-30 trips around the sun, and this t-shirt was as appropriate for me as a nun's habit is for the Hilton sisters.
But, I loved this t-shirt! And it was a gift from one of the kids, immediately adding on untold value to the piece of cloth. I wore it outside and was not warmly received. I was not worthy of the title. I had an urge to start fights. I was considering tattoos, and not of Mickey, Minnie, or Goofy. The shirt was cool, it was me who wasn't.
So, with care and love, the Arrogant Bastard was carefully folded and tucked away. Occasionally, when the fam's out of the house, I'd break it out and perhaps drain an ale or two. Then, with footsteps on the porch, I'd carefully sequester it back.
Now, I noticed something on the Stone Brewery site. Hmmm. "I Am Very Bitter. And I like it!" Now, that seems quite age appropriate. A declaration I could comfortably walk around with. Christmas is only 3 months or so away..... And that would fit me to a Tee.
Comments:
<< Home Verging on Pertinence Just some more disposable thoughts clogging up the hinterlands
There is also a red wine now called "Fat Bastard". I suppose even vineyards will be producing tee shirts soon.
# opined by 
: 4:01 PM, September 16, 2005
: 4:01 PM, September 16, 2005
Stephenesque In a bout of thriftiness, I procured a bottle of that mentioned beverage. After a few glasses, I was comfortable in making a judgement that the wine was missing something. Hmmm...oh yeah, it was missing an adjective.
Cheap Fat Bastard would have been a better name for such grape squeezings. It is most definitely true that you get what you pay for and FB came with a minimal outlay of cash.
On its website, Fat Bastard ( http://www.fatbastardwine.com/index2.htm ) proclaims that it is the proverbial nerve center in the crusade for leisure, recreation and the pursuit of the art of living large. That should be the tip-off of the high level of pretention this grape product strives for.
The label was cute. I'll give it that, though my personal favorite labels are on the wines put out by Bonny Doon ( http://www.bonnydoonvineyard.com/ )
Cheap Fat Bastard would have been a better name for such grape squeezings. It is most definitely true that you get what you pay for and FB came with a minimal outlay of cash.
On its website, Fat Bastard ( http://www.fatbastardwine.com/index2.htm ) proclaims that it is the proverbial nerve center in the crusade for leisure, recreation and the pursuit of the art of living large. That should be the tip-off of the high level of pretention this grape product strives for.
The label was cute. I'll give it that, though my personal favorite labels are on the wines put out by Bonny Doon ( http://www.bonnydoonvineyard.com/ )
...Oh Yeah. The Point
Well, Arrogant Bastard is truly a fine beer. Great aftertaste and a lovely color. I'd waer their T since the prodcut it's shilling is a fine one.
Fat Bastard? If they do come out with a t-shirt, I have some questionable characters in mind that I'd pawn the T's to. They would be free, right?
Well, Arrogant Bastard is truly a fine beer. Great aftertaste and a lovely color. I'd waer their T since the prodcut it's shilling is a fine one.
Fat Bastard? If they do come out with a t-shirt, I have some questionable characters in mind that I'd pawn the T's to. They would be free, right?
Yes. Fat Bastard is not a wine that improves with age, but like most booze it certainly improves the more of it you drink. Might I suggest you purchase a case next time!
Post a Comment
# opined by : 10:47 AM, September 19, 2005
: 10:47 AM, September 19, 2005 << Home Verging on Pertinence Just some more disposable thoughts clogging up the hinterlands
