o chius!

Elaine is in Bolivia for three weeks visiting some family, and my sister-in-law Lauren is in Mexico doing some missions work for the week, so my brother Matt and I are bachelors for a while. The other night we went up to Matt's apartment with the boys for a bachelor's movie night, featuring Old School. It was the kickoff to Project:Regarding Henry, our latest fest whose purpose is to bring us up to speed on movies which all but one member of the group has seen, much like Henry's loved ones had to catch him up on the aspects of his life that he lost when he was shot in the head, or whatever happened to him, I haven't seen the movie yet. It's on our roster.

We wanted to kick off P:RH with a little bit of class; images of roasting s'mores in the fireplace and drinking fine wine ran through our heads. So Brent and Charles made a trip to liberate some mallows and grahams from the church fridge, and Matt and I knew exactly what to do for the other half of the equation: The Girl.

The Girl is a four-foot tall bottle of chianti that's shaped like a woman. She's been sitting in my house for years, awaiting an occasion worthy of her opening. And we all knew that this was definitely the occasion.

As Robert Burns once said, the best laid plans of mice and men go oft astray, and this is especially true for any plans that are birthed in notions of five rapscallions roasting s'mores and drinking fine wine together in front of a fireplace. I'm not exactly sure how it happened, but the boys ended up roasting their marshmallows over The George Forman Lean Mean Fat Reducing Grilling Machine, while I rummaged through Matt's fridge, complaining that he didn't have any bananas.

And as for The Girl, well a funny thing happened with her.

Matt broke the seal that guarded The Girl's opening, and with the help of Durfey, poured her contents into five fancy wine glasses. "This is it, gentlemen," we said amongst ourselves. "To Project:Regarding Henry!"

And one bye one, sounds of disgust were heard throughout that living room.

"She's bad!" Matt exclaimed. "After all this time, she turns out to be bad!"

"She's gone to vinegar!" Durfey was heard to lament. "This sucks!"

Yes, the wine was bad. Bad! The Girl had so much promise; none of us could believe it!

Charles and I still had full glasses in our hands. Neither of us had tasted the befouled spirit yet, but we knew what we had to do. This wasn't just a glass of bad wine. This was brotherhood. Camaraderie. Charles and I looked at each other. "Bottoms up," I said as we clinked our glasses. We took a sip in unison. Our eyebrows raised. Then our eyes squinted. We looked at each other again.

"This isn't half bad," Charles said.

"Best glass of wine I've ever had!" I announced.

Yes it's true, Charles and I really liked the supposedly bad wine. It didn't taste like vinegar at all, at least to me. It had a nice aged flavor, robust and full of body.

Like I have any idea what I'm talking about.

But seriously, I thought it was great. The only problem is, I really hate alcohol. I rarely drink, and when I do, I water the heck out of it. It's not just because the idea of injecting my brain with chemicals that will do nothing but slow it down is stupid to me; I really can't stand the taste of alcohol. Why ruin a perfectly good drink by putting booze in it, I always say. Same goes for Charles, I'm pretty sure.

Maybe that's why we both liked it - The Girl's wine didn't taste like wine ought to taste, and we both hate the taste of wine, so this drink's taste was good to us.

And now here lies the irony – and the tragedy – of the situation: the only two people who enjoyed the wine don't drink, and those who enjoy a drink did not like the wine.

Now that's freaking poetic in some way, I'm sure.

Top: With both the girls off in foreign lands for the week, bachelorhood reigned supreme.
Bottom: It was a night of unbridled debauchery by all accounts, minus any unwholesome behavior associated with the word.