Muses, Musing and Music, Music, Music.

A few days back, in preparation for houseguests, I made a batch of pineapple-infused vodka. Good, if very simple stuff: chop up fresh pineapple into little pieces about 1/8th inch thick, put them in a Mason jar, fill jar with vodka, leave in fridge for a few days, strain into a bottle, keep refrigerated until ready to drink. (Some commercially-minded acquaintances call these “Stoli-Doleys”. Sullivan’s steakhouse takes the result, shakes it with crushed ice and sells as the Knockout Martini. I don’t find either name particularly satisfactory.) The beauty of this drink is that it is light and refreshing – only a hint of the pineapple’s sweetness comes through, but it’s just enough of a hint to make it a perfectly effortless drink. Needless to say, the drink is a strong one – if you start with 80 proof you probably end up still north of 78 proof. If you make this, please note that the result does have a yellowish tinge to it that may disconcert some drinkers if they aren’t fully apprised of the potable’s provenance.

When the nectar was ready to be strained and decanted, I was duty-bound to perform some quality control. It was a hot day and the martini shaker wasn’t handy, so I poured a hearty splash over ice into a handy tumbler. That first sample didn’t taste quite right. As hospitality is a weighty responsibility, I simply had to take all necessary steps to be sure everything was up to snuff for our guests. Apparently the problem with the first glass was in the ice, as the second glass was clearly of sterling quality. The tie-breaking third sample was also top-notch. By now it was time to take the dog for afternoon walkies.

I had yet to notice the attenuation of my attention to the mundane as my mind began to wander. I mused a bit about AAE’s “Missa Na Na Hae Hae”. It occurred to me that the Dies Irae could be set to the tune that, depending on your background, is either “Boomer Sooner” or “Boola Boola” if, after each three-line stanza, one just inserts either “Miserere Domine” or “Kyrie Eleison” – they not only scan properly, but they fit the theme of each verse.

By this time we’re strolling through the park and I begin to not only think this through, but sing it – at least the verses that I remembered at the moment – singing loudly, as one would normally sing such a tune. The gents practicing Gaelic Football in the park took note, though I don’t know if they caught on to the text.

So, pace TSO, text messaging isn’t the only text that can get out of hand when mixed with aqua vitae.