Was in meetings all day, so I didn't find out about Sidney Frank's death until later today. If the name doesn't ring a bell, Mr. Frank created Grey Goose vodka back in 1997. I would discover it in '99 while stuck in Vegas for five insane days during a convention. I would not only become a heavy consumer, I was also a pusher and priest, preaching the virtues of Goose to my friends and acquaintances until they gave in to its French-distilled majesty. Seven years later, you could pour my brain fluid into a martini shaker with vermouth.
If it weren't for Goose, about 89% of my journal entries probably would not have existed. Lord knows what the other 11% were about, most likely genitalia, modern French philosophy and the feeding habits of the Amish. Patron, Crown and Black Label can also take some credit; but really, my liver belonged only to the smoky bird.
So here's to you, Sidney Frank. This weekend I will have a Goose on the rocks in your honor. Unless the bar charges $14 for it, in which case I'm ordering a Stoli.
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