Updated with monkey goodness below

I am acquainted with the bottle.

I'll let the shock you're feeling subside before I move on. Better now? Good.

I am familiar with just about every kind of drinking. In my sixteen or so years of spending time with the drinking lot, I've drank to get drunk, drank to feel better, drank to have fun, drank to keep myself from having fun, drank to celebrate, drank to mourn, and drank to just drink.

Since I left the service industry lo so many years ago, I've never had a job that required much in the way of dexterity or operating anything that could be described as heavy machinery. I once worked at a Tex-Mex joint called "El Chico" where the waiters would drink, come in hungover, pop a couple of uppers, get too speedy, smoke a bowl they kept hidden in the drop ceiling tiles in the bathroom, then pop a couple more pills to keep them up for the day, then start drinking beer from coffee cups during the end of the dinner rush. Then they'd go out and get drunk. Me? I stayed sober during my shifts. I was clumsy enough as it was and tended to spill multiple drinks on the same people during the same sitting.

Once I got into TV, I never drank on the job. I never knew when I'd be required to be on TV and acting like I knew what I was talking about. I can only think of one time in my entire career when I even had half a buzz while on TV. I'd been at a friend's house playing guitar and drinking a few beers. Somebody decided to burn down a church around the same time. I only had three beers in me at the time. Still, it was the most I'd ever had in my system while on TV (and, to be frank, I turned a helluva story that night).

Now, I work in an industry where drinking on the job is a little more commonplace. Still, I don't do it that much. Sure, at the end of a long day when there is only and hour or two left before quitting time, I might sneak off for a quick end-of-day cocktail. I also might have a beer at dinner. Still, there haven't been that many times I could've been cited with WUI (Writing Under the Influence).

So, it comes as a bit of a shock to me today that NASA is going to hold a news conference tomorrow to discuss, among other things, that it allowed astronauts to fly after flight surgeons discovered they were "so intoxicated that they posed a flight-safety risk."

Reading a bit further down, I discovered there is a very conservative 12-hour "bottle to throttle" rule employed by NASA. I don't use Internetty acronyms too often, but WTF?

If you had asked me this morning how I believed NASA handled astronaut training, I would've said that every astronaut had to be clean and sober from the time they were picked for a mission up until that mission's completion. I would never have guessed that they could be in the middle of a bender at T-minus 24 hours.

And to think, these guys wanted to be my latex salesmen.

Update: But wait! Within minutes of the revelation that Dudley Moore's Arthur and Mayberry's Otis are piloting the centerpiece of American's space program, NASA has decided to shock the world by revealing someone has tried to sabotage equipment bound for the international space station! Say it ain't so!

Hell, that was a well-timed announcement. Surprised nobody bombed a Sudnese aspirin factory around dinner time. Might have been a little less obvious.

Hey there goes Elvis! Yo, King!

Update #2

There is nothing I don't like about this.



Not only is funny on its own, it also uses a picture of Whiplash, the dog-riding monkey. I first saw Whiplash at the 2004 Las Vegas Rodeo championships. Every few hours while I played poker, highlights of Whiplash would show up on the big screen in the back of the room and my brother screamed, "Monkey!" The entire room would respond, "Monkey!" It was in the Top Ten most fun nights of my life (featured in Bordering on the Adriatic).

Thanks Hurty Elbow

Labels: Drinking

I read with some bemusement Esquire's "60 Things Worth Shortening Your Life For." It's clever and, in some places, informative and inspiring. Still, it's the type of thing you get when you read Esquire. I swore if I saw anything about a Cuban cigar or didn't see anything about a Lucky Dog, I'd have to write my own list. I don't pretend to be clever or one all that familiar with the derring-do. Nonetheless, Esquire is targeted at the tragically hip or those who want to be. Me, only hip I know is the one that leads me to bed at night. With that, here's my list, also known as...

Life Crisco


New Orleans

1. Eat a Lucky Dog at 5am -- Wait until the streets are almost empty, the amateurs are passed out in the gutter, and the boobies have gone back in their shirt. Sidle up to the greasy-looking dude on the corner of Bourbon and Toulouse and order a Lucky Dog. Find someone to sell you a beer. Kick aside the empty cups, bras, and broken beads, and sit down on a curb. Ignore the smell of stale booze and eat the Lucky Dog in four bites.



2. Find Checkpoint Charlies...late -- It's the kind of place that is close enough to the French Quarter that you can walk to it, but not so close that it is overrun by the tourists. Go after hours. Bonus points if you go by yourself.

3. Get broke in the French Quarter -- Find a girl in a beret and spend every penny you have buying her Hand Grenades at the original Tropical Isle. Do this without knowing where your buddies are or how you're going to get home. Now, figure out what to do.

4. Hand Grenades? -- Yeah, Hand Grenades. If you haven't pounded back six or seven of these while listening to "Late As Usual" playing bar tunes, you haven't lived...or worked very hard on your inevitable death. I would recommend drinking them at the bar on Toulouse.

5. Eat 20 bignets -- Cafe du Monde sits on the edge of the French Quarter. The serving staff will be cranky, especially if you're there during a high-tourist season. Still, make a lot of noise, drink some great coffee, and eat 20 bignets like you will never taste them again.

6. Order extras debris at Mother's -- If ever in New Orleans, find Mother's. It's become a bit touristy, but still maintains its old school roots. Fight for your seat--threaten an old lady if you have to--and order a poboy with EXTRA DEBRIS. This is best done when exceptionally hungover.


For College Students

7. Steal a stripper's panties -- You should have a reason for it (like making them a gift for a husband-to-be), but even if you don't, the rush from doing it and then being confronted by the 6'5" bouncer is worth it.

8. Don't back down from a fight instigated by a shirtless redneck -- Most fights should be avoided, but once in your life, when a shirtless redneck tells you to take one more step forward, do it. It'll hurt (and likely hurt your friends more), but it's worth it...just once.

9. Put a carbonated drink in a campfire -- It is entertainment for the stupid, but you haven't lived until you have seen a 12-ounce can explode and blow a Yule log ten feet out of a campfire.

10. Eat a double Stretch -- Every college town has a diner with the specialty after-hours dish complete with eggs, onions, chili, and cheese. The Broadway Diner in Columbia, Missouri has the best in the United States. Order a double Stretch and decrease your life expectancy by a couple more months.

11. Tailgate with the Antlers -- Membership in The Antlers is almost impossible to achieve unless you know or are related to the right person. Regardless, get invited to one of their tailgate parties and drink from the Paint Can. Tell them NightTrain sent you.

Las Vegas

12. Rage solo In Las Vegas -- I once defined Raging Solo for my buddy Al. It's actually a phrase I borrowed from an old friend named "G." Essentially, it means hitting a town by yourself with no real plan. There is no better city for it than Las Vegas.

13. Have a Steak at Hugo's Cellar -- Located in the lowest level of the Four Queens in Las Vegas, it's the perfect place to ask for the private back room and order a t-bone. To counteract the Life Crisco, order a salad from the salad cart. It's worth it just to suffer the preparer's barrage of questions about what you want.

14. Let Absinthe pick your dinner spot -- My friend Ryan (aka Absinthe) knows good food and he is not afraid of decadence. Let him decide where you're eating. The food itself is enough to shorten your life expectancy. Worse, after you eat one of these meals, you're bound to refuse other food in the future, thus starving yourself. Michael Mina and Nob Hill are two good bets.

15. Get steak and eggs -- Getting a free breakfast in Las Vegas isn't necessarily hard, but it can be pricey. Huh? Just gamble irresponsibly and make sure the pit boss knows you're doing it. If he refuses to pay attention, celebrate your wins by screaming, "Steak and Eggs!" It is so worth it.

For Adults Only

16. Play poker in an underground card room -- The risks are many, but the people you'll meet make it more than worth it. Even if you don't play poker, it's worth going just once to people watch. Recent examples can be found at The Last Poker Game and The Sweetest Criminal. Bonus points if you can find a game in the back of a gentleman's club.

17. Attend a party hosted by Al Can't Hang -- There are professionals and then there are Professionals. Al made Malvern, PA famous with his infamous Bash at the Boathouse. That party may now be defunct, but Al still rages. Look for his next party invitation. If you don't feel up to that, you might try Bradoween.

18. Go bar hopping with Paul McGuire -- Known worldwide as Dr. Pauly, this native New Yorker can show you NYC like few others. It's a both a tour and a life experience. If you need a preview, Pauly treated me to this New York Bar Tour.

19. Commit an act of civil disobedience -- You gotta stand for something, right? Well, prove it. I'd suggest a B&E of some place owned by The Man. Don't steal anything, but make it known you were there.

20. Converse with a murderer -- Killing is wrong and the people who do it are sick. If you have a chance to talk to a killer, do it.

So, there's a list of 20 Life Crisoes that should get you started. As you have likely guessed, those are all things I've done. Maybe someday soon I'll give you a list of things I haven't done yet, but want to.

Labels: Crime, Drinking, Fine Dining, Food, Life Crisco, Mizzou

It's just after 9pm here in Monte Carlo. This is my last night in this city for at least another year. I've seen a lot of interesting stuff since I've been here, the likes of which I should someday use as writing fodder. I should be done with my work and available for silly writing some time in the next six hours. In the meantime, here's a look at the signature drink of a hotel bar.



As I sat with a Norwegian buddy of mine, drinking these only because they were ordered for us, I commented about how bad it was. Sverre agreed, but we continued to drink and discuss places we'd never want to live. Halfway through, he said, "You know, this drink sort of grows on you."

I couldn't help but agree, but later I thought, "More likely, it grows in you."

Labels: Drinking, Travel

I was odd to be alone in a place so big. The Atlantis Resort and Casino on Paradise Island in the Bahamas is a sprawling mini-city. It reeks of such opulence and excess that one often will find himself simultaneously wishing for riches and hoping that bastard billionaire's yacht will sink under the weight of his wife's fake breasts.

I'm told the Bahamians view people like me (read: white, average-looking Americans) as all wealthy, and by extension, worthy of a disdain. Taking the non-scenic routes from the Nassau airport to the Paradise Island bridge will help most people understand. A great deal of Nassasu looks like a Third World shantytown. Wrecked cars sit in dirty lots next to Junkanoo floats left over from the last parade.

It's a messed up dynamic. The island survives on tourism dollars. The island's people resent the riches of the people who spend the tourism dollars. The people spending the tourism dollars resent the resentment.

The circle of resentment makes for tightlipped smiles as the waitresses serve your drinks and food that is never really served in a timely fashion. It also, like other island nations I've visited, makes one feel like they are being watched everywhere they go.

And when a large, dark, Bahamian man confronts you when you're alone, the first thing you do is swallow your balls out of your throat and remember you're actually in what at least reports itself as a five-star resort. Chances are you're not about to get rolled.

***

It was one of those nights that are all too common for the media on the poker circuit. The job, by it nature, requires you to witness all that happens and then report on it. Unlike those people who enjoy day's end when the day, in fact, ends, the poker media often spend another couple of hours in some hotel conference room, editing tape, trying to find a new way to write the same old story, or convincing their bosses that they are, in fact, doing all they can do. I'm not even part of the traditional poker media (which means, by and large, I'm viewed with suspicion and, sometimes, animosity). That said, my hours are the same and I often end up in the same bars with the bleary-eyed souls who spend their lives on the road.

You look around the booths and bar stools and you see the same faces you've seen in different parts of the world. There is the guy who always drinks too much, the guy who refues to drink at all, the guy who is showing off pictures of his wife and family, the guy who is cheating on his wife, and the whole assortment of people who have, either by choice or by circumstance, ended up in the traveling circus that is the professional poker circuit.

The people have been around. We've all been around. We've dodged the hookers, hustled the hustlers, listened to the lies, and told a few ourselves. We're the real outsiders here. We're not from the island, we're not rich tourists, and we're not the people fighting for the $1.5 million first prize.

I was on my way to the bar after another 15-hour workday. It was way past the witching hour and I only wanted to remember which of the hallways to take to make it to the casino bar. That's when an previously unseen door opeened and the huge Bahamian came out of nowhere.

"Taxi?" he asked.

I looked around. I was the only one there. And I was nowhere near the taxi stand.

"Not me," I said, assuming someone had called for a cab and this guy was here to pick them up. I kept my pace as I put him behind me.

"Partying?" I heard from behind me.

Now I knew what was up. This guy may have been a cabbie, but he was more. He was one of countless people in places like this who can get you want. A simple query of "partying?" is a quick and subtle way of asking if you need drugs--weed, coke, or whatever else you might want to put in your body.

"Nah," I muttered and gave the guy a goodbye wave. I've been offered drugs from Dead shows, to New Orleans, to Las Vegas. This was nothing new.

I'd made it just to the edge of earshot when I heard the guy's final appeal.

"Titty bar?"

I turned around, said nothing, and then walked away.

No way in hell, sir.

***

This is how people get themselves in trouble. In resort towns, especially those with casinos, people walk around with large amounts of cash in their pockets. I am rarely an exception. It gets to the point that you forget you're carrying more money in your pocket than most people you see will make that month. You lose a little bit of that street sense that has kept you from getting in trouble your entire life.

I remember one night in Las Vegas. I had about $3,000 in my pocket and was bored out of my mind. I'd been staying at the Rio for several weeks and was getting claustrophobic. I decided to take a walk. Before I realized it, I was walking toward the Las Vegas Strip, a walk that would force me to hump 3/4 of a mile through some very unlit areas. The lightbulb eventually lit up in my head with a simple "What in the hell are you doing?" I turned around and walked back to my hotel.

That said, the Atlantis is not a place where you feel unsafe. Despite offers of drug-addled taxi rides to the strip club across the bridge, the chances of getting jumped for your roll are are pretty slim. Even the Bahamian taxi guy didn't spook me. It's just a product of money and vice being in close proximity.

***

As I walked toward the casino bar, I tried to imagine who would have accepted the offer I'd just received. I'd later learn that my wife--already about six drinks ahead of me--had run into the same guy. He'd only offered her the taxi or drugs. Regardless, that meant the dude had been working the same door for the past couple of hours.

So, who then? And what would become of them? I figured the average person walking around this 937-strong poker players convention was walking around with $3000-$4000 in their pocket. If only one of them signed up for the ride, it would make the taxi guy's night. The taxi ride mimght seem cheap at first. And maybe even the drugs would be cheap. But once across the bridge and into the darker corners of downtown Nassau, the price would certainly go up. And by how much? I've never been to a strip club in a foreign country, but my assumption is that they are somewhat less safe than the clubs in America (which, frankly, is not saying much).

The only thing I knew for sure was that going anywhere with that guy--especially alone--would likely end up with me broke in a foreign country and walking back across the Paradise Island bridge...if I could walk at all.

***

My counterparts at the bar were way ahead of me and playing a game based on the American pronounciation of the world "herb." The Brits hate that we drop the "h" and were being none-too-quiet about the audacity of Americans.

I related my tale of the one quiet place in Atlantis where a man would offer you a taxi, drugs, and a titty bar in one short conversation. Suddenly, the Brits were quiet.

"Pray tell, where is this magic door?"

And then they laughed. Because even drunk Brits who pronounced shallot as "shallOUGHT" aren't dumb enough to go across the bridge.

Titty bar or not.

Labels: Drinking, Poker, Travel