In my case, NOT traveling could be dangerous to my health.
Blame it on my proclivity to accept seemingly unlimited numbers of enticing offers for (initially) low-cost travel magazine subscriptions, as if I could become a real travel writer by osmosis of the written word.
But, I don’t seem to make time to actually read them while I am at home, so my primary method to thin the herd, so to speak, is to grab a couple handfuls of these monthly compilations of slick paper chockfull of ads whenever I travel.
So, unless I leave home occasionally, the sizeable stack of unread travel magazines tends to grow and reach such lofty heights that I risk a debilitating head injury when the damn pile topples over. Or, at the very least, an annoying paper cut.
Call this Reason No. 5 why I became a global humor travel writer; to prevent personal injury from magazine-slides of reading material as I nap in the La-Z-Boy.
On a Delta flight from Sacramento to Salt Lake City last week I was perusing one of a plethora of periodicals that I was packing, and I read about an awesome sounding tropical drink from a place in the British Virgin Islands (BVI). The name of the drink is a Painkiller, and it is served at the Sand Castle Hotel and Soggy Dollar Bar.
It came to me that if those two businesses merged, they might become the Sand Dollar Adventures Hotel and Bar, which logically I extrapolated, should grant me some form of copyright remuneration, say, a couple of Painkillers a day.
The Sand Dollar Bar…I mean Soggy Dollar Bar is located on Jost van Dyke, one of the most charming islands in the BVI. This tropical isle is also known to many a cruising sailor as the home of the storied Foxy’s Bar.
This tiny island is a staggering 1-mile across by 4-miles long, and by staggering, I mean that is what sailing crewmembers often do after consuming a few too many umbrella drinks.
I have been blessed with the good fortune to have sailed on an awesome 51’ sailboat, Godspeed, to this picturesque island, but must report that I never made it past the bar at Foxy’s.
I cannot remember if it was Foxy’s singing, or those colorful mixed drinks—in which copious amounts of rum are camouflaged under the cover of chilled tropical juices—that kept me grounded on the nearby beach.
But—once again—I digress. This post is about liquor laws, as they exist in places like Utah, which make it very difficult to enjoy an adult beverage during certain times of the day.
Like with breakfast.
I was in UT visiting the sister-person, in part to mark my annual celebration of life—namely, my own—otherwise known as my birthday. I spent the evening at a professional soccer game in a wonderful, fairly new stadium, which is home to the Real Salt Lake team, pronounced “ree-al” (not “reel,” like the thing used for fishing).
The next morning, the sister-person and her fam took me up the hill, into the dramatic Big Cottonwood Canyon. Our destination was the popular Silver Fork Lodge, known for excellent cuisine, which goes well with the spectacular scenery.
Part and parcel of the aging process is the inevitability that what body components don’t fall off, get laparoscopically repaired, or outright replaced, eventually hurt like hell.
This week, it is the knees, or specifically, the right knee. I really don’t think I “did something” to aggravate this condition. It is probably just part of the aggravation of aging.
So, with my breakfast menu selection, which was a superb real (pronounced “reel,” just like the thing used for fishing) crab and avo omelet, I ordered…purely for medicinal purposes…a mimosa.
If you are unfamiliar, the latter is a drink that consists of a bountiful—which happens to be a town in Utah—volume of champagne, cleverly disguised with orange juice. This is for the benefit of nearby local diners of a certain religious persuasion who eschew mind—and knee—numbing adult beverages.
Truth-be-told, the glass kind of gives it away, but my knee hurt, and I have no religious, or other self-regulating requirement to teetotaling.
But, I was to be denied…by the government, at least for the time being, where the time being 11:30 a.m., which is before the State of Utah allows them to literally unlock the liquor cabinet.
From the official webpage for the “We think we know what is best for you bureau of the state of nannyhood,”
“Utah’s liquor laws are based on the general philosophy of making alcoholic beverages available in a manner that reasonably satisfies the public demand. In this respect, however, the state does not promote or encourage the sale or use of alcohol.”
Well, it was 11:00 a.m. and I felt I had a “reasonable demand that was not being satisfied.
I did not need the state to promote, nor encourage me in this manner. I could do that entirely of my own volition.
Getting through the myriad of minutiae contained in the regulations is a daunting task.
Let’s see: in Utah, they have beer and they have heavy beer, which, no, does not mean in comes in a 162 pound, 15.5 gallon steel keg.
It refers to whether the beer is over 3.2% alcohol. Somehow, the State of Utah is very concerned about beer stronger than 3.2%, which, in my mind, is pretty damn light beer.
If I had been in a club, I could have enjoyed my mimosa an hour and a half earlier.
Even better than that, if I was at the airport, well I could have had a relaxing beverage as early as 8:00 a.m.
I guess that is to make sure those airline pilots get to start their day with a good attitude.
Finally, “brown bagging” (I think you can figure out what that is) is “generally prohibited,” except in restaurants, busses and at a party. Hmmmm.
Maybe if I had been back sailing in the Caribbean I could have at least gotten a proper Painkiller for my knee with my breakfast.
Maybe a few Painkillers.
For medicinal purposes, mind you.