Candy is dandy...

Y'know what? I've never had a martini. Not even a vodka martini. I think I had something called a Granny Smith martini at K-Bar. Usually when I order a drink, I get bourbon (Jack Daniels' is preferred) with a twist of lime. Although actually, my favorite drink to order is Laird's Apple Jack with a shot of Rose's Lime Juice. On a hot summer night, that sets you right up. Unfortunately, it's been about a decade since I've been in a bar that stocked Laird's Apple Jack. One bartender fielded my drink order with the response, "That's what farmers drink, right?" Where I grew up, farmers drank Schlitz. Now, those farmers have been supplanted by "farmers" who drink obscure California merlots. Such is the trend in agriculture in beautiful Bucks County, Pennsylvania. I think I'll try a martini sometime soon. I guess my concern is, 'what if I don't like it?' But hell, when I was in Moscow, I drank my weight in vodka. (Amazing vodka. Served chilled. Cold in your mouth, like water from a melting glacier. And it went down warm. Omigod that was amazing vodka.) Most of the drinking I did was between the ages of sixteen and twenty four. I really really slowed down after that. Just a beer or two when I went out on Saturday night after that.

More about drinking...

Several years ago, I was off work sick with the flu. I went to my doctor. At that point, he was a guy I picked out of the HMO directory, and I'd never met the man. I picked him because his name was Dr. Martin, just like my boots. (Well, not 'just like,' since my boots were Dr. Marten's.). Dr. Martin gave me a thorough exam, and then said, "You're in serious shape. You're under-weight, exhausted, slightly anemic, and your immune system is apparently shot to hell." He quizzed me about how much sleep I was getting (hardly any), what I was eating (tea and... some other stuff), and my work habits (I stumble into the office at 9:30 and work until 11:30 that night. I really like it when they have me traveling because I can sleep on the plane.) Dr. Martin ordered me to eat right, get enough sleep, and go to the gym. And going over my blood work, he found cause for concern regarding my cholesterol. There's 'good' cholesterol and 'bad' cholesterol. My 'bad' cholesterol was very low. Which was good. But my 'good' cholesterol was very low, too. Which was bad. "Well, I said, how can I bring that up?" Quoth Dr. Martin: "Are you a drinking man?" I said that I usually had on the average 2 beers a week. "Switch to hard liquor," he said. "That should raise your levels to where I'd like to see them." So there I would be, ordering a Jack Daniels at the bar, and saying, "Doctor's orders!"

When I was seventeen, and first going to gay bars, my sister advised that in order to avoid getting carded, I order a 'Cuddy Sark on the Rocks.' So I did. And I never got carded. Unless I was with my friend Ed, who would order a Sloe Gin Fizz. Serious.

My beach going with the folks that I used to work with in various New Hope, Pennsylvania restaurants always included a bottle of vodka and grapefruit juice, buried in the sand to keep cold. Vodka and grapefruit juice always makes me think of the beach.

I used to drink something I called a Side Bord. It was Vodka, Chambord, and the juice of half a lemon. It took all that lemon juice to take the sweetness off the Chambord.

I like Rusty Nails, too. Or just good old Drambuie, my favorite aperatif.

Drinking alcohol often prompts an upsurge in my vasculitis. This doesn't prevent me from drinking, as vasculitis looks bad ("Oh. My. God. What is the matter with your legs??!!!") but I don't feel a thing, and it isn't detrimental, despite the assertions of every hypochondriacal boyfriend I've had that it must mean that a bloodclot was on its way to my brain.

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