A collection of letters to my best friend, Booze
Central California
Joined December 2010
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Gather 'round, dear friends and hear my #Halloween tale of unthinkable horror. Last year, on this very day, I ran out of Captain Morgan.
My local has decided to get into the Halloween spirit. Great. But I don't care. Just put my drinks in front of me and I'll be gone before the people who care arrived. I promise.
Ah, it's Halloween time. Reminds me of the rhymes from my childhood neighborhood. "Trick or treat, smell my feet give me your cash or I'll slit your fucking throat."
In “Hayden Carruth Has Had Enough,” C. W. Parker wanders through dive-bar shadows, neon-lit regrets, and the wreckage of dreams that have been boarded up like abandoned storefronts.
dearbooze.com/cocktales/f/ha… @kitparker
In “Low End Chardonnay,” Brooks Thomas makes a compelling case for boxed wine, hot baths, and telling the world to go fuck itself. dearbooze.com/cocktales/f/lo…
Gabrielle Munslow’s “It Started So Well” is proof that a woman can begin the evening dressed for the VIP lounge and end it as a public safety concern.
dearbooze.com/cocktales/f/it…
Some bars are just bars. Others become part of your personal history. Red’s Place was one of mine. Somewhere between the drinks, the conversations, and the nights wandering through San Francisco, it became one of those places I could count on being there. Now it won’t be. nbcbayarea.com/news/local/sa…
Honestly, Red's wasn't a very good bar. But it opened earlier than other bars in China Town, which made it a very good bar.
San Francisco is losing Red’s Place. I’m losing a few memories along with it. Pour one out for Red’s.
In Jersey Jerks, @HughBlanton5 takes a switchblade to Robert Pinsky’s Jersey Breaks, a memoir full of street cred, gangster lore, political name-dropping, and enough self-congratulation to fill a private dining room. Not the smaller private dining room where he swaps stories with presidents, the big one. @GorkoThe
thegorkogazette.com/2023/07/…
Friday. Optimism. Drinks. Confidence. Karaoke. Regret. Saturday. Hair-of-the-dog. Jameson. Capitan. Bad-decisions. Tacos. Nap. Sunday. Anxiety. Aspirin. Existential-dread. Football. Bloody-Mary. Denial. Monday. Fuck.
It’s hard to tell if bartenders really missed me or are just saying that to be nice. I may be reading into this, but I always sense a bit of a sarcastic tone that roughly translates to "Shit! Not you again."
In 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue. Today, we honor his legacy by taking the day off and getting lost.
Some people say we shouldn’t celebrate Columbus. I say we should be grateful for the discovery that changed history.
Namely, a dimly lit bar with no windows, no clocks, and a bartender who doesn’t ask where you’ve been.
Happy Columbus Day. I, too, have lost track of the New World.