Winter Warmer Words and Whiskey

If you live in a place that experiences winter you, like me, probably have your favorite winter albums. I enjoy music at all times of year, but when the temperatures dip and the days get short it activates parts of my brain — or, perhaps, deactivates others — and shifts my musical tastes to decidedly more mellow or even melancholy tunes. It's a good time for Bon Iver and Belle and Sebastian among others, and ever since I lived in Vermont for a time, I was draw into Camera Obscura. I will explain by saying I have no real explanation but sonically this stuff just works, and embedded below is the first track I heard from the band, one I instantly fell in love with:



It would seem as if winter is about to break as, though I did no follow-up, I heard strangers on the street mention that Punxsutawney Phil (PP for short, and yes, I have to verify the spelling of Punxsutawney every time I type it), did not see his shadow and winter should be receding. This would be cool or, rather, warm, but while I'll complain about winter, I kind of like it all the same, and I was settling in for a little of it. I think it's simply that, when it's over, it is another indication to me that a lot of time has passed and I stop to assess where the old life is headed.

In the name of alliteration I alluded to whiskey as well, and boy do I ever love me some of that. Winter has a way of improving the taste. And, thanks to a tip from a chum of mine (I resist the urge to draw in real names sometimes in here due to the internet and anonymity and stuff and things), I read about the following earlier this week or late last. It's a quick link, or concise summary rather of a man who survived near-nakedness in sub-zero temperatures due to an excessive blood-alcohol content (BAC, which might stand for bad-ass constant except that to drink that much is actually just stupid). Cool story though. I'm excited for the roaring 20s to be a historical epoch and not the weather forecast which isn't even accurate because it's been teens and single digits. It's not even that bad, since I kind of like the feeling of my beard and nose-hairs freezing.

I'm already a little bit excited for it to be 11:11 on 11/11/11. And it'll happen twice. But I'm also in no hurry for it to get here.

Anyway, my feet smell. Time for new insoles, new shoes, or perhaps new feet. Come on science, redeem this stinky-footed bastard...