Two!

Weeks!

I’ll return to that intro later in this post, but for now please accept that I am sparing you a curse the likes of which you will never recover from.

And yet, what I am about to share with you happens to pretty much all of us.

So there.

We are all cursed.

Everyone has obstacles, right? It’s what we writers refer to as tension in a three-act story structure. Some are gigantic. Some can feel so small they in turn become something greater than we expected. I have so many I like to call them “hiccups from the soul.” (It calms me).

We all have speed bumps prohibiting our focus, often occurring throughout a given day. These blips enter our hippocampus and request our attention more than we are willing to give.

Something enters your head. Your precious dome. Your satellite orbiting the natural world.

Without warning, we experience a moment in time we never knew could exist, and before we know it, that unforeseen moment threatens to derail our restraint, our equanimity, and our continuity.

What the hell am I getting at? A song that arrives without warning and goes on repeat inside your head.

I can honestly say I don’t know the length at which I have had particular songs repeat over and over…

…and over and over…

…again and again…

…in my head — and I’m guessing you have experience something similar — but when a song gets in our head, and we can’t get it out, what is really going on in there?

I share this post for a few reasons:

1. I woke up in the middle of the night recently, unable to sleep.

2. While precious sleep was interrupted, I couldn’t get a song out of my head.

3. It made me wonder, Would this writing exercise exorcise (see what I did there?) the demons of repeated music playbacks?

4. Not to bump this down to the 4th spot, but important questions loomed: Would I ever get back to sleep again? Or would this song that continues to play on repeat in my head cause tiny sticks of synapse dynamite inside my cranium I may never recover from?

5. What’s worse: the perpetual din of crickets deep into the unforgiving dark of night, or not being able to get “Tubthumping” by Chumbawumba out of your fragile skull?

TWO WEEKS

Okay. We now return to your regularly scheduled two weeks comment from the beginning.

Recently I could not get a song out of my head. It was the song “Buffalo” by Hooray For The Riff Raff. From the album The Past Is Still Alive. And I will tell you this much, the past is very much still alive inside my head when “Buffalo” got stuck inside there.

I love the Riff Raff. Any time her music comes on I am usually asking aloud, “Is this Hooray?” Because I like what I’m hearing. But recently, because our algorithms for listening to music tend to push certain songs into the foreground, I must have heard “Buffalo” enough times in a short window, and the chorus, which goes:

Two weeks just to catch the buffalo
Two weeks just to catch the buffalo
Some things take time, I know they do
Some things take time, I know they do
I hope our time will never go
I hope our time will never go
Two weeks just to catch the buffalo
Two weeks just to catch the buffalo

And if you’re reading those lyrics the way I’m reading those lyrics, you’re thinking, Some things do take time, yes I too know they do. But I truly hope our time is limited. Limited to only the three minutes and forty-three seconds of this song, so that I may listen to a different song, instead of having this one play over and over…

…and over and over…

…in my head.

Given the scientific studies, if you’re reading this it’s quite possible you have had a song — or many different songs — stuck in your head before.

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Scientists refer to these as earworms.

Yum.

Apparently over 90% of people get a song stuck in their head on a weekly basis. For two-thirds of those people they are neutral to positive. Melodic contours. For the other third, they are living inside one of the Saw movies, being tortured by Jigsaw.

The causes? Apart from hearing the song and experiencing a very catchy loop from its design, feeling stressed about something or doing repetitive tasks causes the hook.

Our brains treat the function as though it’s an unfinished task.

Most earworms only last for a little while, often resurrecting the chorus or one of the catchiest parts of the song. Unless you’re me, and then it haunts you for what feels like an eternity.

Songs that are played in recent past will often trigger the most. Some memory cues also affect the intrusion. Words, images or something nostalgic can also play a part.

Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin,” Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance” and “Never Gonna Give You Up” by Rick Astley are common culprits.

The Eagles are a recurring theme in our household. Jessie, on a regular basis, will sing the lyrics to “Desperado” out of the blue. She always apologizes for it, but in truth I think it’s adorable.

Weirdly enough, Eddy Grant’s “Electric Avenue” occasionally pops into my head. It rarely bothers me, but is rather welcomed like a scar I received from falling off my bike as a child.

Apparently, “Baby Shark” has been popularized so much it’s driven some parents to sheer madness. Jin, one of our celebrated cooks at Fedora, introduced me to this back in the day. The kitchen then proceeded to play it over and over again.

One of our nieces cannot escape “Billie Jean” by Michael Jackson.

Kind of puts a new meaning to “Can’t Get You Out of My Head” by Kylie Minogue, doesn’t it.

SAME AS IT EVER WAS

I honestly blame the Red Hot Chili Peppers. To this day many of my closest friends will happily dispense verbal jabs at my distaste for the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Are they on my Mt. Rushmore of Least Favorite Musicians? Possibly. I’m not vengeful or evil about it. I won’t shame anyone else for loving them (although you’re pretty stupid for enjoying something that sucks so bad).

The Red Hots simply descended on Earth and its citizens at exactly the right and wrong time they deserved to be here.

Yes. I’m talking to you MTV.

Yes. I’m talking to you, local “hip", “alternative,” “cutting edge” radio stations from the 1990s.

And yes, I am definitely blaming you, Rick Rubin, ambassador of sound. I know your reputation of being hands-off with your production style, and I’m telling you this now, decades later, you needed to be more hands on with this one!

Look, I get why the RHCP made a dent in our little pop culture biodome (which is a little funny, as Stephen Baldwin is basically the sex child of Flea and Anthony Kiedis from the 1996 movie Biodome). They blended sounds. They’re soundblenders. They worked their funk mojo uplift party plan to great effect. My buddy Grover (shout out to Groves) even put Blood Sugar Sex Magik on his Top 50 Albums of All-Time.

They have an audience.

Great.

I am not one of them.

What really gets me about RHCP?

Listener fatigue.

I grew up in the epicenter — the perfect confluence — of the Red Hot Chili Peppers popularity index and my initial activated endless search for music to satisfy my soul. It was inescapable.

It was called the early 1990s.

In the early 1990s, one couldn’t turn on music television, the radio, or visit a friends house and arguably not hear one of these bands:

• Ace of Base — “The Sign”

• Color Me Badd — “I Wanna Sex You Up” (I remember hearing this and being like, ‘Okay, not bad,’ at first, then watching them on In Living Color and thinking, ‘These guys suck.’

• Eric Clapton — “Tears In Heaven” (Painful story. Painful time to spend allowing this song to continue. It’s like I’m in Ear Prison.)

• Boyz 2 Men — “I’ll Make Love To You” (Weirdly, this song didn’t bother me as much as the others)

• Extreme — “More Than Words” — (Please. No more words.)

• Scorpions — “Wind of Change” (“Zah zobby ving-il dah…zah zig dey vovvy wah…ziz gobby wid viv guh…of change… — change the station already!)

• Soundgarden — “Black Hole Sun” (As much as I love SG, I’d be happy never hearing this song again)

• EMF — “Unbelievable” (Unbelievable this song kept coming around)

• Red Hot Chili Peppers — “Under The Bridge”

• Red Hot Chili Peppers — “Soul To Squeeze”

• Red Hot Chili Peppers — “Give It Away”

I remember all of these. I remember all of these like they were not yesterday, but now. In my head. Living and breathing.

I remember them because one summer of that era, as a fifteen-year-old miscreant, I made the dubious choice to work in the deli department at Viking Village grocery store. Wrapping and unwrapping logs of cheese and meat the size of my legs. Cleaning equipment. Slicing pimento loaf. Sweeping the front counter. Scooping potato salad (how much potato salad does the world need?) Mopping the floor. Restocking shelves (um, that wasn’t in my job description, dear Viking Grocery Deli Manager, smoking your fifth cigarette this hour). And being subjected to the popular radio station playing all the hits.

Playing. All. The. Hits.

All fifteen or twenty of them.

Seemingly every hour.

On repeat.

Wishing that, yes, I could give it away, give it away, give it away NOW.

Wishing my ears could become that chunk of pimento loaf, pushed along the stainless steel, slicing off enough to shut out the endlessly repetitive intrusions.

At the risk of sounding like a crotchety old bobblehead, I am of the perfect age to be subjected to so many artists I can only hear for so long, which is often too long.

Listener fatigue, park rangers.

Apparently the most played radio song of all time is “Every Breath You Take” by The Police.

What do I do when that song comes on the radio?

Just hold on a sec while I—

HOW DO WE GET RID OF EARWORMS?

Great question. Glad you asked.

Try to avoid “ironic process,” which was not the first title of Alannis Morrisette’s “Isn’t It Ironic?” Ironic process suggests the more you deliberately try to avoid the song, the more it will continue to play in your head. It’s like rain. On your wedding day. It’s a free ride. When you’ve already paid.

One of the options? Gum. Chewing gum helps curb the repetition.

Another is playing a board game or puzzle to initiate some distraction.

A study also found the song “Karma Chameleon” by Culture Club helps get rid of your repetitions.

Wild.

In addition to “Karma” here are the other popular songs of 1983:

— “Billie Jean” by Michael Jackson

— “Every Breath You Take” by The Police

— “Electric Avenue” by Eddy Grant

Anyone seeing a pattern here…?

February 2026 to February 2027.

I didn’t know what the Fire Horse represented until I googled it.

The Fire Horse comes only every 60 years. It symbolizes high voltage, rapid momentum, boldness, and deep cultural transformation.

Basically, apart from the deep cultural transformation, the Fire Horse is an AC/DC song.

Or maybe A.I.

If you spent any time in our backyard this summer, you would argue this is the Year of the Rabbit.

After watching our dogs tracking and chasing those rabbits all summer, Jessie and I would argue that this is the Year of the Dog.

At the risk of sounding like a special feature on local nightly news, there’s been a recent uptick of snakes showing up in residents backyards…

Tune in after the photo break.

In my mom’s backyard, every summer — not just this summer — is the Summer of the Snake.

I don’t recall when she started putting rubber snakes out in the backyard, but this is a thing. Like some of us, one of the many skills Ma Bartels excels at is the dedication and time she spends maintaining her summer garden. Flowers, like people, need a space for relaxation. Plants love shade and water, peace and quiet. Our ongoing efforts to maintain our backyards help promote clean air and assist with general pleasantness when it comes to appreciating our patios, decks and backyard spaces.

Which is why snakes are so important.

RIDE THE SNAKE

When did snakes become a thing in backyards?

Whoa not so fast, park ranger.

Before we get to backyards, I bet you’re asking the same thing I’m thinking of:

When did rubber snakes originate?

Apart from trying to say the words “rubber boa” out loud and not giggling like a third grader, where did these spurious serpents come from?

ORIGIN OF RUBBER SNAKES

In 1839, Charles Goodyear (that same tire guy…?) discovered vulcanized rubber. Legend has it he got into a heated argument with a partner in his laboratory and spazzed out enough he threw sulfur-covered rubber into a potbelly stove, hardening the rubber.

By the mid-1800s, vulcanized rubber started popping up everywhere.

“Toys,” such as doll heads, balls and rattles, started becoming a thing shortly thereafter. They were not very malleable, but people found uses for them as chew toys for their dogs and, naturally, babies.

Once the Industrial Revolution took off in the 1880s, factory jobs catapulted the rubber toy market into the foreground.

What was the first rubber toy to sweep the nation?

The rubber ducky.

But that didn’t happen until the 1940s, when the toy duck was patented by Hollywood artist Peter Ganine.

In the 1950s, Cheap vinyl and molded plastics allowed designers to create fake snakes for novelty and pranks. You could scare the bejesus out of grandpa by putting a coiled snake under his rocking chair on the front porch, or on the front car seat just before the family headed to the drive-in theater — not to mention strategically placing them at the local municipal swimming pool.

In the 1970s, gardeners adopted realistic rubber snakes as cheap, non-lethal tactics to ward off birds, chipmunks, mice and other pests from their yards and chicken coops.

Ma Bartels started this practice a while ago. My siblings and I would visit our house to find a couple rubber snakes on the back deck. It caught us off-guard but she was adamant they made a difference. “The snakes keep the birds from pooping on the back deck.” Then she’d smack our arms (she didn’t) and scold us for not knowing enough about the real world around us (also not true) before screaming to hurry up and chase her down a pack of Lord Chesterfields before “I’ll give you something to cry about” (wholly fabricated).

A few summers went by, and the snakes multiplied. The back deck had a rubber snake every sixteen inches, wrapped all around the ledge. Ma Bartels’ personal commitment to becoming the first snake charmer of Reedsburg, WI (aka the India of the Midwest) was complete.

When Jessie and I moved into our Madison home, mom was kind enough to provide us with many gifts, one the earliest being three rubber snakes, which we proudly display on our back patio to ward off bird poop, mischievous critters and the ZZ Top song “Tube Snake Boogie.”

Did it work? Did the amount of snakes off-set the bird droppings?

You bet your assssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss.

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WHO’S USING THESE RUBBER RATTLERS?

I asked around.

I asked the good people of Jung’s Garden Center in my neighborhood.

JUNG’S GARDEN: Yeah, so typically they are good at fending off birds and critters, for sure. But I don’t know anyone who does this, so I can’t give you a concrete answer.

BOOTWOOD: Do you sell rubber snakes here?

JUNG’S GARDEN: No. This is a classy place.

I asked the noble employees of our local Ace Hardware.

ACE EMPLOYEE 1: Nope. We don’t sell snakes here. Sorry.

BOOTWOOD: Has anyone ever asked you about that?

EMPLOYEE 1 (early twenties): Nope. Can’t say they have.

We found another employee.

BOOTWOOD: Excuse me. Do you sell rubber snakes?

EMPLOYEE 2 (trying not to laugh): Really?

BOOTWOOD: Yeah.

EMPLOYEE 2: Like at a Halloween place?

BOOTWOOD: Sort of. Like rubber snakes to ward off evil garden spirits. Or actual critters or birds.

EMPLOYEE 2: Yeah, no we don’t have them.

BOOTWOOD: But you can see why people ask for them.

EMPLOYEE 2: I guess…?

As I was checking out at the register, I asked the clerk helping me, a retired man in his seventies.

BOOTWOOD: Got a question: Anyone ever ask if you sell rubber snakes?

EMPLOYEE 3: Snakes?

BOOTWOOD: For a backyard?

EMPLOYEE 3: We sell owls.

BOOTWOOD: Owls.

EMPLOYEE 3: Owls. Yep. Aisle 30 - no! Aisle 29. I think.

BOOTWOOD: Do you know about people having snakes in their backyard?

EMPLOYEE 3: Oh sure. Sure.

BOOTWOOD: But the fake kind.

EMPLOYEE 3: Uhhh…maybe, but (laughs)…I honestly can’t remember…

I asked A.I.

A.I. provided some nonsense like:

“Rubber snakes in backyards are not a major crisis; they are simply used as cheap, harmless decoys to scare away nuisance wildlife like birds, mice, and chipmunks. However, their effectiveness varies, and forgetting where you put one can give you or a visitor a quick scare.”

Let me tell you something, AI (if that is your real name) — if I’m forgetting where I put a rubber snake in my own backyard, joke’s on me, buddy.

Here are some of the most googled questions surrounding rubber snakes in the backyard (followed by my own answers):

• Do rubber snakes keep real snakes away?

  • BOOTWOOD: Depends.

• What animals are scared of rubber snakes?

  • BOOTWOOD: Employees of Shackleford Heating and Cooling, who almost dropped their equipment while accessing our backyard last summer.

• What smells to snakes absolutely hate?

  • BOOTWOOD: Damp bath towels in August humidity.

• Does the smell of rubber deter snakes?

  • BOOTWOOD: Have you seen the new Anaconda reboot? It’s garbage. How can a movie with Jack Black and Paul Rudd fail so miserably?

Let me express a personal message: I have a love/hate with snakes. I love seeing them from a safe distance. I love fake toy snakes that jump out of “cans of peanuts.” I could even wear a python around my neck — for about five to ten seconds. But if I see the smallest snake slithering near my feet I get spooked. No thank you.

Rubber snakes?

Yes.

Always.

Now how can we make rubber snakes work on unsolicited people knocking on our front doors?

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Growing up, my dad — like many fathers — had a fair deal of proclamations, catchphrases and sayings. We call them words, but some parents and guardians were unexpectedly gifted with saying things we take with us long after the shared moments.

One of my dad’s specialties was loyalty. The very little money he made in life was sacred to him — and yeah, fluctuating economy aside, when you have a family of six kids to think about, spending eighty bucks instead of a hundred and eighty REALLY meant something. But supporting the local community was important to him.

When there was an issue with our family car, there was only one person my father trusted with his metal chariot.

“I’ll take the car down to Charlie Leuth’s,” was an expression I often heard growing up.

Charlie Leuth was a part of our family. He never came over for dinner or beers on the back porch, but his name was a constant in the Bartels household, because my dad cared about the preservation of his automobile.

Which brings us to Nan Mortenson. If you have read another piece I wrote about getting my muffler fixed, you would know I quoted Nan. “Tell them Nan sent ya” was a comment often shared with me when I brought one of my vehicles to Dutch’s and they didn’t happen to specialize in what my car needed. Every single time — every single time — Nan pointed me in the direction of another honest owner-operator who, in my father’s words, “Didn’t charge an arm and a leg.”

Nan co-owns Dutch’s Auto with Crystal Rossman. Dutch’s is a play on “Dutchess”. It is in and of itself a rare commodity in the automotive world: a garage owned by women and representing the LGBTQ community.

Dutch’s is like any car shop, only cleaner, more well-organized and they have a dog. Named Gabby. Gabby occasionally gets up to greet you, but mostly enjoys her bed and blanket. All of these traits spoke to me.

I learned about the only female-owned and operated garage in Madison (and quite possibly the entire state of Wisconsin) the way people used to share information: Someone recommended the business to me.

“I take my car to Dutch’s on Sherman,” said my friend Golden. “Nan’s the best.”

Nan had amassed over 40 years of working in garages, and found the opportunity to retire recently.

This interview took place the last week she was working in the shop.

THE BOOTWOOD INTERVIEW: NAN MORTENSON

BOOTWOOD: Nan, thanks for taking the time. You’re about to retire.

NAN: Correct.

BW: How’s that feel?

NAN (exhales): I might get out alive.

BW: How did you learn to become a mechanic?

NAN: Well, I grew up poor, so, you have to learn how to fix things.

BW: I read recently that a car has 33,000 parts. What are some of your favorites?

NAN: In general service and repair, you don’t always get instant gratification. But I would say everyone in the shop has a different set of skills. One of the things I’m very good at, is when someone says “This is incredibly frustrating, I can’t get that bolt out,” I can get the bolt out. We all have a certain level of quit, it’s just how close to your chest is the quit? As soon as it becomes hard are you just ready to quit? Or are you willing to go out a little further and figure out why it’s suddenly become difficult? It’s critical that you understand the system you’re working on before you dig in.

If you don’t understand the system you’re working on, you’re just going to keep throwing parts at things. And when you come to a professional repair shop as opposed to stopping off and visiting your uncle, auntie or cousin who fixes cars in their garage, you have a different level of expectation from us.

BW: Given the intricacies behind a working functioning car, that sounds identical to human behavior.

NAN: Well, similar, but with cars there’s still an onboard computer system. Still a a break-in system. People are a little different.

And now, technology is eclipsing the technician. There should be approximately 900,000 mechanics nationwide. When the pandemic hit we lost 400,000. Now we only have about 500,000. We’re the bastard of the trades, if you will. We have a higher expectation at Dutch’s. You must have an education. You must have your own tools. It’s pretty expensive to want to be a mechanic.

I’m not saying you need to start out and buy an aircraft carrier of tools and wrenches, but you really need to have your basic hand tools. And now that technology improves, increases and changes, there’s quite a difference between a $200 scan tool you can buy off the internet and a $20,000 scan tool. There’s a fine line between who provides the tool.

When someone wants to update their tools, that program costs money to advance to the next layer of technology.

You want to get into being an electrician, what’s going to happen is you’ll enroll at Madison College. And then one of the big electrician companies will swoop in and say, “I want you to be an apprentice. And I’ll pay for your school, but you have to work for me for X number of years if I pay for your school. And here’s your big bag of tools.”

And what happens? Your tuition is paid, and you’re getting on-the-job experience, which is priceless. And it’s more cost-effective for them to consider that vocation.

We’re also missing things, in the high school level. Even pre-high school. Recess. Art. Music. All these tactile things. It’s so beneficial to get those early development sessions to learn about what you like to surround yourself with, and those opportunities are slipping away for kids.

Tinkering with cars is not happening anymore.

BW: I’m curious what people taught you about being an honest, dependable business owner.

NAN: I appreciate the fact that people trust us. My hands are dirty, my money’s clean, and I sleep well at night. For as long as we’ve been in business, we have paid so little in advertising it would make your head spin. We help support the North Side News and what we affectionately call the Big Gay Bible, through outreach. So those little community things hopefully helped cement our reputation.

BW: But it sounds like you’ve always operated with an open mindset.

NAN: You know, people have taught me that, like cars, you can’t just lump them all into one group. You can’t.

BW: What’s different about cars?

NAN: Every car is going to be a little bit different. Every, you know, Honda’s different than a Nissan. But they all work on the same premise. But you can’t approach a Jeep the same way you would a Toyota. Same with people.

BW: Any bad “cars/people?”

NAN: A lot of times people will come in aggressively. They come in defensive because they’ve had bad experiences elsewhere. And I get it. That’s why Crystal and I started this, because as women, we’ve had so many shitty experiences through our lives that we wanted to offer something different. We wanted to be honorable.

BW: How did you approach being an owner/operator?

NAN: I just asked some friends of mine who owned small shops. “What’s your advice?” They said pay your employees, pay your taxes and pay your vendors. Keep your time. Because you’d be surprised by how many people don’t. So if I hire somebody for 20 bucks an hour, it’s gonna cost me about $36 bucks an hour to employ that person. Taxes. Insurance. Worker’s comp. That’s the stuff required for me to employ. And a lot of times employees don’t recognize that.

BW: As a small business owner, I unfortunately fully understand what you are saying right now.

NAN: And as far as our reputation? Honestly, I’ve never read a single review.

BW: You’re kidding!

NAN: Never.

BW: Okay, a couple more questions. What’s your favorite car to personally own?

NAN: Toyota. They’re predictable. And if you take care of them they last a long while. And you don’t have to struggle so hard to get parts. That’s the frustrating part, of after about 40 years just seeing the lack of quality and parts going down. Most car parts, you know, are not made in the United States any more. So depending on what the quality control or supervision of a manufacturing plant will be, we’re at the mercy of unpredictable part quality. Which is why point-of-origin is such a big deal.

Take your battery we just replaced. That is a better battery than you had before, because the one we just replaced of yours only made it two years. Two years! Now, you have a lead acid battery. It’s full of liquid. That battery was put together in China. And then it goes over the seas, into the ports, and then it gets all jostled before it leaves that port. And then the finished product arrives somewhere in, say, Alberta, Canada, gets put on the train, goes to the East Coast, gets put on a boat, goes to Wales, gets transferred, moves into something else, goes over to China, and that final product comes somewhere back to the western edge of North America.

That battery circumnavigated the globe before it even got put in your car. People don’t realize that.

Parts are SO important. The hole’s either going to line up or it’s not. And if it’s a millimeter off, you can’t. You cannot put the bolt through the hole if it’s a millimeter off. It’s a proven fact.

BW: Is that the working title for your autobiography? You Cannot Put the Bolt Through the Hole if it’s A Millimeter Off?

NAN: No. If I had a memoir, I think, it would be called Almost.

BW: The amount of travel a battery makes to get to a car is staggering.

NAN: Hybrids are frustrating too. Like, if you’re going to put this product out there, could we have some backup? What do you do when the batteries fail? Is there a way to regenerate them? No, of course not. That’s an afterthought.

More and more cars are becoming less interactive. A lot of the technology on the dashboard is distracting. Car manufacturers are trying to get you to be less involved with the operation of your car. People give me shit for looking over my shoulder when I back up, and I just tell them I trust my eyes, you know? I haven’t run anything over yet.

BW: That’s good.

NAN: As a mechanic you spend a lot of time driving backwards.

BW: Why would your memoir be called Almost?

NAN: I was an orphan by the age of 12. So, you know, I almost had a family. I almost had a support system. I had to pay for my education. So, it was a lot of my early years walking a tightrope without a net.

And so I got a little prickly, you know, when I see kids being shitty to their parents. Even though I don’t know the dynamics. We’re just people, and people sometimes don’t get along.

A 17 year-old apprentice once worked here. One day a dad customer came in, you know, very stereotypical Madison. Dad was probably retired, had a good career, was decked out in all the expensive Bucky Badger stuff. Did well for himself. And for all I know he had a soul-sucking job for 40 years, which allowed him to get to where he is.

But then his kid comes in with the dad to pick up the kid’s car that, you know, dad paid for. It’s the kid’s car, but the dad’s just paid for all of it. Like he’s paid for everything for him his entire life. And my 17-year-old apprentice watches as the dad pays for it, gives the kid the keys, and the kid just walks out. He doesn’t say “Thanks Dad” or anything. Just walks out. And dad’s like, “Okay talk to you later, Matthew.” And after the dad pays and leaves, my apprentice is just shaking his head in disbelief. The kid couldn’t even be bothered to say bye to his dad. Couldn’t even say thank you.

I get frustrated when I see things like that. You don’t even know what kind of privilege you have.

BW: Funny enough, that’s why I was so committed to being a regular here. Because of how my own dad wanted to respect and appreciate the people in the community doing honest work. So I hope you know your legacy is incredibly important to the people of Madison who’ve been lucky to have your business available for them. That’s the advertising.

NAN: Well thank you. It’s hard to lie. We’re not in the business of lying. I don’t ever want to depersonalize or monetize somebody else. I don’t want to speak ill of others. I keep my customers in a hippo relationship. I have seen things in peoples cars that’ll make your head twist.

BW: Hold on. Like what?

NAN: It’s just like, really? You brought this to a stranger? You should probably not do that.

BW: This is fascinating. You mean people leaving weird items in their cars while they’re getting serviced.

NAN: There was a three-foot puppet nun wearing her seat belt one day. I took a picture of that. A puppet, dressed as a nun, with a seat belt on.

BW: Well, safety first.

NAN: And there’s always weird stickers and notes. There was one who dropped off the car, who was an identical twin, and we didn’t know which one we were dealing with, but she dropped off the car, and there, in the front seat, next to oranges, toothpaste, and other stuff, is a note that says “Don’t let her tell you what to do!”

There was another one recently that read, “Read more books, send out more cards to friends and family, smash the patriarchy, and get John and Bill’s soccer uniforms.”

BW: I can see a potential podcast in your retirement about things found in cars.

NAN: It’s just, you might not want to leave all that crap in the car where other people can, you know, stumble across the…you just might not want to. I don’t need to see those photos of you and your wife on the visor. And that firearm you have in your car.

BW: REALLY?

NAN: Yes. I would appreciate it if you would remove the firearm first because you did ask us to replace your cabin air filter, which implies we are going to use your glove box. Practice mindfulness, you know? It helps.

BW: I see a title for the podcast: Life In Reverse. Do you have any plans for retirement?

NAN: Sleeping. I love it. The first month will be sleeping. The second month is dabbling in day drinking.

BW: You’re a root beer connoisseur, aren’t you?

NAN: How’d you know that?

BW: I’m Bootwood. It’s my job to know.

NAN: I love root beer. Here’s my thing with root beer: I don’t ever want it with ice. I want an ice cold root beer. I’ll put ice in every other drink. But. Not. Root. Beer.

BW: Favorite brand?

NAN: Sprecher’s. Root beer is a special little beverage, and when you start to water it down, or change it, that’s not good. And really, I’m more attached to root beer than orange soda.

BW: Fair enough. That was the one thing I wanted to end on.

NAN: Fanta? Come on. Nobody likes Fanta.

BW: Nobody really likes Fanta, right, and yet it’s always around.

NAN: It is. Kind of like a Jeep.

BW: I see what you did there.

NAN: The joke in our industry is you wanna keep your kids off drugs, buy them a Jeep or a horse, because all your money and time goes into one or the other.

BW: Right. Horses can be expensive.

NAN: So can Jeeps.

Thank you so much, Nan.

Madison truly appreciates what you and Crystal have built with Dutch’s.

I haven’t published a new article in a little while, simply because:

A) We just celebrated Ma Bartels’ 85th Birthday (Hooray!) along with my incredible sister Ann. Ann and Ma B share the same birthday. They are two of my favorite humans I am somehow lucky enough to be related to, and any opportunity I find to spend time with them is time well spent

B) It’s Summer

C) It’s hot

D) I got other stuff to do!

E) I’m working on three articles at once.

Until that next article arrives, however, I figured I could share my most recent Instagram algorithms. Why? I don’t know. Isn’t technology weird?

I don’t really go on Instagram for very long. Most days my Instagram looks like this:

1. Open Instagram

2. See the first post from whomever I might be following (last time I did this was Fred Armisen posting about selling John Mulaney’s sold-out Wrigley Field show)

3. Maybe like it

4. Immediately log off of Instagram

This happens 1-3 times a day. I don’t understand how it knows what I’m looking for, nor can I process how it’s always listening or watching whatever I seem to remotely discuss or search in my Google engine.

Or maybe it’s because there are such things as browser cookies, shared advertising networks and something called “Meta Pixel.”

I don’t know.

What I do know is it really doesn’t bother me.

In fact I find it to be kind of funny.

My Recent Instagram Algorithms:

• Beagles

• Stacks of books

• Sam Neill

• Random videos and images of the band Rush — not really playing music, or rushing, but just haunting me

• Widow’s Bay content

• Fran Lebowitz talking

I’ll let you debunk whatever is going on in my mind.

What’s a weird algorithm that keeps popping up in your feed?

Is it called a feed?

It’s “feed,” right?

“Feed” sounds gross.

Perhaps the title of a horror movie in a theater I won’t go see.

That’s something we can talk about: the missing magic of seeing summer movies. I miss good films in theaters. Hell, I miss bad films in theaters. It seems the algorithms most studios aspire to produce are horror movies, kids movies, and movies I care little to nothing about.

In other news, I just found out hashtags still matter, but like J.K. Simmons they are now taking on a more supportive role.

That’s it.

Here is an image of my favorite human and I after a fun hike through the Wisconsin woods with our magic pups and discovering a little beach, near a spot where we watched baby deer following their mom across the river.

48 hours of us time away from the world.

Ahhh…

Some of the smallest things make the biggest waves.

Some good, some bad.

Some who enjoy watching Vanderpump Rules.

But no matter where I go, what I do, or how I tripped on my shoelaces to get there, there is always one constant. One parallel. One microcrystalline cellulose that binds our chemistry as homo sapiens.

I know you’re already thinking it, but I’ll just say it.

Squirrels.

We have lived — nay, we have peacefully coexisted — throughout this beautiful, intricate, predictable pattern of unpredictable redesign we call life with many creatures accompanying our pursuit of meaning.

And now, today, park rangers, I have found that meaning.

I know again what you’re already thinking, but I’ll just say it again.

Squirrels!

Are you outside? Look around. Preferably near a tree or cluster of trees. Chances are you are being watched. By birds, yes. Always. Birds were here before us and will be here watching everything long after we are gone. But look closer. There are squirrels afoot, and they are hungry, and they are acrobatic, and no I am not on drugs, and yes I believe they are here to help us.

Also, if you’re inside, look around. Chances are squirrels have entered your home and are seeking something meaningful from your domestic lifestyle. The 20-pound-bag of pine nuts from Costco. The healthy granola you opened over six months ago that has already expired but could still pass as mostly edible. Your back-up DVD copy of Heat you have always kept in case something happened to the original copy. (Little known fact: Squirrels love Michael Mann movies.)

For many years I turned away from the magic of squirrels. Why? What sort of life could I benefit from when they were all around my upbringing, waiting for me to recognize them, to shower them with the genial milk of human kindness.

Maybe this will be my downfall, but I am one of those outliers who don’t think of squirrels as rodents. Squirrels represent preparation, balance and playfulness. They love to travel, enjoy the occasional unique hot sauce in their fish tacos, and have read all of Amy Hempel’s short stories.

Squirrels also, like your boy here, love back-ups. My wonderful fiancée discovered this characteristic after we became homeowners. Squirrels are not only interested in saving things for a rainy day, they save the back-up thing of whatever we save for rainy days. They prepare for unexpected outcomes by doubling down on the inventory. Is life a post-nuclear bunker? You tell me, Fallout.

But really, for all of their dutiful fearmongering, squirrels are pretty easy-going cats. I liked what I recently read about their behavioral spirited nature: Squirrels are a reminder to laugh, not take life too seriously, and find amusement in everyday moments.

Wait. Am I a squirrel?

Let’s compare:

A SQUIRREL

• Incredibly acrobatic — squirrels often do backflips to demonstrate playfulness

• Ever-growing incisors (their front teeth grow so fast they need to constantly chew on things to file down the teeth)

• Known to be bold, distracted, and awkwardly social

• Carries messages to the people (although most squirrels do not have a Substack, so I’m not sure how they manage their subscriptions, but whatever)

• Though they lose about 25% of its buried nuts due to forgetfulness (which benefits future trees to be planted), squirrels maintain healthy brain development

• Prone to zigzag movements to avoid predators

A BRIAN BARTELS

• Has never attempted a backflip, but has lower back pain

• Needs to get his wisdom teeth removed

• Known to be bold, distracted and awkwardly social when consuming too much caffeine

• Has met two-thirds of the three-piece band Ben Folds Five

• Started BOOTWOOD in Fall of 2025. Thanks you for your readership and support

• Not quite sold on his mental development, but some people do in fact type his name “Brain” on emails, so perhaps that qualifies as intelligent?

• Prone to zigzag movements to avoid predators

Truth is, I not only have a soft spot for squirrels, but a history burrowed (sorry) with countless nutty (sorry) stories surrounding squirrels.

Squirrels have been around not just for centuries, but nearly 40 million years. They are older than Dick Van Dyke. They have found clever ways to evade our diversionary tactics and still manage to access our birdfeeders.

THE NAME

The word “squirrel” was first attested in 1327 and comes from Anglo-Norman esquirel which is itself from Old French escurel, the reflex of a Latin word sciurus. Sciurus also was derived from an ancient Greek word skiouros meaning ‘shadow-tailed’.

The name was likely based on the squirrel’s most distinctive feature, its bushy tail. Anyway, are you going to see The Odyssey or what? Does Nolan ever fail? (Don’t you Tenet me). Will the audience believe Matt Damon and Tom Holland’s father-son dynamic? Why does anyone give a shit what Elon Musk has to say about a movie? Or anything at all.

PARKS & REC

One of the fun facts about squirrels ability to flourish lies within our preservation of city parks. Given our overbearing human need to build build build and create urban growth, land developers decided parks and green spaces were necessary for us to enjoy nature. Squirrels all over high-foured each other (they only have four digits on their front claws) when these parks opened, providing them with their own habitat.

ARE THEY A MENACE TO SOCIETY?

Depends on who you ask. I wouldn’t call them the Shia LeBeouf of our collective parks and backyards, but yes on occasion they get into some — wait for it — squirrelly business. Don’t we all? Mischief is fun when it doesn’t come at the expense of another person’s feelings. Like when we toilet papered our high school athletic director’s house. Was he pissed? You bet. Were his feelings hurt? Who cares!

NOW LOOK HERE, BOOTWOOD, WHAT’S ALL THIS BLACK SQUIRREL BUSINESS?

Sorry to make that headline a Jim Gaffigan joke lede.

Reedsburg, located in South Central Wisconsin, sits about forty miles east of Wildcat Mountain (shout out to BTP). It holds a population of approximately 9,900 people and is referred to as the Black Squirrel Capital of Wisconsin.

My hometown of Reedsburg is famous for many things, notably:

• Ma Bartels

• A Norman Rockwell Museum

• Butterfest, the annual festival taking place on the second week of every June, showcasing some of Reedsburg (and Wisconsin’s) finer pastimes: amusement park rides, screaming teenagers, roving critter robots (yeah. seriously.), cotton candy, candied apples, candy corn, candy butter…? Butterfest was always a special place in the Bartels Family, and it truly does bring out the uniqueness of small town Midwestern upbringing. Bossy Bingo is where you place bets on a fenced-in grassy patch with a Bingo board spray-painted on that area. You bet where Bossy the cow will drop her waste. Fun for the whole family. They used to have a tractor pull and demolition derby but I believe they retired that recently. Likely to make way for the interactive bubble experience, an Elvis impersonator, and ROVING CRITTER ROBOTS!!! What the hell is that?!?

• Little League. Established in 1951, my hometown of Reedsburg was the first sanctioned city in the state of Wisconsin to start Little League baseball. The program was born in the fall of 1950 during a casual conversation at Sueltman’s Cafe in downtown Reedsburg. Sports editor Jack Downing, local merchant Ted Merkel, and business manager Ed Quinlan brainstormed the idea of bringing organized boys' baseball to the area. They shook dice on how long the innings would be, slammed their chocolate fountain sodas, then went over to Fred’s Bar and had three Martinis, or, what they called it in 1950s small town Wisconsin, sixteen beers.

• The Mad Crapper, a 70-year-old Stephen King-like demon from my childhood who terrorized the streets of downtown Reedsburg

• The Black Squirrel Lounge, located inside the illustrious and praiseworthy Voyageur Hotel, quite possibly a prime location for season 2 of Widow’s Bay (have you seen that show yet? Slay-tastic!)

• Black Squirrels

• Did you think it was going to be something other than Black Squirrels?

• It’s Black Squirrels

• It’s other things, yes, but for the sake of this article, it’s Black Squirrels

BLACK SQUIRREL FUN FACTS

• Black Squirrels count for less than 1% of the national population

• They are frequently found in highly populated areas — not because they love people, but for their appreciation with an efficient Culver’s drive-thru

• Having black fur (aka thermoregulation) helps them stay warm. Although they do not appreciate the “black is slimming” comment oft-associated with wardrobes and New York city fashion

• They have not read Caro Claire Burke’s “Yesteryear” just yet, but please! No spoilers.

• Some still don’t know the difference between sashimi and nigiri

• Marysville, Kansas, has a “Black Squirrel Song” honoring the local population. Though they claim it as an original, its lyrics are suspiciously in cadence with Soundgarden’s “Black Hole Sun”

Well shucks. Wouldn’t you know it, while I was researching more information about the black squirrel population of Reedsburg, I quickly typed in “Reedsburg Black Squirrel History” and not only did some fun facts about Reedsburg pop up, but here’s a couple notable highlights:

• Reedsburg, Wisconsin, is famous for its thriving population of black squirrels. While there is no official designation, the city is widely celebrated as the "Black Squirrel Capital of Wisconsin" due to their heavy concentration in local parks and neighborhoods. Noyce.

• According to a recent article in The Detroit News, the Detroit & Lansing, MI, areas, along with Princeton, NJ, Galesburg, IL, and New Hartford, CT, are the only five places in the U.S. with a predominate population of black furred squirrels, and of course, Reedsburg, WI! Noyce noyce!

• Under “Local Lore and Culture” — Craft Cocktails: The famous "Black Squirrel Old Fashioned" pays homage to the town's squirrel population. Created by a New York City bartender from a family with deep Reedsburg roots, the recipe incorporates toasted pecan and cinnamon flavors to represent the area.

  • Eeeek! Record scratch!

    • I’d like to speak on this generalized comment for a moment. I created the Black Squirrel Old Fashioned to honor yes the black squirrels of New York, but it also paid homage to our wonderful chef Mehdi’s background in Montreal, Canada. Which is why there’s maple syrup in the recipe. I also have no idea why the internet believed that toasted pecans and cinnamon can represent an area, but if that area exists, I would like to visit there one day.

Not only did Starship build this city on rock and roll, they brought a small mix of gray squirrels into the mix. The gray squirrels had babies and some of those babies were born with unique genetic make-ups. Mutant genes. Those variances created what we now know to be black squirrels.

Look I’m not trying to derail this point and suggest that cocktails are the Marvel Universe of the beverage industry, but if we’re really trying to close the door on this argument, then yes, we too agree that the Black Squirrel Old Fashioned is the Wolverine of cocktails.

Talk amongst yourselves.

I have been so very honored to carry this tradition with me throughout my professional career in restaurants in bars. When I was lucky enough to open Fedora in New York, my first foray into being an owner-operater, I wanted to pay homage to the idyllic town that raised me.

The Black Squirrel Old Fashioned was born in January of 2011 and has remained etched in the pantheon of cocktails and menus ever since. Not only did we sell it like crazy on West 4th Street in the West Village, when we closed from Covid the recipe was published in my recent book, The United States of Cocktails.

Brovo Spirits out of Washington commissioned an amaro recipe from me for their featured Amaro Series. It’s still available to purchase from their website. Or if you’re in Reedsburg, Wisconsin, the local Reedsburg Country Club purchased 5 cases (!) of it a few years back, and yes, like a well-behaved squirrel, they still have some available. :)

And what’s more, the original drink lives on in Fedora’s sister restaurant, Fairfax, located across the street from Fedora.

And when we opened Oz by Oz cocktail bar in Madison, we not only featured the drink on the menu, but I started making small batch Black Squirrel Bitters to accompany the recipe. (You can buy them through Oz by Oz, Settle Down’s website or directly through me!)

BLACK SQUIRREL OLD FASHIONED

Makes 1 Drink

• 2 oz. Bourbon (Four Roses if ya got it, but really any true bourbon delivers)

• 1/4 oz. Cherry Heering (or cherry liqueur)

• 1/4 oz. Maple Syrup

• 3 dashes Black Squirrel Toasted Pecan Bitters

• Garnish: Orange peel

Stir the ingredients (except bitters) with ice in a mixing glass until chilled. Strain into an Old Fashioned glass with fresh ice, top with the bitters, and express with the orange peel before garnishing.

And if you see a black squirrel while sipping on this beverage, you win a free pony!

In Buddhism and Japanese culture, the number 8 is considered lucky. It symbolizes rebirth, new beginnings and infinity.

Yankees baseball player Yogi Berra, who famously said, “Nobody goes there anymore, it’s too crowded,” wore number 8.

The 8 ball is the only black ball in billiards, the one that ERASES others.

Being 8 never really felt like a significant time for me. I often found it quite droll whenever I reflected on its significance in my life — even as an 8-year-old! The number, and not the year I spent being 8, was merely a speedbump on the single-digit highway of my youth, simply interfering with my desire to reach 10 on a faster level.

In my hometown of Reedsburg, WI, the number 8 for me reflected cheating death on multiple occasions.

Before I turned 8 I was, well, I was 7 years old. A second-grader. A bottom-feeder pipsqeak with the emphasis on the pip and an urgency on the squeak. Slow in any race. Gangly. Awkward. Socks up to my knees. Could barely hook a kernel of corn on a fishing pole and show the bluegills of the Baraboo River what I was made of.

When I was 7, I was once playing baseball in a neighbor friend’s backyard, and though I don’t recall why, I was playing catcher, a position I almost never played.

An 8th grade farmboy with Popeye forearms came up to bat. I was clearly inching a little too close to home plate, because he swung with all his might — and that farmboy hit something, all right, but it wasn’t the baseball.

After having a baseball bat connect directly across my face, I stumbled and wobbled around the backyard until I made my way to third base, whereupon I swung my arms like a Three Stooges stunt double: knocked over the head, kicked one foot in the air, and collapsed to the ground, bloodied, bruised, and beaten.

Share Bootwood

The wounds would heal. I made it through a couple close calls and managed to stand up on my own two feet. When people would ask my parents why we don’t have pets I kept waiting for them to say, “Have you met Brian yet? He’s got nine lives.”

Being 8 was a rite of passage for me. For starters, I qualified for walking to school without requiring a chaperone or needing a ride from one of my parents. I began a life of freedom. A young Kerouac anxious to soak up life before sitting down to write about it, looking to sink his remaining teeth into something that tasted alive — something that was not creamed tuna on toast.

The older I get, the more I realize there is nothing greater than being young and tasting freedom, or rather, the ability to take your first steps without escort, and experience all the wild wonder waiting for you.

8 was when I learned to read, learned to love stories, and learned to use my imagination to benefit each and every time I found myself lucky to sit and dream about the world.

When I was 8 I also had one of the biggest medical scares of my life. My behavior in a Catholic grade school classroom was never one to brag about, but let’s just say any future ADHD diagnoses were on full display in Mrs. Pickar’s 3rd grade classroom. I was rambunctious, irritating, obstinate, and pretty much every teacher’s worst nightmare.

To all my previous instructors, teachers and coaches, I sincerely apologize.

While in the hospital for my ruptured appendix, my cousin got me a bag of 101 pieces of bubble gum. My lungs were caked with a bunch of gnarly black gunk and I contracted pneumonia, so on top of nearly dying I needed to learn how to resuscitate not only my atrophied muscles but my breathing, which, wait for it, was yet another Mt. Everest for a bony-kneed kid with asthma.

The nurses got me to join them in a daily competition of who could blow the biggest bubble of bubblegum. Little did I know they were just trying to get me to strengthen my lungs.

That same year I had a brand new BMX bike I was riding in the alley behind the house I grew up in, eventually careening too hard and too fast, disobeying the laws of physics enough to find myself colliding with the cement, leaving what was first a bruised then calcified elbow that (sorta/mostly) healed?

Bumps and bruises and no regard for gravity. What is this, a Van Halen video from 1984?

Which brings us to music.

Many people don’t know this about me, but I started college at age 8. I graduated from the third grade and immediately found myself attending the University of Van Halen, with Professor Lee Roth and Headmaster Eddie Van Halen educating me on how to appreciate theater — good or bad — as I witnessed their unpredictable behavioral tendencies through that naughty little chestnut we once referred to as MTV, or, “the devil’s box.” 1984 was the year I got deeper into music, the beginning of a formative education that would unfold for the rest of my life. For that I am forever grateful to my elder siblings for providing me with music that exceeded my age and maturation. 8 years and I’m binging R.E.M., Hüsker Dü, Heart, The Bangles, Richard Thompson, and Springsteen. I’m listening to “Old Man” by Neil Young and thinking, Old man take a look at MY LIFE. I’m 8 years old and I’m a lot like you. :)

My first album was 1984 by Van Halen. I would go on to listen to many other bands

What was your first album?

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I write this passage reflecting on my recent birthday. Some of them call it a milestone. It doesn’t feel like I’m turning 50. I’m still the kid who appreciated being able to create other worlds from the hallowed walls of our local public library, still savor cold basements on hot summer days, still biking through that old buzzard Fredrickson’s driveway near the water tower so I can get to the swimming pool faster, and no matter how full of food I could be, I am still that kid who salivates over the idea of his mom’s simple creamed tuna on toast recipe, often made with the mindfulness and love provided by parents who did their best raising a big family without substantial money in the bank. My parents were saints who always provided for us, and for that I live richer than any person with all the money in the world.

I am so very grateful to everyone who has wished me kind birthday messages over the years, and although I am not apt to self-celebrate very often, I smile fondly when I think of something my mom recently said to me the day before my birthday.

“50 years ago I was lucky enough to meet you for the first time.”

Funny how far we seek to find the answers this life spreads over our plates. I am back home in Wisconsin after being away for many years. I have a home, the sweetest pups around, and the proximity of family. Everything I need is at my fingertips.

I am about to marry the woman of my dreams.

A couple bumps, bruises and breaks later, we get back on the Dirtbike of Life.

Happy to be here.

Just please keep the baseball bats away from my head, thank you very much.

*****

WRITING EXERCISE

Write a letter to your 8-year-old self. Seal it and date it and save for another time down the road when you want to look back on who you once were. Or save it for your kids or grandkids. Ma Bartels is currently writing some memories of childhood, and from what I have recently observed, they are well worth capturing and sharing with others.

WRITING EXERCISE #2

If you enjoyed the first exercise, try writing a letter to your current stardust self from the point of view of your 8-year-old self.

Meta, right? I did this and found some amazing things about what I wanted to really focus on more when I was that age, along with some comical things my 8-year-old self wanted to tell the adult version of me.

Drink responsibly, stay wonderful and live forever.

Share Bootwood

CREAMED TUNA ON TOAST

Recipe: Feeds 1 child with a broken nose, missing teeth and a black eye.

Ingredients

• 1 can (5 oz) tuna, drained

• 1 can (10.75 oz) cream of mushroom soup (condensed)

• 1/2 to 1 cup milk (or half-and-half for extra richness)

• 1/2 cup frozen peas (optional, but a great addition)

• Bread for toasting (I do not recommend buttering the bread, as it holds up better against the sauce when you keep it dry after toasting)

• Salt, pepper, and a pinch of garlic powder or onion powder to taste

Instructions

1. Combine ingredients: In a medium saucepan, whisk together the cream of mushroom soup and 1/2 cup of milk over medium-low heat.

2. Add mix-ins: Gently fold in the drained tuna, your frozen peas (if using), and any seasonings.

3. Heat thoroughly: Simmer on low for 5–10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the mixture is hot and bubbly. Add a splash more milk if the sauce is too thick.

4. Serve: Toast your bread and ladle the hot creamed tuna mixture generously over each slice.

Settle Down Tavern has another big birthday today.

Whew.

Give me a second.

I call each of Settle Down’s birthdays a big birthday as it was a near-impossible feat of opening this space during one of the more difficult times in our history. If we didn’t have a construction delay we would’ve opened just before Covid, and if that happened we would probably not be around today.

I still don’t know how we crawled out of it. Long days. Longer nights. People not showing up for work (sadly, this still happens). Streets barely active. Sleeplessness. Anxiety. Lots of anxiety. So much anxiety. Imagine an auctioneer at a rapid-firing auction where everything on sale is covered in anxiety. "One dollar anxiety bid, now two, now two, will ya give me two anxiety? Two dollar anxiety bid, now three anxiety, now three anxiety, will ya give me three anxiety? Three dollar anxiety bid, now four anxiety..." But I don’t think we ever doubted ourselves. We pushed on and persevered and somehow grew enough to stand on our own.

I kept a journal of those days. The whole world wasn’t making much sense to me so I wanted to write about it and see if that helped my perceptions.

Here’s some entries from the early days of Settle Down Tavern in Madison, Wisconsin.

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WE’RE OPEN! SETTLE DOWN!!!

We open Settle Down Tavern on May 26^th, 2020. It is a Tuesday. We first attempt takeout and curbside service, as we want to baby steps our way into serving people. The world is still very much fighting outbreaks and positive cases are popping up more in America, along with limited testing, so we want to exercise caution with opening.

The reality of finally being open does not completely register. I recall being nervous about the POS (Point Of Sales) system, called TOAST. The brief seminar we had with the sales manager issued one final fretful message: “Once you are ready to begin taking orders, press this button here, which accepts incoming orders and will initiate your first day of business.”

As I walk around stressing over so many things, I ask Sam multiple times: “You turned the ‘Accept Orders’ button on, right?” He confirms each time, and I immediately forget, plagued by an avalanche of other distractions.

And though many people in Madison are looking forward to the opening, it is obvious how difficult that is going to be during a global pandemic. We begin the same way nearly every restaurant opening previously began for me, save for Fedora: we are quiet at 4pm when we open the doors for business.

Then, around 4:20, we have our first to-go order. A guy named Barry. He is immediately recognized by Ryan. Everyone in Madison knows everyone else. He shows up with a mask and a baseball cap. Someone grabs his to-go bag — brown paper without handles, with a ‘Settle Down’ stamp across the front — and Ryan gets a photo of him holding the bag with his thumb in the air, smiling underneath his mask. (Smiling underneath masks. Yes. This is an interesting case study.)

We start receiving lots of orders once 4:30 arrives, and that continues for the next few hours. It is exhilarating to be open. Ryan is greeting people at the door, asking them to stay put in observance of social distancing, handing them their bags of food and drinks, and tries getting photos of them for our Instagram page. People keep their masks on. We say “We appreciate you!” as they exit.

Joslyn and Sam are in the kitchen, getting their sea legs working the smash burgers on the grill, along with prep mise en place. I am behind the bar readying to-go beverages, mostly non-alcoholic. The state has only allowed the to-go sales of cocktail kits, large format options where the customer can only buy an unopened bottle with all necessary ingredients separated until they get home and build the drinks.

The energy is palpable. We shriek with joy when people enter the space, and our friends and other local small businesses are especially supportive of our efforts. We get postcards from other places. We get plants from some. We receive hand-drawn pictures of Lionesses from adorable kids (our mascot was a female lion, very specific for us, as we wanted to honor our mothers and strong mothers everywhere, and not be another masculinity-heavy tavern).

The food is on point. We are making food people are celebrating. The Prit’ Near veggie burger is breaking hearts left and right. Vegetarians are telling us it is the greatest Veggie Burger they’ve ever had. Burger fanatics are lauding the Good Idea as being their new favorite burger. “No one’s ever had a smash burger on a menu in Madison before,” says a patron. French Fry aficionados are telling us the fries are better than their favorite fries out there, better than McDonald’s, better than they could have imagined.

People enjoying comfort food brings an elevated sense of comfort for us all.

A question looms in the back of my mind – how do we maintain ourselves when the world settles back in place, whenever that arrives. If we are worrying about the first person coming through each day all the way to the last, in hopes we can endure the pandemic and still find ourselves breathing when the world returns to normal, what happens then? Will more people come by? Or will the world take forever to return?

I will sit up at night and ask myself outlandish hypotheticals on a regular basis. I am good at this. The trouble is how much actual time do I have to think on this when the restaurant is a brand new baby. I ask myself, How is it doing? on a constant basis. What does it need? Is it breathing? What are we missing? The anxiety can be overwhelming. How does each corner look to another set of eyes? If I stand in this corner, is the light bright enough for people to see the menu? To take a photo? For the server to see a French fry on the ground. Will the server practice such awareness?

Can we hear that printer when it’s printing tickets?

Can the kitchen hear the printer when they’re standing a little further away?

Can the patrons hear the printer and is it annoying to them?

Should we return all the printers?! Can we get a refund if we’re unhappy?!

Do these questions ever stop? Not really. They are either on constant repeat in my head, or they are replaced by new questions which arise from new days, new services, new people, and unpredictable waves and tides of business.

We have only just begun, and we are about to experience waves and tides of business that will challenge us all for what feels like forever.

50% CAPACITY (JUNE, 2020)

My birthday passes and I don’t have time to acknowledge it, nor is it safe to spend any time with a group of friends. We are in the service business, which means we serve others. Besides, a new restaurant commands our full participation. I have to re-learn how to bartend in Wisconsin. I am not prepared nor do I remember the amount of alcohol people drink here, and the tremendous velocity at which they drink.

Additionally, Wisconsin drinkers seem predisposed to order Tito’s and Sodas, Brandy Old Fashioneds (which they call Old Fashioneds, but we need to train staff to ask default questions), and request drinks for their drinks. A couple of brothers ordered whiskey and cokes tall with chasers of our house lager. Two drinks at once!

And they love their Dirty Martinis dirty. My first Dirty Martini I made for a guest was sent back. “They didn’t like it,” is all the server says. “Did you ask why?” I ask them. “They just said it tasted off and they wanted a double Tito’s soda with extra lemon instead.”

Ryan approaches me one recent night we are bartending.

“Hey, how much pickle brine do you put in your Dirty Martinis?”

“A little more than half an ounce if they really want it dirty,” I say.

Ryan has a respectful look on his face, but clearly wants to let me know the truth. “Yeah. I’ve been meaning to tell you, but people here love their Dirty Martinis, like, filthy.”

“Like three quarters of an ounce?”

“I put at least an ounce of pickle brine in,” he says.

I couldn’t help but make a face.

“Really?’

“Yeah…”

“That’s fucking disgusting,” I say.

“That’s how they like it.”

“That’s basically like they want to drink pickle brine and not vodka.”

“I know,” Ryan says.

I wipe the bar pass down, an area I am always surveying and updating, a restless tic that accompanies me even in dreams.

“Why don’t they just order a Vinegar Martini with a vodka rinse.”

“Right?”

Later, after everyone has left, I am wiping down all surfaces, all stainless steel, the glasswasher, brass beer taps, bar mats, glassware, underneath the bar, wiping endlessly. Wiping down a bar can seem like a never-ending ordeal — especially after a long day, a busy service, and unforeseen anxiety-laden new business hiccups.

And as I put all the mini perishable juice, syrup and cheater bottles back into the fridge, there, staring at me in the most baleful way, is the squeeze bottle of pickle brine for our Dirty Martinis, saying with a wink and a nudge, My tank is low, pal, and the people have spoken. Now refill me. And go fuck yourself.

WALLS (August 5^th, 2020)

15 hours a day, six days a week, months and months on end. I lose weight I do not have to lose. My thin arms grow thinner. My belt notches extend beyond the last notch as my waist laughs at me. But I don’t have time to be tired. Or whine. I don’t have moments to sit and think of how great it has been that we actually opened. Hell, I don’t even once sit and have a proper dining experience — in my own tavern! This was why we opened. We wanted to have a night where Sam, Ryan and I actually had a meal together, and appreciated what we had built. (As I type this we’re going on our third month and it still hasn’t happened. We have yet to sit and enjoy a meal in the tavern we built from the ground up.)

When you build restaurants, you build walls. Some of those walls are invisible. They go unnoticed. Some people are very good at never revealing what lies behind those walls, and some just plain suck at hiding the emotions.

I hit a wall on Wednesday, August 5^th. The death of my high school buddy Dave Seep, then my dear Aunt Joanie Bartels, then Pete Hamill, one of my favorite writers, just drained the life out of me. I went to work thinking I could simply push through the bad feelings and low self-esteem by putting tasks and masks in front of me. But nothing worked. And the closer we got to opening at 4pm, having one person training that night, along with working with the staff and eventually welcoming guests, it all felt impossible. For the first time since we opened Settle Down over two months earlier, I didn’t feel like being there.

LITTLE THINGS (Aug. 6, 2020)

A new day with the sun shining brought me out of the funk that fatigued my mood all through yesterday. I was ready to start turning things around in upbeat, positive ways. Whenever I get down in the dumps I think of a quote on writing by a professor of literature, saved somewhere in a box of many other memorable quotes:

“No one is going to care if you stop. You can quit writing today and the world will go on. But the true writers remember there is never an end to what they are working on. Keep going. Find new stories. New people. New ways to look at the world. They’re out there. But you gotta keep going.”

Some days I feel that sentiment can easily work if we replace “writing” with “life.”

We do a fun thing on the Settle Down menus. We often include an inspiring quote from a public figure, often meant to reflect social justice, meaningful musings or poetic leanings. Occasionally we post random text messages from friends and loved ones. It can mean absolutely nothing, like “This place is beyond awesome!” from our good friend Brian Competente. Or it can be one of the million hilarious texts from Ma Bartels (“Do I have to answer every text?”). Or a zinger from Steve Spicer — “Brian. My name is Steve. Checking on you. Hope progress is going along well. Hope you are well. Hope your parents are well. Your new spot is the light at the end of the Covid tunnel.”)

I have never seen Hamilton, and in fact my claim to fame is turning down free Broadway tickets to Hamilton on the second month it opened (I had to work. Don’t be a dick.) I should have gone, yes. And the level of crushing sadness demonstrated by those who love the play — and also most likely paid hundreds and, in some cases, thousands of dollars to see it — is always one of my favorite reactions when I get a chance to tell the story.

Since I have never seen the play, I don’t have much to report.

But one of my favorite creative endeavors at Settle Down Tavern is finding an inspiring quote to put on the menu. I’m often curious who is paying enough attention to the details of what we are saying beyond the food and beverage, as adding these little nuggets of inspiration can be significantly impactful to some people. The goal can be as simple as someone asking the server, “Is it okay if I take the menu home? I want to put it on my fridge.” These moments of dining out should be meaningful and treated with a certain level of joyfulness. Sometimes it’s a line or two from a poem. Or maybe it’s lyrics from a Woody Guthrie song. Sometimes it’s a text from a friend. Like I said, I have not seen Hamilton before, but some of the staff were talking about how much they loved seeing it on Disney now that it was released during Covid.

I looked up important quotes from the Hamilton play and picked this one, because the sentiment was too resonant to ignore:

“Look around, look around at how

Lucky we are to be alive right now.”

I am so very grateful for everyone who helped make our dream a reality. We opened a small business in the heart of a global pandemic. EVERYONE had a hard year that year. It wasn’t smooth by any stretch. It was wild. It was brutal. Easily the hardest year of my professional life. But I am grateful we got through it enough to maintain operations today.

Don’t know if you ever get over something like that.

But if life has taught me anything since opening the hardest little tavern in town, it’s this: If you’re feeling like the world is against you, just add about 1-2 more ounces of pickle brine.

I’m not sure what this person’s name is, but I’m quite certain we can all agree they have been an ally and an adversary to each of us throughout our (ahem) legal drinking adult lives.

Speaking of alcohol, the quality of non-alcoholic beverages has never been better. Four years ago I was underwhelmed by pretty much everything my reps brought me to sample. Two years ago I found a few versions worthy of passing the mustard.

These days, the bar has been raised.

Of the many wonderful non-alcoholic beverages available in the marketplace, one of my current favorites is UNDONE. I actually capped my Year-End 2025 Review by including Undone’s canned Pina Colada, which is one of the best mocktails I have ever tasted, if not the best.

We recently had the opportunity to connect with Mehmet Ünlü, creator and founder of Undone non-alcoholic beverages and Thomas Henry mixers. Mehmet is an entrepreneur, former athlete, and lawyer with a focus on EU and civil rights law. He was named Social Entrepreneur of the Year 2012 in Germany as founder of an NGO focused on EU neighborhood policy. After successfully founding and exiting a craft coffee roastery and coffee shop chain in Austria, he co-founded Cranehouse, a beverage distribution company in Germany.

Since 2018, Mehmet has served as Co-Founder and CEO of UNDONE, pioneering the non-alcoholic alternatives category. He was recognized as Food and Lifestyle Entrepreneur of the Year 2020 in Germany. UNDONE grew out of his personal experience with moderation and his belief that choosing not to drink should never mean opting out of culture, quality, or social life.

BOOTWOOD: How did UNDONE come to fruition?

MU: Honestly, it started from a personal need. I didn’t drink much—I was a competitive athlete and never liked the taste of alcohol, but I still enjoyed going out socially. I’d be out with friends, order a ginger ale, and constantly be asked why I wasn’t drinking.

I shared that observation with my co-founder, who came from the spirits industry. He’d worked on brands like Bacardi and deeply understood what makes spirits and cocktails work. He immediately saw the gap.

What really convinced us was when he tried a non-alcoholic vermouth and genuinely enjoyed it—not as a substitute, but as a product in its own right. That’s when we knew we could make proper cocktails with real complexity, just undone. No compromise.

BOOTWOOD: How does music play a part in UNDONE’s influences?

MU: Music and culture are deeply woven into how we think about UNDONE. We see ourselves as part of a broader pop-culture shift around drinking—where choosing not to drink, or to drink less, is no longer something that needs justification.

BOOTWOOD: Explain the equipment used for de-alcoholized wine / spirits.

MU: Broadly speaking, there are many ways non-alcoholic products are made. Some brands build flavor “proxies” from water, tea, or botanicals and then add ingredients to mimic tannin, oak, or bitterness. Others remove alcohol through centrifuges or spinning techniques, which often strip out aroma and structure—requiring flavors to be added back in.

What’s unique about UNDONE is that we start with real spirits and wine, then worked with German scientists to develop a patented dealcoholization process. The process selectively captures and preserves aroma and flavor compounds while allowing the alcohol to pass through.

A simple way to think about it: if you’ve ever grilled near a tree and noticed how aromas linger in the air, that’s because certain organic materials naturally bind to scent and flavor. Our technology is inspired by that principle. The result is why you smell the hogo in our Jamaican pot-still rum or the umami and smoke in our mezcal. The structure is authentic because the starting point is authentic.

BOOTWOOD: I feel the world of non-alcoholic beverages has only been getting stronger. Is that from continued testing? Or the quality of ingredients? Or equipment?

MU: It’s all of those factors—but the biggest shift is cultural. Drinking less isn’t niche anymore; it’s normal. Consumers are more informed and still want great experiences.

Early on, the category was driven by novelty. Now, expectations are much higher. People know what inferior products taste like, and competition has actually helped educate the market. Serious brands are investing in proper ingredients, better equipment, and real innovation. What started as a “dry” niche has evolved into a mainstream moderation movement.

BOOTWOOD: Knowing how much sugar plays a part in mixed drinks, how do you add sweetener without over-sweetening the products?

MU: The key is treating these as serious spirits products from the start. That means understanding balance—sweetness, bitterness, acidity—rather than masking flaws. We’re giving bartenders and consumers products that taste right, not products trying to compensate for the absence of alcohol.

BOOTWOOD: Ordering and acquiring non-alcoholic products is becoming easier, but since you’re a European company have you found the inventory vs. distribution a challenge since entering the US market? (For example, we have been ordering from our Wisconsin distributor since UNDONE has been available, and there are already low or zero supply hiccups.).

MU: That’s a great—and very fair—question. The biggest challenges actually came before distribution. As a European company, setting up U.S. banking, an LLC, payroll, e-commerce, and compliance infrastructure is far more complex than most people realize. We’ve learned a tremendous amount through that process.

Distribution itself also takes longer today. What once took 90 days can now take six months due to competition and scale in the U.S. market. We’ve been very deliberate in choosing best-in-class partners state by state.

Today, we’re in roughly 25 states with partners like Badger, Fedway, Ruby Wines, Lanterna, and The Wine Company, and we expect to reach approximately 35 states by the end of 2026. We’re also available via Amazon, our own e-commerce platform, and select grocery and broadline channels.

BOOTWOOD: Did you use pre-existing alcoholic spirits and/or cocktails as your guidelines for the Spirits? If so which ones were the benchmarks?

MU: Absolutely. We benchmarked directly against classic spirits and cocktails with deep heritage—Jamaican pot-still rums, Black Forest gins, and iconic aperitivo and bitter brands like Campari, Lillet, and Aperol.

The goal was always a true 1:1 comparison—same structure, same role in a cocktail—so you’re not losing anything, just the alcohol.

BOOTWOOD: Has the abundance of new products being developed in the market made the non-drinking community particularly competitive?

The category is incredibly competitive if you look at it broadly. There are many RTDs, functional beverages, and grocery-focused products. But far fewer brands have worked through three-tier distribution and invested meaningfully in on-premise.

UNDONE is distinct because we start with real spirits and build for bartenders first. Brands like Phony Negroni and Pathfinder have done an excellent job opening doors in on-premise and independent retail, particularly in the bitter space. We see ourselves as complementary—expanding the toolkit beyond bitters into full spirits and liqueurs.

We love when UNDONE sits next to those brands on a cocktail menu. A rising tide lifts all ships, and together we’re building credibility for the entire category.

BOOTWOOD: Is there a way to work along with alcoholic beverages in hopes of curbing excessive drinking?

Absolutely. Around 95% of non-alcoholic consumers still drink alcohol. That’s why we see UNDONE as part of the broader No- and Low-alcohol movement—not a replacement category.

Our portfolio, especially our liqueurs and sparkling wines, is uniquely positioned for low-ABV cocktails and split builds. We actively present low-alcohol cocktail serves across our materials because that’s how consumers and bartenders actually drink today.

BOOTWOOD: Any future development with UNDONE you would care to share? For example are you seeking expansion with a facility in the US?

Yes, bringing manufacturing to the U.S. is part of our long-term strategy. As we scale, local production becomes both a logistical and strategic advantage. The focus now is building the right foundation so we can do that thoughtfully and at the right time.

Thank you to Mehmet and the team behind UNDONE.

I encourage you to check out their products. (Full disclosure, I am not being paid to endorse them. I simply love the quality of their catalogue). Their canned Pina Colada, Smoky Paloma and Italian Spritz are in heavy rotation at our bars and my home, their non-alcoholic spirits are well worth sampling, and Jessie and I celebrated her new job by cracking open the sparkling rosé and drinking the entire bottle, saluting its flavor, complexity and low sugar content.

Drink responsibly, park rangers.

Now cue Weezer’s The Sweater Song.

Terrific.

This isn’t an article about baseball.

This is an article about failure. About rejection. A lifetime of spurning.

A dedicated act of refusing to accept, use, or believe in someone or something.

This is an article that reflects the words Yes and No as they relate to our creative process and how it impacts our daily lives.

How do we handle rejection?

Recently I had the great fortune of meeting an extremely bright and intelligent young man. He came across an Indeed post and wanted to interview for a bartender position. His professional game was beyond what I typically experience in college town Madison. He was focused, engaging, responsive, quoted many a philosopher, and very respectful. We shook hands and bid each other a fond farewell, and I imbued a newfound perspective for the youth, talent and hope for future generations.

A day later, I offered him the job.

The next day, he rejected the offer.

In all my years of interviewing, talking and reviewing possible candidates for employment, I had never offered someone a position with our team and had them turn it down.

My guilty secret? I loved it.

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What if he had said Yes? Odds are I would not have been motivated to write this article. I would have chalked it up to another successful connection with a prospective employee, notching another feather on the cap for Team Hiring.

Yes.

A word.

An exclamation.

An affirmative answer or declaration of decision.

We all love the word “Yes.”

And yet sometimes, try as hard as we may, that words eludes us.

No.

Another word.

Another complete sentence.

Not as many points on a Scrabble board as the word Yes, but one we can all agree will almost always get us out of a bind when we are Scrabble stumped.

Unless one writes for their own personal fulfillment, one cannot be a lifelong writer without their fair share of rejection. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord’s “No.” Each negative response elicits something humorous out of me. I read “We regret to inform you…” and the lyrics to “I Can’t Go For That (No Can Do)” by Hall & Oates arrive. I open an email and see “There were many applicants for this story contest…” and TLC’s “No Scrubs” plays in the background.

“We’re moving forward with a different writer…” is my “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction.”

Rejection is part of life. Our professional life, our personal life, and every time we make an effort to put something we create out there in the world and see where it lands.

I often wear it like a badge of honor. We can’t put ourselves out there without getting a response from someone who’s considering our material for whatever What did your agent think of that last book pitch? Oh, they rejected it. Did you get rejected on that TV pilot? Yep.

Last year I submitted multiple pitches to a popular pop culture website I would be honored to write for, or at least get my foot in the door. They not only rejected each one of my proposals, they never responded to a single email. So in a way the pitches were never technically rejected.

A fragile ego likes to say they were “lost.”

In the midst of a major Celine Dion tour announcement and Justin Bieber providing a surprise pre-Coachella set, and without further adieu, I give you…my failures.

MUSIC

SAD SONGS SAY SO MUCH: In the aftermath of Brian Wilson’s passing we investigate some of the most iconic (and under-appreciated) songs and artists evoking such bittersweet sadness. Bonus content: Obscure sad songs that never make radio playlists.

THE EVERYWHERE SOUND: What makes a session musician? How many of them are really out there, putting in the little details on a song or album that resonates. For example, do you remember the Sufjan Stevens song “Chicago,” where the chorus contains a memorable violin? That was Rob Moose. Who was paid $300 to lay down violin on an unforgettable track. We profile multi-instrumentalist Rob Moose, who has played with everyone (Paul Simon, Taylor Swift, Sara Bareilles, Bruce Hornsby, Bon Iver, Miley Cyrus, Mumford & Sons, The Staves, etc.) in the past 25 years.

ICY COLD CHILI FLAKE: The world is full of Red Hot Chili Pepper fans. I am not one of them. Outside of a butterscotch-flavored miracle wrapped around my own pet unicorn, holding a snowball’s chance in hell, what would it take for me to become one?

TV

WHAT’S IN A CHARACTER — RICHARD SPLETT: Not many people know who this is. If you haven’t seen the HBO series Veep then you definitely do not know who this is. We venture into a deep-dive character expose on Sam Richardson’s unforgettable performance as the amiable and ever-positive Richard Splett, arguably one of the most underrated characters in TV history.

REHEARSING NATHAN FIELDER: Why is it so hard to describe Nathan Fielder’s methods to a friend? Is it the content? Or the creator. We seek answers.

80s CHILD: As a scion of the 1980s, I was subjected to the Best and Worst of our society. This recurring segment will be the Mama’s Family to your Max Headroom. In one of our first features we deep dive into Miami Vice — it’s impact on our culture, our clothes, and the soundtracks of our action-packed lives. Most importantly, we reveal the countless reasons why Tubbs was one million times cooler than Crockett.

DERRY GIRLS: A refreshing take on the unapologetic realities of growing up in Northern Ireland. Why wasn’t this show more popular? Have you seen their performance on Great British Bake-Off? What do American audiences need to better understand from the raw writing coming out of other countries?

GET A LIFE: Chris Elliott is more commonly known as Roland Schitt from Schitt’s Creek, but back in the 1990s he co-created a hilarious cult favorite with Adam Resnick titled Get A Life. We cover Elliott’s entire career of deadpan comedy and unforgettable characters, such as The Guy Under The Stairs from David Letterman, and we address the significance of Cabin Boy.

CHECKING OUT OF THE WHITE LOTUS: The parallels of dramatic television and soap opera staged theatrics can leave ones entertainment levels a bit dulled. But is that the point? When everything else can seem cliché, we make an argument for why shows like The White Lotus work. But who is buying into high-stakes melodrama? It would appear at least 6 million people. Except this writer.

NOTEWORTHY ADAPTATIONS: It’s becoming more common that book-to-film adaptations bypass the silver screen for an opportunity to flex their talents in TV. What are some of the most fulfilling book-to-TV adaptations in recent memory? What books would we like to see adapted into a series?

FILM

JURASSIC PARK: FOREVER? — Currently enmeshed in the Rebirth Trilogy, we rank the best characters in the history of the Dino DNA franchise, and wonder what kinds of characters might benefit the next velociraptor-infested corners we turn.

TOP 10 BEST GOLF FILMS OF ALL TIME: Caddyshack has some competition. Or does it? Are we able to have a proper Top 10 golf films? We’ve got five for sure. Should 10 be our handicap? Or should we keep it to 5?

THE 40 BEST ASTRONAUT ACTORS: We comb through some legendary films, revealing who made the most of pretending to go to space.

SEVEN’S DETECTIVES ARE A PERFECT 10: Fincher. Freeman. Pitt. Se7en was a film so great at capturing the essence of co-worker dysfunction they could’ve made a movie out of that alone, and spared us dealing with a Kevin Spacey before all the predatory off-screen creep content. We dissect the dynamic between the two main detectives and explore how their tension mirrors other classic detective partnerships (True Detective, Memories of Murder, The Heat, Narc, Training Day, etc.) through history.

VERSUS: (a recurring article). How actors roles in certain films are indirectly pitted against each other. It’s not fair, but it’s fun. Jeff Bridges as The Dude versus every Jeff Bridges role before that film. Adam Sandler in Punch Drunk Love versus Sandler’s entire filmography prior to PDL. Jessica Lange in Frances vs. the real Frances Farmer. Ralph Macchio as a good boy in Karate Kid vs. Macchio as a bad boy in Outsiders (yes, he was bad, and just because he dies from trying to save kids doesn’t mean he was inherently good.) We ask the questions no one realizes they needed: Who showed up and showed out better?

END OF SUMMER MOVIES: Out with the blockbusters and in with the…well, sort of lower budget blockbusters and weird studio films that get put in the end-of-summer’s crosshairs. We examine films that have kept us going to the theater even though the weather is absolutely perfect outside.

SPORTS

NBA FOODIES: A recurring segment, featuring NBA players dining out in cities where they visit. Where do players eat on the road. Given the league’s international participation, we explore how important it is to find a home-cooked meal so far away from home.

ASSISTANT LIVING: We see assistant coaches on the sidelines. We know they participate in the prep and execution. What are their daily tasks? How do they get a head coaching gig? We interview Oklahoma City’s top assistant coach Dave Bliss and discover some unique aspects of behind-the-scenes game development.

GARDEN SOUNDS: There is no question that music influences our cultural participation with the outside world, and largely within ourselves. We ask some prominent NBA players what kinds of music they enjoy listening to, how they grew up with music, and maybe even visit some local clubs and shows if the road allows. Who knows. Maybe Damian Lillard will bust out some freestyle lyrics for us if we ask nicely. Music captures everyone differently. “Sounds” will feature revered record stores around the country like Amoeba in Los Angeles, Jackpot Records in Portland and Electric Fetus in Minneapolis. Who knows. If there’s enough time maybe we’ll even highlight some famous music created in parts of the country. Did we just hear some Detroit Motown in the background…?

Bonus Content: Did you know there’s a lot of hoops to jump through to hear “We Are The Champions” for eight seconds? We investigate how the music world works inside arenas on Game Day by meeting the people responsible for sourcing and broadcasting the music to arenas.

LET’S GET PHYSICAL: The 2025 NBA Finals were incredibly physical. The refs seemed to be letting them play. Are the smaller market teams grittier? Does the lack of not being in a big city make them want out more? We explore and identify the Top 10 Most Physical NBA Finals. Does it come down to a single game? A meaningful play? Or the breadth of a 7 game series.

DRAMA IN SPORTS: Where does it begin, and does it ever end? As Christopher McQuarrie recently explained, the action, level of intensity or the engineering of the action isn’t difficult to obtain. “It’s the emotion!” We discuss emotion, flopping, and the psychology of communicating with the referees, umpires and judges. Part of the experience will include an interview with a professor of screenwriting to explain how drama needs to exist for us to hold a story together. And while we’re at it we discuss some of the most memorable moments in films where sports decide the outcomes.

HUMOR IN SPORTS: We love a good competition. And there’s always drama when we least expect it. But how important is joy? How incredible is it when the camera picks up a couple players sharing a joke during the downtime in a game. When we see a tense grounder and the runner beat out the throw, how incredible is it to watch the first baseman and safe runner chat up what just happened. We don’t know what’s being said, but what is being said? Our attention elevates further when we see them smiling and joking around. Isn’t that one of the greatest things we can find through our shared love of sports? Let’s talk to a sports psychologist and find out why.

HOCKEY SON-IN-LAW: My future wife is from a hockey family, whereas I was raised to eat, sleep and defecate basketball. (Don’t ask me how to do the last part, but if you spoke with any of my coaches from Reedsburg Basketball Camp, they’d tell you I could probably pull it off, given how much shit I talked between drills). What this article posits is: What does a lifelong basketball fan need to do to not toss the gloves and sticks — but keep them on — and discover how to become a true hockey goon/fan?

PUD CAST: A weekly column where we discuss some of the dull or worst performances of the week. Sort of like ESPN’s Not Top 10 but digging deeper and highlighting some notable players not performing up to their expectations.

There we have it.

Please feel welcome to comment on whether or not you would like to see one of these articles written into a full essay.

Then we’ll see who’s really failing in this battle of rejection.

(It’s probably still me.)

And by the way, rejection is not personal. I am okay with the reality of being rejected. As Bruce Hornsby’s late father, Robert Hornsby, used to tell any friends who felt let down or misunderstood, “‘Eff ‘em all but six — five for the pallbearers and one to piss on your grave.”

Always pleasant to see you, here at the end of the line.

I’ll take it as an acceptance.

:)

Lots of plays.

I moved to New York to gain exposure and inspiration through the theater scene. I was lucky enough to have a few plays receive minor productions. We did staged readings in bars, in basements, and even in a bookstore on West 10th Street, where days earlier I participated in a non-stop reading of Don Quixote. There was something very special about closing down my bar at The Red Cat in Chelsea then walking over to 192 Books and then reading a passage from Don Quixote at 1:15 in the morning.

Some of my favorite memories were doing one-night-only staged readings, where talented performers helped bring my words out to an audience of friends, bar regulars and people who simply loved visiting the theater.

I wish this happened more across every city in America.

If you have ever been moved by the human spirit, the theater world is your home away from home.

In honor of St. Patrick’s Day, here is a short monologue about an Irish woman who always wondered what it would be like to see America. It was fun to re-read this play recently, and remember the kind of energy brought to the stage from where the words started.

Shore Mary was part of a small collection of short plays called WHEELHOUSES, read and performed to a full audience at Rattlestick Theater in the West Village.

This was only performed once, and the very talented Monica West graced the stage with her rendition of Irish Mary, a unique character with a lot going on in her mind.

Hope you enjoy.

And Happy St. Patrick’s Day.

SHORE MARY

(MARY walks to a point and stands at the edge, overlooking the Cliffs of Moher. Tourists are walking by as she’s riffing on her life.)

(She has a small piece of luggage that could either be what she always carries around or something meaningful she would want to take for a long journey.)

(A little background: Mary is from a small town just outside of Dingle, and has an accent but not as thick as someone from the west coast of Ireland. She knows little or no Gaelic. She’s New Irish but still obviously lived a sheltered life, though one would not know that given how much she smiles. We see her in brightly colored clothing, almost a cross between Punky Brewster / Pee Wee Herman energy, with perhaps some bright lipstick or pigtails with sparkly twists.)

MARY: Behave. Stand. Here. Look at the sky. Where? No. Stand. Here. Look at the water. Behave. Stand. Here. Look at the land and the places where we keep the stand cows and the stand lambs and the well-behaved stand chickens we like to toss in flour and fry and eat between our wee fingers. Aye.

Stand here and look at the world. Here. The place. The edge of it all. They say. The cliffs of our soil. “Soul.” Aye. Stand. Here. Not the best view. Not the worst.

(Finds peace. Smiles.)

Aye. Here. In me world. Me land. As I stand in me land – and BEHAVE! Where they be talkin’ about the daily dailies of their wild and fanciful belongin’ to the natural world. Their world, aye. The beggers. Holdin’ their hands far the random raspberries all fallin’ from the raspberry trees all around them. (bothered) As if I was never born in the same raspberry-eatin town with the same raspberry-eatin feckin people. And shore don’t we have the worst feckin’ raspberries known to man! And behave!

(Nods to some travelers walking past, a little boy in the crowd)

Oh, hello there! Ye’s enjoyin’ the view? Grand, iz-nit. Aye. Have a pleasant day, ye’s! (when they’re out of ear-shot) Y’ever seen a buy witch? Whadda ye’s call ‘em, warlocks? Shore aren’t they the wildest little t’ings. All evil and wicked and scary-lookin, wit’ their witch buy fangs. Most buys, they are. The cute ones are the worst. Shore wasn’t I a wee girl, like your girl now is a wee girl - and I’m still wee and anyone who says different is a lyin’ picker and STOP BEING A LYIN’ TEEVIN’ PICKER!!!

(Quietly; scanning the grounds) Oh aye behave now, young Mary, behave.

Lyin’ and teevin’, aye. Teevin’ the boogers ye be pickin’ from your nose and savin’ in your suitcase and laughin’ all the way to the bank. Shore aye, you’re the booger bank’s favorite customer, ye’s are! Pickin’ the gold away and puttin’ it in your precious savings account. Savin’ for America, ye’s are! For the land of the free and the home of the red-necked booger pickin’ . . . (envious; melts) fun people . . . aye . . . who get to have all the fun in the world, being the American people they are in the good land, aye.

Share Bootwood

So. There’s me. Your girl. (smiles; curtsies) Behavin’. Standin’ in line for the show about the Americas, or your America – certainly not my America – and I lost me ticket aye I SAID I LOST IT! (finger to lips) Shh! (curtsies to tourists passing) Then we behave. Then we breathe . . . (inhales; exhales) . . . then we can behave . . . aye . . . with no ticket for America . . . stand . . . stand . . . (firm) aye, here . . . stand. Better. No more fraidey cats out here on the cliffs. No more lyin’ and more behavin’, is what.

And you know what? That’s another somet’hin. Fraidey cats are people too. And it be sad when the fraidey cats don’t get the better chances to be braver when the moments we can stop being fraidey cats happen. Course we dunno when tha happens.

Behave I was standin’ next to a fraidey cat during a ping pong tourney. Shore I was there! And shore wasn’t I being the only bugger fightin’ for my honor. And the only lass playin’ with a massive load of witch buys. They got tree feckin’ people standin’ in the fraidey cat’s face. But what’s a fraidey cat buy doin’ in the middle of a ping pong tourney then? A fraidey cat buy can’ go runnin’ into a ping pong tourney with their shoulders all shakin’ and shiverin’ and fraidey can’ they? But he – bless his wee witch buy heart and he, he gets so proud and mighty, so very . . . and then they’s . . . the buys they . . . (frustrated; shakes head; tries to push out the memory and move on)

(Moves to a new spot.)

Stand. Here. Look at the grass. Grand.

(Moves to another spot.)

Stand. Here. Look at the pretty birds in the sky as they fly. Grand.

(Moves to another spot.)

Stand! HERE! At the edge of yonder and the belly of tomorrow.

(Moves.)

Stand. Aye. Here. Where they won’t break your spirit if ye’s spirit’s got a hold of the soul.

(Moves to another spot; holds hands out as she stares up at the sky, expecting rain or salvation.)

Aye. Stand. Here. Over the water. Under the sky. Above the land.

(Beat)

(Pleased)

So me! There. With your cousin with the lazy lower lip, and your cousin’s best friend who be lookin’ like Kermit the feckin Frog after he trew up last night’s spaghetti ‘n meatball din, the shady, wild wee witch he be, with all the other buy witches of the world. (smiles) Except in America!

And I can do an American accent, ya know. Can be the very sweet and polite and American shite they all know and love, aye. (Spoofs an American accent; sort of Southern hillbilly) “Ehh, errr, uhhh . . . where’d you get that basket of peaches there . . . over yonder, little skippy-ki-yay, and . . . what’s on the tell-uh-veesion for tooo-night, huh? Huh? Uhhhh . . . huh?” (back to regular accent) Shore it’s grand, doin it. Grand, t’is.

Shore I be tryin’ to jest find me new feckin home. And the wee beggers lowly Irish tater feckers would love to keep me here, sitting in the wee filth with all them, aye (quickly bows) and behave.

(Looking around; awkward)

So’s . . . I had the telly on wee late the other night, with the episode of whaddya call it now…..the old dance show. And there’s me. Your girl. A singin and a dancing in place. In the mirror’s, but. Still. Like (awkwardly dances a running man or something similar; funny; then nearly falls off the Cliffs of Moher)

Ayke! Jaysus! Be watchin’ yourself Mary! For pete’s pet’s be t’inkin of your family sittin’ at your one and only funeral, sayin’ the wrong t’ings about why ye be so dead and not available to sing or dance at ye’s own funeral! And why? No! And how! For ye’s been doin’ what ye do so well over the Cliffs of Moher and ye’s weren’t watching where’s ye’s goin. And now ye’s dead and gone and ye’s can’t watch your American police shows on the telly no more. (kicks) For PETE’S PETS I SAY!!!

Shore. There’s me. Your girl. And I’m back at the station won’cha know? Four hours, I be waitin’. They said they’d find me when they get the papers settled, so’s I said ‘You be getting’ them papers settled with some speed and sure we’ll be fine.’ But what do they do? They be kickin’ their feet up like this! (kicks feet like she’s being attacked by bowling balls from every angle; a flurry of kicks and shouts) And they don’ have the classical nature needed to behave like decent wonderful people. And if I be havin’ any qualms with the way’s of the wonderful people of the world, sure it’s going t’be the way they’re not being decent enough, don’cha know. Shore I seen wonderful people being wonderful to one another for days on end! But ta see tha wonderful people being ‘decent’ wonderful people is not a very common sight now iz’nit it aye. Aye aye aye, t’is.

(Walks in a circle)

And a right and a right and all right.

(Deep exhale)

I like to walk in circles when I don’t be allowed to go where I want.

Stand? Sit. Aye. Sit. To change the perspective in our topography.

(Sits.)

Where I shall be ready to let the angels above softly carry me to a new place. Sit. Here. Control my points of vantage by harnessing a gravitational pull. (beat)

(Quickly stands)

OK! Here! Stand. Just me. Behave. Thank you, cliffs. Thank you, sea. Thank you glorious birds for not takin’ an Irish potato filled shit on me head.

(Peaceful)

Here. Stand. With all the thoughts we’re allowed. Where our minds don’t miss the goal of pure, non-concentrated liberty to wander. We become absolute with thought. Like how the willows fall from a tree . . .

. . . aye, the willows, pirouetting their way through the air, as though in slow motion, their journey spontaneous; unpredictable; their voyage unblemished by the assistance of wind (beat; smiles); a fine traveling companion, wind. Iz’nit. (nods) A fine time with an old friend.

(Moves to another spot; Sad; almost cries)

Stand. Here. And then I was not here, but shore I was somewhere. I was different. Better. Not so difficult? Or loud? Imbalanced. And then me head went numb from the ideas pushed through the air I breathe, and then (deeply inhales) oh, do I feel like living inside this wind, and then (inhales) I get caught on the wind, and ride it like an ocean wave, stretched high above all the sadness and then the . . . (beat; calm) aye.

Aye.

(Pause.)

Stand. And listen. And remember what once was. And have faith. And feel better. For the absence of friends reminds us how precious a gift is our lives. And how infinite is the memory of joy.

(Smiles; nods; very revealing.)

Iz’nit.

Here.

The End

We are humans (right?), which means we are immortal (I think?) and susceptible to certain injuries (I guess?). Our bodies have an uncanny aptitude for teaching us about physics and laws of gravity, applied at moments where we attempt to usurp the immortality in vain.

Bartenders are on a stage. It’s unavoidable. And bar injuries in front of half-stewed people relaxing at your bar is never fun. We bar professionals are taught to maintain our decorum whilst behind the stick. Getting hurt while bartending never looks cool. And if you’re a dork like me, you can’t help but unexpectedly finding awkward turns, twists and topples every time you need to grab something different than the well, the ice scoop, or the tickets flying at you.

Which brings us to The Ouch Club. Or Club Owey. Or The Ouch. Stories of when we got injured, hurt ourselves, or as I like to say, broke something extremely important and somehow lived through the wreckage, onward and upward. To quote one of my early bartender influences, Patrick Swayze in the seminal Road House, “Pain don’t hurt.” (Also, shout out to one of Jessie’s rec league soccer teams calling themselves Hat Trick Swayze. I dig it.)

Though many bartenders are viewed as demigods, we in fact are human, and still suffer the maladies of physics: moving too fast for our own good; losing our vision in darkened territories, finding our skin is not in fact unbreakable. We bruise. We bleed. We twist our knees trying to reach under-counter fridges, tweak cartilage in our hips sidestepping a hurried colleague, or definitely (oh we most definitely) find our wet hands trying to peel fruit too fast, too sloppy, and learn that sharp metal against soft skin can be detrimental to finishing a long shift without a major First-Aid pit stop.

These war stories come from all the talented people interviewed for my last cocktail book, The United States of Cocktails. I had an idea of publishing a little pocket compendium to the book at some point, maybe have little booklets where I could hand out during the book tour highlighting these all the bartenders I interviewed for the book throughout the experience writing and researching.

Alas, the book was published in 2020, which kinda made things difficult to 1) Travel, 2) Congregate in Bars, and 3) Spend money on books, drinks, or some combination of the two.

The real people in these celebrated stories endured to make sure everyone in the room had a Jack and Coke, a classic Negroni, a glass of Champagne at New Year’s midnight, and so much more.

Thank you everyone. Thank you to the bartenders who are not mentioned here. We all work together in this world. Let’s get out alive, preferably without excessive bandages wrapped around our hands or limbs.

“We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us. Death, or Bootwood.”

-- Charles Bukowski

WHAT’S THE WORST INJURY YOU SUFFERED WHILE BARTENDING?

DERMOT McCORMACK (Kettle of Fish, New York) – Back at the old Blind Tiger Ale House, we used to have free hot dogs on Wednesdays. They were self-serve, dirty water dogs. At the end of the night, I had to walk this massive hot dog container down a steep flight of stairs. One night I slipped on a half-eaten hot dog someone left on the stairs. The still-hot water poured all over my crotch, and I sat there and silently wept for 10 minutes. My left leg was dark purple for a month.

NATALIE BOVIS (The Liquid Muse, founder of New Mexico Cocktails & Culture Culinary Festival, New Mexico) — I sliced of a big piece of skin while using a mandolin. Ultimately, I guess I wasn’t being as careful as I should. It was pretty gross and I had to go to the hospital because of all the bleeding.

JACOB GRIER (Author/Bartender, Oregon) — Do injuries to my pride count? Because there was the time I invited a Tinder match to the bar and she ended up leaving her number for my co-worker.

JOHN DYE (Owner, Bryant’s Lounge, Milwaukee) — Oooo, I had the spindle of a blender dig into my thumb fingernail. It was a disgusting, gnarly accident that still makes me shiver.

SAM TREADWAY (Backbar, Boston) — Cut my fingers up pretty bad at different points. Fell down a flight of stairs spraining my ankle. But my favorite is dropping a 50 pound block of ice on my foot, breaking two toes and still working a 12 hour shift.

HUNT REVELL (Seabar, Athens, Georgia) — Damn. Just old man back stuff.

EMILY MORTON (Bar Director, Deli 126, Burlington, Vermont) — Ahhhhh, this is a good one. In the middle of a busy shift, I was looking up at a guest answering a question. Trying to be ever efficient, I was also putting a signed slip onto the ticket stabber with my left hand as I have one million times in my life. In a twisted moment of my epic clumsiness, I stabbed right through my hand instead. Like right through. A look of horror on the guest’s face, and a look of shock on mine, me and the stabber ran off the bar into the back dishwashing area. My friend the pastry chef saw my face, asked me what happened, and was greeted with a solitary sob. A laugh later, out came the stabber (very little blood), and off I went to the medical clinic to get a tetanus shot. To this day, not sure what happened to those tickets....

THOR MESSER (Formerly at Merchant, Madison, WI) — Jump kick off of bar, dislocated pinky toe.

MURRAY STENSON (Seattle, RIP dear Murray) — Rotator cuff. Working at the Zig Zag. We had a climbing wall, and as I went up to grab a bottle, it ripped. I still worked. I stirred everything, but I still worked. I never did the heavy lifting, anyway.

TOBY CECCHINI (New York) — I sliced my hand open on a jar of cherries, just cut my entire hand open, tendons and everything, when I was trying to save the jar from falling to the ground. I was by myself at the bar. I actually went home and thought I could just close it up with butterfly stitches, but then my wife asked if I was insane, as it was a gaping wound. I went to the hospital and got forty-five stitches and a repaired tendon. I also now have really bad arthritis in my thumbs from shaking cocktails. My hands are wrecked.

MORGAN MCKINNEY (Memphis) — I was in a minor accident in September 2017 when a drunk driver pulled out in front a friend’s motorcycle on the way home from a concert. Although I didn’t break anything, getting skipped across Madison Avenue like a rock across a pond was not an ideal way to end the night. No one could cover for me the next day, so I showed up and worked the whole shift still in the same ripped up jeans from the night before because I was so sore, I couldn’t get them off! Anytime I made a sour, I had to pass the shaker around to guests to shake for me because my shoulders and hands were so mangled from the accident I couldn’t do it long enough myself to get it cold. Physically it was one of the hardest shifts I’ve ever worked, but the communal energy coming from my customers when they were (sort of) forced to become part of the bartending experience was actually really cool to see. I ended up creating a pop up menu with drinks based on the whole experience.

TRISTEN HOFFER (Bismarck, North Dakota) — I zested my whole tip of my finger off. It was a factor of being “In the weeds,” carelessness, and trying to so too many things at once. My whole philosophy is based on procedures, best practices, and mis en place “everything in its place”. On this night, I was not in the right head space and didn’t take the correct steps to get myself out of this funk. The moment it happened I immediately felt myself become disappointed because I am a very outspoken person of taking care of yourself and taking the correct steps to prevent these types of things. So immediately I cleaned my wounds, taped my finger and jumped right back in to pull myself out of the weeds. Now I pride myself in always, no matter what, taking the correct precautions to finish a job.

IAN OLSON (New York) — Wine stem. Right through the palm of my hand. A little bit of blood. (Pause.) Yeah. A lot of blood.

JOSH GRAHAM (West Virginia) — We hand wash all of our glassware at Tin 202. Without looking down into the sink I plummeted my hand toward the drain to clean the sink not knowing a red wine glass had fallen in and shattered at the bottom. I sliced my middle finger down to the bone and another deep gash in my hand. Needless to say I was done mixing drinks for the evening.

NATASHA DAVID (New York, aka Jeremy Oertel’s wife) — Well I’ve hurt my back, and cut off nails with peelers, but I’d say the most dramatic experience was when I impaled a knife in my hand, looked down and immediately fainted.

JEREMY OERTEL (New York, aka Natasha David’s husband) —I once peeled off almost all of my fingernail on my pinky finger. It was the last cocktail I was making for the night at Death & Co. I was talking to a customer in front of me and the peeler slipped. I looked down and saw the orange twist I was cutting on the cutting board covered in blood. I didn’t get it to stop bleeding until the next day.

KEVIN KING (South Carolina) — It’s never fun racking your knee on the side of the rail!

JERMAINE WHITEHEAD (Seattle) — A snow day in Seattle where every bar on our street was closed except for ours. I’m full on running all over the place, dropping food, making drinks, running drinks, and clearing tables. I took an empty wine bottle and started to remove the metal wrapping around the lip of the bottle. It was becoming too difficult so I grabbed some scissors and started to force it off with the sharp side. I slipped and stabbed my pointer finger to the bone. Removed the scissors and the wound closed shut quickly but became a geyser as soon as I put tape on it and a plastic glove. Getting through that day was a HUGE challenge. Never got stitches.

BRANDON PECK (Virginia) — New Year’s Eve 2016, post shift, as the clock struck midnight I was convinced that it would be a great time to learn how to saber a bottle of bubbly. It popped on the first strike, but in the shock of my success I failed to follow through with the hand holding the short knife I’d used, and the jagged neck of sparkling wine rocked into the side of my hand cutting me deeply and spilling my blood all over the floor of the restaurant. I still look at the deep scar on my hand daily and laugh about how stupid an injury it was.

REBECCA CATE (California) — I’m not a professional bartender, but I successfully took off part of my pinky with a wide peeler making Smuggler’s Cove spiced rum.

ERIC HO (Ohio) — Cut off the tip of my finger with a brand new peeler. Bartended 1 handed for 15 min with a towel wrapped around my finger and hand raised over my head until I finished up the rush.

CODY HORAN (South Dakota) — We carve ice spheres for cocktails and when I first started I would give myself little nicks here and there but one time I cut the tip of my middle finger pretty bad, took a real good piece of meat and about a third of the nail with it.

JOY BUEHLER (Iowa) — I once got staph infection in a tiny cut of my hand during my last shift of a double-double at the end of an 80 hour week. It happened during brunch shift and by dinner service, I couldn’t open my right hand, let alone use a wine key or hold a bottle. I did learn how to bartend left-handed out of necessity but was eventually sent home. I ended up passing out from exhaustion despite the pain and by the time I awoke, my thumb and most of my palm had tripled in size. I affectionately called it my “Shrek Hand.” I had to take 1000mg of antibiotics daily for 2 weeks.

DALE DEGROFF (aka King Cocktail, New York) — My appendix burst in the middle of a shift at the Bel Air Hotel in Los Angeles, I had an emergency appendectomy at UCLA medical center 10 minutes away… my sons god father Paul, the steward at the hotel dragged my sorry ass there and basically saved my life.

Okay. Good for now. Round 1 of The Ouch Club has concluded.

If you’ve read to this point you are likely never going to try peeling another piece of fruit again.

I have a LONG list of bartenders telling me their most gnarly bar mishap and we are going to publish all of them, so stay tuned for ROUND 2 of THE OUCH CLUB. I also want to hear from you, dear reader and fellow mortal, about a story related to PAIN.

Pain makes us beautiful. Let’s share in some heinous recollections of the pain we all know and love.

My dental hygienist once told me “You’re awesome with pain.”

Then he retired.

It’s been four years since I’ve heard that.

I still don’t know what to do with that information.

Or can it?

Last week I was chatting with my wonderful wife-to-be about the life of Weezer. For whatever reason (okay, a shortsighted, limited one) I hypothesized something that may or may not came back to haunt me.

I spoke both positively and negatively about Weezer.

Have you done this before?

I’m sure you’ve done this before. About anything, really. But have you done this about Weezer?

If you have ever spent more than fifteen seconds explaining to someone why you like or dislike something in pop culture, you are revving the conflict engine of your own plus-minus custom-made automobile. A plus-minus in writing reflects the positive and negative attributes that can help drive conflict, offering a more three-dimensional take on a subject that benefits the story arc.

Share Bootwood

Weezer have been around forever. They made waves in the mid-1990s when MTV was still a thing. Their Blue Album is magnificent. Many would argue there is not one bad song on the album. My sneaky favorite is “Only In Dreams,” which I used to play on the jukebox while cleaning and closing the bar in my twenties. I hated the music our manager played so I would take two of my own hard-earned dollars and play the songs with the longest times. “Only In Dreams” checks in at a respectable 7 mins, 59 seconds. It is a slow crescendo crock-pot geyser from a band that has been through many ebbs and flows in their decades-long career.

However, as any band who sticks around for an extended period of time will indirectly tell you, their track record for bona fide hits cannot always be flawless.

I’m talking to you, Kings of Leon.

The reason I was thinking of Weezer in the first place was simple: I was walking the magic pups last weekend, and as my brain is occasionally apt to do, it conjured the memory of Weezer’s “Holiday,” off the Blue album.

Let’s go away for a while
You and I
To a strange and distant land
Where they speak no word of truth
But we don’t understand anyway

Holiday
Far away, to stay
On a holiday, far away
Let’s go today
In a heartbeat
Heartbeat, heartbeat

That song is a banger.

I now just realized: the opening lyrics might be my reaction to so much AI content.

That song slays almost every demon.

Our reality can be best summed up by how we as individuals followed Weezer’s career.

Before AI, we lived in precious binary times. Things were not necessarily plus and minus, but fairly uncomplicated. Less automated, for sure. Less algorithms. Less Maroon 5.

It was when Weezer released “Beverly Hills” when life became like what our future resembles. In a cleaner, happier, simpler time, life was like early Weezer. Blue. Green. A “Holiday,” if you will.

An (A)Island in the sun, if you pun.

And then, just like AI, the collective universe turned into an inevitable ship on a uncharted waters with the release of “Beverly Hills.”

“Beverly Hills” was the crack in the structure we can never repair. It found its way into our eardrums even when we most certainly did not ask for it, and it lodged itself against two mighty and narrow walls, so that the space between our ears could never escape.

Now before I continue, please understand I am not denigrating the impact of “Beverly Hills.” There is a reason why the song has been unable to escape my head for the past week.

It’s simple.

It’s catchy.

It has hand claps.

Basically, my fastest way of breaking down the song is to associate as a companion piece somewhere between Queen’s stomp-stomp-clap “We Will Rock You” and some vaguely familiar high school bleacher foot-stomping song, likely suggesting that I am still thinking about “We Will Rock You,” but trying to find an alternate form to express meaning.

Just like how I feel about AI.

Maybe not exactly how I feel about AI.

I enjoy most of Weezer’s songs. I would never say I hate “Beverly Hills.” How could I if it’s been playing in my head for a week. If anything, I should be mad with my brain for fixating on the easily accessible repetitiveness of a song that embodies one of Weezer’s greatest skills: they are very good at math. Catchy songs are like that. Mathematical equations we easily interpret.

I don’t hate the song. I don’t like the opening little drum intro. But I don’t hate the song. I don’t like the female background vocals singing “Gimme gimme, gimme gimme.” Okay maybe I hate that a little bit. I don’t like it’s about wanting to connect with celebrities when rock and roll is about a feeling of non-conformity, liberation and unpredictable emotion. But I don’t hate the song.

Maybe how I feel about “Beverly Hills” is exactly how I feel about AI.

I don’t hate AI, but I hate plagiarizing, unoriginal thoughts from a formless, humorless algorithm of false sincerity, charm and creativity.

Here’s lead singer Rivers Cuomo explaining “Beverly Hills”

"I was at the opening of the new Hollywood Bowl and I flipped through the program and I saw a picture of Wilson Phillips," he said. "And for some reason I just thought how nice it would be to marry, like, an 'established' celebrity and live in Beverly Hills and be part of that world. And it was a totally sincere desire. And then I wrote that song, 'Beverly Hills.' For some reason, by the time it came out and the video came out, it got twisted around into something that seemed sarcastic. But originally it wasn't meant to be sarcastic at all."

Now, here’s the hammer…

As I am apt to do, I will take a little compulsion (thank you Dean Bakopolous for calling attention to our ongoing force majeure) and expand it to no foreseeable end.

I wanted to write down why “Holiday” appeared in my head as I was walking the dogs, only to find days later I had conjured “Beverly Hills” from out of another realm, and like songs we don’t approve of in our ever-shifting Top 40 playlist, I wanted to banish “Beverly Hills” from ever being considered as a Top 40 selection. I wanted “Beverly Hills” to not play when I entered a random grocery store, gas station, or any other public business specializing in conformity. It’s fun to be an outsider amongst the unsuspecting masses.

THEN, THIS HAPPENED…

I swear to God I wish I was making this up, but as I was typing the beginning of this article the actual song -- “Beverly Hills” -- started playing in the cafe I was writing this from.

Welp.

Congratulations.

We are all going to hell.

A figurative "Beverly Hills,” if you will.

I’ll say this much about AI: it can’t hand-clap and foot-stomp for shit.

Roland Bartels, aka Grandpa Bartels, will always remain on my Mt. Rushmore of literary influences. And the story behind his now famous one-page letter, titled “WHY WRITE????” is a revealing screed for anyone seeking affirmation or inspiration on the written word and our levels of creative encouragement.

In case you missed the recent WPR post, I wanted to share the full essay with all of you, along with some extra credit images and content surrounding Grandpa Bartels and his legacy.

Hope you enjoy.

WHY WRITE????

Ask any writer to tell you their influences and you will hear the great names passed around. Joan Didion. John Steinbeck. Toni Morrison. While these writers continue to impress me with their words, the most influential writer I have ever known never had a New York Times bestseller, but easily carried a more distinguished title: Grandpa.

When my grandfather, Roland Bartels, retired in the early 1980s, he decided he did not want to sit and watch television every day. Most men in Rollie’s small Wisconsin hometown of Shawano talked about hunting, fishing and the Green Bay Packers. So he decided to challenge his comfort zone and try a local writing class, consisting of the teacher, six other local women, and himself.

THE LEGEND OF THE ONE-FINGERED WRITER

Rollie suffered from arthritis, and his hands often shook. Since couldn’t write longhand very well, he figured he could type if the opportunity presented itself. So my grandmother purchased a typewriter for him from St. Vincent’s, and at seventy-two-years years young Grandpa Bartels became a writer.

Rollie made the written word a priority in his daily life. He typed one finger at a time, one page a day, and he enjoyed the challenge of capturing the world on that single page, harboring one simple objective: fill the page with a topic important to you, and that’s a day well spent wondering about the world.

Usually it was his right index finger, but on days where he was particularly excited to get his words on the page (something writers all experience to varying degrees today) he would apply both index fingers to capture his beliefs. I remember visiting my grandparents and hearing the click…clack…(time)…click…(time)…clack… coming from their bedroom, which is where he wrote, a small desk at the foot of their bed, next to a sunny window with thin white curtains.

His writing was honest, confrontational and sincere, embodying curiosities of the world at large and, more specifically, his neighborhood community. Eventually he started submitting articles to the local Shawano newspaper and received many publications. Many of his articles reflected a voice of unending curiosity toward the world:

“Why does the world act this way?”

“Who did this person at the Post Office budging in line think they were?”

“Where’s the best Wisconsin fish fry on a Friday evening?”

The one-finger-typed letters harbor grammatical and physical errors, which I often remark celebrates their uniqueness, since I feel that mistakes are beautiful. It reminds us that nothing – from the first words to the final sentiment – is ever going to be perfect, but it is uniquely ours. I am one of those freaks who celebrate seeing typos in a hardcover first edition print. It’s a refreshing reminder human beings still get the first and last laugh at computers and technology simply by being fallible.

I also speak from experience when I say it can sometimes be very challenging to capture full sentiment in approximately 250 words.

Share Bootwood

THE BLANK PAGE

For writers, inspiration comes in many forms. There are hundreds of excuses to not write. But why do we write? Some say they feel most like themselves when writing. Andrea Gibson wrote to remember, to heal, and to let the air in. Nicole Krauss says it never comes out clear enough when we speak, so writing provides the ideal translation. Paulo Coehlo writes as a way to try turning sadness into longing.

If “Why Write????” is beneficial for anyone, I hope it inspires people who often found the blank page as too adversarial. His words should arrive to encourage the unique voice we all have in our writing. “I am kind of floating in a sea of thought,” he says. He was using his daydreams to conjure the right sentiment. The time spent facing the blank page and working at his typewriter was sacred, which is why he carved out the daily exercise, something any dedicated writer understands.

We exist in a fragile literary time. I still enjoy writing more than anything in this world, but does everyone who used to love writing still enjoy that as much as they did yesterday? We’re only subjected to more distractions with each passing moment. I tuck away and find time to write whenever I can, or whenever I need to form sentences on pages with my thoughts. I am still that nineteen-year-old kid, watching the world unfold before my eyes, happy to start a sentence halfway, then cross it out or delete it, breathe, think, then begin again. The process is invigorating. I still love the warm morning sun effects of beginning a new story; still savor the daily afternoon breezes I get after finishing a protein-healthy sentence; still worship the illustrious, comforting moon when it appears over some well-constructed paragraphs.

There is no hidden meaning to approaching the blank page, and most writers understand the weight of what awaits them across those empty lines and pages.

Stephen King’s On Writing calls the act anything but mild:

“You can approach the act of writing with nervousness, excitement, hopefulness or even despair – the sense that you can never completely put on the page what’s in your mind and heart. You can come to the act with your fists clenched and your eyes narrow, ready to kick ass and take down names. You can come to it because you want a girl to marry you or because you want to change the world. Come to it any way but lightly. Let me say it again: you must not come lightly to the blank page.”

Anne Lamott’s holistic Bird By Bird captures the inspiration of what some of us are lucky enough to find early in life: our family. “Ever since I was a little kid,” she writes, “I’ve thought that there was something noble and mysterious about writing, about the people who could do it well, who could create a world as if they were little gods or sorcerers.”

If you ever have the chance to drop by Joseph Leonard, a cozy restaurant in the heart of New York’s Greenwich Village with many Wisconsin ties, you will find where the legacy of Grandpa Bartels really continues through to this day. Joseph Leonard was named after my dear friend Gabriel Stulman’s two grandfathers, Joseph and Leonard. Throughout the intimate West Village restaurant there are framed photos of grandfathers connected to the people who helped Joseph Leonard become a wonderful neighborhood restaurant. When we opened, I didn’t have a framed photo of my grandfather – who had passed away six years earlier – but I had many pages of inspiring letters, poems and musings on the world, and I had been collecting his letters as inspiration for my own writing.

Gabriel was so touched when he read my grandfather’s “Why Write????” he wanted to frame it and hang it somewhere everyone could see it.

We ended up hanging it in the bathroom.

“WHY WRITE????” became so popular we had to reconsider how to share it with everyone, as people were repeatedly happy to steal the framed copy on the wall. So we made copies with a sign attached to the letter, saying “Copies Available at Bar,” and eventually, we made the letter into postcards we handed out as check presenters, and the response was quite overwhelming. Diners were always asking about the letter. “Who wrote that?” “Who was that writer?” “Did he have a connection to this restaurant?”

“Why Write????” was a conversation stimulant for people attending the restaurant, offering me a chance to speak about my grandpa as though he were still living larger than life, and share a little of his story. Even certain celebrities, like Robin Wright of The Princess Bride, asked for copies, inspired by the letter’s genuine sentiment. The domino effect of his letters achieved something he never imagined when writing down his thoughts: his words lived on, and were connecting to other artists, igniting their own artistic creativity. Musicians, actors, painters and other writers commented on how influential “Why Write????” connected with them, informing me they keep Grandpa Bartels’ message posted on their fridge, or framed in their own homes (some even all the way across the ocean in Europe) and above their writing table, as reminders of why we aim to create stories with words.

Grandpa Bartels’ “Why Write????” captures one person’s musings on the creative possibilities surrounding their daily life, ruminating over reasons why writers attempt to form words in the first place. “Why Write????” takes one blank page and reflects on what the writer has seen, heard, and believed to be true, even if it is conjured from the imagination.

To this day, whenever I read it I get goose bumps before finishing the letter.

Reading Grandpa Bartels’ writing was like listening to Sam Cooke on vinyl; there’s just so much heart and soul bursting out with every line. His words took on the voice of our favorite poets: observational, curious, and most of all, truthful.

If “Why Write????” is beneficial for anyone, I hope it inspires people who often found the blank page as too adversarial. His words should arrive to encourage the unique voice we all have in our writing. “I am kind of floating in a sea of thought,” he says. He was using his daydreams to conjure the right sentiment. The time spent facing the blank page and working at his typewriter was sacred, which is why he carved out the daily exercise, something any dedicated writer understands.

My grandfather loved words the way I hope you love words; he discovered them on his own terms and used what he could find to craft an ongoing wonder of our literary ecosystem. He delighted in the sounds they made inside his head, the way they unfurled as he danced across their landscapes. He was a literary hero on his own terms, the way many other people are who take to writing with the appropriate respect and discipline it warrants.

COULDA, WOULDA, SHOULDA

The act of writing is often met with its bottomless quicksand of distractions. (There’s always more peanut butter in the cupboard and a spoon with my name on it.) And sorry to sound like a 1970s country singer, but sometimes the only payoff can often be a sore lower back, cramped muscles and a bitter realization you really need to clean the kitchen, pay bills, or actually put on clothes and get fresh air.

I have other letters framed and posted from Grandpa Bartels, ruminations on a life of a person being reflective, of a time in a person’s day where they captured moments of contemplative wonder. They are stories of living in small town America, stories of our family, opinions on community, and poems that read like flowers growing on the page. They are just as invaluable as my Amy Hempel short stories, my Charles Baxter essays, my dog-eared copy of The Collected Works of Billy the Kid by Michael Ondaatje.

If I am ever weary or losing focus on a writing assignment, or challenged by the rigor and distractions of daily life, I think of my grandpa at his tiny writing desk. Stories are bridges, and writers are the engineers responsible for the blueprints of their design.

The end of Grandpa Bartels’ lovely one-page manifesto is a reflective nod to those special connections we find and appreciate as we maneuver through the legacy of our time on earth. “I just love putting words on paper,” he says. “I wish I found this out earlier in life.”

Whether it’s a little notebook you carry in your back pocket, or a sheet of paper with a pen next to your bed, or even the audio recording on your smart phone, make time to capture the words churning inside your head. We are so lucky to find these opportunities while living inside a world asking for our attention every moment of every waking day. Make time to find the opportunity to put your own thoughts into words. Make it for nothing more than the moments you coulda, woulda, shoulda, and fill that blank page with some soulful contemplation, because the world is waiting for what you have to say.

Make it last as long as you can.

I hope you find some joy and inspiration from his letter for your own writing.

Welcome to Movie ‘Bout, the fast-talkin’, fast-walkin’, groovin’ you best get movin’ first-ever film segment of Bootwood.

Movie ‘Bout is just that. We talk movies and what they are all about. Each segment will feature two different movies, highlight their ups, their downs, and what makes these expressions of art powerful conduits for cultural reflection and emotional connectivity.

And because we are all rabid-mouthed barbarians in this never-ending thunderdome of life, one of these films will prevail in a true knock-down drag-out bout of iconic cinematic glory.

Think the original Star Wars vs. the first Star Trek, impressively titled Star Trek: The Motion Picture.

Winner: Star Wars.

Why: Because Bootwood says so!

Some future Movie ‘Bout mash-up examples:

• Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade vs. Last Days of Disco = INDIANA DAYS and the LAST CRUSADE OF DISCO

• Miami Vice vs. Heat = MIAMI HEAT (Not just an NBA team, but a long-awaited Michael Mann Movie ‘Bout face-off!)

• Buffalo ‘66 vs. Donnie Darko = BUFFALO DONNIE

• Freaky Friday vs. Mean Girls = FREAKY MEAN FRIDAY GIRLS

Movie ‘Bout will ask the difficult questions we have long to know the answers to:

• What makes these films classic?

• What is unforgettable about their influence?

• What didn’t work?

• Memorable performance or scene?

• How much money can some people have, then take that money and give it away like it was a stale bucket of badly seasoned popcorn.

And if you must know, comparing films drives me crazy. The fact I thought of this while I was half-asleep should give everything away.

We can all agree that reviewing films is subjective. So please know these opinions are the opinions of one little person. You may feel strongly about certain categories or technicalities more than Bootwood. And that’s okay.

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Here is the MOVIE ‘BOUT criteria:

• STORY/PLOT — What’s all this hullabaloo about?

• SCRIPT — Any great film has to start with the screenwriting. I didn’t serve bone dry Ketel One Martinis to William Goldman for an entire summer to not tell you that, buster.

• DIALOGUE — Wait, isn’t the SCRIPT section the Dialogue? Yes, it is. But this is any noteworthy lines of dialogue we should be saying to our friends and loved ones (instead of speaking to each other like normal, totally boring people) for the rest of our lives.

• DIRECTOR — They take the script and bring it to life. Right? I don’t know.

• LEADS — The hot shots. The big names. The leads. The Glengarry leads.

• SUPPORTING — Basically asking, “Who is the Viola Davis in this? The Allison Janney? Sam Rockwell. Willem Dafoe.” Because honestly, they often serve the most important role: How much will I remember this film? The supporting actors are usually the ones I never forget when I say I love a film.

• MUSICAL SCORE — I was really into film scores when I was a teenager and developing my love for cinema. Lately this has been influencing me more. Is it my age? Does mortality make us appreciate music more? Table that.

• BEST SCENE — A little shortsighted perhaps?

• MOXIE — Which film’s got more razzmatazz? Which one makes us simmer, twitch and lie awake at night. Which would win in an unsanctioned kickboxing event reminiscent of pretty much any 1980s Jean-Claude Van Damme film? (Editor’s note: Bootwood does not encourage or support violence).

RATING

Not every Movie ‘Bout will have every category. One, that’s way too long! Two, you all have lives. Three, I have a life. Or had one, until this pesky little newsletter started dictating my sleepless nights.

Each category is not based on what is better, but in my mind who I believe has the Advantage.

At the end, the more Advantages wins the contest.

Kapish?

I don’t where this is going.

As with many creative ideas, this one started lying in bad, half-awake, half-asleep, battling some cold.

Am I an expert? No. Do I have a degree in film appreciation? What? No. Think of me as a low-rent Patton Oswalt character, only I’m real.

Wait, am I a nerd?

Let’s get cookin’!

MOVIE ‘BOUT, Volume 1

ONE BATTLE AFTER ANOTHER vs. ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO’S NEST

STORY/PLOT

BATTLE: A burnout Revolutionary and a self-hating neo-Nazi who indirectly stare each other down amidst a backdrop of unforeseen consequences. And the women who are all-too-thinly stereotyped to support their misgivings.

CUCKOO: A semi-crazy low-grade thief gets admitted to a mental hospital and finds himself running the show, facing off against a domineering head nurse.

Advantage: Cuckoo.

SCRIPT

These are both adaptations from incredible writers. Battle is adapted from a story by Thomas Pynchon. Ken Kesey’s Cuckoo was a celebrated novel. A compliment to P.T. Anderson would be I feel he’s a true screenwriter with exemplary directing skills. He knows the story he is about to take on better than anyone else. A less impressive script in terms of broad story and scope, but better dialogue. Cuckoo won the Oscar for Best Adapted Screenplay.

Advantage: Battle is a strong contender for Best Adapted Screenplay, but even if it wins I still pick Cuckoo.

DIRECTOR

BATTLE: Paul Thomas Anderson. Some of our most talked about modern-day films. An auteur’s auteur. I served numerous Basil Gimlets to P.T. Anderson one night at Joseph Leonard. He loved them. Loved. Them. I wrote the recipe down for him on a napkin. What did he do after that night? He went out and made The Master. Was the Basil Gimlet the inspiration for making The Master? We don’t know. But on that little napkin I had written:

Basil Gimlet: Gin. Lime. Sugar. Fresh Basil.

Keep crushing it, P.T. Anderson.

Your pal, Brian Bartels (aka The Master)

CUCKOO: Milos Forman. An icon. Responsible for many wonderful films. Maybe I’m biased, but on paper he does not stand up alongside P.T. Anderson’s ouevre. However, this is about two specific films in their canon. Which one is better directed? One Battle? One Flew? In this nearly impossible and highly superfluous test of comparing two different films from two different eras and pitting their relevance against one another, my gut wants to pick Forman’s direction of Cuckoo, largely for his masterful capture of the ensemble cast.

Damn it!!!

Advantage: Don’t make me answer this…I gotta go P.T. Anderson. What?!? Forman won for Best Director. I know! This Movie ‘Bout only just began and already I’m developing a hernia from the comparisons.

LEADS

BATTLE: Leonardo DiCaprio, the Jack Nicholson of our time. Isn’t it uncanny how much he’s starting to look like Nicholson…? Am I alone here…? Leo is our modern-day version of a movie star. Everyone has a favorite Leo. Mine’s Aviator. His One Battle character was fine. He’s been far better in other performances.

CUCKOO: Jack Nicholson, the Jack Nicholson of former day. A bona fide leading man. A man. A man’s man. A woman’s man. The man we all felt we should be more like, then realize…maybe not…? There are aspects of his performance in Cuckoo which are just as terrifying as his Shining. Plus he shoots hoops. And wins the Oscar.

Advantage: Come on. Nicholson. No-brainer.

SUPPORTING

It’s unfair to compare, as the Cuckoo supporting roles are some of the best supporting roles we have come to admire with time. Nurse Ratched is a delight in the most antithetical way. Chief. Harding. Danny DeVito as “Martini” is adorablito (that’s a new word I made up to capture the magnificence of Danny DeVito. Adorablito. Does it work? Meh). The performances in Battle are all great, and Benicio Del Toro, one of the best low-boiled brooders out there, is once again solid. His signature 45 degree angle of keeping his head pointed to the ground is akin to taking a Bill Irwin clown class on emotionally ambiguous posture technique (that’s a compliment). Having said that, I am grateful for the casting of the female leads, who provided as much texture and depth as the script allowed, given their somewhat limited time onscreen. My biggest complaint about the film was how these optimistically strong Black female characters get all-too-easily hypersexualized and countercultured around old white men who simply don’t have enough credibility to remain our primary onscreen focus. Even though the women were fictional characters, it is unfair to them. Regina Hall’s character alone deserved better.

Advantage: Nurse Ratched’s character alone elevates my impression of One Flew. But to be fair, I have seen that film probably 7-10 times due to my DVD generation status. And still I can’t help but put Louise Fletcher’s Nurse Ratched on a pedastal. Which should make the contest of comparing these two films end right here.

Sidebar Tenet: If Harry Dean Stanton would have been in One Flew — and I don’t really care which role, he could’ve played a wastebasket in a corner — it would probably be in my top 20 films of all time.

But wait!

MUSICAL SCORE

BATTLE: Done by Radiohead and The Smile’s Jonny Greenwood, but honestly he’s been a righteous film score presence for more than a decade now. I’m not going to lie. The film score was my first reaction after having seen One Battle. I love just about everything associated with Jonny Greenwood. And clearly so does P.T. Anderson. Don’t mess with a great collaboration.

CUCKOO: And having said that, don’t sleep on Mr. Jack Nitzsche, composer for Cuckoo, who was part of wacko Phil Spector’s entourage until he spun off and began his own musical torrent, eventually working with The Rolling Stones and Neil Young. Nitszche was gifted in off-kilter arrangements, and was responsible for making The Exorcist sound more terrifying than ever before. An incredible career.

Advantage: Exorcist schmeckxorcist. Greenwood!

BEST SCENE

BATTLE: The highway scene. A new frontier for P.T. Anderson that felt worth the wait and payoff.

CUCKOO: A few come to mind. But probably shooting hoops with Chief where he eventually gets the ball in the hole. You can take the basketball out of the kid but you can’t take the kid out of basketball.

Advantage: Battle.

LESSONS

BATTLE: Sean Penn’s arm veins have their own topography.

CUCKOO: Break on through to the other side!

The struggle for individuality over oppressive systems is rife throughout these two films. Rebellion and liberation are appetizing themes when our characters get too comfortable in societal norms. To make change in the world requires sacrifice. Both films provide examples of how outside influences want to control our narratives. Both films illustrate the need for community and empathy through their characters similarities and differences. Both films support topics we currently cannot escape in our daily lives. Extremism. Struggle. Divisiveness.

Having said all that gobbledygook, only one of these films is adorablito, and without further ado…

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FIRST EVER MOVIE ‘BOUT WINNER:

One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest

HUZZAH!!!

We have concluded our first-ever Bootwood MOVIE ‘BOUT!

When it’s all said and done, the most honest question I ask myself is, Which one of these films will we still be talking about 25 years from now? Maybe that gives One Flew an unfair advantage. I feel like that would be my answer

Perhaps some of you agreed with some of my thoughts, and maybe some of you have vehemently disagreed in other areas. Like I previously mentioned all of this can be highly subjective. If you have any opinions on these films, hey the shipping is always free, kids. Include them below in the comments section.

Now can I get some sleep…?

One year ago, I was just like many Americans.

I was just like you.

I was normal.

I paid taxes, didn’t drink enough water, started listening to more Bad Bunny, slept well on occasion, marveled in the PR stunt pulled off by the Severance cast in Grand Central Station, had zero reaction to TikTok being briefly banned, and didn’t know anything about “6-7.”

And then, like over 130 million cardholders before me, I entered Costco for the first time.

With a card.

And a seemingly unshakeable look on my face.

And an attitude that said, “I seen a million faces, and I rocked them all!”

And then, a GIGANTIC BURST OF AIR descended on me from above, shadows heightened, and I instantly realized, “Jeepers this place is way too big, eh?”

I always wondered about being inside the Costco interplanetary orbit. What was it like? Who hung out there? What were they doing all day? And then, in December 2024, I received my entry into the realm of the unknown: A Costco membership. It was like discovering another new secret level in Super Mario Brothers. It was paradise by the dashboard light. As my dear friend Robert Plant once famously said:

Yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run

There’s still time to change the road you’re on.

And it makes me wonder…

Ohh, oh-oh

Your head is humming and it won’t go, in case you don’t know

The piper’s calling you to join him…

In this version of Stairway to Heaven, the two paths are my former life and my future existence. The road is what leads me from my safe home to the unexplored valleys and forests echoing with laughter. My head is always humming, so that’s nothing new. And the esteemed piper, in this version of a celebrated Led Zeppelin rock and roll classic, is Costco.

To her credit, Jessie was unselfish in offering me this opportunity to become a Costco member. She did not celebrate the idea of supporting a giant warehouse with people pushing carts stocked with excess items, some of which were likely going to be wasted.

Like always, she was right.

Costco is a monster business. I don’t know what the average Costco pulls in on a daily basis, but it’s approximately $500,000. Pocket change, right? Much of their steady income is from memberships, which makes sense, because every Costco I have been in for the past year has been full of people. Knowing how busy any consumer-facing warehouse can be on a weekend, I tend to avoid those kinds of spaces. Not just because large groups of white people scare me, but I have little to offer their efforts if the crowd turns mob-like.

I usually grace Costco on Mondays, when it’s quieter and mostly packed with large groups of people hauling carts full of bulk items like 600 rolls of toilet paper for five bucks, three Shark vacuums retailing at $299.00, and countless cases of diet soda you could never possibly consume in this lifetime.

When one enters Costco, you can literally feel the commerce blasting you at the threshold. Some call that a heat fan. No. Deliberate. It’s akin to the glaucoma test one receives at the optometrist, only instead of a glaucoma test, this blast of air is for people to remember their credit card as they arrive through the hallowed gates of a multi-billion dollar warehouse club.

If there is a soundtrack to opening credits of my Costco experience, it would start with the Magnetic Fields “Like A Chicken With Its Head Cut Off” as I begin shopping. That’s why, whenever I “shop” at Costco, I need a list. My itinerary is as follows:

• Find items on list.

• Acquire them with little to no distraction.

• Find exit.

• Leave as fast as humanly possible.

• If you see a protein shake sample, stop and slam one. Doesn’t matter if it’s vanilla, chocolate, coffee latte, or sawdust.

• Watch out for kids. They are untethered, undomesticated and seemingly rabid.

• WATCH OUT FOR KIDS!!!!

Costco speaks to me. Not in a Obi Wan-Konobi kind of way, where an old man in a tattered cloak mysteriously appears and begins spewing random factoids. I can get that for free in the corner of any McDonald’s. But there is a Force within the walls of Costco, an invisible mystical energy coupled with an undeniable law of physics, and somewhere, inside those two portals of electromagnetism, I seek communion.

When I walk into Costco, many things start speaking to me inside my head. “Holy shit” is one of them. I say that in my head, directed toward the 100-inch Hisense TV for $1499.00 — not to be confused with the 98-inch Samsung for $1999.00. Items I will never consider purchasing. There are barometers to consider inside this Narnia-like warehouse. The light, for one, is not so much forgiving as it is giving. We all bask in the warm, glowing warmth of Costco’s never-ending shelves and unyielding supply of Whatever you need is guaranteed. I am waiting for the day when I enter, spend twenty minutes inside, and upon leaving, place my hand to my face, as though I have been standing in the sun for a little while, only to have an attendant say aloud, “Hope you enjoyed the complimentary suntan,” they’ll say, pointing up at the overhead lights, “Free Vitamin D on Tuesdays.”

In my one year of being a Costco member I have come across some fascinating discoveries. Like any membership it has its pros and cons.

Such as:

PRO: Costco has something for everyone.

CON: Costco has something for everyone.

I am but a humble word farmer, park rangers. While I believe Costco has its own discounted items if purchased in bulk, one can be caught off-guard from the levels of grabbing boxes and putting them in a personal cart, only to find the 12 items in your cart are over $200.00. What? When? How? If I had kids I would most definitely be telling them they would be paying their way through college. I would also tell them they were not allowed in Costco, as the other children there bite.

PRO: Every aisle is a treasure hunt!

CON: Where in the hell did they relocate the doggie Denta-stix????

Like any smart national warehouse supply store, Costco re-arranges their sections and aisles on a regular basis, thereby forcing the returning consumer to stop and review where they used to always find the incredibly addictive Aussie bites, only to find — whoopsies — they mysteriously moved three aisles over from the last time you were there.

Sneaky.

Smart.

Point: Costco.

PRO: The prices are hard to ignore.

CON: My ADD is hard to ignore.

I have never been diagnosed, but the signs are all there. I should not be let loose in a giant warehouse with little to no signage and the words “Deal” and “Sale” splattered everywhere. When Toys ‘R Us was in business I was the little kid who never wanted to leave and wanted every thing on every shelf. (Funny how distance offers perspective).

After one year, however, I have conditioned myself to know what I need and how to navigate the distractions and detours so well I can be in and out in 15-20 minutes.

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PRO: Costco has many great prices on bulk items.

CON: Some items purchased in large quantity contain processed foods, which are not great for our longevity as humans.

Speaking of humans, how great is it that Costco is DEI-friendly? Well done, good people of Issaquah, Washington. Will our next pup be named Kirkland? Bite your tongue.

PRO: On any given day, Costco has many sample stations.

CON: On any given day, feral children are on the loose in a commerce-based zoo, and that zoo is called Costco.

Dear Parents,

Your. Children. Are. Not. Human. Not to sound like an old barefoot prospector with no shirt under my overalls, these little whippersnappers need some parental guidance. The future of AI is not as dangerous as the modern-day threat of a child running loose in a Costco warehouse. The poor sample station employees get absolutely demolished by the youth of today. As someone who was once a child, a rambunctious, errant, enfant terrible human version of a Mentos mint dropped into a 2 liter bottle of Coca-Cola, I can honestly say, “Why didn’t someone put me to sleep until I reached puberty?”

SAMPLES

We are humans. Right? We are. Let’s accept it. Pat yourself on the back. Good job, human! And when we see free things, we elevate to their reciprocities. It’s nice to feel like life can be easier once in a while. I’ve never felt I owed someone when I have been given a free sample in a Costco, but I can see how people might return the favor of wanting to support the machine that provides the freebies.

What I will say about Costco samples in general is this: most of the people giving out samples are older, possibly retired, and just calmly working their station with the utmost professionalism someone can provide while giving out free samples. Every time I grab a sample I pay attention to the other sharks in the water, seeking their daily chum. Barely anyone says “Thank you” to them. The cattle enter the pen, take their hay, then quietly scurry. It’s fascinating. And sad.

TOP 11 THINGS AT COSTCO

• Catalina Crunch — Cinnamon Toast for the soul.

• No one really stopping to talk to anyone else. Get in. Get immersed. GTFO.

• Aussie Bites — You just gotta try one. And then it’s over.

• Puh-puh-puh-puh-puh PROTEIN powder

• Samples. Lunch, anyone?

• The dad with plumber’s crack and an empty shopping cart, standing in the same spot, looking around at all the signs, shelves, and deals, frozen like a deer in a clearing, staring at the traffic slowly moving off in the distance.

• A GIANT bag of pine nuts for $23.

• A GIANT jar of honey for $12.

• Kirkland Organic Peanut Butter. Spread. It. On.

• The quinoa and brown rice sample lady who starts talking about her son, “Who’s, you know, still livin’ at home and all that, but he’s trying to get back to school cuz all his friends are there, and I keep telling him, ‘Ya gotta get out of the basement and start figuring stuff out in the real world, Troy.’ Cuz he’s not a bad kid, you know. Troy. He’s really not. I mean, he got into some stuff in high school, but that was, you know, that was a long time ago. And people can change. Except maybe his father, who lives in God knows where these days, doin’ God only knows what…”

• Leaving

Having said that, I want to be kind with how many people say it’s fulfilling to work at Costco. The last time I visited an employee in the pharmacy was overheard saying, “This is by far the best job I have ever had. I love it here.”

$1.50 HOT DOG and SODA

“What about the $1.50 hot dog and soda?” is what some of you are already asking. I know this because that’s what everyone has asked me since becoming a member.

Yes. It’s a lovely amenity. I did it twice. It did not remind me of being at the ballpark. It reminded me I am sitting around people dead-eyeing each other while the soft beeps of bulk items are continuously scanned.

And then, finally, we reach the exit. The last hurdle in the Costco Jumanji boardgame of adventure. Daylight is nigh. A resurfacing. A new beginning. We keep our itemized list and have it at the ready so a person with a neon highlighter can rummage through our things (I admit, each time they do this I half-expect them to say, “Oooohhh, I’ve been looking for some high fiber morning snacks just like this, how about I take yours…?”).

Once through that last blast of your glaucoma air test, you are free to re-enter civilization, provided you find your car in a parking lot full of drivers hellbent on making you Frogger in their real-life interactive game.

My support of local small businesses remains intact. We are passionate members of our local Co-Op. As a small business owner I cannot help but gravitate toward the community-based organizations that connect us and build stronger social fabric, sustainable employment, environmental benefit, and heightened personalized service.

Some deals are simply hard to pass up when money is tight.

We got my in-laws Bill and Peg a membership this year. They took a photo outside as well.

It’s a sickness.

A beautiful, maddening, intoxicating, quasi-religious, mystifying sickness.

Am I forever changed? Nah.

But I did renew our membership.

And I’m buying a Stairway To Heaven.

It’s $39.00 at Costco.

$76.00 everywhere else.

2025 happened. We laughed. We cried. We AI’d. But the real truth is my lists were MUCH LONGER.

One of the lists I originally had was my favorite music selections of the year. These are always rip-roaring fun to make. Why? Because there is no wrong answer. When I read other peoples lists of their favorite films, books, music and other art forms of each passing year, it is 1) Great to be included in someone sharing their experiences, 2) Intellectually gratifying, 3) Remarkable that anyone is documenting life this way, and 4) Quite simply, a small reward for all of us having finished whatever nonsense that transpired the previous year.

It’s incredible to think about how much content we ingest over 365 days. I wish I had Steven Soderbergh’s dedication to documenting everything I viewed, but the reality is I am a very busy man, Mr. Soderbergh, sir. Even though we once shared an exit from Madison Square Garden, climbing up multiple escalators and endless stairs from the 34th Street train stop, and even though inside my head I was saying Holy shit that’s Steven Soderbergh carrying a duffel bag no one else recognizes him? he’s a brilliant director has anyone around our proximity seen his early films? they’re excellent what am I doing sharing steps with a cinematic genius who else is documenting this? I knew it was best we went our separate ways. (If I am making lists of Top 10 Fanboy Moments around my influences, that brief moment would make the cut).

Speaking of venerable filmmakers, let’s get to music. Music is never going anywhere, and as much as people were paying attention to the Geese flying around New York, I think Chicago music is playing way above the rim right now. With all the tears, fears and balladeers we heard in 2025, we just plain gotta have our own Best of Bootwood Music post, park rangers….

"Ocean’s 11, Oceans 12, Oceans whatever. Bootwood is forever.”

— Steven Soderbergh

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TOP SONGS 2025 (in no particular order):

“First It Was A Movie, Then It Was A Book” — Florry. Okay, giddy up. This song puts all the other songs on its back and goes for nice long hike through rolling hills and tall grass and stops to cut wood and build little fires with the best kind of four pound axe our clean money can buy. This is what the Black Crowes would sound like if they have a sense of humor. Extra credit for the title.

“Wreck” — Neko Case. Do you even lift Neko Case, bro? I don’t mean put it on and start boiling cabbage and thinking which season of Survivor you want to re-watch. I mean listen to this woman. Rotten Tomatoes doesn’t review songs, but if they did this would be a certifiable 100 on Rotten Tomatoes. Arguably the best opening 8 seconds of a song in 2025.

“Brand New City” — Snocaps. I am not afraid of this band. But if you have not heard of this band, you should be. Pay. Closer. Attention. To. The. Details. A supergroup consisting of Waxahatchee’s Katie Crutchfield, her twin sister Allison from Swearin’, MJ Freakin’ Lenderman, and talented producer Brad Cook? They surprised everyone by dropping this album in the fall, doing a three-city tour, then disappearing. But the music, as they say (they don’t say - yet), never disappears. “Brand New City” is a feel-good fist-pump evoking the best parts of teenage nostalgia, daytripping and roadcruising away from whatever home felt it could keep us hostage.

“Nosebleeds” — Doechii. Hahahahahhahahahahahahahhahahahhahahahhahahahha. YES! I love Doechii. She is the best versions of 90’s hip-hop personified. Boom-bap beats and jazz-inspired horn sections. She didn’t release an album in 2025. Just this single. We listen to her at work when we’re getting the restaurant ready, because it’s textbook parallels to something nostalgic and something not canned, frozen or otherwise preserved (see “fresh”).

“Dancing In The Club” — MJ Lenderman (This Is Lorelei cover). The world is chock-full of remakes. People have actually considered, funded and completed versions of The Crow, Point Break, and Don’t Tell Mom The Babysitter’s Dead (someone remade this? When?) to name a few. I feel like they’ve remade Pride and Prejudice every year for the past twenty years. What’s next? Are they going to remake Frankenstein next year and — oh wait. Never mind. Lenderman’s cover is better than the original, and the original is great.

“Rock City” — Horsegirl. Every song on this album SLAPS. It was one of those albums where your favorite song changed with every listen. There are other band references, but “Rock City” makes me think of Television circa 1977. It could’ve easily been on Marquee Moon. The song is about a shepherd bored with driving a flower truck, which solicits the question: Why are there not more songs about bored shepherds? It completely changes tempo at the 3:15 mark, and if you ever get a chance to see them live, they extend the that last tempo shift for a healthy amount of time, which helped me catapult it into being one of my favorite songs from Phonetics On and On.

“You Were The Ones I Had To Betray” — Dean Warehem. This song is like licking a 5mg edible dreamsicle. Every lick you start to get a little higher. I believe it’s guitars making the sound, but if you can make a guitar sound like seagulls in your song, then I will listen closer. And again. And again. When it ends you have to stop and say, “Wait. That was only three minutes that had gone by?” Dr. Warehem saves another life on The Pitt!

Still licking.

“Knockin’ Heart” — Hamilton Leithauser. This track gets me bouncing off the walls. Thank you electric guitar. Thank you clashing cymbals. Thank you Tom Jones - who had nothing to do with this song, but makes me think of Tom Jones standing on the edge of a stage, biting his lower lip, someone’s bra being thrown at his head, happy as shit he’s about to sing the lyrics:

“Oh, there's no one who's gonna need you like I do tonight
From the barnyard to the bullfight
From the bleachers to the spotlight
From the factory to the junkyard
You'll be knockin' in my heart
You'll be knockin' in my heart (ah, yeah)”

“Open Arms (just SZA)” — SZA. The original version of this was on SZA’s gravity-stopping 2022 album SOS, featuring Travis Scott. But this one is pure SZA. Apart from the fact that SZA’s voice is painfully beautiful, this song feels majestic, pure, and breathtakingly consecrated. It opens with a recording of a matriarch soundbyte reminding us when we do our best, that is all we can do. I love both versions. I think it’s hilarious the new one is “Just SZA.” She let Travis Scott do his thing on the original. This one is cleaner. Proof that self-love is an important resource, rich with minerals, nutrients and antioxidants. The song could easily end on the sparse arrangement and her lyrics, but it briefly shifts into a recording of African drumming and chanting, melodic and pure.

“All The Way Across” — Hayden Pedigo. Second track off of I’ll Be Waving As You Drive Away. I listened to more instrumental music this year than ever before. I think we have heard enough talking heads in the past year we all could use a little non-verbal sentiment. To hear Hayden Pedigo finger pick his guitar is akin any meaningful lyrical accompaniment. This song makes me want to paint something. I love this whole album. I believe in people like this kid, and how lucky are we he likes to make art and share it with the world. We could all use a little more tenderness.

“Lucy Takes A Picture” — Youth Lagoon. Starts like a 1990s Peter Gabriel track (the highest compliment) and shifts into sweeping, cinematic, bird-like gestures only Trevor Powers knows how to wrangle. This Reddit question perfectly captures this song:

How hard is it to take care of a bird?

I want to get a small bird like a conure (I’m pretty sure that’s a large variety of birds but idk I’m dumb) whenever I move out. I wanted to ask how hard is it to take care of one of them since I’m gonna be in college and don’t want to get ahead of myself and stress myself out to much and more importantly not give the bird a home not ready for them.

This album came out earlier in the year but should have been on more Year End lists. Do better next year, humanity.

“Autumn” — Tobacco City. “We were smokin’ schwag behind the grocery store. We were huffin’ gas directly from the can.” These are the opening lyrics to Tobacco City’s Horses — a front-to-back watermelon jolly rancher lollipop of a good time. Like listening to Gram Parsons and Emmylou fall in love all over again. Like washing your armpits in a moving air stream shower somewhere in the Mojave. Like smokin’ schwag behind the grocery store. Get some. Then get some more.

“Secret Door” — Jeff Tweedy. Twilight Override was a triple album people really did not talk enough about, and in my humble opinion will be exalting years from now. Many songs off this album could make a Year’s Best list, but I picked this one. Why? Because Bootwood, baby. You go left. Bootwood goes right. “Secret Door” is just a little bit haunting, and I tend to embrace snippets of the paranormal. Textured, reflective, and always heartfelt, it sounds like a Wilco song from one of their less popular mid-career albums, but far greater than the sum of its parts as evidenced by the playful mischief, strident guitars and unfurling, twinkling piano keys. It dawns on me that I listened to a lot of Chicago bands this year. Is there a hidden message? Am I supposed to know why? I don’t care. Like Ed Debevic’s, shut up and order something already!

“Dollar Store” — Ben Kweller (featuring Waxahatchee). If there was a button I pushed too many times this year, it was the “>” play button whenever I came across “Dollar Store (feat. Waxahatchee). If some of the best songs are rooted in simplicity, why does this track make me think of small town high school football field bleachers on a quiet Sunday night? Sipping on a half-cold Coca-Cola longneck. Dirty parking lots. Dried leaves hugging the curbsides. A slow-moving police cruiser. Springsteen’s white t-shirt and blue jeans. Good/bad video games. Culver’s drive-thrus. Throwing too many basketballs toward a rim under a dusty park light. The anxiety inside a Kwik Trip gas station. As Sam Shepard said in Motel Chronicles, “People here have become the people they’re pretending to be.”

“$0 — Cameron Winter”. How long are we going to be on this Earth? Who do we love more than anything else that matters so little? Is this majestic scion going to save us from evil? How long are we gonna treat each other like shit when we are so lucky and silly and afraid and thoughtless and present and careful and quiet and born and trying, just trying, every single day, to make sense out of the noise we can or cannot control. Like the Keanu Reeves / John Wick Instagram t-shirt reads: Be Kind To Animals Or I’ll Kill You.

“New Threats From The Soul” — Ryan Davis and The Roadhouse Band.

new threats from the soul

a new sheriff in my heart's wild west
a slew of mis-measurements between the place where I stand

and the place where I will rest
if you need me, you know where to find me

north of a puddle and west of a hole
in what was once our home but is now just a house for all these

new threats from the soul

One would think a song that lasts nine minutes and twenty-two seconds would be far too long in our modern levels of limited attention spans. But we can all make a better life with bubblegum and driftwood. 9.22. Nine minutes and twenty-two seconds. NINE. MINUTES. AND. TWENTY. TWO. SECONDS.

They don’t make records like that any more, kids. They just don’t. We are witnessing new songwriting frontiers taking shape before our eyes (ears). Don’t miss the boat on this Kentuckiana troubadour.

“Late Night Mountains All That” — Ratboys. What’s this? Another Chicago band? Yes. (insert low Vincent Price voice): You. Can. Not. Hide. From. Chicago…. Lead singer sounds a little like the lead singer of Belly. Crawling stormy guitar crescendos. This song would make a chaste nun wanna crawl around in a muddy forest and bark at the sooty moon.

“Picture Window” — Japanese Breakfast. I’ll listen and support and truly enjoy just about anything Blake Mills produces. This song would be a Billboard Top 100 if it were recorded by a mainstream artist. It’s radio-friendly, catchy as all hell, and levitates high above the .500 batting average of most album singles. Japanese Breakfast rules. And seeing her live is a more than worthwhile experience, because this is a person who exudes heartwarming sentiment for the jubilee that is live music. Jessie and I got to catch her at The Sylvee with out dear pal Mo, and days after the memorable performance (and yes she did play “Picture Window”) Mo sent us a letter in the mail, honoring Japanese Breakfast’s unforgettable song “Paprika”:

How’s it feel to be

At the center of magic

To linger in tones and words?

Oooohhh, it’s a rush!

Damn it. If getting a hand-written letter in the mail after seeing a concert with a dear friend isn’t one of the best things about being alive, then, well, someone start playing Train’s “Calling All Angels,” so I can get up and leave the room.

“Evil Twin” — Cut Worms. This track came out on August 20, 2025, and why do I know that? Because-I-Have-Been-Waiting-For-The-Rest-Of-The-Album-Ever-Since. Produced by Jeff Tweedy, who clearly doesn’t sleep. This band is way too under the radar. I wanted to see them live earlier this year, but they were opening for Father John Misty, who to me may as well be the Billy Joel of indie music. No. Never. Get out. Apparently Cut Worms are awesome live. When? Where? Let’s Go!. LFG!!! To repeat: this album has been delayed. I have not slept since. But if the rest of the album is anywhere near the greatness of this single track then 2026 is going to be a bona fide humdinger. Dear Cut Worms, please release more music, so that I may return to a decorated slumber.

“The Great Mystery” — Bryce Dessner. Full disclosure: I only heard this song once this year. Why is it on this Top Songs of 2025 list? Because I only needed to hear it once, park ranger. Some of the best music does that to us. Catches us in the moment and never lets go. This mellifluous number clocks in at just over two minutes, but I remember exactly where I was when I first heard it, because I was watching it as the film Train Dreams was ending, and it caused the lump that gathered in my throat and the tears forming in my eyes. And just as those sounds climbed the way the plane did in the final scene, they concluded with a delicate whisper. And how lucky are we to have been there. Here. Anywhere. Dancing over treetops.

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SONG I WISH WAS RELEASED IN 2025

“Colorado” — Greg Freeman. Where was I the past 3 years? Sheltered behind a non-Greg Freeman firewall or something? Freeman released an album in 2025 — which was solid, but it did not have a “Colorado” on it. And pee on me for expecting him to eclipse this song’s influence the next time out of the gate. Oh my God this song corrupts me in the most positive way. I feel anything I write about it desecrates its brilliance, so I will stop. But holy smokes. Lighting. In. A. Bottle. I have an existing self-promise that if I ever see this song played live, my brain is not allowed to explode with joy.

2026 WHAT YOU GOT?

I’m not so sure I gave it my everything in regards to listening to 2025. I heard what I wanted to hear, gave my small ears some TLC with quieter mornings, softer sounds, and more wood instruments than I typically gravitate towards. We played a lot of Celtic music in our kitchen, a lot of Joni Mitchell radio while cooking, and saved the teenage rebellion for drives to Jessie’s soccer matches (shout out to her last goal, still mesmerizing).

I also listened to a lot of radio. Apart from my very strong belief that, if you live in the Madison area, one will always find a Queen or AC/DC song on at least one radio station, no matter what time of day or week, I loved tuning into Wisconsin Public Radio and 98.7 WVMO, the Voice of Monona, which does a terrific job with its musical programming. Madison is lucky to have those two radio saviors.

What’s 2026 going to sound like? Let’s find out. Holding hands like Pooh and Piglet as the sun sets. Hopefully I won’t be like Mr. Strickland in House Party, shouting at the youngsters by year’s end. “What's the name of that group? Public Enemy? Public Enema? What the hell's a Public Enema anyway? Hey! Shut up all that damn noise!”

Ah, shit.

Someone’s going to remake House Party this year, aren’t they?

We have experienced one year together. Technically, Bootwood has only been with you since September, but given how long each Bootwood post has been, doesn’t it feel like a year?

What happened this year? Some of us made changes, some of us stayed the same, and some of us spent way too much time talking and thinking about Coldplay. The Earth accomplished its mighty fine work of orbiting around the sun, and we got spoiled by capturing the little moments where we could laugh a little longer, or reach out to a long-lost friend, or finally get around to watching Ted Lasso.

Some of us briefly freaked out about TikTok, then KPop, then 6-7, then Lalbubu, which I am proud to say I knew nothing about until posting this.

Some of us thought of making “Vote For Pedro” t-shirts in honor of Pedro Pascal, only to discover there were plenty already out there.

Some of us (ahem) got more gray hairs.

One. Large. Dumb. Year.

One whole, big, stupid, AI-filled year. Did you get enough AI content yet? AI is like the conversation in a family get-together where everyone is trying to avoid the awkward cousin who wants to hammer home something everyone wanted to stop talking about two family get-togethers ago, and they just won’t let it die.

Dear sweet cousin, let AI take a break from egg nog group chat this year.

AI cannot do many things, and one of my favorite non-AI things to get excited about is Year End Lists. What did we listen to this year? What did we eat? What became of the beverage we were drinking? What did we see? Who was there? Who wanted to be there (besides AI), but couldn’t?

In honor of the 365 we just spent together, here are some of my favorite non-AI apps, entrees and peanut butter chocolate cups of 2025. They largely reflect hobbies, pop culture interests, and some of my favorite non-AI people and animals in this world.

TOP SOUNDS OF 2025

GOOD HANG w/ AMY POEHLER
If you have not yet given this podcast a listen, hop to it. If she isn’t already, Amy Poehler’s a national treasure and we deserve to give her more credit for not only being funny, creative and joyful, but genuine. The guests on her podcast are mostly women, and Amy does a fantastic job engaging them with thoughtful questions and meaningful subject matter. She is elevating the importance of equality, friendship and positivity through her authentic self. As Jessie accurately stated, “It’’s refreshing to hear a host not interrupting their guest and letting their ego dictate the conversation.”

DOG YAWNS
We live in a dog-filled universe. We wake up with our adorable pups each morning. And I have to say, if on a given morning I inhabit a random bout of half-awake grumpo-mania, my irascible self washes away when I hear tiny delightful shrieks coming from a dog stretching and yawning before me. A healthy dog yawn in the morning means they had a healthy previous day, by playing or exercising, and a sound yawn is a reflection of a good night’s sleep. Lua’s vigorous squeals and Cord’s delightful shrieks when they yawn are what makes this life kind of realign when things are not lining up. I am so grateful for them.

RYAN DAVIS & THE ROADHOUSE BAND — New Threats From The Soul This album was on heavy rotation throughout summer. Not only do I want to put this album all over my morning corn flakes, I feel the album title could also pose as a great book title, subsequently listing it as one of my Favorite Books of 2025. RD’s literary prowess is second-to-none. The second percussionist / multi-instrumentalist Dan Davis (no relation to Ryan) wears a suit when they perform, and has the most excellent head of fluffy curly hair, and when he gets into hitting his drums or congas the live performance elevates. Go see them live. Before they get too big and it’s too late. It’s already too late.

COYOTES I have never lived somewhere with coyotes close enough to howl and communicate with one another. At times it feels like they’re blocks away. They’re just like us, trying to get though the world, wondering whether they should re-evaluate which streaming services they’re signed up for, wondering if Pope Leo will still be a Bears fan if they move to Indiana, looking for some Taco Bell.

WEDNESDAY — “Phish Pepsi” One of the great things about music is it can catch me off-guard and make the world stop. This track is in the middle of one of my favorite albums of 2025, and I can’t remember the last time I heard a song that made me wanna Snoopy dance. Maybe “Chocolate Buttermilk” by Kool and the Gang. But “Phish Pepsi” is all that and a bag of Lay’s barbecue potato chips. When a lyricist talks about smoking weed from a Pepsi can and watching a Phish documentary and Human Centipede, it’s just too precious to ignore. Put it on and tell me your tortured soul doesn’t wanna to the funky chicken.

CRANE SQUAWKS We live near a well-preserved marsh on the North side of Madison. When we walk the pups we rarely see anyone outside, which is very odd, given that I’m pretty sure people inhabit the homes we pass. But it’s so quiet it honestly feels like an abandoned, surreal, beatific movie set. We’ll have you over sometime for maple crullers. You bring the crullers. One of the unique things about this area would be the cranes, which are the closest we can ever be to experiencing Jurassic Park. There are two cranes we get to see on occasion. Lovers, I’m sure. They walk through this world together and have even been known to dance on occasion. Quite something. And one of my favorite sounds we occasionally receive is their ancient squawk, arriving as though from a dream, or a movie directed by Steven Spielberg, sound by John Williams.

JEFF BRIDGES TALKING Early in the year I found myself not enjoying certain days. I started listening to more podcasts, and eventually came across a podcast where Jeff Bridges was one of the guests. It soon dawned on me that he speaks in the same vernacular as The Dude, his famous character from The Big Lebowski, an ever-abiding cult classic for many of us. If you’re in a bad mood, or sullen, or downright depressed about something, it may not completely pull you out of your funk, but wow is it a moving, blessed thing to hear him speak as though everything, sure, is probably gonna be pretty all right for now, man…

“Like Apartments.com, BOOTWOOD can change the world. Give the gift of BOOTWOOD and watch your life improve ”

— Jeff Goldblum

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TOP TASTES OF 2025

UNDONE — Pina Colada N/A. I am going to write more on this, but the truth is the world of non-alcoholic beverages has greatly improved over the past year or so. Better N/A wines, better N/A beers and some terrific new mocktails available in mass markets. UNDONE has now stretched across the United States and offers four different canned mocktails. They are all delicious, but their Pina Colada is a show-stopping triumph. When I first tasted it I was immediately transported to Old San Juan, struttin’ through the streets, bursting with Bad Bunny moxie.

YELLOW RICE Yellow rice? Yellow rice. Is something I have loved for 30 years still worth being one of my favorite new things of the past year? Guess what, hotshot? It is when I feel reborn every single time I bite into a fresh serving of yellow rice!

CATALINA CRUNCH Holy Catalina Cannoli. Have you tried this yet? Full. On. Addiction. All the best flavors of cinnamon toast crunch without the sugar. Good source of protein. Great source of fiber. The founder came up with this intoxicating cereal after seeing a gap in the market for people who needed to control their sugar intake. Soooooo goooooooooooood!!!

MAPLE CRULLER We stopped by Lil’s cafe in Kittery, Maine in early October, simply looking for some quality coffee and maybe a Lil breakfast snack, only to find a delectable array of fresh pastries waiting for us. The crullers (basically a more airy, ridged donut, think, “What if Ruffles potato chips became a donut?,” then think, “Oh, I know, it’s probably like a cruller”) were front and center and the line was snaking back and forth and nearly out the door. The smell of fresh donuts permeated the space, and as much as we wanted savory food we could not skip the cruller option. We got maple. ABOM. Always Bet On Maple.

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TOP VIEWS OF 2025

We all watched stuff in 2025. Clouds. News updates. Stranger Things. Billy Bob Thornton hilariously walking around the ranch and pretending he cares about people being able to locate him via T-Mobile. Nathan Fielder flying an airplane - which was far better than flying on a Nathan Fielder flown airplane (NFW would I ever do that).

QUESTLOVE’S DOC GAME Ahmir Thompson (aka Questlove) is just like General Electric. He brings good things to life. And his montage of the SNL 50 year anniversary music special, where he assembles clips of past music acts who have transformed our lives for decades is a touching tribute to how popular music has affected our lives. It’s 7 minutes of heaven.

HAMNET I have not yet read Maggie O’Farrell’s book, but the film adaptation is tremendous. Kudos to the writer and filmmaker for making a film where Shakespeare is a distant secondary vessel for the heart of this story, which reimagines the evolution of Hamlet told through Agnes, Shakespeare’s wife, and raising their three children while Shakespeare developed his playwriting in London. Jessie Buckley’s performance is nothing short of spectacular. Awards are subjective, but give this woman every award. Lift your heart. See this film.

NIDHOGG 2 When was the last time you were at an arcade? Go back. Find one in your town or city. Call them first and ask them if they have the arcade game Nidhogg 2. If they do, go to that arcade. Bring cash. Take $10 or $20 and get tokens or quarters. Find the Nidhogg 2 game and play that with a friend or loved one. If you cannot find a friend or loved one, ask a stranger to play. If you are afraid of strangers, play by yourself. But be warned: you will not want to leave any time soon. And if you leave by yourself, also be warned — you will also be talking to yourself as you exit. Nidhogg 2 is way too much fun. Dueling players fight to the repeated death by clumsily stabbing, stomping and sending arrows into each others heads, all for the glory of reaching a finish line where an unexpected encounter awaits.

SCHUSTER’S FARM — Deerfield, WI. Schuster’s just feels like Wisconsin. Farmland, flowers, live music, games, apple cider, pumpkin patch, a giant air mattress not unlike walking on the moon. It is a special place curated by people who care about how we congregate. Check it out in a previous Bootwood post.

TRAIN DREAMS — Novella / Netflix I loved this novella when it first arrived in 2011. So much it became my go-to gift for some dear friends and family. Denis Johnson was an incredible writer, and it was sad he left this world too young. I highly recommend reading the book, but the film adaptation captures much of the book’s sentiment, and provides that rare translation where the film elevates the poignancy of the writers words as they materialize onscreen. Such magnificent cinematography. It’s refreshing to watch a world before we all started staring into our phones.

JESSIE’S ART My future wife has too many talents to list here, but one of my favorites is her ability to draw and paint and color the world with her artistic eye. I have returned home to drawings and paintings that we now hang up in our house. She loves drawing animals from our backyard and our pups, and has been so successful she is starting to have others ask her to draw their pets for them. And knowing her, the inspiration lies with how much love she has for animals, respecting their lives for however long they lived with us. What a beautiful way to see the world.

HOT ONES — You Tube Hot sauces. Hot topics. Hot questions. Quality host. Quality interview questions. Mostly quality guests. When we have friends and family stay over we watch Hot Ones. Even if you don’t want to stay at our lovely home, come by, watch some Hot Ones. Meet the pups. Personally, I am not a hot sauce connoisseur. If 10 is the hottest on a scale I am a 4 or 5. Jessie got me Da Bomb hot sauce for my birthday. That was 6 months ago. I’m still scared shitless to try it. I’ll try it. I won’t try it. I’ll try it.

THE STUDIO — Apple A story about people in a movie industry dealing with corporate demands while trying to retain their artistic integrity? Commerce vs. Art? Life vs. Work? Celebrities making fun of themselves? An episode with one continuous long take (“The Oner”) that ramps up the tension every 3 to 5 seconds? Great cameos. Great writing. Great cinematography. Great everything, Rogen and Goldberg.

LAST WEEK TONIGHT w/ JOHN OLIVER — HBO / MAX / HBO MAX / HBO Many hearts were raw at the beginning of this year. Remember when it was too much to read the actual news? I mean, it’s still that way, but time has softened the grief a little. But our aches and pains began to thaw with the level of political commentary and insightful reporting from John Oliver and his talented writing team. It’s eye-opening to have a non-US citizen tell you so many things that are shitball sideways with your own country.

GRAND CANYON — Arizona Is it possible to go to the edge of the world by staring over and into a hole that is 277 miles long, 18 miles wide, and over one mile deep? Even though it was my second time visiting the Grand Canyon it felt like the first time. We got to catch the majesty with good friends and random strangers. Being around something like that changes a person. Makes one feel not only connected a little more to the Earth, but hopefully to each other.

BEST READS

LONG ISLAND COMPROMISE — Taffy Brodesser-Akner (Fiction) Family, wealth, abduction, self-entitled characters, classism, intellectualism, a good chunk of heartbreak, a ton of hilarious moments, and just enough secrets to keep you guessing. Not just a great Jewish-American novel, a truly great American novel.

WORLD WITHIN A SONG — Jeff Tweedy (Non-Fiction) If you’re anti-Wilco, or anti-Tweedy, fine. You’re wrong to be that way, but fine. Just buy the book, read the “You Are My Sunshine” chapter, then donate the book to your local library.

GOD OF THE WOODS — Liz Moore (Fiction) This was one of the more well-written, taught and suspenseful books of the year. Terrific character development. 1975. Vanishing campers. Wealthy family. A local serial killer on the loose? Terse chapters that force the reader to want more out of the developing story, and the pieces are all skillfully placed. Was I caught off-guard when I saw this book for sale in Costco? Yes. But they have even books at Menard’s. The more people are exposed to great books, the better.

THE UNCOOL — Cameron Crowe (Non-Fiction) A must-read if you have grown up with “CC Rider,” as he was nicknamed by Glenn Frey when he was 15 years old (15 years old!) and covering a little-known band called Eagles (spoiler: they originally DID NOT like being called The Eagles early in their career). I am a music geek. There. I typed it. Which means it’s probably true. And I love deep-diving into music history with anyone. To take a ride through the 60s, 70s and 80s with a young Cameron Crowe as he experienced such incredible moments with some of our most influential bands and musicians is one I cannot recommend enough. If you love the movie Almost Famous it’s even more gratifying to read the book. Every story is cool.

NON-AI QUESTIONS FOR 2026

NEIGHBORS — Our new neighbors (God I hope you aren’t subscribing to this and haunting my updates). But you moved in this fall and we are slowly finding ourselves re-enacting moments from The ‘Burbs, the Tom Hanks movie and one of the last times anyone could make sense out of Corey Feldman being in a film. Are you real? Are you related to Corey Feldman? Are you AI? Or a figment of our imaginations? We can’t tell. Someone tell us.

DIOR by SAUVAGE. Or SAUVAGE by DIOR — Whatever it is, can we turn it off already? I’m not just speaking on behalf of everyone who hates cologne. Or cologne that looks like nail polish. I am forever unmoored from Johnny Depp’s existence, and this recurring “cool dude in the desert” motif looking like some sloppy hobo in a third-rate Aerosmith cover band is lame, lame, lame. Who are the marketing execs at Dior? Do they have a creative director? Did Depp’s management ask for a lifetime of commercials in their contract? That’s the only way I can better understand the continued airing of a commercial that should’ve only been shared in Dubai. Which begs the question: If we need to use AI, can it deal with Johnny Depp so we don’t have to?

PROTEIN — I’m seeing protein sparkling water on the shelves. Has the mass hysteria reached a boiling point yet? Who’s gonna put a cap on this stuff? Think about the children!

BILLY JOEL — Anyone who works a shift with me knows I have few rules, and one of those rules is we do not consciously play Billy Joel, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, or Glitch before 10pm. But I have a question: Who in the hell does Billy Joel think he is? More importantly, why is the most memorable part of “Piano Man” the harmonica? And what other deceitful and treacherous things has he been doing to us for all these years?

LIAM NEESON — Is there a statute of limitations on making films? Apart from the terrifying reality that movie theaters could one day disappear, who is still watching Liam Neeson movies?

Well that covers the entire year. And it only took me 15 minutes to encapsulate the highlights.

BOOTWOOD

I am truly grateful for all of you who have signed up to read and support BOOTWOOD. Though, like the Carpenters, we’ve only just begun, I feel this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

I’m not going anywhere.

You’re not going anywhere.

Let’s start a revolution.

One whole year, Park Rangers.

Some of us (ahem) even get engaged.

Cannot wait to marry you this year, Jessica Susan “Shoshanna” Frain.

Though it’s not a competition, New York offered me many distractions in the beverage world. Hidden speakeasies. Historic pubs dating back to the 1700s. Drinking a bottle of cold beer in a swimsuit on an outdoor patio deck of the East Village Russian Turkish bath house, fresh snow falling on my steaming head.

New York had lots of drinking options. And lots of spirits offering exciting new flavor profiles. It had subterranean bars where you drank cocktails from conch shells, cocktails in peoples homes that doubled as weekend bar destinations, and cocktails with exalted laboratory ingredients like hinoki tree essence, faux egg white, and acid-adjusted apple juice.

But given all the unique and ethereal beverages I drank in New York, one oft-overlooked and rarely used spirit was something Wisconsin reminded me immediately upon returning home, waving at me like it was smiling with glee while shoveling in the middle of an eight-inch snowstorm.

Brandy.

Did you think I was going to say something else?

Jolly Good soda pop? Maybe another post down the road.

New York’s finest cocktail dens boasted many international Cognacs, Armagnacs and Eau de Vies, but one question always crept up in the back of my mind: Where’s the Brandy drink on this menu?

Wisconsin people love many things, and when it comes to drinking, what they love more than anything else is Brandy. In a Bram Stoker-operated bar, Wisconsin people are the vampires, and Brandy is the blood. Picture a Francis Ford Coppola-directed scene taking place in a Wisconsin tavern. The Brandy Alexander is played by Keanu Reeves (Jonathan Harker), the Tom & Jerry (Van Helsing) is, of course, Anthony Hopkins, and the Brandy Old Fashioned, we all know, can only be Gary Oldman (Dracula, aka Prince of Darkness, Nosferatu, or Vlad the Impaler, which now that I’m typing this out makes me wonder if someone has ever done a full Dracula-inspired cocktail menu. The answer, likely, is yes, or as Dracula would say, “My rizz is bussin’ and my drip has crossed oceans of time to be here. Slay.”)

Have you ever tried to sway a Wisconsin person from ordering a Brandy Old Fashioned? The task is greater than moving a steamship over a mountain. It can almost never happen. They love it sweet, sour, press and if you’re dining at Turn Key Supper Club in Madison, they offer it rooty, which even today gets a raised eyebrow from the gallery. What is rooty?

Root beer.

Sorry it’s not more complicated than that.

If you love root beer, try a Wisconsin Old Fashioned served rooty-style. We created it at Turn Key Supper Club and offer it at Settle Down Tavern (which recently got a very nice 2025 Year End shout out from the wonderful American Weekender, a highly recommended travel newsletter for epicurean delights).

Rooty-style sounds like a sub-genre of hip-hop I want to listen to now. Maybe dance around a little bit before getting back to typing this sassy little grape-distilled diatribe.

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OK, SO WHAT IS BRANDY?

How dare you. What is life? What is the Mona Lisa? What is Meco’s “Star Wars Theme/Cantina Band?”

Would you ask a teenager “What is 6-7?”

Would you ask Vince Gilligan, “What is Pluribus going for?” Okay you might. But the inaugural season’s not over yet, and we all know there’s some connection awaiting Carol and the “Chinga tu madre, cabron!” guy. But the heart of the matter remains such: if so many people are jumping into the Brandy boat, are they familiar with what makes it sail?

A BRIEF HISTORY OF BRANDY

• Brandy is a spirit made from wine or other fermented fruit. Like wine and tequila, Brandy is always distilled from fruits.

• Its name is a Dutch derivative translating to “Burnt wine.”

• Don’t quote me, but I’m pretty sure “Purple Rain” was originally titled “Burnt Wine.”

• Where is it from?

  • Essentially, everywhere. Brandy is an umbrella term. The most famous locations where Brandy is created would be France, Spain, the US, and parts of South America. But it is from many other places in the world as well.

• In 1630s France, Dutch importers started distilling wine to prevent acidification (which improves flavor, balance and color, BUT may increase sulfur dioxide and level of spoilage microorganisms) on ships by “burning wine.” “Wine burners” started distilling twice, which reduced the yield, but improved the characteristics of their eau de vie.

• In 1670, Hard cider started making some noise in the Northeast US. Applejack was one of the first to make a dent. Freeze distilling (shaving off top of wash) is known as “jacking.”

• “Jacking” sounds like a Lee Marvin movie from 1975.

• Cognac merchants started classifying their products in the early 1800s.

• Land-owning farmers everywhere started distilling their own spirits through free markets, but that was clipped in 1875 with Phylloxera, an outbreak which decimated 90% of France’s crops but catapulted Cider, as the apples were not affected by the aphids.

• What are some of the fruits associated with Brandy?

  • Apples

    Cherries

    Plums

    Pears (Poire Williams – “Williams” is a reference to the French Pear, aka Bartlett)

  • Some people have also been known to use:

    Raspberries + Carrots + Anise + Peaches

    Blackberry + Ginger

    Coffee (e.g., Allen’s, a coffee-flavored Brandy from Massachusetts, which echoes the East Coast version of Wisconsin’s Brandy-drinking enthusiasts throughout the state of Maine. Mainers drink coffee-flavored brandy the way people consume Love Island episodes.)

HOW TO DRINK IT

Far be it for me to influence your drinking methods. Not that you’re asking, but if you want drinking advice from me, here it is: Practice Moderation. I spent a good chunk of my adult life defying the livers of gravity and don’t need to exercise my ABV mettle as I begin packing my bags to leave my 40s. It’s actually refreshing to see the younger generation embracing a greater wellness surrounding their consumption. Well done, kiddos! It’s not awesome for me as a small business bar owner, but no one said this life was easy. Confucius said life was simple, but I believe he was sipping Malort during that period.

Ok, teetotalers, let’s get back to giggle juice.

Interestingly enough, snifters can concentrate the alcohol in Brandy and cause a sharp burn, so studies show for drinking Brandy, the best options are tulip glasses. But who the fuck has tulip glasses? Is someone reading this a direct descendent of F. Scott Fitzgerald? If so may we borrow some tulip glasses from you for a future post?

But really, drink it however you want to drink it. You rule the world. Swirl that puppy. The only recommendation I will offer is inhale with your mouth open, which keeps the aromas open through your nasal passage and won’t burn your nose.

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ONE WISCONSIN BRANDY BATTLE AFTER ANOTHER

In Wisconsin, we recognize the Brandy Old Fashioned as our most famous cocktail. It’s no contest. But there is also the oft-heralded post-dinner option of the Brandy Alexander, an iced cream-based drink (and thank you for asking but yes this is also available at Turn Key Supper Club, and no, this is not a hidden ad campaign, but yes, I am a small business owner, and yes, we serve AMAZING Brandy drinks at not only Turn Key Supper Club, but at Oz by Oz and Settle Down Tavern as well, and Happy Holidays to you and your family!).

If it’s the Holidays please also consider the aforementioned Tom & Jerry (Brandy, Rum, Egg, Sugar, Warm Milk). Tom and Jerrys are rarely offered at bars and restaurants, but if you’re at a bar or someone’s residence and they’re offering a homemade mix, that’s usually a safe bet for a tasty win.

Brandy has been around forever, but as we previously mentioned the spirit dominates the shelves and glasses of many a drink poured throughout the state of Wisconsin, and the queen of the castle is named Korbel, and she rules with the peace and prosperity of Hatshepsut.

Korbel now sells over 150,000 cases of Brandy to Wisconsin alone, which reflects more than 50% of their annual business. If you visit their distribution station in California, they have two palates readying for shipment: one for Wisconsin, and one for all the other states.

MOST POPULAR BRANDIES IN THE WORLD

• McDowell’s. Have you heard of McDowell’s? Me neither.

• Morpheus. Yes. The Brandy Matrix is everywhere, Neo. It is all around us. Even now. Here in this room.

• Old Kenigsberg. Apart from sounding like the nickname for the old man that lived down the street from you, who used to shake his cane and spit at squirrels when he wasn’t cursing alien takeovers, this is a Russian Brandy, and frankly, I’m delighted it hasn’t invaded our country. Now if we can get them to stay the fuck home elsewhere…

• Courrier Napoleon Brandy. Who is drinking all this Brandy I have never heard of?

• Silver Cup Brandy. Yep. Nope.

• Martell. Okay, I have heard of this one.

• Dreher. (I was going to write something, but the name alone irks me. So, no.)

• Old Admiral. I’m kind of over the patriarch themed bullshit of certain spirit companies. Get lost with your paying homage to old white male positions of power (see: slave owner, misogynist, deadbeat husband, deadbeat dad, deadbeat (insert word here).

• Hennessy. The only Brandy on this list I have ever served based on someone’s request.

• Mansion House Brandy. The top selling brandy in the world. Yay.

Here’s an interesting fact: None of these brandies are on the shelves of most Wisconsin bars. And why? Because it’s close to impossible to get anyone in Wisconsin to drink anything other than what we put in Old Fashioneds. Korbel, Christian Brothers (What about Christian Sisters…? Hello…?), Barton’s, E & J, but don’t skimp on the old standbys.

Other Wisconsin Brandy notables include Central Standard, Wollersheim, Driftless Glen and the new horse, Berens. Created by Dancing Goat Distilling Company out of Cambridge, this higher proof Brandy honors Wisconsin’s own, Charlie Berens, creator of the Manitowoc Minute, and has the packaging and promotion to win over new fans or people who have been looking for an acceptable substitute when / if they ever crawl out of their Korbel hole and don’t see their shadow.

If you’re looking to up your Brandy game, I recommend one of my favorite benchmarks, Pierre Ferrand. It’s round, elegant and captures the essence of many Brandy makers before it, balancing flavors of baked apples, cinnamon, honey and a touch of pepper on the back to keep one guessing. Like David Bowie’s career, there’s been a massive amount of Brandy reimagining happening throughout the current drinking climate. With individually packaged drinking comes a steady wave of distilleries and companies all vying for our attention.

But you cannot be in Wisconsin and escape the ubiquitous Drink Wisconsinbly. Like Samuel L. Jackson, it is everywhere and probably in a commercial of whatever show you are currently watching.

NOW LET’S GET SERIOUS: WHY SHOULD WE DRINK BRANDY?

For one, we should stop intellectualizing the spirit. It’s deserves a wider, less fearful, more casual audience. (I’m talking to you, other 49 states in America.) It should be less about drinking on special occasions and more consistently embraced through moderation.

Interestingly enough, the health benefits of drinking Brandy might catch you by surprise, as they are similar to wine. Brandy is known to:

1. Not have any Carbs — it’s not like beer, which stores carbs and can fill you up. Not dissimilar to a day in the life of a K-pop demon hunter.

2. Boost Immunity — it’s an anti-inflammatory, and helps relieve respiratory issues, so it helps fight a cough or a sore throat by opening up phlegm & mucus. Take that, Dr. Oz. You soulless bastard.

3. Anti-Aging — copper in the aging barrels has a positive effect on the body. Antioxidants eliminate free radicals. Antioxidants eliminate cell decomposition. As such, it prevents wrinkles. Whoa!

4. Balance Cholesterol — Brandy contains antioxidants / lowers blood pressure. A little bit every now and then keeps us honest, equitable and less apt to have Lewis Black Syndrome.

5. Prevents Cancer — one of Brandys compounds is ellagic acid, an organic compound found to prevent cancerous cells mostly seen in ovarian and bladder cancers.

6. Sleep Aid — you want to get some shut-eye, have a dram before bed.

7. Make you drink less Jolly Good soda.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

BRANDY RECIPES

WISCONSIN BRANDY OLD FASHIONED, ROOTY-STYLE

Serves 1

Created at Turn Key Supper Club (Madison, WI)

• 2 oz. Brandy

• 1/4 oz. Simple Syrup

• Maraschino Cherry

• Half an Orange Wheel

• 3-4 dashes Angostura Bitters

• Root Beer

Combine the Orange, Cherry, Bitters and Syrup in a ROCKS glass; muddle until the fruit is properly pressed.

Add Brandy, then fill with ice.

Top w/ a small splash of Root Beer; briefly stir.

Crank that rooty-style hip-hop.

SAMUEL L. JACKSON’S YEET YEET SANGRIA
Serves approx. 10-15

Created for Samuel L. Jackson, and You

• 3.5 bottles of Dry Red Wine

• 16 oz. Blackberry Brandy

• 16 oz. Orange Juice

• 16 oz. Lemon Juice

• 2 oz. Saline Solution (aka salt water 80:20)

Combine ingredients in a container capable of holding more than 6 liters. Briefly mix and redistribute to a punch bowl.

Serve over ice in a 8-10 oz. Rocks Glass, Wine Glass or Holiday Punch Glass. Yasss.

Garnish: Orange half-wheel

I sure as hell don’t.

Most days I consider myself lucky if I can get my contact lenses to actually land somewhere near the center of my eyeball.

What I do know is, if you have muffler, exhaust or brake problems, you should drive* — not walk — to Speedy Muffler & Brake Repair at 3213 East Washington in Madison, Wisconsin.

*Provided your car is in good enough shape to drive.

A little backstory:

• Our lovable Toyota Rav 4 had a noticeably loose tailpipe. Like one of those comically loose tailpipes where a cartoonist or illustrator would delight in capturing the physical abnormality of our trusty chariot. It was somehow hanging off the car’s undercarriage and not yet low enough to be scraping the ground or any of the street speedbumps salt and peppered throughout our neighborhood.

• We first took it to Dutch’s Auto on Sherman. Have you ever been to Dutch’s Auto? If not then you’re in for a treat. It is the only female-owned garage in Madison, and Nan, the root beer-drinking owner, is a gem of a human. When I popped in to see if they could take a look Nan said “We don’t do mufflers. Go to Speedy Muffler on East Wash. Tell ‘em Nan sent ya.”

  • That was not the first time I had taken a car into Dutch’s and had Nan tell me “Go somewhere else. Tell ‘em Nan sent ya.” And it likely won’t be the last. Nan is a national treasure. Dibs on writing a future feature on Nan and how awesome she is at speaking, thinking and doing.

• Healthy sidenote: The world needs more qualified speakers, thinkers and doers.

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LOOSE TAILPIPE: Act 1

Here’s the three-act play we will now call Loose Tailpipe.

I exit Dutch’s Garage and drive 1.6 miles over to Speedy Muffler.

Park outside.

Walk in.

The inside of Speedy Muffler on East Washington smells like gasoline, nicotine and Valvoline. The setting is from another time. I can only describe it as a 1980s time capsule. Everything has been preserved to reflect the 1980s. There’s a lot of wear and tear on every square inch. I’m convinced if I look closer at one of the nine calendars I see scattered around the space they will all ready 1987. Everything is vintage. Everyone seems like they worked there since they opened forever ago.

I am immediately approached by what I can only describe as William Burroughs’ 68 -year-old little brother.

“What’s going on?” he asks, his eyes moving from mine out the window to the Rav 4.

“I was just over at Dutch’s and Nan said—

“I see you got an exhaust sticking out there,” he said.

Mind. Blown.

“….”

“….and, yeah…” I say, slightly confused at how fast he is able to decipher the issue.

“Give me the keys,” he says.

He exits the lobby and drives the car into one of the three garage entrances.

20 seconds later or beloved Toyota Rav 4 is suspended 8 feet in the air.

He proceeds to immediately inspect the car, and after less than five minutes he re-enters the small lobby area, where he grabs a faded, tattered book resembling the Dead Sea Scrolls and opens the tome to a page ostensibly serving Toyota manufacturing products.

The Clash’s “Rock The Casbah” plays on an unseen radio. Either from the garage or behind a wall. Further impressing upon me this would be an ideal setting for a staged play.

He finds the necessary part, a resonator tailpipe, and informs me they can order the part and have it delivered within 48 hours.

“Great,” I say.

“Sound good?”

“Yes. What’s your name?”

“Joe Burroughs,” he says. “William Burroughs little brother.”

He doesn’t say this, but he says this in the play version of this story.

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LOOSE TAILPIPE: Act 2

Days later, we have received the call from Joe that the new tailpipe has arrived and we can bring it in to be fixed.

“Great,” I say. “When’s a good time to bring it by?”

“Any time you want,” Joe says.

“How long will it take?”

“20 minutes.”

Though Jessie (send her some December 5th Happy Birthday love if you see / text / message her) was nursing a nasty migraine, she brought the car to Speedy and they installed the new tailpipe promptly.

• If you’re picking up some of the essential dialogue here, you might notice how economical Joe is with his words. Joe is many things, but what he excels most at in the very short time I have known him is zero waste. As April Ludgate says in Parks and Rec “Time is money, money is power, power is pizza, pizza is knowledge, let’s go!”

LOOSE TAILPIPE: Act 3

Time has passed. Weeks later we recognize a tinny noise coming from our beloved Toyota Rav 4 every time we reverse out of the driveway. What is that noise? Why is it making a noise after we got it fixed? What could it be?

How should I know?! If you’ve been following this nightmare since the opening sentences you should know Bootwood knows nothing about cars!

I revisit Speedy to see if Joe is around. He is! But he’s plowing the parking lot and yells inside to his colleagues to meet me in the lobby and chat. I am greeted by Darien and someone new, and if you know me at all, it is killing me how much this guy looks like a character actor from a 1980s movie I couldn’t recall at the time, but let’s just say he resembles a more haggard Karl Malden with a 1000-yard-stare. I walked away with the thought plaguing me: Who the hell does that guy at Speedy Muffler look like?

That thought stayed in my head for far too long.

Weeks later (yes, sometimes it takes this long, which is why humans rule and A.I. drools), it finally hits me.

J.C. Quinn.

Hot Toledo carcamusas on a Pennsylvania matchstick! J.C. Quinn!

For those of you who don’t know or don’t remember, J.C. Quinn was a character actor who flourished in the 1980s. He was featured in 80 film and TV shows. He was everywhere and no one remembers him. His first film in 1977 was called HOOCH and - wait for it - he was also in TURNER AND HOOCH! Nobody else can claim this! I remember him from PLACES IN THE HEART (one of Ma Bartels’ favorite movies), AT CLOSE RANGE, MIAMI VICE, MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE, HEARTBREAK RIDGE, and, with a splash, THE ABYSS.

But the film where J.C. Quinn stole my heart was VISION QUEST. I watched that film over 20 times in my childhood. My brothers loved it too, and in the 1980s there were no streaming services, so you’d watch the same film you rented or owned about six billion times.

J.C. Quinn is barely in VISION QUEST, but he has a scene that is so tender, true and beautiful, and he KNOCKS IT OUT OF THE PARK!!!!! If you love sports, overcoming adversity, and celebrating our ability as humans to transform before each others eyes, I recommend you watch it. But if you don’t want to deal with the time of finding it I’m including it below. Because fuck it! It’s the Holidays, baby! And YOU deserve an early gift!!!

In this scene Louden Swain (played by Matthew Modine, famously Papa from Stranger Things, who used to sit next to me and rock the crossword at Joe’s Coffee on West 10th) is prepping for his big wrestling match against Shoot, the Goliath to Swain’s David. He’s talking about the event with his supervisor Elmo (played by J.C. Quinn), a grizzled old soul who has been there, done that, and seemingly never takes off of work, and doesn’t have a life outside of the working world.

As someone who has worked in restaurants for decades, this lifestyle hits harder now I revisit this incredible scene. I’ll never forget how it affected me as a 10 year old kid, and what it now means to me decades later:

Louden Swain: You never took a night off to see me wrestle before. They’ll dock you for that.

Elmo: Hey, kid — money ain’t everything.

Louden Swain: It’s not that big a deal, Elmo. I mean, it’s six lousy minutes on the mat, if that.

Elmo: You ever hear of Pele?

Louden Swain: Yeah, he’s a, a soccer player.

Elmo: A very famous soccer player.

[pause]

Elmo: I was in the room here one day... watchin’ the Mexican channel on TV. I don’t know nothin’ about Pele. I’m watchin’ what this guy can do with a ball and his feet. Next thing I know, he jumps in the air and flips into a somersault and kicks the ball in — upside down and backwards... the goddamn goalie never knew what the fuck hit him. Pele gets excited and he rips off his jersey and starts running around the stadium waving it around his head. Everybody’s screaming in Spanish. I’m here, sitting alone in my room, and I start crying.

[pause]

Elmo: That’s right, I start crying. Because another human being, a species that I happen to belong to, could kick a ball, and lift himself, and the rest of us sad-assed human beings, up to a better place to be, if only for a minute... let me tell ya, kid — it was pretty goddamned glorious. It ain’t the six minutes... it’s what happens in that six minutes.

Wow...

It ain’t the six minutes.

It’s what happens nearly two weeks after realizing the guy at Speedy Muffler reminded me of J.C. Quinn.

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I bring up this scene from Vision Quest for one simple, pure reason: it is one of the most underrated performances by a supporting actor I have ever seen.

Long sidetrack story short, that guy in Speedy Muffler looked like a modern-day J.C. Quinn. And let me tell you, park rangers, it’s like Christmas fucking morning to feel the connection of seeing that random employee in a time capsule muffler garage in Madison, WI, only to be catapulted back to childhood, remembering how magnificent a performance J.C. Quinn produces in the tiny amount he is onscreen.

“The car’s been making some kind of weird noise when we back up,” I say — and that’s not kind of how I say it. I am quoting myself verbatim. “It’s almost like a tinny scratch or…”

What I want to say is, I don’t know shit about cars. I can barely hang my sweatshirts on a hook in a closet, so why should I know anything about cars?

“Sounds like a heat plate or (something unintelligible),” says the character actor, staring straight ahead. This dude has seen shit.

“Just bring it in,” he says.

Done.

Thank you, 1980s character actor lookalike J.C. Quinn. You were also awesome in DAYS OF THUNDER.

“Time is money, money is power, power is pizza, pizza is knowledge, let’s go!”

— April Ludgate, Parks & Rec

Next day I bring it back in.

Like a scene in your favorite 80s movie (Go ahead and pick one. It doesn’t matter which one. It’s the right one), Joe meets me at the front door immediately upon entering. Wiggles his fingers in the air.

“Keys,” Joe says.

I hand him the keys. “How do you know the—

“Makes a tinny noise when you put it in reverse,” he says, already stepping out the door and jumping in the car.”

These cats don’t fuck around.

Joe inspects the tailpipe they fixed and comes back to me within a few moments.

“It’s the flange,” he says.

Flange. Flange? Flange. I Googled it. I still don’t know what the hell it is. It’s a connector. I think. But Joe said the word “flange” eight times to me and it still went through one tiny earlobe and out the other tiny earlobe.

“The manufacturer sometimes accidentally bends it. We bent it back and it’s better now.”

“Wow, thanks. How much do I—

“No charge,” says Joe. “And if it makes noise again just bring it back and we’ll fix it for ya.”

Incredible. Not only did they do the right job, they were honest, fair, focused and, well, let’s be honest. They were SPEEDY.

END OF PLAY

A+ service, Speedy Muffler. Take a bow.

As we say in Bootwood, it ain’t about the 28 minutes it takes to read these doggoned posts, it’s what happens in those 28 minutes.

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Happy Holidays!