Beef With Cheddar Makes It Better at Clark’s Ale House
Sometimes a writer needs a place to sit, abandon the coffee or tea and opt for a cask craft, to look at a piano and stare at it and debate whether to play it. Sometimes this place is not the most conventional or the most quiet (but has its moments), but there is a comfortable seat available in a quiet nook. And if food is either not an option or you're full, a handful of peanuts is within an arms reach. The cracking of the legumes not only disrupts silence, but it is a stress reliever: and there is a just reward within the shell of constructive channeling. And this is the only beginning of Clark's Ale House.
An evening at The Blue Tusk
The populated backroom of The Blue Tusk was filled with friends, strangers, and family members (not my own). As the group waited for our friend to arrive for her surprise 30th birthday, it was nice to take a moment of time to reflect on the fact that, aside the bleakness this Central New York city may present at times, my staying put is primarily due to having family and friends around. And, to them, I raise my glass.
It’s about quality, not quantity
The initial thought was to head over to Clark Reservation, but my first decision was Pratt's Falls. Apparently the park closes in November. I should have looked up this information prior, but who would do that research beforehand? Others people were gathered and cars were huddled around the entrance; this is supposedly a legitimate thing.
November is National Novel Writing Month
Henry David Thoreau's Walden was written over the course of almost a decade, and this was during and after he spent time in a cabin by a pond. Jack Kerouac kept notebooks of his travels in the 1940's, and then he typed the manifesto that is On the Road on a scroll in the early 1950's. Although the time it took Hemingway to write The Old Man and the Sea was shorter than it took Sam Clemons to write The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, both are dignified classics.
A visit to The Pale & Bucket Pub
May I re-introduce your next new favorite neighborhood bar:
The Inevitable Coffee Ring
For years that span from childhood until the present, I've enjoyed The Joy of Painting, but I've never experienced the joy of actually painting. It's not the worst artistic outlet, but there is a personal awkwardness that presents itself when confronting the concept. Whether it was sitting on my grandmother's couch or the couch in the SUNY Oneonta Blodgett Hall suite, I received much enjoyment from that afro-topped Bob Ross. He was doing what he loved: painting, entertaining, teaching. He died of lymphoma in 1995.
Five Sentences for Five Situations
~ Five Sentences for Five Situations ~
It’s currently back to “me time”
Aside from the clouds raining frogs, the strangest thing that happened this week was receiving a letter from the Syracuse Diocese, asking me for money. Actually, they were asking Mr. and Mrs. Christopher Malone. Looks like I'm off the market.
Redder than Aldebaran
Three: the number of times that my arm was stuck with a needle in two days. Why? Because getting blood drawn once isn't good enough.
Ah, Syracuse, don’t you just know it?
This weekend was typical to the point where life felt cryptic. And that's about it.