Workit

Do you ever burn your tongue drinking a hot beverage, like coffee or molten lava, and you think you’ve lost all sense of taste for the rest of your life? That just happened to me. Again! There was one occasion where I drank some soup in the Wisconsin Dells that just incinerated my entire mouth, and I couldn’t taste anything for two whole weeks. And when I came to the conclusion that I was NEVER getting my taste buds back, I cried. Oh yeah, I cried like a little 12-year old. Because I was, 12 years old.

Twenty years later I’m crying again; not because I’m worried my taste buds won’t return, but because this burn to my tongue really, really hurts. Sigh. Mankind makes great sacrifices in the name of drinking coffee.

But enough about me, let’s talk about–oh sorry, this IS my blog after all. So let’s talk about more of me.

I haven’t written since I left Spain, and that’s because I’ve been one busy bumblebee.

I am back in my proverbial “homeland of pizza and hellish winters,” the great city of Chicago. Which I returned to for pizza. And a hellish winter. And to publish my first book! Which is why I’ve been neglectful to my blog. Finish a novel AND balance a blog?? What am I, Elon Musk?

It’s been an interesting week so far, and it’s about to get even more interestinger–uh, -ly? This past weekend I “worked” (in the traditional sense) for the first time since leaving NHK in January. That’s right, if you thought I went to Europe to work, well… I mean, I did go there to work, originally; then I was like, “Fuck these visas bro, I’m starting my own company.” Which is another thing I’m preparing for this winter in Chicago. Before returning to Spain in early 2020.

How many “Hindsight is 2020” jokes are there gonna be next year by the way? Hack-y comedians, eat your hearts out.

The work that I did over the weekend, since that was your next question, was at my long time job and second family, Butch McGuire’s, the legendary Irish saloon. I’m here for the busy season, when legions of drunkies come in from all over the world to see the famous Christmas decorations. I am excite.

The last time I worked here was three years ago, and unsurprisingly, very little has changed. Some of the long-term bartenders have left for greener pastures, and a few of the regulars have bitten the dust, but I can still walk into the joint after years and know dozens of people there, at any given moment. The biggest change, in my eyes, is the induction of a new drink that seemed to blow up while I was out of the US. That drink is called “Whiteclaw.”

Whiteclaw is everywhere. It is as ubiquitous as a Miller Light now. Before I had even gotten to try one, I had heard about this year’s “Summer of the Claw,” and the brilliantly-marketed slogan “No laws when you’re drinking Claw.” So I finally sampled the drink myself, and guess what? It’s seltzer water. That’s right; it’s spiked soda water, 5% ABV. The most I’ve had in one sitting was two cans of it, but I promise to drink a six-pack or two in one day and I’ll report back the results.

In two days, I’ll be making my first ever trip to a country that has somehow managed to remain elusive to me in all my worldly travels: that country is Canada. Can you believe it? It’s like a five hour drive from Chicago and I’ve never been. I’m flying to Toronto, because I needed to “use my miles,” because apparently that shit expires after eighteen months. I’ll be there for four days, then I’m returning to Chicago via Greyhound bus, because I’m a masochist and need to verify if Greyhound is really as bad as they say it is.

Send all Canadian recommendations my way. The happiest, horniest of Halloweens to everybody.