Cigarman
Member
A comparison.
Ok. Now that I have your attention, allow me to lighten your doldrums with a little playful sarcasm…. Let’s discuss tequila here. This is the right place for such diversions… suds and such?
The door to depravity in life is always slightly ajar they say. Some refuse to enter here after a short glance inside, others kick the door wide open never to emerge again. Unfortunately, I tend to be of the latter persuasion. The other evening my female companion of many years (as Tom Waits so eloquently postulated – “is it love, or just high-grade alcohol?”) suggested we vary the menu around my Casa and proposed a night of rum swillin’ (too many Blue agave derivatives I suppose, a taste that the people of Mexico blame for one of the highest birthrates in the world! Salud!!! ). A tequila haze had already claimed three people from our party. The room was being smothered with intellectual conversation, and I needed to make a change before things got really ugly. I had just returned from a rousing week at Lake Powell and I’m sure the Agave distillates were still monopolizing the blood count. Being the adventurous type, I agreed wholeheartedly. Neither a wise nor prudent move.
Out on the patio food was just being served,a meal whose aroma fills the house. Stuffed chiles (it was late August and chile harvest time here in New Mexico), carne asada, spicy guacamole, grilled green onions, handmade tortillas, nopales, beans, cheese, rice, salsa and posole (the house staple), chicharrones, chicken, quesadillas, gorditos, steak, and chuletas. Cigar smoke had already cast a dim haze about the room. Someone was on the phone ordering a mariachi band. Many had started dancing before the music arrived. We were in trouble. Tequila psychosis.
I walked away from the group punching stupidly at my smart phone to cancel the mariachi band and caught two young lovelies rummaging in my distillates repository. But my friend Donny’s sly smile grew as he commenced to open more bottles of tequila. We weren't out of the woods yet. At my ladies behest, the young things had started opening the rum.
I believe the difference lies mainly in constitution. Tequila is a vegetable product. Pure of earth. All natural. Mashed from pure Precambrian desert herb. Distant relative of the peyote button. Rum on the other hand – sugar. Of the sugar, by the sugar, for the sugar. As most of you know, sugar is not the body’s friend. Tequila enters the brain room as a well-dressed Mexican diplomat. Rum arrives like a well-armed band of destructive banditos. Tequila moves about the brain room with dignity, honor and purpose. Rum is bent only on destruction (no surprise it was a pirates brew). I believe tequila pauses only momentarily to greet the liver before moving on (my doctor might disagree with me here). Rum arrives at the liver with torches in hand and commences to burn everything in sight.
In the morning in the brain room, you find tequila has made the beds, done the dishes, and emptied the garbage, and left quietly. Rum is still there tearing holes in the wall, throwing up on the carpet, dry humping your La Scala II's and all of the plants are dead. Tequila usually travels with its other vegetable friend, the lime. Rum knows no one but sugar, a loner. Tequila is well spoken and knowledgeable. Rum is just flat rude. Trust me here.
But I have fully recovered once again; alas my woman is still sleeping a day later (latent rum disease). I wish I could encourage my good friend tequila to clean the living room and kitchen as well as it does the brain room. I have no time for this task. Think I’ll spin a few LP’s instead, new order from Acoustic Sounds needs my immediate attention.
Just thought I would pass on this little observation to the merry band of posters here at AudioKarma.org. Beware the rum crew. They mean you no good. Feel free to disagree……
Ok. Now that I have your attention, allow me to lighten your doldrums with a little playful sarcasm…. Let’s discuss tequila here. This is the right place for such diversions… suds and such?
The door to depravity in life is always slightly ajar they say. Some refuse to enter here after a short glance inside, others kick the door wide open never to emerge again. Unfortunately, I tend to be of the latter persuasion. The other evening my female companion of many years (as Tom Waits so eloquently postulated – “is it love, or just high-grade alcohol?”) suggested we vary the menu around my Casa and proposed a night of rum swillin’ (too many Blue agave derivatives I suppose, a taste that the people of Mexico blame for one of the highest birthrates in the world! Salud!!! ). A tequila haze had already claimed three people from our party. The room was being smothered with intellectual conversation, and I needed to make a change before things got really ugly. I had just returned from a rousing week at Lake Powell and I’m sure the Agave distillates were still monopolizing the blood count. Being the adventurous type, I agreed wholeheartedly. Neither a wise nor prudent move.
Out on the patio food was just being served,a meal whose aroma fills the house. Stuffed chiles (it was late August and chile harvest time here in New Mexico), carne asada, spicy guacamole, grilled green onions, handmade tortillas, nopales, beans, cheese, rice, salsa and posole (the house staple), chicharrones, chicken, quesadillas, gorditos, steak, and chuletas. Cigar smoke had already cast a dim haze about the room. Someone was on the phone ordering a mariachi band. Many had started dancing before the music arrived. We were in trouble. Tequila psychosis.
I walked away from the group punching stupidly at my smart phone to cancel the mariachi band and caught two young lovelies rummaging in my distillates repository. But my friend Donny’s sly smile grew as he commenced to open more bottles of tequila. We weren't out of the woods yet. At my ladies behest, the young things had started opening the rum.
I believe the difference lies mainly in constitution. Tequila is a vegetable product. Pure of earth. All natural. Mashed from pure Precambrian desert herb. Distant relative of the peyote button. Rum on the other hand – sugar. Of the sugar, by the sugar, for the sugar. As most of you know, sugar is not the body’s friend. Tequila enters the brain room as a well-dressed Mexican diplomat. Rum arrives like a well-armed band of destructive banditos. Tequila moves about the brain room with dignity, honor and purpose. Rum is bent only on destruction (no surprise it was a pirates brew). I believe tequila pauses only momentarily to greet the liver before moving on (my doctor might disagree with me here). Rum arrives at the liver with torches in hand and commences to burn everything in sight.
In the morning in the brain room, you find tequila has made the beds, done the dishes, and emptied the garbage, and left quietly. Rum is still there tearing holes in the wall, throwing up on the carpet, dry humping your La Scala II's and all of the plants are dead. Tequila usually travels with its other vegetable friend, the lime. Rum knows no one but sugar, a loner. Tequila is well spoken and knowledgeable. Rum is just flat rude. Trust me here.
But I have fully recovered once again; alas my woman is still sleeping a day later (latent rum disease). I wish I could encourage my good friend tequila to clean the living room and kitchen as well as it does the brain room. I have no time for this task. Think I’ll spin a few LP’s instead, new order from Acoustic Sounds needs my immediate attention.
Just thought I would pass on this little observation to the merry band of posters here at AudioKarma.org. Beware the rum crew. They mean you no good. Feel free to disagree……
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