I’ve enjoyed some Early Times Kentucky bourbon in my time (as has Hoke Moseley, detailed below). But I’ve never received it “handsomely wrapped at no extra cost.” Which is probably why my eyes never went to the wacky angle like the lady’s below–looking directly at her man’s neck? Adam’s apple? She looks a little frightened too, right? There is fear in those eyes. Maybe she knows what Early Times does to her man? Or maybe she forgot to wash her hair this morning and is worried that he’s smelling it without having a drink first, ruining the Early Times’ bouquet? Or maybe (shudder to think) he’s giving her a bit of a spanking in the part of the photo we can’t see, because she was supposed to buy the Early Times yesterday and forgot? Did I take it too far? It is Friday, and something about this is eerie to me. Maybe I need some Early Times, is my problem. Or maybe the 50s weren’t all well-wrapped bourbon and flowers.

Okay, I’m just thirsty. So thirsty I don’t have the energy to write the full-on over-the-top legendary journey of cocktails blog post I want to write about the weekend before last, a weekend of amazing cocktails that would leave every other blog post in the dusty dust, that would make you want to stroll in my shoes (or at least borrow my throat and tastebuds for awhile), a blog post that would involve at least 74.5% of the top cocktail creators in Seattle, and me tasting their drinks, a blog that would make you drool like George the Animal Steel before a cage match, a blog that might just have you (if you don’t live in Seattle already) running screaming to your suitcase, packing said suitcase, and getting a ticket here poste haste, a blog that if you already lived in Seattle would make you instantly descend to the floor crying tears of joy in front of your liquor cabinet, shelf, or box, happy that you could follow my footsteps in cocktails, a blog that might just cause the whole internet to go silent as a lonely ice cube due to everyone shaking off the electronic shackles to go on a drinks quest, the blog I want to write but just am too thirsty to write (but write it, someday, I will), so instead I’m just writing this post about how much I’d like to be drinking an Athenian at Cicchetti, a drink made with Metaxa, Martini and Rossi Bianco vermouth, and Scrappy’s grapefruit bitters, the very drink pictured below. Look at it, friends, and dream along with me (and if you’re not on the Scrappy’s bitters wagon, then get on it.)

Oh, poor pouty Muffy dear–she’s run out of the most delectable beer. Schlitz. I like Schlitz okay (though it’s harder to find these days, or at least hard for me, thank you very much WA state liquor board), and a nice American lager in the lighter style. And, it’s the “beer that made Milwaukee famous.” But no one likes Schlitz as well as Muffy in the below ad. Look how sad she is–you’d think someone just canceled her deb ball. She does have a cute pout though. And look at those nails! And the dress, with sparkles. Schlitz is much more of a playa beer if it’s pulling Muffy’s lush lower lip down. I think I’m gonna go track down some Schlitz. Right now. And then track down Muffy, and turn that frown upside down with the healing power of cheap beer.

Make no mistakes ya mo’rons (I’m just saying “mo’rons” for alliteration by the way–I know you are Einsteins), I’m mad for Maker’s Mark bourbon. It’s an old standby for me, and something I consume on a regular basis, especially when in a dive-y lounge in the back of a Chinese restaurant you’d never eat in, or in a bar frequented by fishermen, or in a Karaoke dive that has a pirate theme. These are places I’m known and happy to be in, but not places where the bartender is gonna whip up some fancy cocktail–but where they will pour you a helluva stiff drink. In these spots, I usually head for the Maker’s and ginger ale (with a lime and some bitters when available), cause it’s a rock steady reliable consumable, or a nice Miller High Life (the Champagne of beers) and a little Maker’s on the rocks. Up until recently, I thought of Maker’s as the perfect mid-range bourbon, a longtime bourbon for the (drunken) people, a very democratic drink. And then I came across the below ad. I guess that I was wrong. Turns out Maker’s was at one time aimed at yachtsmen and fellas who think $50 isn’t much for a haircut. Thank gawd I was born once the bourbon market had found a lower level.

After having a spread in Penthouse, I wasn’t sure my happiness could get any higher (well, outside of someone making a Dr. Strange movie with Neilalien directing), but then pal and bartending genius and good-natured fella Andrew Bohrer put me in the best blog post ever, which is on his blog Cask Strength. It’s all about bartending-and-cocktailian-and-drinking-and-drink-writing folk that Andrew has met or sipped with or had to throw out of his bar, people that he has now artistically made into Lego people. It’s amazing and I was lucky enough to be Lego’d in it. Not only did he get me little lego shorts and a nice shirt (and matched my hairstyle) but he said “always showing off his legs and books”–that, I love. There are also many other Lego’d drinky folks, including amazing people like the King, Dale DeGroff, and Paul Clarke from the Cocktail Chronicles. You should check it out right now, not only for the Lego-ing madness, but also for Andrew’s humor and writing style, too. He will have you laughing all the way to the bar.

Why are modern booze ads so lame? There’s always some moodily lit scene with some medically enhanced bimbo and a guy wearing a billion dollar suit, or the same bulimic piece-of-work at the pool wearing so little fabric that Gypsy Rose Lee would blush (not that I mind, completely, but the IQ should at least be higher than the number of feet of water in the pool), or a talking horse or lizard, or some knuckleheads trying to come up with an asinine catch-phrase (“what it isssssss” or “hey yeahhhhhhh”) that trails off into a series of consonants boring enough to make you drink, sure, but only anything besides what’s being advertised. Instead of this jibber-jabber, let me present the below ad, which pal Philip (check out his baby, the cutest in the land, at the blog A Lifetime of Worry) sent me, after he found it on the Edwenden blog, which took it from the March 1953 issue of Men Only. The incredibly happy and devious cat is drinking the rum, after the high-kneed kid poured it in the bowl, as father looks on sadly. That, friends, is the definition of genius. The cat is drinking the rum–and look at his eyes! Genius. And I am going to buy a bottle of Lemon Hart rum right now. Which shows that genius ads can work.