And Now A Word About Missouri Wine
And that word is "blechh"!!
A friend of mine got married this weekend at the age of 39, making him the last of my friends to get married, at least for the first time. We flew into Missouri, where the bride and groom somewhat inconveniently live, for the ceremony. The ceremony itself, in which yours truly had a part, was held on a gorgeous bluff overlooking the Missouri River. You could launch hang gliders off the patio where the vows were exchanged, but the bride wouldn't let us.
The reception was held at a local vineyard where they make their own wine. Now I personally know about as much about wine as I do about string theory and the role it plays in quantum physics. In short, both give me headaches and therefore I avoid them. But some friends of ours are quite into wine, and were very excited about the prospect of whooping it up at a winery. Until they tasted the wine. When asked to describe a particular red, a friend of mine, (who actually has my dream job at a major liquor distributor), described it as "grain alcohol with some fruit juice thrown in". Of course, another friend bought four bottles to take home, so perhaps the first guy is just stuffy.
The bonus from my perspective was that while the bartenders knew about wine, they didn't know about anything else. So when I went up and asked for four glasses of 14 year-old Oban scotch, that's what I got. 4 nearly full glasses. Generally, when ordering scotch one is lucky to get a little more than two fingers in a glass for about $12 if you're drinking the good stuff. In this case it was open bar and the bartender was pouring by the fist rather than the finger. I tipped him $5 and he was esctatic.
But not nearly as happy as I was.
In a related story, we went to a strip bar, or, excuse me, "cabaret", the night before the wedding. The bride gave us directions, and I'm not making that up. Hey, if you wait until you're 39 to get married, odds are you picked a winner. At any rate, the place was bring your own booze, apparently so that the club could get around those pesky "no full nudity" laws. The visit was pretty routine, choking smoke, some fun girls, some not fun girls, too much money spent on dances for the groom and best man. The funniest thing, however, was the table next to us. Apparently taking "bring your own booze" to an extreme, the eight guys at the table had brought in a keg and a bunch of plastic cups. At the other end, we saw one guy walk in with a plastic bucket full of ice and beer. Indeed, the whole joint reeked of class.
Well, it reeked anyway.
A friend of mine got married this weekend at the age of 39, making him the last of my friends to get married, at least for the first time. We flew into Missouri, where the bride and groom somewhat inconveniently live, for the ceremony. The ceremony itself, in which yours truly had a part, was held on a gorgeous bluff overlooking the Missouri River. You could launch hang gliders off the patio where the vows were exchanged, but the bride wouldn't let us.
The reception was held at a local vineyard where they make their own wine. Now I personally know about as much about wine as I do about string theory and the role it plays in quantum physics. In short, both give me headaches and therefore I avoid them. But some friends of ours are quite into wine, and were very excited about the prospect of whooping it up at a winery. Until they tasted the wine. When asked to describe a particular red, a friend of mine, (who actually has my dream job at a major liquor distributor), described it as "grain alcohol with some fruit juice thrown in". Of course, another friend bought four bottles to take home, so perhaps the first guy is just stuffy.
The bonus from my perspective was that while the bartenders knew about wine, they didn't know about anything else. So when I went up and asked for four glasses of 14 year-old Oban scotch, that's what I got. 4 nearly full glasses. Generally, when ordering scotch one is lucky to get a little more than two fingers in a glass for about $12 if you're drinking the good stuff. In this case it was open bar and the bartender was pouring by the fist rather than the finger. I tipped him $5 and he was esctatic.
But not nearly as happy as I was.
In a related story, we went to a strip bar, or, excuse me, "cabaret", the night before the wedding. The bride gave us directions, and I'm not making that up. Hey, if you wait until you're 39 to get married, odds are you picked a winner. At any rate, the place was bring your own booze, apparently so that the club could get around those pesky "no full nudity" laws. The visit was pretty routine, choking smoke, some fun girls, some not fun girls, too much money spent on dances for the groom and best man. The funniest thing, however, was the table next to us. Apparently taking "bring your own booze" to an extreme, the eight guys at the table had brought in a keg and a bunch of plastic cups. At the other end, we saw one guy walk in with a plastic bucket full of ice and beer. Indeed, the whole joint reeked of class.
Well, it reeked anyway.
posted by limpy99 at 9:29 AM
21 Comments:
I need directions to that particular bartender. Holy shit! That's a fantasy...or at least part of one.
P.S.
That grain alcohol stuff is also good as starter fluid in an emergency.
So will they serve you drinks if you keep your clothes on? Oh, you wouldn't know, I suppose. ;)
But really, the whole toting around a pony keg sounds like a drag, particularly once it's empty. Besides, good beer never comes in kegs.
I go with my husband to strip clubs and I get the lap dance while he gets to watch...
does that make me "a keeper"?
*snorts*
CP
HG buys me lap dances sometimes. One of the many, many reasons why I love that woman. We in Oregon, however do not need to bring our own to the full nudity strip clubs. The full nudity strip clubs are quite content charging $10 bucks a drink and the state of Oregon is quite content in taking their cut.
Maggie, fly to Kansas City, rent a car, drive to Rocheport, MO, find the winery, ask for scotch.
Eclectic, they served me all the soda I could drink, thank you very much.
CP, it makes you a keeper, my wife's twin, or both.
RSG, in CT full nudity is allowed if no booze is served. Or if you just tip well and go to the right, (wrong?) bar.
I wish everywhere had a BYOB rule. I'd get plowed at restaurants (and anywhere else I could get away with it) a whole lot more often if it didn't cost $5.50 a pint to do it.
I've been to one of those vineyards, possibly the same one. I suspect that all the wine there sucks like it does here.
Cabaret? That sounds so GAY.
mmmm, reeking class. Best kind!
Weddings can be fun. But it sounds as if the lead up to that wedding was funner.
What?
No pictures?!?!?
You HAVE to get all covert with the phots, man! The imagery is hilarious, but damn ... a keg? Holy crap. I just read Pissy's comment so I guess I'm late with the great insight.
Well, since I'd prefer not to comment on Missouri or wine, I'll stick to the folk dancing.
The last time I ventured into one of those establishments, I met an attractive redhead with an elaborate tattoo of a Dodge Charger on her shoulder (true story).
Having been raised on a steady diet of GM products (Firebirds and Camaros, mostly), I knew this didn't bode well for navigating the S-curves of life together.
So I finished my glass of high-test and left the pit-area for the last time, knowing that my "Days of Thunder" (thighs) were likely over.
I miss weddings receptions. Down here in the bible belt a "reception" usually consists of (unspiked) punch and mixed nuts in the basement of the church.
Southerners have no clue how to throw a reception!
p.s.
Geez, ya slacker. It would be nice if you'd get off your ass and post something. I could use some entertainment while I'm home recovering this week!
Phollower, I now have this vision of your living room filled with half-played board games and discarded beer bottles.
Syd, well, some of the girls at least pretended they were gay. It was funny, it didn't seem to play as well as it does in CT.
Tai, there is no better kind.
Nick, actually, the wedding was pretty cool too. Odd how they've evolved from guys drinking all the cheap beer they can to guys sipping expensive scotch and smoking cigars.
Pissy, not yet. Still on the camera.
Rat, there are no pictures from the "cabaret" anyway. Sorry, I don't have a spy camera, although I want one.
Pug, Chargers are great cars, but as much as I like them, and as much as I like tattoos, and as much as I like red-headed strippers, the three together just seem like a bad idea.
Tysgirl, thank God these two were Jews!!
And by the way, blow me.
Yes, it is always lovely to get served whisky by people who don't know that you serve it by the shot. Did they have to scrape you off the floor afterward?
Nice of the bride to give you directions to the nude bar, but really, if she wouldn't let you jump off a cliff, how awesome could she be?
I never worked those clubs, we were g-string snobs : ) Oh, and our nickname for them was girls that worked at the "Crab Palace".
Ok, I have to stop drinking before the school bus gets home, my grammar is horrible today!!
This is what happens when people from northern CA move to Missouri. Hilarious!
Sheesh, why didn't the bartender just hand over the whole bottle to ya? LOL
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