(My blogging job from the Kentucky Bourbon Festival just got a lot easier: The Parkview Motel now has Wi-Fi!)
I flew out of Philly this morning to the Kentucky Bourbon Festival. It's a little odd this year. Usually I fly out, and maybe a quarter to a third are people headed to the Bourbon Festival, and we all land at Louisville and we're happy. This morning? A plane full of freakin' golf fanatics. The woman behind me talked about golf for the entire flight; the guy sitting with her managed to get in a sentence about every three minutes. Good God, I may never say anything about beer geeks again (then again...I probably will).
Landed, got my bag and my rental car (a Mercury Grand Marquis, fergodssake, and after the ride to Philly in Cathy's nimble little Rabbit, it drives like the crapboat it is), and headed for Bardstown. I had a story to finish for...well, it doesn't really matter, does it? I had work to do, and I did it. I should have grabbed a nap, but I didn't.
After I sent in the story, I got ready to head for Louisville for the dinner with Bill Samuels (and a bunch of salesvolk and wholesalers). It was good, although...can't anyone make a cocktail any more? The bartender, a well-meaning and pleasant fellow otherwise, grabbed a cocktail (martini) glass and put it over the metal mixing tumbler to shake the drink. As you might expect, whiskey and bitters (the wrong kind of bitters...) went everywhere. I'm not doing well with cocktails in Louisville.
Dinner was pleasant; no big scoops, most of the talk was about the Ryder Cup (and I discovered that not all Kentuckians are crazy about it: "It's like secret confession time," one woman said. "I don't care either!") and the wicked stiff windstorm on Sunday that still had large parts of Louisville without power (we were supposed to have had the dinner at Bill's home, but he was still out of juice). After dinner was over, Chuck Cowdery drove me back to Bardstown through some of those sections, while we talked about women, whiskey, and advertising -- three separate discussions, if you're interested.
And I had him stop at a liquor store with a parking lot full of bikers (really, about 80 of them) so I could go in and get a pint of Old Fitz and a half of Mellow Corn. After which he dropped me off at the Parkview, and I started typing. And thus, the first day.
The only thing worse than golf people on a plane are people leaving a political convention, I had a brutal flight out of Minneapolis a few weeks ago.
OK, maybe you're not at the Derby, and not Louisville, more like Stephen Foster territory ... but you still have the golden opportunity report from the road, in the Bluegrass state, a la Hunter S. Thompson.
Oh, Jeff, that's some dangerous territory! Besides, Thompson was from Louisville and had a head full of things to write about (and a gut full of loathing). Guess I'll have to give you the full low-down on the madness in Lancaster County, PA...
About that bartender...you're friggin' kidding?! More evidence in favor of making the complete set of Thin Man movies mandatory viewing in our schools.
Post a Comment