What A Day That Was
Oct. 23rd, 2010 01:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
drpaisleyAfter a annoyingly irritating day at work, I raced home, where Dragonet and Rohanna awaited with my birthday presents. Ro got me a four pack of boxer shorts[1], which included a pair that could be billed as Steampunk shorts, given the gears and such printed on them; the new Neil Young album, Le Noise, which I am very much looking forward to listening to; and, from the clearance rack, a lovely orange and yellow Hawai'ian shirt featuring palm trees and (pun alert!) bottles of "Wrecked Stout." Dragonet got me a bottle of Glenfiddich 15 y.o. single malt Scotch. Nom nom.
We then traveled to NPulsifer and Gisele's abode, where a lovely Stephen King/Shari Lewis mashup dinner[2] went into the oven whilst we went to the new local bar Swagger, where he treated Ro and I to shots of Bushmill's 21 year old single malt. At one point, our waitress came by, and I mentioned that it was my birthday. She returned shortly with shots of Jameson's for us all. Then the the owner came by to chat, and after determining that I was the natality victim, asked if I had ever had Bushmill's 1608, their 400th anniversary release. I replied that I had, once, and he asked if I would like a shot. Somehow, I managed to remain calm while responding, "Yes, thank you very much, I'd love one." He brought back a very generous pour of that wondrous elixir, which I shared with my friends. An entertaining discussion of the differences between the three whiskys followed. And then a waitress brought a slice of cheesecake by for "whoever's got a birthday." It was quite good, too.
Ro and I talked to the owner for a bit, and we both agree that this is the kind of neighborhood bar we have been looking for for a very long time. I told the owner I would be pimping the shit out of the place here, and so I am. If you are in KC, and looking for a fun bar with lots of beers on tap (53) and many more in bottles, plus good foo, Swagger is the place to check out. We will be back, probably on a Wednesday, which features the crab leg special (not a euphemism). And for the professional eater, there is the Dead Texan: Two Texas toast grilled cheese sandwiches with a 1/3 lb. burger, 1 egg, 3 slices of bacon, lettuce, tomato, onion, jalapenos, and peppercorn mayo in between. Be still, my clogging arteries. While I won't be touching that with a 10-foot stent, I do think I know where I will be celebrating my birthday for the forseeable future.
We headed back to NPulsifer's, where the lamb was perfectly done. We were joined by our friends Liz and Joe (NPulsifer's son [by Star and I] Eric had met us at Swagger), and settled down to watch Game Six of the ALCS. As the Rangers slowly built their lead, we had a great time picking on Joe, who had doubled down on his masochistic sports fetish by wearing a Yankees t-shirt over a Cowboys shirt. As Slappy Rodriguez[3] stood at the plate looking at strike three like it was some kind of endangered species he should avoid swinging on penalty of death, all but one of us cheered. Even better, I never saw ex-President Smirky anywhere, acting like he had anything to do with the team now that it was successful.
All in all, one of the best birthday celebrations I have had. Thanks to everyone for their kind wishes. And best of luck to the San Francisco Giants, because Mike Sweeney getting into the World Series is almost as big a sign of the apocalype as the time he stole home off Andy Pettitte. No, really, I was there! It happened! I saw it! The baseline opened up, and a plague of burnt ends came forth! But the Fucking Yankees still won that night (in thirteen innings).
[1] When one goes to pull up a pair of underwear, and can see through the space next to the central seam, said shorts are defunct. Similarly (for males at least) when one takes the appropriate position before the "R. Mutt" sculpture on the wall of the restroom and reaches through one's open pants fly to deploy the equipment for micturation, only to discover multiple openings available for said deployment that were not part of the original design, said shorts are also geschvinkto.
[2] What, you never heard of "The Lamb Shank Redemption"?
[3] almost certainly the first player to appear in a baseball playoff series while being paid by both teams involved.
We then traveled to NPulsifer and Gisele's abode, where a lovely Stephen King/Shari Lewis mashup dinner[2] went into the oven whilst we went to the new local bar Swagger, where he treated Ro and I to shots of Bushmill's 21 year old single malt. At one point, our waitress came by, and I mentioned that it was my birthday. She returned shortly with shots of Jameson's for us all. Then the the owner came by to chat, and after determining that I was the natality victim, asked if I had ever had Bushmill's 1608, their 400th anniversary release. I replied that I had, once, and he asked if I would like a shot. Somehow, I managed to remain calm while responding, "Yes, thank you very much, I'd love one." He brought back a very generous pour of that wondrous elixir, which I shared with my friends. An entertaining discussion of the differences between the three whiskys followed. And then a waitress brought a slice of cheesecake by for "whoever's got a birthday." It was quite good, too.
Ro and I talked to the owner for a bit, and we both agree that this is the kind of neighborhood bar we have been looking for for a very long time. I told the owner I would be pimping the shit out of the place here, and so I am. If you are in KC, and looking for a fun bar with lots of beers on tap (53) and many more in bottles, plus good foo, Swagger is the place to check out. We will be back, probably on a Wednesday, which features the crab leg special (not a euphemism). And for the professional eater, there is the Dead Texan: Two Texas toast grilled cheese sandwiches with a 1/3 lb. burger, 1 egg, 3 slices of bacon, lettuce, tomato, onion, jalapenos, and peppercorn mayo in between. Be still, my clogging arteries. While I won't be touching that with a 10-foot stent, I do think I know where I will be celebrating my birthday for the forseeable future.
We headed back to NPulsifer's, where the lamb was perfectly done. We were joined by our friends Liz and Joe (NPulsifer's son [by Star and I] Eric had met us at Swagger), and settled down to watch Game Six of the ALCS. As the Rangers slowly built their lead, we had a great time picking on Joe, who had doubled down on his masochistic sports fetish by wearing a Yankees t-shirt over a Cowboys shirt. As Slappy Rodriguez[3] stood at the plate looking at strike three like it was some kind of endangered species he should avoid swinging on penalty of death, all but one of us cheered. Even better, I never saw ex-President Smirky anywhere, acting like he had anything to do with the team now that it was successful.
All in all, one of the best birthday celebrations I have had. Thanks to everyone for their kind wishes. And best of luck to the San Francisco Giants, because Mike Sweeney getting into the World Series is almost as big a sign of the apocalype as the time he stole home off Andy Pettitte. No, really, I was there! It happened! I saw it! The baseline opened up, and a plague of burnt ends came forth! But the Fucking Yankees still won that night (in thirteen innings).
[1] When one goes to pull up a pair of underwear, and can see through the space next to the central seam, said shorts are defunct. Similarly (for males at least) when one takes the appropriate position before the "R. Mutt" sculpture on the wall of the restroom and reaches through one's open pants fly to deploy the equipment for micturation, only to discover multiple openings available for said deployment that were not part of the original design, said shorts are also geschvinkto.
[2] What, you never heard of "The Lamb Shank Redemption"?
[3] almost certainly the first player to appear in a baseball playoff series while being paid by both teams involved.