Languid

It had been a very trying week.  At the start of it I was in full-on work mode, engaged in another of the competitive micro-elections for money in which I have been performing for the past thirty seven rather marvelous years. 

But then, through no fault of either mine nor my competitor, it all just ....stopped.  The proceedings halted and ultimately nullified.  Only to be replayed at some future date.  This sort of thing is deflating in the extreme.  You have nowhere to expend all of the build up energy and focus that were fueling you for the event.  Well, I suppose if one were a runner, or an exerciser, but I have sterling credentials as neither of those. 

What to do?  To quote one of my favorite characters from a movie long ago, "ROAD TRIP".  My favorite casino happens to be a modest drive away and I rapidly claimed a complimentary room, booked dinner at the excellent hotel restaurant, threw a small Italian leather bag into my trunk and drove west.  Feeling none the best for wear I might say.  I almost talked myself out of the trip.  But the dedicated Epic learns to follow his inner voice in such matters.

Upon arrival I got settled into my room and considered soaking in the large hot tub.  Apparently someone in the booking office was under the impression I was planning a much more complicated escapade that was the case.  Avoiding a bath that would have probably put me to sleep, I straightened my tie and headed downstairs to the caisse to exchange some money for chips. 

It should surprise no returning Epic that I was the only person on display on the casino floor wearing a coat and tie.  Nor should it surprise anyone that the feel of casino chips in my hand and the distinctive clacking noise they make when you riffle them against a green baize surface is a soothing influence to the my heart and soul. 

It had been some time since I last played Roulette but my weariness from the week's events and a three visit losing streak at Blackjack prompted me to a simple plan of action at the table of the spinning wheel based upon James Bond's system.  Which was based on John Scarne's system I believe.  A solid notion. With that firmly in mind I had a "half and half" martini in the cocktail lounge and headed to the steakhouse for dinner to further fortify myself for the evening ahead. 

I don't always have steak when I dine out but when I do I have steak au poivre.  It is another sad feature of the current era how difficult it is to find a great steak, crusted in peppercorns, with a brandy cream sauce.  A French bistro classic now relegated to the novelty list.  On one less than memorable occasion, I asked a waiter why the "steak au poivre" that had been perfectly cooked and delivered to my table had no flavor.  The horrifying answer was "People kept sending it back because it was peppery".  Good lord.  Why on earth would someone order steak AU POIVRE and object to it being steak au poivre?  I digress.  The casino steakhouse in question makes the dish perfectly.  I suspect that from the great beyond James Beard weeps with joy every time someone makes it there.  A large wonderful filet [I know, I know, the classic should be a strip steak but I occasionally allow myself a slight turn away from tradition] cooked medium rare, with a significant peppercorn crust and a perfect and silky pan sauce which served to slightly soften the heat of the pepper in the way the first chef to make the dish certainly planned.  Magnificent...

With a glass or two of a very good Pinot Noir the old life compass was slowly swinging to the proper course.  After that outstanding steak I celebrated the existence of at least a few chefs who can still prepare it properly by ordering what in that locale has come to be known as the M****** Sundae.  Simple but the perfect sequent to my entree....

Fully bucked for the remainder of the evening, I sauntered back to the main Roulette table where I whiled away several hours in the company of a couple of nice croupiers and a very attentive cocktail waitress.  I ended the evening happily ahead of the house.

Somewhat later, relaxing in that tub with a snifter of cognac, I considered the word "languid".  One of my favorite adjectives. I love the way the word sounds.  It is one of those words which immediately conjures up just the sort of evening I had experienced.  Or the look in the eyes of certain women at certain times.  It shouldn't surprise me that the primary definitions of languid are pejorative but I put this down to a cultural variant in the U.S. where the lack of "proper" [i.e. energy and goal driven] activities are usually looked at with a cocked eyebrow.  I prefer the alternative definition of languid which is "leisurely".  Sensual leisure.  The Epicurean definition of the word.  And of a superior evening.

Epic Dining: Bates House of Turkey, Greenville, Alabama

The Epic diner is always on the alert for fine food.  So it was that, years ago, my "spider sense" for restaurants went off strongly while I was driving up Interstate 65 from Mobile to Birmingham, Alabama.  I saw one sign for Bates House of Turkey and immediately took the next exit.  That single decision placed me into an incredible eating experience that I am proud to say has not changed one little bit in the twenty years since.

Bates is one of those small town classics that has managed to stay in business for generations.  That sort of longevity is always founded upon great food, reasonable prices and fine service.  Bates House of Turkey provides all of that at the highest level.  The customers are all friendly too.  They are all just happy eaters and they are happy you are eating too.

When you walk in the door one of the very friendly and well trained counter helpers gives you a big smile and asks for your order.  Don't look for roast beef.  Don't look for ham.  Don't look for salami.  This place is all about Dr. Franklin's "respectable bird".  The turkey and only the turkey.  Sandwiches, chili, lasagna, open faced sandwiches, dinner plates.  You name it.  As long as it features turkey.

I love everything about this place and I stop in every time I pass by.  They open at 8:00 am.  No scrambled eggs here.  Turkey.  Breakfast, lunch and dinner.  This week I had the delightful experience of having lunch at BHoT on the way north to Birmingham on Monday and then again today on the way back south to Florida.  I always get the carved turkey plate which includes FINE cornbread stuffing, cranberry sauce, gravy and two side dishes. On a plastic plate with plastic forks and knives you get out of one of those devices with handles that dispenses them to you.   Monday's lunch was... 

Sliced tender, perfectly cooked turkey, perfect dressing, perfect gravy, green beans, and the most wonderful sweet potato casserole you ever tasted.  And the dishes are all easy on the salt content as well. Oh did I mention the little cornbread muffin you get?  And the little home baked roll? Both perfect.  With tea and a slice of [wonderful] coconut cream pie.  For just under $15.  This place is like every southern grandma ever put all their cooking karma in one cute little building.

Day two lunch [south-bound] was...

Same plate but with fresh English peas and the best hash brown potato casserole you ever tasted.  Oh, and a slice of chocolate cream pie this time.  Just to mix it up. 

This food is so good that when you finish you want to walk right up and order it all again.  If anyone who calls themselves an Epic drives down I-65 and fails to stop at Bates House of Turkey [absent some very legitimate medical reason....and I want to see a note from the doctor] I'm going to read your name out in public.  Because Bates House of Turkey is just about the best place you can be.

Paris, My Love

Sophia Loren.  Paris.  1956.  Nothing more need be said.

Smiling Now...At Times

As returning Epics know, I have always loved Hartsfield airport in Atlanta.  One of my favorite restaurants is there.  I have met many new friends there.  They have a tremendous sculpture exhibit from Africa there in the tunnel between the A and T concourses.  Returning Epics also know what a year this has been for me thus far.

But even in a maelstrom the wind eventually calms and the clouds eventually begin to part, if only intermittently.  Sun peeks through.  In the last sixteen weeks I have not only been through the worst emotional battering of my life but I have met a couple of superb new friends, had a few priceless trips, and I have even had some memorable social events.

I sat up in bed a couple of days ago during a tremendous trip to New York and realized that I felt better.  Just a little.  As if my internal compass had re-calibrated.  That made me smile.  But the next day I had to return to reality.  I was concerned that my re-calibration might not survive the trip.

Then I happened through the Hartsfield tunnel between the B and A concourses. Where I ran upon the most amazing sculpture that lines the entire ceiling.  It simulates tropical tree cover as you stroll along beneath it.  Full of lush colors and light.  With little spots where video panels show sky and birds flying about.  With audio of bird calls.  I really cannot adequately describe this marvelous work of art.  Or its effect on people of all ages.  Both children and adults were just standing looking up at different points.  Taking photos or video.  Or just staring with big grins on their faces.  Including me. My fears of losing my New York smile vanished when I saw this sculpture.  In an airport tunnel.  A true Epic experience which carried the lovely memories of my trip forward.  Undimmed.  Smiling still.

Good Lord, What Next?

According to Bloomberg and many other news outlets, my favorite New York hotel, the Waldorf Astoria, is closing for "refurbishing" and when it reopens it will be "primarily" condominiums.  That is what happens when an insurance company land trust buys the place.

In other words, they are going to "Plaza-ize" this grand old hotel and we can pretty much count on it being no more.  I hope I'm wrong.  When Conrad Hilton was a young man with one hotel in Texas he cut out a newspaper photo of the Waldorf Astoria and pinned it up by his desk.  He swore he would own the magnificent hotel one day.  One day he did.

Today, I am just glad he can't see what is happening to the apple of his entrepreneurial eye.  If you can get by the Bull & Bear or Sir Harry's Bar and have one last toast, please think of me.

Safari

The Epic Helen Keller aptly stated that "life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all".  For all the adventures of an Epic life, an adventurer's jacket is required.  And of all the jackets in all the towns in all the world, no jacket is more adventurous than the safari jacket.  All the right pockets to hold your identification papers, money, plastic, the little writing journal with the elastic strap to hold it closed, and [forbid] the occasional flask.

I wear my safari jacket all the time for travel and for the closer by adventures which one can find on any given weekend.  It is perfect for any occasion not calling for a sports coat and tie and it gives just the right sort of dashing impression. An impression that one is the sort of fellow [or lady] who is just popping in for a whisky neat before catching the next train.

I have owned several safari jackets and you can pay almost ridiculous amounts of money for them. My favorite is the one shown above which you can get from Cabela's for about seventy bucks with free shipping.  At times they put them on sale for less than forty bucks. In three color choices including a somewhat awful camo.

Wherever you find your jacket, trust me that the adventures will come right along for the ride.  

One Outstanding Bluetooth Gadget--From BLACKBERRY???!!!

I am thankful that I have a pretty great car.  The first new car I have ever owned.  And it has lots of cool gadgets typical for the price range.  One thing mystified me however.  The Bluetooth telephone connection for my cell phone is instantaneous and perfect in my car.  Not so for the music on my phone.  I have a new cell phone too, that my son described as "sick".  So I suppose that is very good.  But the music on my phone will not play on the car audio system.

One night when I had NOTHING better to do I ran this problem on Google and discovered that it is pretty common.  It made me feel good to see that there are cars costing a LOT more than mine that have the same problem.  Some sort of electrobabble about different types of Bluetooth signals or whatever.  No amount of Scotch was going to make that interesting. In one of the comments to a post about this issue however a fellow mentioned that Blackberry made a little device that, when plugged into the accessory jack in his car allowed his phone to play over his audio system.  I looked for the gadget on Amazon and saw it was under $30.00!!!! [It is under $20.00 today.]  Of course I "one clicked" it and it was winging its way to the hinterlands.

I have to say, this thing, whatever it is, works perfectly.  It is the size of a large pack of matches, requires no tech savvy to start using, doesn't take up any room, and does exactly what it is supposed to do.  I LOVE IT.  It allows me to play all my cell phone tunes through my car audio and I can also stream Pandora or Slacker or whatever through the car too using this and the app on my phone.

This little thing comes with the highest EPIC recommendation!!!  Trust me, if I can use it ANYONE can use it.  Enjoy!!

Fuzzy Photos From Great Bars

The Drum Room bar, Hotel President, Kansas City.  One of my top five bars.  Especially in winter. Tell Pam the fellow who drinks Pinch sent you.  She'll make sure you are well toasted by evening's end.

Nothing Like A River

When you put your hand in a flowing stream, you touch the last that has gone before and the first of what is still to come. – Leonardo DaVinci 

I have always preferred a river to the ocean.  Although the ocean has the glories of moonlight on a vast surface and of the sound of waves at night, rivers are just more...soothing to me. And more interesting. There is always something happening on a river that you can watch.  There is always something happening IN an ocean that you can never see.  And rivers are more safe where I live.  No river ever spawned a hurricane.

But the thing I like most about rivers is how therapeutic they are.  When you release your troubled thoughts to the ocean the tide brings them right back a few  hours later.  When you release your troubles to a river, they are gone forever.  I could sit and watch a river endlessly.  

All rivers, great and small, hidden or historic, know each other and share a common heritage.  They are all of the same tribe, so to speak. I've pulled a big canoe over shallows in the Wisconsin river as a boy, fished Hem's "Big Two Hearted River" and caught a trout, scattered my father's ashes in the Baptism River, had drinks on decks overlooking Bayou Teche in Lafayette and the New River in Ft. Lauderdale, had a love affair with the Seine from the Pont des Arts.  During each experience I felt my life clock winding back a few ticks.  Sometimes a lot more than a few ticks.  

Like yesterday when I spent an hour or two with a new friend, the St. Marks River.  Tucked away in the heart of North Florida, it was the first time I had been to her shores.  It is just the sort of adventure for your Epic these days when time has been brutally compressed and herds of significant problems and issues roam the landscape unabated. But an Epic adventure does not require immense effort or expense.  An Epic adventure requires merely the desire to grab a shiny pebble out of the stream of the day.

The St. Marks is not hard to find. If you look out your car window and see the Florida capitol building in Tallahassee, just keep driving south.  About thirty minutes.  Until the road ends at the front door of a great bar and grill.  The river is right there.

You can sit on free benches without beer but this IS an Epic journey after all.  Order some of the outstanding seafood on the menu.  Let that herd of issues run right past you into the river.  Trust me, the river will take it from there.  

Cartier Short Films

I have mentioned these short films that promote Cartier products before, but the new one is just spectacular.  I miss Paris so badly these days. These little "gems" help assuage my longing for a bit.  I think you will like them too.

A Really Nice Men's Magazine

I have long lamented in these pages the sorry status of publishing for men circa 2015.  Men's Vogue was a great but short lived effort. The December 2014 issue of Playboy was actually pretty good. But the pickings are certainly slim.

Imagine my surprise when I received an email notice of the spring edition of John Craig magazine which is published by a very fine small chain of Florida clothing stores.  I have been to the John Craig store in Winter Park, Florida many times but I had never seen their magazine.  I was so delighted by this effort that I made an extra martini and sat down to read it all through at one sitting. And it did not disappoint.

First, the clothing they feature is of the finest quality,  Seasonal and traditional with just the right amount of individuality.  For those of use who recoil at the notion of being "fashion forward".  Added to this sartorial cocktail recipe are the following:

-- a Q and A on etiquette [Made me almost sob with glee];
-- fashion tips from four experts who are sales people at John Craig stores;
-- a great wing recipe from Guy Fieri;
-- travel features on Iceland [amazing photos] and golf in Barbados;
-- thoughts on men's accessories;
-- a feature comparing the different styles of Bar B Que;
-- a profile of the stylistic influence of James Dean;
-- an amazing automotive report and photo essay on the electric super car the Renovo Coupe;
-- a discussion of the proper recipe for Summer Shrub cocktails.

Sixty-eight pages of pure bliss, this magazine hits it out of the ballpark.  I was so happy about it that I wanted to put it under my pillow when I went to sleep.  I was only precluded by the fact that it is an electronic publication and my Kindle is a bit lumpy for the back of the Epic cranium.

If you have been as starved for a really classy, well done men's magazine, you need to check out John Craig.  But there is one overarching question. This admittedly great chain of men's clothing stores probably doesn't have a publishing department so this magazine was probably done by an independent company through John Craig's advertising firm.  Why can't some mogul or oligarch get interested in putting out a similar magazine on a monthly basis?  Throw in a little literature perhaps. A poem or a cartoon or two. Maybe a restaurant review.  We would be back in men's magazine heaven.  One of the great unanswered questions to be sure. Until that day, I am certainly looking forward to the next issue of John Craig. If you look it up through the link I have inserted above, I am certain you will be as well.

Movie Star Treatment

I am not much for Los Angeles.  But I like Beverly Hills a lot.  That said, some years ago when I first stayed at the Beverly Hilton I admit that I was in awe.  The famous hotel in Beverly Hills, California was iconic in every way.  I was acutely aware of the inexpensive rental car I was driving when I pulled up to the valet stand.  Immediately, however, the hospitality and professionalism of the staff removed any self consciousness on my part. Every guest is treated like someone special. Like a movie star. I have found this to be the case at truly great hotels and restaurants wherever they are located.  That first visit to the Beverly Hilton was during the holiday season and the stunning lobby was capped off with a huge tinsel Christmas tree sparkling with lights and a gingerbread mansion created by the hotel restaurant staff.

Since that first visit, I make the Beverly Hilton my home whenever I find myself in Southern California.  The last time I was a guest there, I finally gave in to the temptation to buy one of the superb robes that the hotel places in guest rooms. This is without a doubt the best robe I have ever worn. It is a sateen cotton on the outside and a luxurious, absorbent cotton terry on the inside.  And those shawl lapels!! And the classic hotel logo!! The word "swanky" does not begin to do it justice. When you put this robe on you feel like Bogart.  No, like Douglas Fairbanks.

In other words, like a movie star of the first rank.  Trust me, finishing your preparations for an evening out in a robe like this, in a suite at the Beverly Hilton, an icy silver shaker of martinis at hand, is just the way to sally forth to dinner at Morton's [on Melrose, in the old days] or to La Dolce Vita [my favorite hangout, one of Sinatra's places].  Putting on a fine garment, whether it be a suit, a favorite pair of loafers, or a bath robe, is both transformative and transportational for the Epic. It will create happiness and also take you to memories of another time and place.

The vicissitudes of business and personal time have kept me away from Beverly Hills of late. But whenever I put on this fantastic robe, I am right back there. Pampered. Surrounded by graceful luxury. A movie star.

Portland: Third Avenue Freeze Out

My first trip to Portland, Oregon could have been better. I was barely able to get there due to one of the repeated winter storms that have been sweeping the U.S.A. this year. Despite the northern locale, they apparently don't get much bad weather in Portland or at least not much weather that involves ice storms because a lot of the city seemed to be shut down. The photo above was taken from my window at the very lovely Embassy Suites hotel in Downtown on Pine Street.  It is a restored grand dame of the Pacific Northwest as is shown by the lobby...

But the weather was really atrocious.  What to do?  Find a great Irish Pub of course.   And, through my ever-present travel kismet, there was just such an establishment located a block behind my hotel.  In fact, you can see it in the upper right corner of the first photo above.  A place called Kell's.  Talk about a great bar...

As one would hope, TWENTY FOUR kinds of Irish whiskey.  I did my best to sample them.  After all, one can't get funny looks from one's mother [a Sullivan].  But to save a traveler from such weather, there has to be more than great booze.  Shocking to the return reader, I know.  But a great pub must have great food.  And Kell's does not disappoint.  How about a very fine smoked salmon plate...

Followed by.....what else....shepherd's pie....

...also done to perfection with additional sampling of whiskey and Guinness of course.  They have live music every night on this neat small stage...

...but honestly, I really wanted a nap after whiskeys, Guinness and the fine meal.  The group of us traveling had fine meals at Higgins [1239 Broadway] and El Gaucho [319 SW Broadway] but I have to say that Kell's was the life-saver.  I am looking forward to my return in a week or two.....

P.S. I am having to travel with my Irish Redhead for a week or so for some medical treatment so I may not be posting. Hang in there Epics!!! I will return.....

A Young Man And A Trip: Wisconsin Chapter 3

Two years ago, my then 14 year old son The Future Rock Star, astounded me by asking if he and I could take a winter trip to Wisconsin so he could learn about where I grew up.  It was a tremendous trip.  We did it again last year.  I am now addicted to this event and I look forward to it from the time of our return after a week up North each year.

Due to the vicissitudes of public school calendars, the week before Christmas that was listed as vacation for the FRS when I booked this trip in August had to my dismay become exams week by Thanksgiving.  The FRS was crushed, at least as much as a young man of 16 will allow himself to show.  We went anyway, staying for three nights.  At least that was the plan.

We had surprisingly easy flying, enjoying a typically fine meal at One Flew South in the Atlanta airport before landing at O'Hare in Chicago late Friday evening.  It was snowing when we landed and it continued the entire trip.  When we checked into our hotel in Wisconsin, the photo above was the general look of things.  We couldn't have been more excited about our prospects for the weekend. In our room we found evidence of what I consider a nice trend in some hotels....a little seasonal toy to brighten up the evening...

A touching item in the opinion of this seasoned traveler anyway.  When we are in Wausau, Wisconsin we always go to the Great Dane brew pub for dinner.  They make superb beers at the Great Dane and the food is amazing also.  I had a seasonal Pumpkin Ale and a German Sausage Platter while the FRS had a "light" appetizer of fried cheddar cheese curds followed by a great looking Jagerschnitzel platter.  Oh for a teen metabolism!!!

I sprung a surprise on the FRS at dinner that evening...that we were going to his first-ever Green Bay Packer game at legendary Lambeau Field the next day!!  He was astounded and very excited.  It would be my first Packer home game since I was younger than he is.

Here is the view out the window on Sunday morning...

Time to hit the road for the hour and twenty minute drive to Green Bay.  Here is a tip.  Line up stadium parking in advance.  This web site was really great and we got parking a block from Lambeau Field with a very nice fellow helping us out when we got there.  We donned all the cold weather Packer gear we owned...

...then we bought some more.  With proper equipment, the weather made the trip.  Without proper gear, disaster would have ensued.  But I knew this from growing up in the area so we were well prepared.  We rounded the corner and ...

...a snowy Vince Lombardi greeted us at the stadium atrium entrance.  We wandered around the tailgate area for a while but the wind began to whip the snowflakes into a blizzard so we decided to seek refuge inside the atrium...

...an excellent spot with the huge Packer gift shop, several places to get food and drink, and a bluegrass band.  We were watched over by a pantheon of Packers...

...until it was time for the pregame gates to open and we went to our seats.  It was a little over ten degrees [F] when we went into the stadium proper with snow and a howling wind.  The "frozen tundra" indeed.

The glamour of being an NFL cheerleader loses something in a blizzard...and in a snow-suit...

We procured souvenir programs...

...and funny stick-masks of Aaron Rodgers' face...[he didn't play]...

The stick-masks helped block the wind.  A little.  Balaclava masks made from micro-fleece did a MUCH better job.  The big scoreboard televisions showed a perfect picture for replays and reminded us of our glorious history as thirteen time champions...

As I said, we lost a close game that we should have won.  It was so cold that I didn't even try to take a photo during the game because that would have entailed removing my gloves. All in all though we were very comfortable during the game.  Let me say again, long underwear and those balaclavas were essential.

The hour-plus drive back to Wausau in the dark after the game was over a snowy highway with only two tire tracks in one lane open.  Luckily lots of Packer fans were making the drive in a long caravan so the tracks stayed open and nobody was speeding or trying to pass.  Sketchy driving for Dad, even with my Norwegian genetics and [long unused] winter driving skills.  Safely back at our hotel, the FRS hit the shower and declared that he was not going out for dinner so I sallied forth for take-out.  Which, luckily, landed me at Treu's Tic Toc Club, one of the great Wisconsin bars you will ever find...

There was a lot of snow outside the night in question.  The inside of Treu's is a warm shelter from even the most significant Wisconsin storm...

Treu's even has festive holiday décor...

And great hot beef sandwiches and of course Bratwurst.  But on this blizzard of a night, the best thing was that the bartender was featuring Tom and Jerry cocktails, my favorite winter defroster.  One of those and I was ready to carry food back to the FRS.  A perfect trip completed [other than the football loss of course].  Or so I thought.

At the airport the next morning this was the view outside the concourse window...

This was the BEST it got all morning...as flights were cancelled and delayed and delayed and cancelled.  All for good reason I might add. I have never understood the anger of fellow travelers when an airline refuses to launch them off into a hurricane, thunderhead or blizzard.  In the event, it became increasingly obvious that if we stuck to the plan of flying home [it was December 23] we stood a serious chance of not being able to fly on our appointed day, nor on the worst flying day of any year, Christmas Eve.  As a result, we stood a significant chance of not being home for Christmas. 

I looked at him.  He looked at me.  Two words formed simultaneously for each of us.  Just like the classic scene in Animal House. 

ROAD TRIP.

We abandoned the airport before the rest of the stranded hoard [who were soon hot on our tails] and rented a superb SUV.  Then we drove it all the long way home.  Well, I drove it.  Along with my excellent little $100 GPS unit. The FRS provided in-flight entertainment with sports trivia and by using the Shazam app to identify obscure songs on the radio when we couldn't guess what they were.  That happened quite a bit actually.

Wisconsin,
Illinois,
Arkansas,
Missouri,
Mississippi,
Alabama

Twenty hours.  We did have to spend the night of the 23d in deep downstate Illinois because of our late start leaving Wisconsin.  By all accounts, a grueling drive.  But it was tremendous fun.  An unexpected two days of extra dad/son bonding.  An Epic gift of the highest order.  We arrived home at 9:30pm on December 24.  The condition of the truck told it all...

But we made it, safe and sound.  Possessed of memories we both will cherish the rest of our lives.  A superb Christmas present.  I can't wait to do it all over again next year.

A Luggage Mystery

When I was a boy my Dad had a pal named Boutillier.  He was a corporate pilot. Big time Korea veteran.  Way cool guy.  Whenever he would stop by our little 1000 square foot house in northern Wisconsin, Boutillier would carry only one bag.  A black leather, zip around the sides, one-suiter, pilot carry-on. 

It looked like the sorry drawing I made set out above.  I'd really like to buy one.  But I can't find one anywhere.  Can any of you Epics help me out on this?

When I get it, you can imagine me putting a weekend work of stuff in it.  And being gone a month.

Thanks.

ML

Fuzzy Photos From Great Bars

Pompano Joe's. Somewhere on the Gulf Coast. Full moon. Silver path across the water. Myers Dark Rum and soda. 50 feet from the ocean. Tonight, no better place.

Paris: One Year Later

One year later, and it still happens all the time.  I'll be at my desk.  Or on the golf course.  Or in a favorite watering hole.  And the thought comes to me.  "I can't believe I actually did it---I went to Paris!"

Then I close my eyes just a moment and let it all wash over me again.  My lovely hotel. Liebling's places.  Sitting where he sat at a long Benoit lunch while it poured outside.  Going back to Benoit and doing it all over again.  Reading in the Jardin du Palais Royal. The scent of food cooked on an open brazier in a small house.  Laughing with waiters.  Drinking Calvados.  Sitting as long as I wanted in a cafe eating roasted duck, drinking wine and writing in my notebook as the elegants strolled by. The food.  The WINE.  Scarves.  My friends at the Pledge Bar.  Antiquities and Mona Lisa at The Louvre.  Moderns at Pompidou Centre.  Impressionists at L'Orangerie.  The RAIN.  The ladies.  The food.  The WINE. Wandering down the Champs Elysees.  Meeting nice people at adjoining tables.  Drinks at Harry's New York Bar.  Drinks at the Ritz.  Cheese courses.  Wandering aimlessly for hours. Drinking strong coffee with milk out of huge cups. Riding the Bateauxbus to see the Eiffel Tower.  Meeting another solo traveler from Kenya at the Champs du Mars and taking each other's photos.  Eating crepes smeared with hazelnut cream sold from walk up stands. Eating snails. The little stalls of the bouquinistes selling books, trinkets and "naughty" post cards along the Seine.  Personal tours of the Left Bank, Montmarte, and Versailles. Hot chocolate at Angelina.  Fixing a shiny brass lock with the names of the Irish Redhead and The Future Rock Star written on it to the Pont Des Arts.  The Café Beaux Arts.  A girl and a pack of cigarettes. Taillevent, Taillevent, Taillevent.

I still can't believe it. 

Here, at home, people have said more than once..."well, I guess you've got THAT out of your system now, right?"  Paris doesn't work that way.  For those of us who are prone to Great Loves, and who love such places, Paris is always inside.  Deep.  And, whether or not we are ever lucky enough to make the voyage, or ever lucky enough to return, Paris remains.  Sparkling in  the rainy evening light.