Good Morning Gentle Readers,
I mentioned it on Facebook last night, but by now pretty much everyone is aware that Christopher Hitchens has succumbed to cancer.
Six years ago, in Lost Wages, Nevada, TWC had the opportunity to share some of Christopher Hitchens' second-hand smoke. As is typically the case, Hitchens was urbane and engaging, but I must say that, erudite commentary aside, my favorite Hitchens pronouncement is that.....
WINE. IS. RED!
Michael Totten's post is interesting in and of itself with the recounting of the story here only one part of it.....
“Well,” Hitchens said. “I’m off. I have to get up in the morning and continue the fight on CNN.”
“Oh, come on, Christopher,” I said. “You’re the one who’s supposed to keep us up all night.”
I could almost see the good angel on one shoulder getting the crap kicked out of him by the devil hovering over the other. It was the world’s shortest fight ever.
“Okay,” he said. “But this is downtown Washington on a Sunday. Nothing is open. We have to go back to my house. It never closes.”
“You left New York City for this?” I said.
He nodded and rolled his eyes.
“The bar at our hotel is open,” Jim said. “It stays open until 2:00.”
“Are you sure?” Hitchens said. He was highly suspicious.
I went to New York two weeks ago and wished I lived there instead of in Portland. But Washington made me happy as hell that I live where I live. There is absolutely no shortage of things to do and places to hang out in at 11:00 p.m. on a Sunday.
Jim turned out to be right. Our hotel bar was open, and it was a fine one – dim lighting, cozy tables, warm wood paneling, the works.
“Shall we get a bottle of wine?” someone (I think it was Jim) asked.
“Absolutely,” I said.
“Red or white,” he asked.
“Wine. Is. Red!” Hitchens said, and I couldn’t agree more.
I had a 24-hour hangover from cheap white wine in a box when I was 14 years old. I haven’t been able to touch the stuff since. Even the thought of the taste of white wine makes my stomach do somersaults.
Though this isn't quite the reason I don't favor white wine, it may well be a component.
I can relate. It has been four decades since I went to the party with Jim Beam, Milton, and five or six sweet little hotties, yet my own stomach does that somersault thing at the aroma of most whiskey to this day. No good came of it, neither. Jim ruined what could have been an otherwise delightful New Years Eve.
Reason's Nick Gillespie does a nice eulogy here.
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