It's going to snow

That's why it's so great that my Canadian snowblower hasn't arrived yet.

My Yukon Jack has, however. So it will have to suffice as a testament to Canadian engineering prowess for a while. I am enjoying a snakebite right now, though truth be told, I'm a little intrigued by this recipe, which sounds really tasty despite it's rather odd name.

Those wacky Canadians.

I'm kinda hungry right now, but I am resisting the urge to stuff myself full of Lays potato chips. Because of The Childrens being downstairs all the time, we have taken to storing junk food in the bar. Used to be I'd have to either haul my butt upstairs to get junk food or pop a bowl of popcorn in the air popper, both of which require a level of commitment to task that I can rarely muster when I'm sitting on my hindquarters on one of my fancy bar stools blogging about nothing.

But now it is so easy. I need to develop willpower. Or, rather, re-activate my long-dormant willpower.

Meanwhile, Carl sits there to my right. Mocking me.

As I mentioned yesterday, my parents are coming to town for a couple weeks, and I have the bar all stocked up. The irony here is that my mother drinks not a whit, and my father very little. And what he does drink tends not to be the top shelf stuff I buy. So, oddly, I just sat back a moment ago and said to myself, "Self, I wonder if you have anything that Pops will drink."

Maybe I can get him to drink the cognac. I don't like cognac, as it turns out. This despite having bought a positively darling bottle of Courvoisier VSOP. I love brandy, and Cognac is the godfather of brandies, so I am still surprised that I find it positively awful. I keep trying it every few days to see if maybe it will grow on me. It sits next to the scotch, its stablemate in unexpected dislike. I have, after all, five other kinds of whiskey, each of which I dearly enjoy in its own way on rather regular occasion. Yet no taste for scotch have I been able to develop in many years of trying despite trying every major brand.

I think, deep down inside, I am simply not pretentious enough for either scotch or cognac.

At least, that's what I like to tell myself.