ICE ICE . . . maybe?

One of the few simple yet memorable pleasures in life, aside from a prison romance, is an ice cold drink. Flavorings are inconsequential and can vary according to temporary taste preferences and caloric content. But it is critical that as long as the stuff can induce ‘brain freeze’ convulsions just by looking at it, then THAT beverage is so far ‘up my alley’ that a colonoscopy might be required.

Even with our modern conveniences like ice makers and self-defrosting freezers, we never seem to have enough ice around this dump. Except for the lack of ‘self-importance’ and my rampant rejection of ‘an entitled culture’, you would think I’m living in ‘ice-free’ Europe here. Oh sure we have those frozen ‘blue’ things for picnic coolers and cases of frozen peas, but most people I know will pass on a glass of just about anything with frozen pea in it, no matter how cold it is.

Personally I prefer those diminutive ice balls in my drinks as opposed to the shattered, slivered chips or half-moon wedges produced by most home ice makers. Invariably those frozen ‘moonies’ and shards will dive out of the refrigerator dispenser, like little translucent, slippery spawning salmon. They flop, fly, and slide all over the countertop, floor, in my shoes, and just about anywhere EXCEPT for the intended glass of tepid spittle.

Despite these icy patches in my relationship with frozen water, even if I was an illegal alien out in the cold, I would love my ICE. So keep your luke-warm ways and pretentious Euro-drinks to yourself, because all I want on a hot day, is a big cold ‘AmeriCAN’ of liquid nitrogen. Yes, to appeal to my refreshing ‘frigidity’ and glacial-sized thirst, bring me my beverages ‘frosty and unapologetically cold’ - just like our County tax assessor.