Good Times With Good Friends Despite the Piss-Poor Alcohol: A Reminiscence

Good Times With Good Friends Despite the Piss-Poor Alcohol: A Reminiscence

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When you reminisce about your personal drinking history, it undoubtedly includes fond memories of enjoying those first drinks with good friends. Those were good times with good friends no matter the drink of choice, right?

Well, thank the Lord for good times, good friends, and short-term memory because if you really think about it, maybe those first drinks consumed during your teens and early twenties weren’t all that great….  

I mean, most folks in their teens and early 20s just can’t afford quality spirits and top-end craft beer. If you’re a typical Southern boy (or girl), cheap beer and rotgut booze were your go-to drinks of choice when you first discovered that booze upped the game of enjoying good times with good friends.

Of course, now that you’re an “adult,” you only drink the finest of spirits and best craft beers, right? As a member of the Southern Drinking Club, your current tastes in alcohol bespeak of the distinction appropriate for our refined Southern culture. The very thought of those early drinking experiences must make your stomach turn or some such. How, given the time spent praying to the porcelain gods and/or battling the next morning’s bottle-flu, did we ever drink that stuff?

But let’s return to those blissful days of our youth anyway and contemplate our earliest drinks of choice.

Hesitating? 

Probably for a good reason….

OK, so I’ll lead the charge by describing my own earliest dalliances with the refined spirits (ahem, “rotgut” and piss brew) that initially charted my own appreciation for drinking, Southern-style or otherwise.

You could almost treat this as a drinking game of sorts. Yep, you’ve got to chug down a shot of your current favorite for every one of the following not-so-fine libations you are personally familiar with.

Oops—that’s right, we are now mature connoisseurs of fine spirits and craft beer and no longer stoop to such bawdry nonsense as “drinking games.”

My bad.

Moving on, before you join me on my spirit-filled journey, I must confess that my Southern heritage for drinking purposes is somewhat compromised. While I am definitely Southern born—Great State of North Carolina, thank you very much—I am the product of a Southern father and Yankee mother (yeah, that nuptial bliss didn’t last). As such, I spent a few of my formative early drinking years in (gasp!) Massachusetts. But hey, it expanded my nascent experiences with alcohol which in turn helped me eventually better acquire a taste for top-shelf alcohol and beers of distinction.

As an aside, I should also note that I aged through the various state legal drinking age limits right before they were raised from 18 to 21. Thus, I found it easy to procure alcohol at an early age. Heck, I was buying booze with ease at age 16 with or without my fake ID (note to anyone under 21 reading this: the penalties for my youthful transgressions are way stiffer today than they were when I was nabbed—ahem, I mean, “got away” with them).

Also, please note this disclaimer: The following blog describes inane activities conducted by professionals afflicted with delayed-progression-through-adolescence syndrome. The publisher of this blog warns readers not to engage in or try to recreate any of these activities and will not be held responsible for any damages incurred should this warning be ignored.           

OK, then, without further ado, I present you with my initial forays into enjoying good times with good friends with…well, piss-poor alcohol.   

Haffenreffer Private Stock

While Budweiser was the beer of choice during my teen years, Haffenreffer became a go-to one weekend when my Massachusetts buddies and I wanted to up our fun quotient. Known as “Green Death” because of its distinctive green bottle and robust alcohol content, high school seniors claimed that no one could get through a whole six-pack without calling earl.

Hah! Upon hearing that, my merry band of freshman and sophomores set out to prove them wrong. A Saturday night, four six-packs of the Green Death, and—appropriately enough—Ye Olde Burial Ground as our drinking spot, and we were set.

However, it quickly became apparent that Haffenreffer was a different breed than Budweiser, as we were all feeling especially goofy halfway through the second bottle. By the third bottle, typical adolescent restlessness had kicked in, so we started wrestling and beating the hell out of each other. While this was relatively normal behavior for us at that time, the Haffenreffer upped the aggressive factor by several notches. This led to a broken tooth and far more bruises, scratches, and ripped clothes than usual, though with no lingering hard feelings.  

Bottle four represented the beginning of the end. We were sitting around in a circle licking our respective wounds when Blotto suddenly turned to the side and violently spewed out chunks on top of the final resting place of some poor dude who’d passed on some 200 years prior. Naturally, we relocated, and Blotto crawled over to a cleaner spot to rest and recuperate.   

Nickles was the next one to go down, but he managed to verbally warn us—“I’m gonna puke”—and made his way to some nearby bushes where he could offer his absolutions in private. T-Bone and I lasted another half bottle or so, but I’m not sure which one of us gacked first. Needless to say, but none of us made it to number six.

Interestingly, I sampled Haffenreffer again shortly before the brand was discontinued in 2013. I didn’t finish the bottle and can’t say that its discontinuation represents a significant loss to the brewing world.     

Boone’s Farm 

Cut to a hot summer day in Carolina with good friends, a slow-flowing river, and a rope swing. To notch up the good times’ quotient, we tasked Beetle Baily with securing our beer. Not sure how the Beetle ended up with the task, but he failed miserably. When he showed up at the swimming hole on his bike, he pulled three bottles of Boone’s Farm apple wine out of his knapsack rather than our expected beer. As I recall, there was a long moment’s silence, followed quickly by a verbal beating.

Given these politically correct times, I will not repeat much of the verbal thrashing Beetle received, but let’s just say that it primarily referenced his gender and sexual orientation. Those of you who are not easily offended or of the politically correct ilk can easily imagine precisely what sentiments were expressed.

His only defense was that he couldn’t carry much beer in his knapsack and that Boone’s Farm was the perfect drink for a “stinkin’ hot day.” There was talk of stringing him up on the rope swing, but we calmed down, made the best of it, and somehow managed to quaff down that cloying excuse for wine.

That evening I experienced my first-ever wine headache—piercing pain in the frontal lobes—though dehydration and excess sun probably contributed.

As for Boone’s Farm, it hasn’t passed through these lips since . . . and never will.  

Bacardi 151

Picture a beautiful star-filled night sky, a frozen, snow-covered river, three teenage boys, and a bottle of Bacardi 151. Way too frigging cold to drink beer, but we wanted a little something to drink during our cross-country skiing expedition down the Concord River. Nickles came up with the “perfect” solution. As he explained, everyone knows that rum warms you up, so a high-powered 151 proof rum should add twice the heat. Thus, we ended up with Bacardi 151 for our midnight journey, and it did warm us up. . . at least in our minds.

We didn’t get hammered during our trip but definitely got quite silly. The exercise helped keep us warm in those sub-zero degree temperatures, but we convinced ourselves that it was the 151. Feeling so warm, we soon turned to outcompete each other as to who was the warmest. Layers of clothing started coming off and, at some point, we all found ourselves bare chested. Naturally, we each held to our claims of being warm, and it became a competition of endurance—or just idiocy. I don’t recall who broke first, but I believe we lasted about an hour, fortified by periodic hits of 151, which certainly felt warm as it slid down our respective gullets.

I haven’t had 151 since, but must admit that Bacardi was my rum of choice through college, primarily in rum and Coke formation. Blech—talk about sweet-on-sweet! I no longer drink the stuff, even if it’s the only rum available.  

Pepe Lopez

If you haven’t tried tequila yet, I highly recommend that you avoid this particular brand, which is the rotgut of tequilas. Heck, it doesn’t even taste like tequila and, as I recall, has a flavor more akin to acetone infused with burnt rubber.

It’s also the drink that— I’m not proud to say—caused my first black-out. It could have caused far worse but, fortunately, I ended up with a designated driver.

It’s not much of a story, but picture 50 or so high school kids partying at a remote reservoir. There’s a keg, car stereos competing to blast out the “best” music, and seniors celebrating their impending graduation with their own special libations. My small gang had brought several bottles of Pepe, and while we initially started with occasional salt-rimmed shots and lemon, by dark we were chugging it straight from the bottle. By 10:30, we were all pretty much blotto, and by 11:00, I was no longer feeling good and it was time to go home. Most of my other friends had gone their separate ways, and it was down to me and Nickles, who was also pickled and a younger kid we called DoubleT, who wasn’t much of a drinker. Drinking just didn’t agree with him and he didn’t find the thought of me driving us home to be agreeable either. So, he insisted that I let him drive. And, despite his lack of a driver’s license, I did.

Good thing, cause I don’t recall much from that drive home. I do know that I passed out on the back seat, but I don’t remember waking up and opening the door so that I could blow chunks out onto the Massachusetts turnpike rather than in my car. DoubleT rousted Nickles from his own slumber just in time to pull me back into the car; claimed the next day that I was within seconds of tumbling out onto the highway. Don’t know about all that, but I sure did have to contend with a mess in my backseat.

Old Mill Stream

This was my bourbon of choice through university, though certainly not a “choice” bourbon. Pretty much the cheapest bourbon in the ABC store, Old Mill Stream was the perfect low-budget option to cover all those important university social needs, that is excepting those involving entertainment of the fairer sex. Women tend to have far better taste (and sense) than men, and the few times it was offered up as a cocktail, it was promptly rejected after just one sip.

Lots of good times with good friends with the Old Mill Stream, and just the mention of its name today will immediately evoke laughter from my old college buddies. Lots of good stories, too, but I think I’ll keep those between my friends and me.

Old Milwaukee and Milwaukee’s Best

  

The cheap Budweiser alternatives for broke college students, my friends and I drank these brands by the truckload. Naturally, we’d drink Bud (and even fancier beers on occasion) when not feeling so broke, but because these other brews were almost always half-price compared to Bud, they became staples.

No specific stories to tell, as these brews were always within reach, but not sure how we put up with such crappy beer. Tried one not too long ago and marveled at how insipid the flavor was—carbonated yeasty water, and hard water, at that.  

  

Jägermeister

Not sure why I never ran across this one during my university days, but I only needed to experience it once to know that once was enough. Shortly after graduating, I met up with a friend in Washington, DC, who took me to a Jägermeister happy hour. The shots flowed freely, and the digestif’s 56 herbs, spices, and other ingredients worked their magic to give me one of the absolute worst cases of bottle-flu ever.

Appropriate Options 

Well, kids, those were the alcoholic drinks that launched my appreciation for fine spirits and top-end beers. It’s a wonder that they didn’t serve to make me never drink again. 

If you’re starting to gain an appreciation for alcohol, I’d suggest starting with the good stuff, if possible. In no particular order, some of my personal favorites include:

  • Lagavulin (Scotch)
  • Maker’s Mark (Bourbon)
  • Patron Anejo (Tequila)
  • The Botanist Islay Dry (Gin)
  • Mount Gay XO (Rum)
  • Ketel One (Vodka)
  • Too many craft beers to name (off the shelf, though, I’ll take a Sam Adams)

And remember, drink responsibly. Trust me, nothing ruins the joys of alcohol like a raging case of bottle-flu, a black-out, having to explain yourself to John Law, or dealing with a pissed-off wife or girlfriend who is upset over your alcohol-induced, juvenile behavior.

—Originally not published by The Southern Drinking Club. Publisher loved it, but I guess it was a bit too much for his readers.  

Twitter Executives Ponder Controls on “Dehumanizing” Tweets, Ignore Most Newsworthy Offender

Twitter Executives Ponder Controls on “Dehumanizing” Tweets, Ignore Most Newsworthy Offender

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—August 12, 2018
Twitter chief executive Jack Dorsey held a high-level policy meeting Aug. 10, to debate ways to make the social media site “safer for its users.” At least, that’s how two New York Times reporters characterized the meeting. Dorsey reportedly invited the Times reporters to the meeting in an effort to “provide more transparency about Twitter’s decision making.” However, had Dorsey truly wanted to be transparent perhaps he should have also invited a member of the conservative press.

If you happen to be a conservative Twitter user then you can’t be blamed if you might be a bit skeptical about New York Times reporting on the meeting, or, more importantly, on Twitter’s ultimate intentions. If you are a conservative Twitter user, then you are well aware that the social media site, like Facebook, Google, Instagram and others, has been actively trying to stifle conservative voices. In fact, these first days of August have been marked by a significant ramp-up by these Left-leaning sites to purge Right-leaning content from their sites.

At this juncture I could easily go off on multiple tangents to explore this enhanced attack on freedom of speech—the social media ban on Infowars and the Proud Boys, and Sen. Chris Murphy’s (D-CT) demand that social media “take down” more conservative sites, for example—but want to remain focused on the Twitter meeting, as it is so rich with irony, hypocrisy and double standards.

According to the New York Times article, the hour-long meeting primarily focused on “how to rid the site of ‘dehumanizing speech,’ even if it [does] not violate Twitter’s rules, which forbid direct threats of violence and some forms of hate speech.”

Ah yes, those strongly enforced (hah!) Twitter rules forbidding direct threats of violence…. Threaten a liberal, or any of the Left’s sacred cows (illegal immigrants, Muslims, LGBTQ et al., Black Lives Matter, feminists, any minority group, etc.), even if in satire, and the Tweet is quickly removed and the author usually penalized with a suspension or other sanction.

However, if you post a Tweet threatening violence against a conservative, it will likely not be removed or sanctioned at all. Just ask President Donald Trump, the recipient of tens of thousands of Tweets threatening his life or otherwise inciting violence against him and/or his supporters. While Twitter administrators occasionally remove such threatening posts, they rarely impose any penalties on the tweets’ authors.

For another great example, “Kill white people” and other tweet themes against white folks tends to be just fine with Twitter. However, Twitter initially made a concerted effort to keep “It’s OK to be White” from trending back in November 2017 after savvy social media pranksters initiated the campaign to show how the otherwise innocuous phrase would be deemed “racist” by the Left. Apparently, it’s not OK to be white, because Twitter suspended some users who used the phrase, deleted some tweets with the phrase, and restricted Twitter users from seeing it in other instances by marking it as “sensitive content.”

And this leads us to Twitter’s Friday discussion about “dehumanizing speech.” The 19 Twitter executives at the meeting, and the two invited New York Times reporters, could easily have found samples of such speech on Twitter by perusing the Twitter history of the New York Times’ own newly named member of its prestigious editorial board—Sarah Jeong, who posted hundreds of tweets disparaging white folks over the past decade.

How about: “Are white people genetically predisposed to burn faster in the sun, thus logically being only fit to live underground like groveling goblins” and “Dumbshit Fucking white people marking up the internet with their opinions like dogs pissing on fire hydrants” for just two examples?

What do you think, “dehumanizing?” While the Twitter executives apparently did not discuss Ms. Jeong’s tweets during the meeting, such tweets were recently deemed offensive by the company. Offensive, that is, when astute double-standard exposer Candace Owens reposted some of Ms. Jeong’s more egregious Tweets (including the two above) as her own by substituting “black” and/or “Jewish” for “white.” Those tweets were promptly deleted and Ms. Owens sanctioned with a 12-hour suspension from the site. While Twitter rescinded the suspension when called out for the double-standard, the point had been made.

Made, but perhaps not taken, as evidenced by the apparent lack of the Twitter executives’ discussion of Ms. Yeong’s “dehumanizing” tweets. Either the New York Times reporters chose to not report on any mention that may have been made about Ms. Yeong’s tweet history, or the Twitter executives accept the New York Times’ patently false Aug. 2, assertion that Ms. Yeong’s anti-white tweets were primarily written in reaction to racist comments tweeted at her and made in satire.

Freelance journalist Nick Monroe examined all of Ms. Yeong’s 100s of allegedly racist tweets and determined that only a dozen or so were made in response to any racist or anti-feminist tweets initially made to her. Satire, of course, is highly subjective, but Ms. Yeong’s former nonstop excoriating tweetfest against white folks seems much more of a noxious brew than a mildly intoxicating elixir.

Bottom line is that given the recent newsworthiness surrounding Ms. Yeong’s anti-white tweets (and the controversy over the New York Times hiring of her) how could they not have been part of the Twitter executive discussion about “dehumanizing” speech on their site? The answer seems to be that either the New York Times buried any such details, or Twitter has no intention of making its platform safer for conservative white folks.

—Originally published in Discernible Truth

Southern Born and Bred, But Please Deliver It Up North

Southern Born and Bred, But Please Deliver It Up North

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Have you ever noticed that when you meet a Yankee who obviously has little to no knowledge about the South, he’ll try to ingratiate himself with you by mentioning some things he loves or knows about the South? Generally these things tend to be our weather, our accents, noteworthy Southern bands, a sports team or two, and a particular Southern alcoholic beverage that makes most normal folks’ stomachs turn. 

A few examples:

“I’ve never been South of Baltimore, but I love your climate.”

“When I hear a pretty Southern girl speak, that accent turns my knees to rubber and I just want to melt.”

“Man, you gotta respect ‘Bama, but I think Clemson might be able to take them this year.”

“If you’re talking old school Southern rock, Lynyrd Skynyrd was definitely tops—The Allman Brothers were good, but, man, nothing beats “Freebird.” 

“Can you guys still get moonshine? I’d like to try it sometime. I mean, I love Southern Comfort….”

Gag! Pretty much all around.

While some of the other various ingratiating comments I’ve heard over the years also tend to make me want to gag, any purported love for Southern Comfort always makes me want to seek out more interesting company.

What, you think that concoction that tastes like cough syrup and honey infused with a hint of cat piss and battery acid is our national drink, or something? Moron!

I haven’t tried Southern Comfort since my wayward youth, and the lingering memories of the few times I sampled it will undoubtedly continue to keep me away from it. While it never resulted in an abrupt appointment with the porcelain altar, that horrid taste is stored somewhere in the frontal lobe alongside that of spoiled milk and the smell of old-dog farts.

OK, so perhaps I’m being a bit harsh (on Southern Comfort, not Yankees), because apparently some folks enjoy Southern Comfort, given that it’s been around since 1874. However, in every informal poll I’ve conducted nine out of ten people tend to agree with my assessment, and, like me, have not sampled the spirit since their own equally wayward youth.

Nevertheless, Southern Comfort has somehow managed to maintain itself as a prominent brand for almost 150 years, and recently sold to the privately held Sazerac Company, located in Louisiana. This also happens to be the birthplace of Southern Comfort, though the founder moved his operation to Memphis in 1889. All this to say that Southern Comfort is truly a product of the South, though who it provides “comfort” to is a good question for debate.

According to company legend, Martin Wilkes Heron developed Southern Comfort because the Kentucky whiskey that made its way down the Mississippi River had often degraded by the time it reached New Orleans. Thus, Heron started experimenting with various recipes designed to bring flavor back into the compromised Bourbon.

Well, Heron must have been quite the wizard, because by 1889 he was receiving the equivalent of $60 per bottle for his concoction. And, surprise, Heron took Southern Comfort to the 1900 Paris World Exposition where it won a gold medal for fine taste and quality, and then won the same medal again at the 1904 St. Louis World’s Fair.

Folks sure were hard up for decent alcohol back in those days….

Don’t know what happened to Southern Comfort during Prohibition, but Heron’s assistant and  inheritor of the business, Grant M. Peoples, was set to go when Prohibition ended, and quickly got the product back on the market. In fact, in what was apparently some brilliant marketing, Peoples created the Scarlett O’Hara cocktail to coincide with the 1939 release of “Gone with the Wind.”  The cocktail—consisting of Southern Comfort, cranberry juice and lime, with perhaps a bit of peach and sometimes grenadine instead of cranberry—proved popular and kept Southern Comfort on the market.

While the Scarlett O’Hara pretty much went the way of its namesake into retirement, bartenders still receive an order for the cocktail on occasion, and other concoctions, such as the Alabama Slammer, have emerged to keep Southern Comfort relevant.

Overall, I think the fact that it is Southern product, and that its name and marketing efforts evoke the gentile Southern mystique, help the brand maintain its allure. Cause it’s certainly not the taste.

I’d also be willing to bet that Southern Comfort marketing has long targeted those from up north who just wish they could enjoy the much more refined living of the Southern states. I would guess that sales of Southern Comfort predominate from the north, and that the majority of those claiming to love Southern Comfort reside up there, where folks just don’t know any better.

Didn’t P.T. Barnum say that “there’s a sucker born every minute….” and most of them live up north?

Anyway, now that I have thoroughly disparaged this drink that purportedly honors the South, I’ll throw a bone to those few of you who actually enjoy Southern Comfort.

Herein then, I present you with the Southern Hurricane:

1.5 oz Southern Comfort

1.5 oz Sweet and Sour Mix

1.5 oz Orange Juice

1.5 oz Pineapple Juice

splash of Grenadine

Stir all together in an ice filled glass, garnish with an orange wedge and cherry, hold your nose and drink.

Originally published by The Southern Drinking Club

Looking to Break That Circumnavigation by Sail Record

Looking to Break That Circumnavigation by Sail Record

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—April 17, 2018

Late last year, French sailor François Gabart set a new world record for sailing solo around the world. Gabart completed his 27,859.7-nautical mile journey in 42 days, 16 hours, 40 minutes and 35 seconds, beating by six days a previous record that had only been set one year before and thought unbeatable.

Little doubt that some intrepid sailors are already starting to strategize the means for breaking the latest “unbreakable record;” however, any sailor trying break such is going to need some serious coin given that Gabart’s boat, a 98-foot maxi-trimaran named “MACIF,” is considered one of the most technically advanced sailing yachts plying the oceans. While the MACIF sailing program has not disclosed the cost of the boat itself, the programs’s annual budget for Gabart’s sailing campaigns is $5 million.

Such known and unknown spending is likely petty change for Baron Benjamin de Rothschild, who backed the building of a 100 foot maxi-trimaran that was launched just a few months prior to Gabart’s departure record-setting voyage departure. Still undergoing sea trials, “Gitana 17” was designed to foil at over 50 knots and cover 900 miles per day. As MACIF averaged 27 knots and had a top one-day distance run of 851 miles, Gitana 17 appears to be a likely challenger to the Gabart/MACIF record. The question remains as to which sailor Rothschild will tap to sail his toy into the record books (Current skipper Sebastian Josse is a likely choice), and whether Rothschild will wait until the next solo around the world race (2019), or seek the record alone.

For those of us of more modest means, there remain at least one solo around-the-world sailing record that can be broken without having to spend millions. That is, the record for sailing the smallest boat around the world without docking on land.

That record is currently held by Alessandro Di Benedetto, an Italian, who successfully completed his voyage on a 21.3-foot boat in 2010. A 78-year-old Swedish sailor, Sven Yrvind, had planned to challenge the record in a boat half that size, but apparently

recently had second thoughts and is now only planning to take his homemade boat from Ireland to New Zealand. A life-long boat builder with ocean crossing experience on exceptionally small boats, Sven certainly had the chops, but perhaps age and health were a growing concern.

But really, in the realm of sailing around the world is the quest for breaking a record really worth it? How much of the world did Gabart or Di Benedetto have the pleasure of enjoying during their respective record breaking, and how comfortable do you suppose they were while doing it? I would surmise “hardly any” for the first, and “not one bit” for the latter.

Bottom line is that achieving a circumnavigation by sailboat—no matter how long it takes or how many stops in port along the way, is the sailor’s equivalent of Mount Everest. In fact, only about 300 people complete a circumnavigation in a given year. Less than 300 people have completed the voyage solo, starting with Nova Scotia native Joshua Slocum, who sailed around the world alone on a 36.9-foot gaff rigged sloop from April 1895-June 1898. Far fewer have done it non-stop.

Given that my wife doesn’t enjoy overnight passage making, it appears that my bucket-list circumnavigation is going to have to be solo. But I could care less about any records, and would thus make it a voyage to see the world and enjoy the sailing—“non-stop” be damned. And I doubt that I’d be solo all the time, as the wife and others have expressed the desire to fly into exotic ports of call to join me on occasion. The biggest challenge might be navigating a course that captures all the natural wonders of the world that I would love to see….

So perhaps there is a record I might be able to break after all. How about, slowest circumnavigation by sail?

—Originally Published by Slidemoor

Say Goodbye to the Defenders of the Cross—Will the Actual Cross Be Next?

Say Goodbye to the Defenders of the Cross—Will the Actual Cross Be Next?

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The potentates of political correctness scored another victory earlier this month in their ongoing war to ensure that words and imagery do not cause any offense to any marginalized people and their communities. In this particular case, Muslims and anyone else caught up in the religious wars waged between 1095 and 1492 as sanctioned by the Roman Catholic Church and historically known as “The Crusades.”

Little doubt that Muslims worldwide are now sleeping more soundly after administrators at the College of the Holy Cross announced that the school will no longer use the image of a knight for its logo and mascot due to the link between “knights” and “the violence of the Crusades.”

Interestingly, and to the apparent dismay of social justice warrior students, administrators in February voted to keep the “Crusader” moniker for the Worcester, Massachusetts-based college after a year-long review of the meaning of the word in relation to the college’s brand (administrators clearly have far too much time on their hands). While some administrators  argued that the term is too closely linked to the Christian Crusades against Islamic forces during the Middle Ages, the winning side in the debate argued that the college should “associate itself with the more modern definition of the word crusader,” that is, someone who strives for positive changes and principles.

That decision prompted more than 100 students and faculty to submit a letter of admonishment to the Holy Cross president, stating that the decision to keep the “Crusader” moniker will make the (Jesuit-founded) college seem unwelcoming to non-Christians. The letter further urged that the college drop the knight logo and mascot, arguing that the knight “is a symbol of religious intolerance directly tied to the violent medieval Crusades, not a person pursing peace and justice,” as implied by the college administrators.

Meanwhile, the student-run newspaper preempted the college’s name-change-retention decision by changing its own name from “The Crusader” to “Spire.” As stated by the student editors in announcing the change, “No matter how long ago the Crusades took place, this paper does not wish to be associated with the massacres (i.e., burning synagogues with innocent men, women, and children inside) and conquests that took place therein.”

Ahem, “synagogues?” Apparently, the brilliant minds running the “Holy Cross Spire” have been taught that the Crusades represented a series of wars against the Jews…. Oh, and never mind that the violence of the Crusades was heartily endorsed and practiced by both primary sides of the conflict—that is, Christians and Muslims (yes, Jews and others were caught up in the violence, but likely received such in equal measure from both sides). And that the Crusades only emerged after four Centuries of Islamic attacks on, and incursions into, Europe.

Of further note, just imagine the result had these Holy Cross administrators and students—or similar politically correct ilk—been running things in Europe back during the Middle Ages….

So much for Christianity—instead of magnificent cathedrals and charming chapels, every city, town and hamlet in Europe would be dotted with mosques (oh, wait, isn’t that transition happening now?), and you and I today would, in all likelihood, be bowing down to Allah five times per day in the North American region of the caliphate.

Anyhow, social justice warriors won half their battle as any “knights” officially associated with the College of the Holy Cross are now a thing of the past. Most likely not even relegated to the school’s history, as the school’s PC elite will want any such imagery or written commentary about knighthood eradicated from the history posthaste.

The school’s moniker will undoubtedly come up again on the chopping block in the near future. This is clearly evident by perusing the Holy Cross Spire, which has already done an admirable job of deleting its former name to the extent possible from its pages. In fact, any mention of “knights” or “crusaders” amongst the commentary I viewed on the online version was negative, with utter disdain for the school’s utilization of either.

The drafters of the earlier referenced letter of admonishment to administrators for failing to excise the college’s “Crusader” moniker, plan to keep up the pressure on administrators, though that pressure may remain muted until after a capital campaign targeting alumni ends in 2020. One of the student drafters of the letter surmised that administrators declined to change the moniker due to alumni pressure against the change. While this student admitted that funding from this campaign helped students like him attend the prestigious college, he vowed to keep up the pressure for eliminating the “Crusader” nickname by making sure “dissatisfaction with the name remains a talking point on campus.”

Because adherents to Islam find the Christian cross to be so offensive, and because many adherents to the PC culture espouse the view that Christianity is “oppressive,” I imagine that the College of the Holy Cross will soon have to confront—and most likely have to expunge—its very name. Just consider that the new logo, an interlocking “HC” imposed on a purple shield, has already conveniently served as a means of beginning the exorcism of the Catholic school’s imagery of the cross.

—Originally published March 20 in Discernible Truth.

—Postscript: Right after I posted this on my website, I saw the news that a “distinguished” professor at the College of the Holy Cross had published research suggesting that Jesus was a genderfluid drag king who had sex with men, citing the Last Supper as a “literary striptease” that displays Christ’s transgender nature. Political correctness is truly turning the world batshit crazy. 

May This Couple Achieve Their Dream of Sailing the High Seas

May This Couple Achieve Their Dream of Sailing the High Seas

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No doubt you heard about the ill-fated young Colorado couple who sold all of their worldly possessions in order to buy a boat in which to sail about the world, only to watch it capsize and sink two days into their voyage. Capsize and sink in a well-marked navigable channel within sight of the bars and restaurants of Madeira Beach, Florida.

If you’re like me, you read the sad story about Tanner Broadwell and Nikki Walsh, and said something to yourself along the lines of “those morons never should have left the dock.” That was pretty much my initial thought process when I first read about the incident earlier this month. All I had to see were descriptions about their limited sailing experience and purported methodology for attempting to navigate the channel to determine that they were complete idiots perhaps even deserving a Darwin Award. Absent this recognition, I felt that the couple should return to Colorado from whence they had reportedly come, and perhaps take up snowshoeing or some other mountainous activity to keep them away from the water.   

My judgmental side is often a bit too harsh when first invoked in situations involving apparent human folly, especially when the folly concerns activity on the water. Thus, I am glad that I did not immediately put my keyboard into action upon hearing this tale of woe. With further reflection, and by learning more details about the couple’s doomed voyage, I have a touch of newfound respect for them, and am now of the opinion that they should follow their original dream of sailing, whether “the Caribbean,” “around the world,” or wherever the fair winds take them. Not that I don’t believe that they may have been a bit boneheaded in their initial pursuit, but they deserve a touch of leeway due to their youth, and, at the same time, some kind of accolade for the bravery shown in actually setting off on their voyage.

Plenty of people make plans to sail around the world or otherwise embark on a grand sailing voyage, but few actually ever leave the dock. The previous owner of my sailboat, an Ontario 32, bought her with the intention of sailing around the world, according to local rumor. She certainly came equipped to tackle such a voyage, but I’ve been told that she spent the two seasons during his ownership moored in the harbor, and that witnessing wind in her sails was an exceptionally rare sight. Perhaps the previous owner determined that he didn’t really like sailing after all, or maybe he figured out that he’d be missing out on too much golf during his retirement. Whatever the case, it appears that his sailing dreams hit reality. 

Leaving shore and heading off into the vast expanse of the wide open ocean can be daunting, to say the least. Not only is the voyaging sailor leaving behind many of the comforts and conveniences of modern living, but is embarking on a changed mind set in which hourly and daily focus is primarily attuned to the reduced environs of the boat and surrounding seas. For some people, this latter zen-like notion might sound like heaven; but for others, it would be more akin to hell.

Consider that in the first round-the-world, nonstop solo sailboat race—1968-69 Sunday Times Golden Globe—competitor Bernard Moitessier became so attuned to his life on board that he failed to turn left towards the finish line, and instead tried to sail around the world again. On the other hand, another competitor, Donald Crowhurst, never left the Atlantic, and apparently drifted the ocean aimlessly while descending into madness that culminated in his suicide.

No telling how the ill-fated Tanner and Nikki would have fared had they pulled far enough away from shore, but the fact that they tried shows gumption. And yes, their experience may have been a bit limited, but you don’t learn to sail from books, and you’re not going to learn a whole lot about the art while tied up at the dock. So, given this initial gumption, I now fully wish this couple the best in their efforts to come up with the money to buy another boat and try again. From what I understand, they’re making out pretty well in their crowdfunding efforts. I would advise, though, that they spend a bit more time sailing with experienced sailors, and/or serving as crew on other people’s boats, prior to departing on their next voyage.    

—Originally published by Slidemoor, Feb. 22, 2018.

Birthplace of Campus Free Speech Now a Hotbed of Free Speech Suprression

Birthplace of Campus Free Speech Now a Hotbed of Free Speech Suprression

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—February 15, 2018

The First Amendment to the U.S. Constitution has undergone constant legal challenges since it was enacted back in 1791, though U.S. courts have tended to consistently uphold its underlying principles. Among other things, the courts always seem to recognize that allowing people or entities to take control of the narrative provides them with too much power, and that such power can quickly be abused. As repugnant as it may seem to many Conservatives, even desecration of the flag was upheld by the U.S. Supreme Court as a form of free speech protected by the First Amendment. From my understanding of the high court’s rulings on the issue, flag burning and other desecration was considered a form of protest against the government, and its ban by the government represented a slippery slope from which it could then ban other forms of protest. As a long-time free speech/First Amendment absolutist, I personally support the Supreme Court’s decision-making in this regard.

The campus Free Speech Movement which arose at UC Berkeley in 1964 emerged because students realized that university administrators controlled the narrative by prohibiting political activity on campus and by impinging upon other First Amendment principles, such as freedom of association. Had the students taken the school to federal court, they undoubtedly would have won their case. As it was, they won anyway through school administration acquiescence, and their victory seeped onto university and college campuses across the country, giving American youth newfound freedoms that they used to help end the war in Viet Nam and give voice to other important causes.

Not that college administrators totally caved to the students, as free speech on American campuses has been a somewhat constant source of conflict between students and administrators ever since. In the 1980s and first half of the 1990s the establishment of free speech zones and other measures became especially popular as a means of cutting back on student free speech rights. These zones and other measures are adopted under U.S. court decisions that stipulate that the government can regulate the time, place and manner of expression, but not the actual content of forms of speech. Of course, administrators often overreach, and numerous court challenges have forced many to abandon or significantly expand the “zones” and related measures.

Cut to today, though, and the biggest threat to student free speech is not so much administrators but, instead, other students. And ironically, the birthplace of campus free speech—Berkeley—has proven to be one of the most student-driven opponents of campus free speech in the nation.

Of course, we’re not talking about any campus free speech, we’re talking about Conservative campus free speech, which has been under accelerating attack for at least the past eight years, that reached a crescendo with the election of Donald Trump for President. Liberal student activists across the country, and often with support from faculty and administrators, have become aggressive campus censors devoted to shutting down any “speech” supporting Conservative values, and any that is the least bit critical of Liberal progressive sacred cows, such as illegal immigration, Islam, LGBTQ (and whatever other letters they’ve added of late), feminism, climate change, Black Lives Matter, and any and all marginalized minorities who are under alleged oppression by the white male patriarchy.

I’ve probably missed a couple here, but you get my drift.

When I say “speech,” I mean any form thereof, and campus activists want all such tinged with anything Conservative to be obliterated from their campuses. Posters, flyers and other conservative outreach materials generally disappear quickly. Conservative speakers are usually confronted by enraged mobs. Woe be unto college newspaper editors who promote something Conservative or question one of the sacred cows. Well-reasoned scholars with conservative views—forget it! Even the name “Trump” chalked onto campus sidewalks has elicited fits of spontaneous protest from these paradigms of social justice virtue.

Anyhow, the irony of the UC Berkeley protests which shut down the free speech of Milo Yiannapoulas in the very  birthplace of campus free speech probably escapes the more than 1,500 protestors who showed up to shut down that speech “by any means necessary.” In fact, it appears that the ideals of free speech are meaningless to a rather large group of college-age students across America. These students feel that the importance of their causes trumps the free speech rights of anyone else, with some willing to spill blood for their believed right to shut down speech that they do not agree with.

Scary….           

How many? Well, hard to know, but a 2016 survey of American college students found that 24 percent of white students and 41 percent of black students supported campus policies that restricted expressions of political views that might be upsetting or offensive to certain groups.

I would guess that these students haven’t bothered to consider that this could shut down their own expression depending upon who arbitrates what constitutes “upsetting” or “offensive.” Nevertheless, the fact that some of these students may eventually be running things doesn’t bode well for free speech. And while they may not represent a majority of students, such a “vocal minority can have a chilling effect on what everyone else thinks and says.”

Though perhaps not at the University of Chicago and 30 or so other schools which have recently adopted policies in support of free speech. These policies make it clear that students will not be shielded from “ideas and opinions that they may find unwelcome, disagreeable, or even deeply offensive.”

Some students at the University of Chicago and like minded schools may end up getting offended, but they will undoubtedly graduate with keen critical thinking skills borne in part by the university’s support of rigorous debate through free speech. On the other hand, I’m pretty sure that critical thinking skills of UC Berkeley grads will be in short supply.

—Originally published in Discernible Truth on Feb. 12.

A Day on the Water, Alone, Just Me and My Mistress

A Day on the Water, Alone, Just Me and My Mistress

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While many people love the autumn season with its colorful fall foliage and cooler temperatures, it is my least favorite season and one that provokes increasing melancholy with each day of its passing and inevitable approach of the first days of November. And that first week in November is generally the worst week of the season—nay, of the year—as that is when I normally have to take leave of my mistress so that she can go into hibernation for the five long months of our winter. Five long months without my beloved Ontario 32 sloop, a 1979 vintage sailboat who has given me far more joy in life than has any other inanimate object.

But really, to speak of her, my mistress, as “inanimate” is nonsense, on par with calling her a blow-up doll. She lives, she breathes, she whispers sweet nothings to me on beautiful moonlit night watches, and her absence doth make my heart ache.

Named after the brightest star in the constellation Scorpius, “Antares” has taken me, my family and friends on numerous adventures along the Nova Scotia coastline from the Bras d’Or Lakes to Ingomar. Along with these

Tanner’s Pass

longer expeditions, she serves as the perfect summer cottage on the water, with weekend jaunts to beautiful hideaways such as Rogue’s Roost, Tanner’s Pass, Cross Island, East Point Gut, and pretty much anywhere you can drop an anchor between Halifax’s Northwest Arm to the LaHave Islands. Day sails, island picnics, sunset dinner cruises, midnight full-moon cruises, and any other excuse to sail are legion. While she’s ostensibly a “cruising” sailboat, she has also served me well on the race course, with five or so third-place finishes over the years. And while all of these ventures on her, big and small, represent boundless moments of fun, merriment, beauty, and among the best times of my life, I also experience great joy just being with her when she’s at our dock or on her mooring in Chester’s Back Harbour.

My mistress has also played a role in many of life’s most meaningful moments. She hosted our wedding and reception, complete with lobster thermidor; and served as a limo to deliver another bride to her wedding, after which she served as the honeymoon suite for the happy couple’s first night of wedded bliss. My newborn son was at her helm three days after his birth, and while he didn’t quite know what he was doing, his grip was strong and true—naturally, she rocked him to sleep soon after. And yes, my girl has helped us during times of mourning, and aided us in saying goodbye to the dearly departed.

Now, with the end of the season, it feels like she is the dearly departed. But really, as my wife says, “this happens every year—you’ll get over it.” And I try to. In fact, I try to get over it by taking certain steps in the fall to prepare for her annual departure from my life. While these steps have become almost ritualistic, like the weather they change, and every year seems to present variations to the usual procedures. The culmination of these rites includes a solo trip when I take her over to South Shore Marine to get hauled, but there’s no joy in that short voyage. In fact, more often than not, I just motor her over. Like my mood, the skies on this day always seem to be dark, the temperatures cold; and there’s so much final detail work needed that there’s no real time for “pleasure” sailing.

That said, I had to end the season with a sail-over to the marina a few years back, as her engine had pretty much sputtered its last diesel-fueled cough and wheeze. On the appointed day, though, there wasn’t even a whisper of a breeze in the Back Harbour. I would’ve waited for a more favorable day, but a major cold front approached; and, I could have called a friend for a tow, but that would have gone against the just-me-and-my-love grain of the ritual. So I took a chance. When the tide turned, I released the mooring line with the belief that the outgoing tide would take us to the harbour’s mouth, where I discerned a wisp of wind. Lo and behold the tide worked for us, and we caught a wind that sailed us to the marina. However, shortly before arrival, got knocked down by a sudden squall that came out of nowhere and then left just as quickly, taking the wind with it. Made it to a marina mooring ball with what felt like the last eighth-of-a-knot puff.         

While that proved to be among the most memorable end-of-season sails to the marina, the much more important part of my end-of-season ritual is my annual solo goodbye sail. Starting the first week of October I monitor the weather to determine a perfect day to spend the day sailing. My goal is to sail what I call the Mahone Bay loop, which basically takes you around a large part of the bay’s perimeter. This reversible loop entails a course southeast from Chester Harbour to around the ocean side of the Tancook Islands, west to the Town of Mahone Bay, north through the Islands around Indian Point, a short dogleg northeast past Round Island, then back north to cut between Oak and Frog Islands, and then east for home.

Naturally, the course is determined in large part by the wind, which dictates whether we attempt the loop in a clockwise or counterclockwise direction. The wind also plays a role in the success of the voyage, as too little leads to a shortening of the loop. In fact, more often than not the loop is not transited in its entirety, and we’ve ended up motoring for home with a setting sun. That was the case this year, as a dying wind prevented us from completing the Tancook portion of the counterclockwise loop. However, last year we completed the entire loop in record time, and with plenty of daylight left, dallied around the islands abutting Chester before heading into the harbour.

This solo day trip always proves quite cathartic in preparing for the annual impending goodbye, and provides me intimate memories that help ease the slow passing of each dark and dreary winter day. A day on the water, alone, just me and my beloved boat….

—Originally Published in The MacDonald Notebook November 11.

2017’s Word of the Year Announced—“Fascist!”

2017’s Word of the Year Announced—“Fascist!”

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—October 24, 2017

Well, kids, things haven’t changed much since 2016’s Word of the Year was announced, because once again the lexical honoree of the year is being recognized in part because of its use as a tool for shutting down debate. As you may recall, last year’s word of the year was “racist” based on its excessive use by social justice warriors and black activists who used it to shut down any debate whatsoever with regard to race relations in the U.S.

As I pointed out during last year’s announcement:

“From what I can tell, everyone is either a “racist” or declaring someone else to be “racist.” It is, without a doubt, 2016’s catchall word that defines exactly who one is. If you’ve been called racist, then you must assuredly be one. And if you’ve called somebody a racist, then it obviously (logical fallacy aside) must be assumed that you are not a racist.

“So, go ahead, make sure you’re not tagged with 2016’s epithet of disdain and launch a pre-emptive strike by calling me a racist. Hell, I’m questioning the usage of the word, so by golly-gee I must be one.”

And, now, you can just supplant the word “racist” in the above passage with the word “fascist,” because it is, without a doubt, 2017’s catchall word that defines exactly who one is….

That is, according to the dictates of those on the Left wing of the political spectrum.

“Fascist” and its affiliate term, “Nazi,” are utilized so much by those on the Left that the actual word(s) have lost their original meaning. Which is another way of pointing out that many on the Left don’t actually even know what fascism is, or, for that matter, what “Nazi” stands for. And this is evidenced by how the Loony Left—and even many of the more moderate Left-leaners—bark out these words with casual disregard for their true meaning whenever someone says something they don’t like.

But I digress. Let’s make sure that you’re not tagged with 2017’s epithet of disdain with a few simple questions:

  • Voted for Trump?—Fascist!
  • Thought about voting for Trump?—Fascist!
  • Republican?—Fascist!
  • Watch Fox News?—Fascist!
  • Oppose sanctuary for “undocumented citizens?”—Fascist!
  • Believe there are only two genders?—Fascist!
  • Believe “Blue Lives Matter?”—Fascist!
  • Don’t believe Islam is the “Religion of Peace?”—Fascist!
  • Think third-wave feminism is bonkers?—Fascist!
  • Oppose “take a knee?”—Fascist!
  • Question multiculturalism?—Fascist!
  • Support free speech?—Fascist!
  • Work in any capacity whatsoever that might support the Trump Administration?—Nazi!

Naturally, you answered “no” to all of the above and have not been outed as a fascist. And, Psst, even if you did answer yes, or considered a “yes” or two, not to worry, because you’re not really a fascist, or for that matter, a Nazi.

Let’s examine the word a bit closer. Simply put a fascist is a person who believes in or sympathizes with fascism. In turn, fascism is a “form of radical authoritarian nationalism, characterized by dictatorial power, forcible suppression of opposition and control of industry and commerce.”

In other words, generally absent the “nationalism” component, fascism is represented by just about every communist government that’s (violently) come into power over the past 100 years. And, yeah, this also describes the fascist regimes of Nazi Germany, Mussolini’s Italy, Franco’s Spain and a few other European countries during the dark years of the 1930s and ‘40s. But really, different sides of the same coin….

So, is Trump a fascist, or even a Nazi? Based on the official definition(s), any reasonable person would have to say no. Just break the definition down into its distinct parts:

  • Radical?—In his unique (if that’s the right word) way…uh, yeah.
  • Authoritarian?—Seems to be, due to speed with which he’s trying to undo Obama initiatives; however, he hasn’t tried to exceed his authority any more than Obama actually did (and thus far, Obama proved far more effective at it).
  • Dictatorial Power?—No realistic indications that he’s actually seeking it.
  • Forcible Suppression of Opposition?—Heck, he hasn’t even thrown Hillary in prison yet (and, tick-tock…tick-tock, day-by-day it becomes ever more evident that she deserves it).
  • Control of Industry and Commerce?—Hah! Try “less control.”
  • Nationalism (saved it for last)?—What do you think? How about, “Make America Great Again!”

But really, is Trump’s nationalism any different from that expressed by America’s other “nationalist” president of recent times? The one who said, “America First!” You know, Ronald Reagan?

Ironically, the Left is acting far more fascist than Trump, or anyone who might be tempted to say “yes” to my earlier list of simple fascist-identifying questions. In fact, the Far Left, and its militant-arm “Antifa,” is the epidemy of modern-day fascism, though absent the “nationalist” component. Just consider my second set of questions:

  • Radical?—Absolutely!
  • Authoritarian?—Well, I’d call them sanctimonious busy-bodies who think they know what’s best for everybody, and are currently incensed because they’re not able to dictate their will on the rest of us. Try expressing a conservative thought in their presence and see what happens (you’ll hear “fascist” in a nano-second and any efforts to express yourself will be shouted down and drowned out)—and please note that suppression of free speech and thought is usually the first noticeable evidence of….
  • Forcible Suppression of Opposition?—See previous.
  • Control of Industry and Commerce?—You betcha! Haven’t you heard, “Capitalism doesn’t work?”
  • Nationalism?—As previously noted, this is the absent component. However, to answer the question, “Hah!” Try “open borders” and enforced multiculturalism (though I’m not sure how they’re going to meld the latter with their proscription against cultural appropriation).    
  • Dictatorial Power?—God help us all should they ever get in power.

tSPJyvg

Johnnie Walker Upstaged by Chinese Liquid Razor Blades

Johnnie Walker Upstaged by Chinese Liquid Razor Blades

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Being that we here at the Southern Drinking Club try to keep abreast of all news related to alcohol and its consumption, we were shocked to recently learn that a Chinese firm has overtaken the maker of Johnnie Walker as the “world’s most valuable liquor maker.”

But then again, being that we are American—and perhaps more importantly, Southern—we don’t tend to spend a lot of time worrying about news from far-out-of-the-way places such as China, Myanmar, California, Point Nemo and the like.

Nevertheless, it was a bit disconcerting to learn that as of early April, Kweichow Moutai became the largest liquor company in the world, with a value of $71.5 billion.

$71.5 billion—now that’s a lot of shots worth!

But what exactly is Kweichow Moutai? And, perhaps more to the point, how’s your favorite bartender going to react when you belly up to the bar and ask for three Pinot Grigios for the ladies, three Live Oak ales for the menfolk, and an accompanying round of Kweichow Moutai for the table?

Chances are that your bartender is not going to know WTF you are on about, but Kweichow Moutai was actually first introduced (conceptually, anyhow) to America in 1972, when the Chinese feted President Richard Nixon with their national drink during his famous official State Visit (during which aides reportedly worked overtime trying to limit the presidential intake).

Despite that early introduction—and perhaps because CBS News Anchor at the time, Dan Rather, described it “like liquid razor blades,”— Kweichow Moutai has never really taken off in the states, or anywhere but China, for that matter.

Its current success as the world’s leading liquor brand has more to do with demographics than anything else. While the American and European markets continue to favor Johnnie Walker by a wide margin over Kweichow Moutai, the overall potential market from both combined is less than the 1.4 billion population potential market in China. As it stands now, 95 percent of Kweichow Moutai sales are generated from within China, with less than 5 percent coming from the U.S. and Europe. Johnnie Walker, meanwhile, generates most of its sales from Europe and the U.S., though at a lower price point and smaller potential market.

You can find Kweichow Moutai, and other Chinese variants throughout America, but at an average price topping $200 per bottle, it has not proven to be an in-demand product. But you can help change that by asking your favorite bartender to carry it.

Do us a favor though, and let us know what your bartender tells you. Oh, and please fully describe the flavor of liquid razor blades.

—Originally published July 12 by the Southern Drinking Club