theblogofthehandoftamm

Winter has already sent its first shots across our bows, with short-lived frosts and gusting arctic winds. It won’t be long before we’re forced to hunker down and resign ourselves to another winter of insanity and cannibalism once cabin fever has us in its bony clutches. Before this unhappy time is upon us, let us ride the memories of summers fast receding into the distance one more time.

Last night it must have been in the double digits, temperature-wise, so I slipped into the short pants and jumped the wheels for another ride into the untamed East. The meeting place was to be Dora but they were having a private function which looked like some kind of rally for drunken disco enthusiasts so Ms. Skynyrd, Skins McG, and myself were thrust next door to Allen’s, where the Guinness pours equally well and the vittles are oh so tender.

As is customary for our triumvirate, we discussed the relative merits of musical artists working today in a variety of milieus, from the hardcore rockers to the gentle balladeers, and who among them is most deserving of fawning accolades or sneering derision. There were also grand statements made about those of our peers in marital and/or parental ranks and who is most fitting to occupy such offices and who should really consider other avenues. We compared the sweet potato fries to those of the regular variety and pitted the noble chicken wing against the venerable hamburger (to which I added goat cheese and bacon so step off, ground bovine dilettantes). Bonhomie reigned supreme as the pint glasses replenished themselves as if by magic.

Like all magic spells, however, it could not last forever and before the middle of night struck the wait staff were already turning back into mice and pumpkins. Cinderallaoftamm took to the streets and thought little of the late chill, now well insulated internally. The recipe for cooling your jets at unwanted times, of course, is to be perspiring while riding but catching every single red light on your ride home, when one is made to stop every 90 seconds. Honestly, I got two green lights out of a possible 40 on my way home. I was just about to start blowing them the way I blow stop signs when I noted a whole lot of flares and spinning cherry lights. The jackboot squadron was out in full force again, this time in the guise of the Reduce Impaired Driving Everywhere program.

I knew better than to test my luck as a slightly tipsy wheeled conveyance operator and followed the letter of the law as I observed the porcine patrol pull over a couple of likely violators of spirit. All cops go to heaven. I went home to bed.