Happy Hour is calculated according to various mathematical algorithms.
It is normally Monday through Sunday, and sometimes on the 8th day of the week, typically taking place at some period extending between 8 AM and 8 PM, and 8 PM and 8 AM.
You can buy or sell anything during Happy Hour, and no one asks questions.
And every night is "bring a date" night.
Help make the word a better place, one drink at a time:
Bring a date. Or a friend, relative, or neighbour to join you for a drink...perhaps you may need to offer a ride!
Any questions or suggestions, tell the concierge about it.
Availability may vary. Bring a Friend program vouchers expire 18/10/3979.
The days may dwindle down but the minutes happy by in The Wulfshead. Dear Bartender, I joyously accept your invitation to make "the word a better place"...and may I have a refill please? But you know buddy? The word isn't only a place. It's the Truth.
ReplyDeleteCould someone tell Franketstein that he will at least have to learn one language? That he can't go around careening off the furniture grunting love signals to all the singles who come into the bar?
ReplyDeleteThe Truth, sir?
ReplyDeleteTruth is way above my paygrade, I am afraid.
I am sure there are people at The Wulfshead who might be of more help to the gentleman from Ohio about that than I ever could be.
Unless.... Perhaps the gentleman already knows what The Truth is?
If so...
Oh, please, sir, don't spoil it.
I do so love a mystery.
You know how that is.
But perhaps the gentleman is merely speaking of that reflexive awareness which tells us how very alive we can become. The gentleman knows it well. It is that sense which tells the gentleman how to be true to himself.
Andrew Marvell, sir. He shared with the gentleman a similar sensual love of gardens' delights as the gentleman does (yes, sir, I do read jazzolog).
I remember him as if it were only yesterday. Which, in truth, may or may not have been the case---such being the atemporal nature of The Wulfshead. "Drinking in, there is only the present moment" says the poet. (Or was that "breathing in"?) The thing with the present is that it never is what it used to be. Or as George Carlin used to say, sir, "There's no present. There's only the immediate future and the recent past." Though, there are those who say that the present is all-that-is. I wouldn't know, sir. Aaah, didn't I forewarn the gentleman that I would be of no help?
But I digress...
Andrew Marvell, sir, as I recall, was, when I met him, serving as tutor to the daughter of Lord General Thomas Fairfax, who had at the time relinquished command of the Parliamentary army to Cromwell. And he and I (Marvell, sir. Not Cromwell.) were conversing like you and I are now, our thoughts meandering along very similar paths, and Andrew (I mean, Mr. Marvell, sir), well, some of what he said to me, can be found in his poem, The Garden::
The mind, that ocean where each kind
Does straight its own resemblance find;
Yet it creates, transcending these,
Far other worlds, and other seas.
Fragments of this poem are used as lyrics in track 2 (Delicious Solitude) and track 10 (Green Thought) of Goran Bregovic's album "Silence of the Balkans."
Actually this dude from Ohio was referring merely to what may be an amusing typo in the main entry...regarding Make the word a better place, one drink at a time. The words dribble out the more I drink...until finally no one knows what I'm talking about. Especially me.
ReplyDelete"Words are trouble, words are subtle," sir.
ReplyDelete"Eat your words but don't go hungry
Words have always nearly hung me"
Or so the Wordy Rappinghood says.
"With a rap rap here and a rap rap there," sir.
"Here a rap, there a rap
Everywhere a rap rap"
"Mots pressés, mots sensés,
ReplyDeleteMots qui disent la vérité,
Mots maudits, mots mentis,
Mots qui manquent le fruit d'esprit"
Mmm...
The gentleman is wincing.
I understand, sir. No need to apologize. The gentleman is right. I may not be the best singer for the part.
Some lady at the bar, perhaps?
I doubt very much that the Tom Tom Club would be part of BebopAuthor's repertoire, sir. But...[whispering] if the gentleman is crafty about it, maybe the gentlelady (and perhaps another lady or two in the room) could be coaxed into singing it to the gentleman.
It goes something like this.
Happy hour is health eternal. For at least one hour, depending on one's interpretation of the paradigm, those of us who enjoy a touch of the grape, or a jolly jaunt with Johnny Walker, are, well, happy! So enough said. My point is made. Thanks and could I have another please. The Black Label of course.....
ReplyDelete