Vodka tasting night, with snacks courtesy of Xixon, a spanish boutique filled with the most delectable delights this side of the Atlantic. The contestants: Grey Goose, Ketel One, Belvedere, Three Olives and Ciroc.

The arenas? Sour Green Apple Martinis, Strep Chepe, Vodka Cran and straight up. Baby.

Now, opinions differ. But who cares? I declare Three Olives as my personal favorite, due to its having a distinct yet pleasant taste and still being sufficiently smooth to not offend. Second came Belvedere, which, while smoother than 3 Olives, was devoid of discernable taste. This may make it a favorite for others, but if I want to just taste cranberry, I'll order it straight up, on the rocks. Third came Grey Goose, which, while as smooth as Belvedere, had a taste - an aftertaste almost - that in comparison was a bit abrasive - a ever so slightly off putting. At that point in the night, when I realized how I was describing Grey Goose, I knew I had become a vodka snob. Then came Ketel One, that polish fox which was just to strong, too pungent, for my liking, followed by the French Ciroc, distilled five times from grapes and still pretty damn shitty.

It was a long night, filled with scientific discernment and plenty of personal sacrifice. However, I thought Denise, Gracie and my beloved aunt Katya performed admirably under pressure, and despite buying the smallest bottles on the black market, we have sufficient libations to go one more round some other night.

Hold me back, Tonto.

From Altercation by Eric Altman today:

Oops! There goes Another Constitutional Right… I don’t suppose it would interest anyone in the mass media but George W. Bush appears to have signed major aspects of the much-reviled USA Patriot Act II into law without anyone noticing. According to this story in the San Antonio Current ( http://www.sacurrent.com/site/news.cfm?newsid=10705756&BRD=2318&PAG=461&dept_id=484045&rfi=8 )

Snapshots from last night's dream:

Riding about a small italian town (the kind with winding, cobbled streets, piazzas and old fashioned buildings looming quaintly everywhere) in a large, fibreglass caddy. The driver was the ominous boss of two yakuza style assassins I had met earlier, and who hid his dangerous nature behind the facade of an immature and sycophantic teenager. Long, greasy brown hair, large eyes, pale skin and an over eager manner. However, he'd spared the life of a space lieutenant earlier by telling the yakuza guy behind him something like, "I know you have already heated both paper clips and are ready - but not now."

Anyways. Riding around in this badly made caddy, trying to catch up with some people. Driver decides to make a go at driving up some stone steps, but the caddy was too long and got stuck. I jumped out, and saw that the fiberglass middle was bending dangerously, so I ran round to the back and grabbed the caddy and shifted it around, hoping to give the bicycle tires more purchase. Didn't work, so I pulled it back, off the steps, and leapt back in as we began to cruise around for another way up.