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Major Strasser: What nationality are you?
Rick: I’m a drunkard.
Captain Renault: That makes him a citizen of the world.

From Casablanca

Ah, the holidays. They are so exhausting! I am worn to a nub. Sunday was pretty crazy, and yesterday I spent all day on the couch recovering. So that was my Christmas – partying, then recovering. Not so different than my day-to-day life, really, except for the pound of See’s candy I added to the mix.

I had Christmas dinner at Eric and Christine’s. Eric’s Ukrainian pastries were the inspiration for the name of my blog. So, of course, he sent me home with a big bag of Ukrainian Poptarts. It was an incredible meal and a fun afternoon, and the fun didn’t stop there. I went to an all-out Christmas party on Christmas night, a big annual thing thrown by bartendress extraordinaire Sooty. It was there that I noticed I was starting to, well, get kind of hammered. I guess waiting until 4:00 P.M. to eat wasn’t such a good idea, not when there was so much good wine being opened everywhere. At Sooty’s, I ran into this guy E.T., a local OB dude, in the kitchen. He told me he had a bunch of good wine in his car and he wanted me to try some. He told me I have a reputation in Ocean Beach – as a WINE AFICIONADO. People want to go out to their cars and get wine for me to try, even if I haven’t seen them in two years and even if I never even spoke to them about wine before, ever. Whoo hoo! A reputation that isn’t in the gray zone or colored black (or red) is fine by me. I am so happy I have this reputation.

Anyway it sort of got me into trouble in the end, as wine sometimes can. It wasn’t like I was hammered at the party, but I knew I was on my way. One nice thing that comes with age is the knowing that you are on your way to hammered, instead of just arriving at hammered. My brother was with me, and also Lil’ D. Eventually we took off and went to the Lamplighter bar but it was so insanely packed that we left right away. So we ended up back in OB, at Cheswick’s Bar because it was the only place open on Newport Street. I drank a vodka and soda and gave my brother a lecture on how the Beatles could be considered the first punk rock band, because what is punk rock, really? How can Blondie be considered punk rock, or the New York Dolls, but not the Beatles? In my state, my brain was rushing way too fast for me, but I had a rapt audience and it was fun in there. Nothing like a dive bar at midnight on Christmas, to get you into the holiday spirit. I am serious. It was hella fun. Plus having my brother there kept me from getting into any scrapes. He’s very effective at that. It’s almost like having a parent there or something.

But I paid for the excess of it all in a big way. Yesterday I laid on the couch and watched TV for twelve straight hours. After a bit of time (and some food, and more wine) I started to feel better, at any rate I could move my head around a little. It was a fine day for nothing but watching movies, and here is what I watched:

A Philadelphia Story. This is the BEST film to start with when nursing a hangover, because all they do in this movie is get drunk, wake up really hungover, and then start drinking again to cure the hangover.

It Happened One Night. This was the first time I have ever seen this film. Clark Gable is unbelievably young and hot in it. Claudette Colbert’s eyebrows are kind of freaky, but the film is a classic and towards the end I was sipping on a glass of Pinot Blanc, and this was a good sign.

Casablanca. I love this film. It’s one of those movies that you can watch over and over and you’ll always notice something different in it. And the script! I love Captain Renault… he’s so totally corrupt but so lovable at the same time. There are so many brilliant moments in this film – the singing “duel” in Rick’s bar between the German officers and everyone else; Ilsa’s face, shining with pride and love, when her husband leads the French side in this duel; Rick rigging the roulette table so the Bulgarian couple can go to America without the young wife having to sleep with Captain Renault in exchange for exit papers… the entire film is made up of stellar moments like these.

I caught the very end of Sign “O” the Times, the Prince concert film. Why hasn’t this been officially released on DVD yet? This is one of the best concert films ever made. It’s a strange film, very colorful, and with some trippy effects in it. And Prince is a genius. I need to break out that CD again.

Then… Chilly Scenes of Winter. I love the Ann Beattie novel this film is based on, though I don’t really know why I still have my original paperback when I’ve unloaded so many other books over the years. The film has a cult following, and it is a decent film with some real weirdness in it, like Gloria Graham as a crazy mother, and Mary Beth Hurt’s horrible permed hair. I mean, it is truly horrible, that hair. But it definitely brings one back to 1980 again. Also, I love Peter Riegert, especially when he was young. That guy was hot back in the day!

At this point, I started to watch The Country Girl with Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly, but Bing Crosby bugs. I can’t take that guy. So I switched over the The Group, based on that risque Mary McCarthy novel. I’ve seen pieces of this film over the years but have never watched it all the way through. Yesterday was no exception – I watched the last half or so. Then I watched the last part of High Society even though I hate that film. Bing Crosby. Yuck. Then I watched the last part of a really weird film about a woman who has an insane Ally Sheedy living in the apartment above her, playing her music really loud and screwing lots of guys. Ally Sheedy isn’t looking too chipper these days.

So, it was a long day, but I got some rest and today I went to the mall and spent it all. The rest, I mean. You can spend rest. So I have to save the rest of my rest this week, because Sunday is my annual New Year’s Day hangover relief party and I will need it then. So my exciting tales of adventure (yeah) are done, for a couple of days at least.

It was a hard day, but a fun night. I am lucky – magic, in the form of friends, and music, swirls around me, not only when I need it, but always. Not to be new age or anything, but that’s the way it is. I am so fucking lucky. I walked home through a thick mist, reveling in the heaviness of it. I may be a fuck up and a polemic, but I can still turn my palm to the heavens just to feel fog making a puddle in the bottom of it. As long as I can feel that, my life will be worth living. And if I thrust my palm in your face, screaming FEELTHIS, please don’t take it as an affront. If I splash the accumulated fog on your parched face, just know that I merely want you to understand that rushing undercurrent that flows just under my skin, and that I want to share it with you. I realize that feeling a fog puddle in one’s palm may not be the be all end all, but whatever. It works for me. No I am not talking about a dude here. It’s all just a generalization, really. Kind of. Also I am not talking TO a dude. Unless, maybe, the nerd/geek who has been flirting with me. Where is this going? I don’t know. And to all, A Good Night.

I stumbled on to the funniest thing today… check THIS out. Looks like a sort of professional website, eh? And it probably is, but they have some pretty hilarious “translated” info-pieces on there.

Like THIS one

And THIS one.

It’s almost Christmas! And we live in a crazy world. You’ve got to read that Skimpy G String thing. It’s just too flippin’ hilarious.

I’ve been writing a lot for the slowtrav contest, which is now over (thank god, I didn’t even finish everything, but I can always enter it in the next contest, whatever). This is partly why I haven’t been writing here much, but also there was the Super Furry Animals show at the House of Blues last Thursday, and THAT was fucking awesome. Then I had a party on Saturday, and THAT was fucking awesome. So I am just completely worn to a nub.

Anyhow, getting back to what I was almost talking about before, I was working on my trip report from my very first trip to Italy for the slowtrav contest, and I was adding some resource links for places I went and stayed, like the Autogrill. And this is when I discovered, Autogrill, that fantastic roadside Italian chain, is this huge conglomerate that also owns HMS Host here in the U.S. HMS Host, operators of bars that serve up nasty-ass chowder and seven dollar glasses of Fetzer Chardonnay in airports from coast to coast.

WHAT UP WITH THAT? OK… I love the Autogrills in Italy, even though after years of eating at them I realize that they are pretty much Italian fast food and that they serve up the same stuff year after year in all their locations. At least it’s good “same stuff,” and you can get a plate of pasta and a half bottle of wine for about the same amount as a double Stoli Bloody Mary at one of HMS’s fine Sports Bars or a Half Caf Whacked Snack at Starbucks. My question is, if Autogrill is responsible for feeding us at our airports, how come they aren’t busting out the REAL Cafe Macchiatos? Where are the hunks of Parmesan cheese? Where are the half bottles of Chianti?

I guess American airport visitors don’t know, or want, what the Autogrill in Italy has to offer. And I reckon that if Autogrill changed the name and concept of it’s restaurants/holdings in whatever American airport from Sbarro or Wolfgang Puck cafe (which they own) to an actual Autogrill they would still charge $7.50 for a crappy piece of pizza, and they would still make you pay $7.50 or a crappy glass of wine. I have my ways of having what I want, when I want in an airport terminal, but still, the thought of an Autogrill in one of our airports is almost orgasmic, especially when I think of the airport in San Diego.

Kind of trippy… all the talk of globalization and how McDonald’s is taking over the world, yada yada. And here there is an Italian company, running a bunch of food franchises in the U.S, and they SUCK! And more importantly, we are all SUCKERS! Americans, demand the right to have the actual Autogrill in our airports! Demand decent wine at a reasonable cost! Me, and the two of you who are reading this, we can make a difference. Oh, we can’t? You are probably right. Guess I’ll have to keep drinking my smuggled wine out of a Starbucks cup. Oh well.