Lethargia Anno Zero

Day one. Is it Monday? Doesn't feel like Monday. Feels like... Nonday.

But I'm off to a good start on this whole unemployment thing. Got up bright & early, drove Maus to work, got a haircut, hit the bank (meaning I did the banking; I did not rob the bank... not on the first week, anyway), did some shopping (looking for a good writing desk for home, and... ooh, look! Batman Legos! Better get some of those, too).

Back home by 10:15, much to the dog's surprise and delight; did some measuring to see if the desk I like will fit, and now — some writing, which, when you boil it all down, is the point of this whole hiatus. That and not working, of course.

(Linus has already gone back to sleep on the couch. My presence altered his routine for a whole 15 minutes there. Now I'm apparently about as interesting as furniture — or one of the cats.)

I did manage to get a jump on my long list of projects yesterday, the most pressing of which revolve around creating order out of chaos — going through all our bookshelves & cabinets & CD/DVD cases, boxing up stuff that hasn't been touched in two years and banishing it to the garage, and setting everything else in order. Basically, a thorough campaign of organization that echoes my previous career as a library page. By week's end, I'll probably be alphabetizing the dog treats.

But where to start? Every shelf in the house contains something that should be on a different shelf, which means making room on the second shelf by displacing items to a third, ad infinitum. The whole process loops back on itself like an Escher aqueduct. Somewhere in the house there has to be a first-moved object, a primo domino...

The bar.

So last night I gutted our liquor cabinet, pulling out every bottle, every shot glass, every coaster, every paper umbrella. For two people who very rarely drink rum, you would not believe how much rum is in this house. Note to self: In case of anarchy, when making the Molotovs, start with the rum.

The inventory-and-consolidation process for liquor can be interesting. Look, that last glittery half-ounce of Goldschläger is still in here. Probably been four years since the bottle was even opened. Can't pour it out, though — if I do, our very next guest will ask if I can make an Oatmeal Cookie shooter.

Two bottles of ancient ruby port have, for lack of a better word, clotted. Down the drain with those. The sloe gin has also had its day.

Then there are the moral dilemmas. I have half a bottle of Disaronno, and barely a quarter bottle of some cheapo amaretto. Combine? I think there's enough Disaronno to absorb and mask the amaretto inferiori, and nobody I know drinks amaretto straight anyway... But, am I betraying my mixological code of ethics? Nah, screw it. Remember — I need the space. One less bottle of cheap amaretto means room for one more bottle of top-shelf bourbon.

You should see my bar now. The stalwarts (whiskey, gin, vodka, tequila) are front and center — with the cavalcade of rums now pushed to the rear. Liqueurs: bottom left. Brandies, sherries, ports, sakes: bottom right. Right door: the “coffee” liqueurs (Kahlúa, Tuaca, the tainted Disaronno). Left door: the tropicals. Even the shotglasses are lined up neatly, and the various kinds of bitters have been stack-ranked.

It is a thing of beauty. Wish you could see it. I'd take a photo and post it for you, but that would be, well you know, excessive.