There ain’t no cure for the Summer Tom [hangover] Blues . . .
Black raspberries grow wild in my neighborhood. I met with the vodka master yesterday morning, and he told me black raspberries would probably work great in lieu of blueberries.
He was right.
I mixed up a new concoction last night. TDE readers who remember the Holiday Tom will no doubt see a resemblance.
Half shot of freshly-squeezed lemons and limes. One shot of simple syrup. Three (2.75) shots of vodka. Shake. Pour over a tall glass of ice. Top off with club soda. Add muddled black raspberries.
Short-time TDE readers will see the resemblance to the blue muddler I blogged about earlier this month. The main difference: I make my own Sprite (lemon/lime, simple syrup, club soda) and, of course, I use the black raspberries instead of blueberries.
It was fantastic. So much so, I’m surprised I’m capable of posting this morning.
“It is human to need the Sabbath. The U.S. military found this out the hard way back in the 1940s. In order to make ambitious quotas, the government asked its munitions plants to extend the workweek to seven days, round the clock. Most plants complied, but some didn’t. Interestingly enough, the only plants that made their quotas were the plants that closed on Sundays.” Scott Hahn
A decision I made many years ago–never to work on Sundays, absent a terribly compelling reason–was one of the best decisions I made in my adult life.
“My love of peace and quiet inclines me always to want to do nothing. This drag to take my ease is like the pull of gravity. Will it always be so? My first impulse is always to say no. God forgive me for this unwillingness which pollutes all my actions.”
Dorothy Day has a knack of speaking to us. Of course, a family member once accused me of “never wanting to do anything,” so maybe Day doesn’t speak to all of us. Either way, it feels good to be in such company.
World Youth Day 2016 starts next month. My daughter Abbie still gets elated, thinking about her experience in Rio de Janeiro in 2013. I never knew what exactly to think about WYD, but after seeing its effects first-hand, I endorse it.
I’m kinda getting the impression it’s not acceptable to refer to them as “Polacks.”
Polack jokes were a staple of my upbringing, so much so that I actually thought for awhile that Poles were less intelligent than most people. When I was about ten years old, my father, a well-known Polack joke teller, got pretty irate with me for making some statement that implied (or stated) that Poles are less intelligent.
Return from Vacation Day. It’s not nearly as sad as it sounds, but then again, I worked most of Friday and a little bit on Saturday, so it’s not like I’m walking back into a hell hole of uncertainty. Like most things, the dread is worse than the thing. Just one more reason to live in the present.
This piece is a bit too harsh for my comfort, but the author, writing about immigrants waiving the Mexican flag, asks a simple and fair question: If you’re so proud of Mexico, why are you here? The question is rhetorical, of course.
I once wrote that it’s easier to hate or love people in the abstract than it is to hate or love people in person. My experience with Mexicans is just the opposite. When I see Mexican nationalists like those orcs in San Jose, I want to send everyone of them back across the border. When I think of such a thing happening to the Mexicans in my community, I want to cry.
Yet more Gavin McInnes: Playing Gay in F-L-A, talking about taking on Muslims in Orlando. “We tried tolerance.It doesn’t work. When you tolerate the intolerant, they respond with more intolerance. Appeasing them is like handing a vampire a drop of blood and asking, ‘Now will you leave me alone?'”
“Dwight Eisenhower, who had admired Hitler’s autobahn and got one of his own: the tellingly titled National System of Interstate and Defense Highways. Cohesive working-class neighborhoods in countless American cities were sacrificed to the Road Warriors.” Bill Kauffman.
The destruction of Detroit’s Corktown is a case in point. E. Michael Jones think the construction/destruction was purposefully aimed to disrupt ethnic neighborhoods in the federal government’s ongoing attempt to eliminate every mediating institution between it and the people. I don’t know if Jones is right on this specific instance, but in general, he’s correct. The federal government wants everything but itself and the individual eliminated.
As Brexit proves, working people around the world are in no mood for common sense. They are angry, restless, uncooperative.
They demand a response to their cries in the dark on issues which, for some time now, politicians from Washington to Westminster have proved deaf to.
Primary of these, of course, is immigration. When the political classes not only fail to provide answers but, all too often, insist that the question is not even valid, the public will look elsewhere for leadership.
Precisely. In the political and cultural climate Obama and his ilk have fostered over the past decade, people aren’t even allowed to ask legitimate questions, like “Should grown men really be allowed to use the women’s room?” Or, “If Muslims keep terrorizing, and countries like Japan that effectively ban Muslims have no Islamic terrorism, shouldn’t we discuss the possibility of barring Muslims, at least until we can get a handle on this?” In the Elitist Universe, such questions aren’t even valid.
The rest of us, meanwhile, sit back and scratch our collective heads, wondering just what the hell is going on.
Dalrymple on Brexit: “Even after the vote, the attitude persists. Those who voted to leave are described as, ipso facto, small-minded, xenophobic, and fearful of the future. Those who voted to stay are described as, ipso facto, open-minded, cosmopolitan, and forward-looking. The BBC itself suggested as much on its website. In short, the desire to leave was a return to the insularity that resulted in the famous—though apocryphal—newspaper headline: fog in the channel: continent cut off.”
Whoa! Hot dog! The preliminary reports out of Britain were wrong!!! It’s a major step away from globalization. I honestly never thought it would happen. Even if, I figured, British voters overcame the elites’ marketing campaign and mustered the votes, the elites would rig the final vote, but no. I was wrong. Britain took its country back, and I’m mightily stoked. Just as the rise of Trump and Sanders gave me hope that my blanket pessimism about America’s future is wrong, this has given me hope that my blanket pessimism about the West might be wrong.
I might, just might, celebrate with a drink tonight. The problem is, I drank pretty much all week, being on vacation on all. I need to dry out my liver a bit.
But if I were going to drink, I think I’d drink the Muddler. This is a drink I learned at the feet of the Master just two weeks ago and it has proven wildly popular with every person I’ve given it to, from my two-year-old niece to my mother-in-law. It’s perfect for large gatherings when you simply don’t have the resources to mix elaborate drinks.
The ingredients: vodka, Sprite, and blueberries.
The mix: fill glass with ice (cubes, chunks). Add vodka. Top off with Sprite. Dump in muddled blueberries.
Although I haven’t measured precisely, I’m guessing it’s a 3-to-1 ratio of Sprite-to-vodka. To muddle the blueberries, you just put a dozen or so into a glass and rough them up with a spoon or fork, then dump them into the drink.
I’ve been using fresh blueberries, but I think it’d be better to use frozen (I have a message into the Master, asking him which one he uses). I think the frozen blueberries would give you more blueberry “run off” juice, which gives the Muddler a pleasant dark pink/light purple look.
It’s a great drink. The blueberry, though scarcely noticeable by taste, seems to alter the overall drink taste, so it doesn’t taste at all like mere vodka and Sprite. At a future date, I think I’ll experiment by using my own sweet-sour mix (freshly-squeezed lemons/limes and simple syrup) and soda water. I’ve found that, no matter what the drink, it gets a little better if I use the fresh ingredients.
“I love the Maritains for their love for St. John of the Cross.” Dorothy Day.
And I love Dorothy Day for her love of the Maritians for loving St. John of the Cross. And you, dear TDE reader, can love me for loving Dorothy Day for her love of the Maritians for loving St. John of the Cross. You can then find someone to love you for loving me . . . We can keep this going indefinitely or until someone kills us for being annoying.
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