Bartender logic

I'm at Earl's yesterday evening, drinking on Royal Crown Cola, not Crown Royal 'n Coke and shooting straight eight. I'm losing since I seriously believe that booze makes me better. One Jameson and two PBRs would set me in the zone. I have eye witnesses. Anyway, back to the game. Finding myself two games down already, I excuse myself from my new Japanese pool master(this guy was almost too good) and head back to the bar for a refill. The bartender, who has been pouring me Tanqueray and tonics since I turned 21, says, "More Coke?"

"Please."

"You know it is a bad habit." (The bartender is French.)

"What? Coke? What about gin?"

I know how it works, unless the patron is either your best friend or the one that's writing you into the will, as a bartender, I'd rarely question an order unless the customer was getting sassy or crossyfaced. And always you'd get a personal taxi if you looked like you had an extra twenty bones to spend on getting home. But shit, she'd make a horrible tooth fairy.

Oh, and Steep? That extreme high skiing documentary? Save the evening ticket or even a matinee... just rent it. The cinematography will not be lost on your baby silver screen. It was enjoyable, just not mixing jujubees and buttered popcorn-munchable good.

I haven't been posting as of late, and for that I absolutely apologize.

I'll get back to it pronto, but as its almost 2am and I've been up for entirely too long I'll have to get back to the excitement another time. But really I promise that there's a whole new angle to the blog.

I've quit smoking and drinking. I'm five days in.

And I won't be preaching. Promise.

I've been had

I can't even finish Tuesday's New York Times puzzle. Consider me, last Thursday, grinning stupidly as I tackled like a premiere cruciverbalist. Now few days later, I cringe at opening up my Seattle P-I again.

I re-read Thomas Harris' Silence of the Lambs again, and by glaring necessity I'm going to rent it again tonight after work. I just have to remember if they refer to Buffalo Bill as "Jamie" or "Jame". I remember the former, but the book itself insists on the latter.

Working on my own crossword has been outrageously obnoxious. I don't know how the fuck Brendan Emmett Quigley does it. It's absolutely frustrating to have some awesome answers but the complete lack of knowledge of three and four letter words to seal the deal. Maybe I should start smaller than a 15x15 grid. I think I've figured out the theme. But it seriously needs some work.

Keep you posted.

T-Pain is ruining R & B...

....though I'm pretty aware you knew that already.

Being that this is my first entry, I'm going to keep things simple. I'm 24, I live in the city with some pretty lame nicknames, my passions are crosswords (you'll come to realize this as I complain my struggle through a Friday NYTimes) and flicks. No doubt you'll read about those too.
I hope you stick around, since this is my first crack at a blog since I thought people actually cared about other people on MySpace, instead of just generating interest by posting comments so then others would clicky-clicky and comment. Since that realization, I've ditched Murdoch's favorite latest acquirement and headed for Google. Check in here and there, will ya?

I'll get back to T-Pain later.