The second hot toddy I’ve applied to my current rhinovirus. I ordered this one at a bar near my office, where I go because they have really good food. The bartender had never made a hot toddy before, however, and although he was game, this was not a very good one. Especially since even though I thought I shouted "Scotch!" quite loud enough over the Rolling Stones (which is what he plays, 90 percent of the time), in the event, he made my drink with bourbon, which I don’t like. Also, not enough lemon, and not enough honey. Or, to look at it another way, too much water. Your choice.
And, as a dubious bonus drawing for yesterday, there’s this:
I try not to make a habit of this, but I needed some artwork to illustrate a story about that new Bob Dylan movie, and I didn’t want to use a typical stock photo. I’d tried half-assedly to hire an illustrator for it last week, but he was busy. So, with apologies to both Milton Glaser and Aubrey Beardsley (what a combo!), I drew my own. The final version is in the story: The Wandering Kind.