Saturday, September 17, 2011

Nothing says friendship like a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label. Seriously.

Blue Label is a specially blended scotch that goes for around $200 per bottle. At Binny’s Beverage Depot, I sometimes gaze upon the bottles of Blue Label, which sit in a locked case. I imagine that a choir of angels will start singing whenever the case is opened.

During headier times last spring, we went on a Caribbean cruise with several other families, including the Plelis (more on them in a sec). Intoxicated one night from the glorious sea air, not to mention several cocktails, I decided to splurge. For $28, I ordered a Blue Label on the rocks. The bartender had to call down to another floor, whereupon a shot of the precious elixir was escorted up to me. I think I heard angels sing as it arrived, and I know I did as I drank it.

That was my one and only Blue Label encounter…until the Plelis invited us over last night. After we’d been there about an hour, they handed me a bag that held—you guessed it—a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label. The bag also contained a card that was even better than the scotch.

A note from Steve read: “Good luck in your new career as a male escort. Make them pay for the goodies.”

Can you hear the angels singing?

A note from Jane read: “I cannot help you get a job, but I can help you forget that you do not have a job.”

To which I responded: “I should get shit-canned more often.”

Yup, good friends help you through the tough times, something I’m reminded of again tonight when I go to Gibby’s for his barbecue. Alan and Bennett are also there with their families. All told, 11 kids are running around.

We play catch with a football and shoot some hoops. We toss a Frisbee to Gibby’s trusty pooch, Red. We eat a food spread prepared by Gibby that’s so abundant, it looks like something out of King Henry VIII’s court.

After dinner, while the women chat inside and the children bond by roaming around the neighborhood together, my old friends and I adjourn to the deck, where we spin the usual tall tales about our youth. According to our memories, the days of yore were one swashbuckling adventure after another. And all the girls we dated were supermodels.

Driving home, I'm feeling pretty damn upbeat. Good friends—they get you through the tough times.