I Think I HATE Virginia

I have about had it with my lack of booze. I can't take it anymore. I need some port. I need some vodka. I need some scotch. I'm tired of being sober when I go to sleep.

Gasping in my need for libation, and screaming like the brat's next door, I searched the internet to find where I could get some booze. It looks like I will have to go to a state run liquor store. What the hell is this about? Not only are they more expensive than Binny's in Chicago, but they have fewer options. So, I resolved myself to buying from Binny's and having it shipped, except that it seems that I CANNOT HAVE BOOZE SHIPPED TO MY HOUSE WITHOUT A LICENSE AND THEN CAN ONLY SHIP BEER AND WINE AND EVEN THEN ONLY TWO CASES A MONTH. Is this correct? If this is, I HATE VIRGINIA.

Not only must I buy from the state, but they DON'T EVEN HAVE PORT ON THEIR LIST OF PRODUCTS. Surely, Virginians enjoy a nice port? There must be another way to get my Taylor Fladgate! THERE MUST!! Do I need to buy it in DC and carry it to class?

I miss Binny's so much. I loved that place and I could walk to it! It had everything a man could want AND MORE.

Comments

[Quicquid]

Son, you don't buy port in state liquor stores in Virginia. You buy it where they sell wines. Given that you live in A... and have no car (isn't that right?), you will probably find it easier to get it in DC, where liquor is--shall we say--ever so lightly restricted and close to every Metro stop. But you can get it all over the place in Virginia too.

[Misspent]

Well, they said they sold wine at the state liquor store, so I assumed they'd have Port, too. After all, why wouldn't one want to? If you force people to buy their liquor there you might as well allow them to kill two birds with one store and get all their liquid necessities in the same place.

[Inkling]

My memories of liquor-purchasing in Virginia are, oddly enough, befogged by liquor, but I don't recall having great difficulty obtaining any of it. Maybe that was because I worked in D.C., which is more lax about these (and other) things.

A brief Google search brought up this, on liquor availability in Arlington:

http://www.connectionnewspapers.com/article.asp?archive=true&article=21389&paper=60&cat=141

Happy hunting.

[Inkling]

Oh, and don't hate Virginia. We may never move there.

[Quicquid]

Ah, the S. Glebe Rd. liquor store. That's the one I go to. Not that it's at all atmospheric, but it's right outside Crystal City where all the boring conference hotels are.

I suppose that, having lived so long in the South, the way Southern states handle alcohol sales is second nature to me. Liquor is usually sold only by the state. Wine, even fortified wines, and beer can usually be sold by any store that troubles to get a license. Liquor stores don't usually carry wine, and if they do, it's generally wine you wouldn't want to drink. In Virginia they carry only Virginia wine (it's a self-promotion thing), and some Virginia wine is good. But not so good that you'd never want to drink anything else.

If I lived in Arlington and had a car, I'd go to Total Wine on Little River Turnpike near I-395. But there are bound to be other places closer, and there's certainly plenty to choose from in DC.

[Mrs. Peperium]

Misspent, if you really need a drink there's little known thing called a bar. They sell alcohol to just about anyone. They're full of people too.

Now, you want to look for an establishment that caters to both men and women. Trust me on that one. Being in the D. C. and and desiring a glassful of port, I would head to the nearest and nicest hotel. They usually have quiet corners done with club-like furniture and have a long list of decent fortified wines. You can bring a book along with you, sit in a comfy club chair and lose that grad school air for about 8 dollars. If the book is too much, there is excellent people watching.

Sitting holed up drinking in your D.C. apartment is very Gary Condit.

[Card's wife]

That's how you meet the ladies.

[Mrs. Peperium]

Yes, a grad student isn't a grad student unless he has a local pub to hold forth in. Ladies usually like grad student who hold forth rather than grad students who are holed up, like Gary Condit.

[Card's wife]

He needs his own little "Cheers" with his own little mug and his own little stool.

[Mrs. Peperium]

With his own little hot dish sitting next to him. Then he won't hate Virginia too much.

[Card's wife]

I don't know if I hate Virginia. I've never been there.

[Quicquid]

You two are incorrigible.

[Mrs. Peperium]

I love Virginia. The last time I was there was when I was a working girl, in Advertising not like Monica Lewinsky, living in Boston. I flew down there with my writer to do a photoshoot with the Rockefellor's banker.

It was about 17 degrees when we left Boston and about 36 when we got to Virginia. So we rented a red Mustang convertible to take advantage of the spring-like air. We drove out into the country, Hunt Country, and stopped when we came to this most unusual farm. The main house was Greco-Roman overlooking a large pond with a gigantic rock in the middle of it. I found out later its name was 'Rockefellor'. The guest house was a backwoods Ma and Pa Kettle-like structure, but Ma and Pa Kettle gone 5th Avenue.

The Dad was the head banker for the Rockefellors. His father and grandfather had all been the Rockefellor's bankers and his 3 sons were bankers for the Rockefellors. This was the Dad's retirement home and his wife's dream.

They had sheep. Lots of sheep. About 300 sheep and it was lambing time. The vet was there and a dog that thought he was a sheep. I forget what the dog's name was, but I know it wasn't Misspent. The wife, who had lived in the Upper East Side of Manhattan and Connecticut was helping the vet deliver the lambs.

We set up the shot. It was to be the husband and wife admist their lambs holding two lambs. We put the sheep that had already delivered their lambs in the pens next to the pen with their babies. Some babies wouldn't play ball and escaped to their mothers. One got caught on the electric fence and was shaking. I had to push her little bottom through and she ran to her mother. The babies baaaed and their mothers were jumping over the fence to get tho their babies. In the midst of all that the vet would say, "We've got another one." The wife and husband would go and leave and deliver the new lamb. The wife even came back once with placenta still on her sleeve. I had to ask the photographer to clean it off.

We got the shot and they invited us inside for lunch. We started off with sherry, followed by wine and lamb. It was delicious. My writer and I cheerfully said goodbye and headed back to Dulles. We were feeling pretty warm so we decided to put the top down. Then we stopped at a very rustic store, their eyes were a bit wide when we pulled up and Bob, the writer, asked me if I had ever had a 40oz. I said "No and I'm not going to." I asked the owner where the imported beers were. She looked at me with even wider eyes. At that point Bob felt he had to come clean and said, "I'm sorry. We're from Boston." She mumbled something. Realizing that there were no imported beers on the premises and as Bob said "we're in Virginia with a convertible." I consented to a 40 oz in a clear glass bottle. We drank them all the way back to Dulles with top down on the turnpike.

I woke up two days later with pnenomia. Eventhough visiting Viriginia nearly killed me, I would still retire there with Mr. P. I just wouldn't deliver baby lambs. That's what vets are for.

[Quicquid]

I repeat my observation.

[Mrs Card]

Are these Rockefellers as in David and Nelson and John D. ?

[Mrs. Peperium]

Yes, the same David Mr. P nearly wrapped around the front end of our car on our way to our pub after a 4 hour hike. I saw the stitching on the button on David's back pocket. As Mr. P, later said (after several drinks to steady the nerves) "Who knew David Rockefellor stands in the middle of the road.

[Mrs. Peperium]

Hey, Card's wife, Mr. P and I just talked. With all of the talk of hikes, pubs, we're in the mood for some fun. We need to go to S. today. Do you need to? We could meet there and later head to early Mass at your church or to Dick O'Dow's?

[Card's wife]

We could meet at S. Or just come here later. How about Mexican instead of Dick O'Dows?

[Card's wife]

Leave your cell phone on and I'll call you.

[Mrs. Peperium]

Mr. P says Mexican would be fine. After 15 years with me, he really needs some tequila. We will probabably be in the car with the cell on by 11:45am. Is this what they call instant text messaging?

[Card's wife]

QQ, why don't you take Misspent under your wing next time you're in DC. A vice cop and a grad student!

[Quicquid]

He didn't take me up on my offer to meet for a beer. But as I'll be staying at the Hotel Washington, maybe he'd condescend to have a glass of port at the rooftop bar.

[Mrs. Peperium]

That sounds too much like a Russian novel.

Mexicali Wally, (that's what Mr. P would like to be called for the rest of the day, Scout's honor) is a tad concerned that your Mexican restaurant isn't really Mexican. He now recalls the Cardinal saying something slanderous about the food. Please advise.

[Card's wife]

I love that rooftop bar. Espeically at night with the view of the White House and the city.

[Quicquid]

You really don't want to be in the company of the sort of search results that "Mexicali Wally" brings up. Perhaps that's why you posted it here instead of on your own blog.