Paul and Nancy
Monday night in Pittsburgh, I had dinner with the elusive, and reclusive Dr. Resnick, and his lovely wife Nancy. This might have been the first meal we shared since June of 1971, when they attended our wedding in the backyard. Or it’s also possible that we met at Columbus Ave., at one of those incoherent evenings that purported to be parties, but which always turned out to be sleepovers, everyone passed out, not a soul able to carry on a conversation, leaving Susan and me to climb over recumbent bodies on our way out the door. However long it had been, it was wonderful seeing them. They acted like it had only been a few weeks since we last visited. Unfortunately, they resisted all my efforts to induce them to come to the Berkshires in the summer. Not even glowing descriptions of the cookies from Miami could weaken Paul’s resolve not to relive his youth with a bunch of inebriated geezers. Well, maybe he’ll send Nancy as the family representative.
And since we’re on the topic of the Berkshires, or partying at Columbus Ave., what’s all this hypocritical talk about blaming me for having introduced folks to good whisky? OK, so we brought some single malts to Andy’s house, but I don’t remember anyone complaining at the time they were drinking Macallan. Would everyone have preferred to drink some cheap-ass scotch that burned a hole in their gut? And PH, really, after tasting Van Winkle, will you be going back to Jim Beam or Old Grandad? How about next year we skip the Mojitos, and the malts, and we just drink ripple and Wild Irish Rose? Will that make everyone happier? Because if it will stop the kvetching, I’d be happy to bring the Wild Irish Rose. All you bitches can have you own paper bags, while me and G sip single malts on the porch.
And speaking of single malts, when in Pittsburgh, I found that even the steel city bars have a nice selection. Had some Cragganmore, and some Lagavulin, and a glass of Oban when I was out with Paul and Nancy. It was a subdued night for partying, because the Steelers committed six turnovers, and gave the game away to the Broncos. Three Rivers Stadium, or whatever it’s now called, was right across the river from my hotel, and the bar filled up quickly when the game ended. But the fans left early after only one or two, and didn’t spend the night celebrating. More like a beer to take the sting away, and then let’s call it a night. I guess that’s the kind of year they’re having in Pittsburgh.
And since we’re on the topic of the Berkshires, or partying at Columbus Ave., what’s all this hypocritical talk about blaming me for having introduced folks to good whisky? OK, so we brought some single malts to Andy’s house, but I don’t remember anyone complaining at the time they were drinking Macallan. Would everyone have preferred to drink some cheap-ass scotch that burned a hole in their gut? And PH, really, after tasting Van Winkle, will you be going back to Jim Beam or Old Grandad? How about next year we skip the Mojitos, and the malts, and we just drink ripple and Wild Irish Rose? Will that make everyone happier? Because if it will stop the kvetching, I’d be happy to bring the Wild Irish Rose. All you bitches can have you own paper bags, while me and G sip single malts on the porch.
And speaking of single malts, when in Pittsburgh, I found that even the steel city bars have a nice selection. Had some Cragganmore, and some Lagavulin, and a glass of Oban when I was out with Paul and Nancy. It was a subdued night for partying, because the Steelers committed six turnovers, and gave the game away to the Broncos. Three Rivers Stadium, or whatever it’s now called, was right across the river from my hotel, and the bar filled up quickly when the game ended. But the fans left early after only one or two, and didn’t spend the night celebrating. More like a beer to take the sting away, and then let’s call it a night. I guess that’s the kind of year they’re having in Pittsburgh.
posted by pops | 10:34 PM
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