Them's Fightin' Words

I stepped into round three last night like a prize fighter.

 

 

I had that deep down achy feeling in my body like I’d been kicked around and socked a few times, but not too badly, just gently, love taps.

There was only one film crew last night and they were friendly and knew what they were doing. In and out, aim the lens right, catch the light as it moves, the shapes in it as easily recognisable as possible, this is not art, it’s news.

By now we’re all old hands at this and to be honest, boredom has set in. If you bring together similar variables, you get similar results. There are of course always anomalies, just to mix it up a little, just to keep things interesting.

Shoes were killing people, backs at the end of the night were sore, and somewhere, always, the scent of whisky in the air.

Best part of it is that I now have a certificate that says I’m a master blender. Richard Patterson himself bestowed the honour on me, he’s the youngest man to ever be made a master distiller. He’s well into his 50s now, but he was 26 when they Master Distiller-ised him.

Anyway, I grabbed a hold of him for an interview and he asked me to join him onstage to blend whiskies for his show. Easy right? Stand there, blend the whiskies in front of you according to his instructions, exit stage left.

Then he asks me to find two OTHER people to join us onstage, a beautiful girl and another guy. We were going on in 15 minutes.

I felt like such a weird, creepy dude approaching random people and trying to drag them onstage for the show. I spoke with 6 girls, they all shot me down, it was a massacre.

 

 

Eventually, thank fuck, I ran into Deep Fried Man and his girlfriend, and cajoled them into help us. Deep is a buddy of mine because are paths seem to cross constantly, and always at times when I need his help in some way.

The only problem was that the closer it got to show-time, the more fidgety Deep got, he was supposed to be writing a story after all for an Esteemed Newspaper Magazine. I knew a guy would be a lot easier to find. I needed a big one, one bigger than me (yes, it’s possible) and approached a 6ft4 chunk of granite I found on the other side of the hall.

 

 

In the worst imaginable way I explained I needed his help to do a show. He stared at me completely expressionless as I spoke and when I’d finished said,

‘What?’

‘I need your help onstage, you’re a big guy, come and blend some whiskies, it’s with a master distiller from Scotland, it’ll be fun.’

The look he gave me after that told me instantly that this wasn’t a ‘fun’ guy AT ALL.

‘No,’ he said, ‘I can’t help you.’

‘Why’s that?’ I asked, though I knew this was fucked, ‘are you shy?’

His head snapped ever so slightly as I said that and his eyes stared like flame throwers at me.

‘I speak in front of people all day,’ he said in a threatening non-threatening way, ‘I don’t want to do it now.’

‘Great, well go and fuck your mother’s arsehole,’ I said and walked away.

The second guy was a lot easier to convince, though he still looked a bit like a cornered animal in a certain light.

‘The light shapes bent and twisted. The light looked different in every place and fell differently on everyone everywhere….’ – Lazarus Journal, p36.

Richard rushed the show though, he was nervous, there weren’t nearly enough people there watching, the festival had only opened an hour before. It was like watching an inferior carbon copy of the opening night’s performance.

 

 

We did our part and mixed the whiskies in front of us on stage to produce three specific blends, the first was a Nicole Kidman, the second was an Arnold Schwarzenegger and the third was supposedly a combination of the two, a Leonardo Di Caprio.

In other words, the first was smooth and sweet, the second was very bold, lots of character, lots of structure and the third one had elements of both.

Patterson chatted away while we blended and when we were done tasted them one by one, starting with the Kidman (‘close, close, getting there’), then the Schwarzenegger (‘ok, some character’) and lastly the Di Caprio (‘good’).

He repeated the tasting, this time judging the Kidman as close, but not quite there, the Schwarzenegger as completely off and the Di Caprio as the closest.

I was a sultan among men. Three people clapped.

So Now I’m a certified Master Distiller. I was invoked and everything, even given a certificate and the sacred Master Distiller Headdress.

 

 

And now Saturday lands and I need to wrap this up because Peggles is coming around.

I love you all.

Buy Them Crooked Vultures, it’s radass.

-ST