[lit-ideas] Re: Sunday Something
- From: Omar Kusturica <omarkusto@xxxxxxxxx>
- To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
- Date: Sun, 25 May 2014 22:37:13 +0200
That is, methyl alcohol, sorry. Ethyl alcohol is of course found in all
alcoholic drinks.
O.K.
On Sun, May 25, 2014 at 10:33 PM, Omar Kusturica <omarkusto@xxxxxxxxx>wrote:
> There are several causes of hangover; one is dehydration, which will be
> caused by any alcoholic drink if drunk in some quantity, but it can be
> taken care of by drinking plenty of water the next day. Another is ethyl
> alcohol, small quantities of which are found in wine and beer. Strong
> spirits, if properly distilled, should not contain ethyl alcohol. However,
> the emphasis is on properly.
>
> O.K.
>
>
> On Sun, May 25, 2014 at 7:58 PM, David Ritchie <profdritchie@xxxxxxxxx>wrote:
>
>> because our guest were chinese and german
>> and because we knew little more than the fact they are both mathematicians
>> we had to have a bit of a think
>> before deciding the best thing to look for
>> at the beaverton market might be
>> yak
>> for burgers
>> to be cooked in the pink
>> with chips
>>
>> I've been reading Jan-Erik Pettersson, "Stieg Larsson; The Real Story of
>> the Man Who Played with Fire." I'd call it an "excuse" for a book if that
>> didn't sound so harsh. What I mean is that Pettersson wanted to write a
>> history of the European far right and found in Larsson a convenient peg on
>> which to hang his thoughts. Good move; I wouldn't normally have bought a
>> history of thugs and nutters, but it's interesting. I mentioned some of
>> this to the chickens when they gathered around. I was doing that, "let's
>> have a beer and digest the day's information" thing, trying to take in the
>> beauty of the light on the trees, when I felt a pecking at my ankles.
>> "I'm reflecting," I said.
>> "Popcorn? Of the cheesy sort?"
>> "Or chips?"
>> "I'm enjoying the light on the trees."
>> Cheddar, "His feet don't taste quite like they smell. It's a funny
>> thing, sometimes, with food."
>> "Try his trousers."
>> "Can't. He keeps shoving me away with his foot. Maybe he's not in a
>> benevolent mood?"
>> "Jump up on the table. See if he's got popcorn hidden about his person."
>> "Ladies," I said, "I'm not deaf. It's just not 'l'heure du popcorn.'"
>> They looked puzzled. moved their heads as if something wasn't quite
>> coming into focus. "Well what 'l'heure' is it?"
>> "C'est l'heure du bugger off and leave me alone," I responded.
>> "Oooooooh, get him! Talking foreign."
>> They walked away.
>> Minutes later they were back. "What 'l'heure' is it now?"
>> "I'll get the popcorn."
>>
>> Appenzeller is still doing the try-to-hatch-infertile-eggs thing. We
>> lift her out daily and she goes running towards water and food, wanders
>> around, and then instinct takes back over. "I've a mind," she said on
>> Monday, "to try the fast-unto-death thing."
>> "Gandhi?" I said, with Gallic shrug, "what on earth would you be
>> protesting? Life of Riley."
>> "I'm not protesting," she said, "I'm thinking of dictating a book on how
>> to lose weight through suffering."
>> "'Forty Shades at the back of the Shed'?"
>>
>> My father has developed a test for distilled alcohol. The theoretical
>> basis is that volatile esters are responsible for hangover symptoms. He
>> doesn't drink in large quantity so I assume he's referring to something
>> short of what the French call, "The head of wood." Anyway, the way to test
>> for these esters, he says, is to heat the alcohol just a bit and then use
>> your nose, which is far more sensitive than the tongue. Following thus far?
>> It's a relatively simple test to perform: someone gives you hooch, you pour
>> a drop in your one hand, close the other one over, rub, stick your nose in;
>> if what you smell is smooth, then the alcohol is fine, if it seems like it
>> may be removing the lining of your nasal passages this liquid might be
>> something you'd want to avoid. I mention all this in preamble to a
>> revelation and a confession. The revelation is that not long ago I bought
>> hooch in Switzerland, trusting that the People of the Tell would not lead
>> me into the path of misery. Ha! The bottle I so carefully brought back, no
>> one here will even pour on peaches. I thought about handing what's left to
>> some homeless man, but who wants that responsibility? We use the stuff to
>> set Christmas puddings on fire. Rest of the tale. Yesterday morning I
>> finally tasted--at the Beaverton Farmer's Market-- a gin made in Portland.
>> I write "finally" because there is a stand in the airport, promoting said
>> gin. I shan't name the gin...for reasons which will become obvious. So, I
>> took a taste. And then the Swiss lapse, bubbled to the surface of my
>> consciousness. "I ought to do the test." The demonstrator guy was
>> distracted, so I did my hands thing, poke my nose forward and...make one of
>> those noises cats manufacture immediately before a hairballectomy. Holy
>> horrors, Batman! We hurried away, with J. describing in detail the
>> demonstrator guy's face.
>>
>> David Ritchie,
>> Portland, Oregon
>>
>>
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