Leisure
With the onset of blustery snow flurries, chafed cheeks, and depressed economic conditions, this drinking columnist, like so many others at this time of year, cannot help but yearn for her home on the shores of Lake Erie. And while not everyone is so fortunate as to hail from the crown jewel of the Rust Belt, all of us put on our underpants on one leg at a time (with the possible exception of Mormons, who, I believe, must actually gird their loins before leaving the house), and we all know that the comforting concept of home is much more than a physical locality. It is a collection of unique intangibles. For me, it means a certain sound, a musical expression dear to my heart, veritable poetic food for the soul: the drinking song.
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admin
November 20, 2008