scotch comes from scotland

some time ago, i'd gone for drinks with a lad to whose intellectual capacities, e.g., expansive vocabulary, worldly knowledge, were the main attraction. i'd envisioned dense, diarrheal discussing/arguing with head-/chin-scratching and touche!-shouting. i wore my nerd glasses and wallabees; he showed up in a cardigan. i looked at us and thought, the sky's the limit: anything from dubus to debussy, joachim to yuri g, jodorowsky to houellebecq to wollstonecraft--fruit-by-the-foot to fugu!

the night began with pricey cocktails made from fancy whiskey. neophyte drinkers (this was long, long ago, readers), we picked the brain de bartender (we learned that scotch comes from scotland) and in no time were sloshed. we went to his place and, after a few nutterbutters, were ready for intellectual discourse. 'i like your breasts,' he said. hence my love/hate of the drink.