I am finally recovered from the annual Preakness Day festivities.

I understand that, during the course of a party, many people lose their drinks. To that end I have long proposed the development of a drink beeper, which will be voice activated and can recognize individual voices. It will then play the drink owner's favorite song, or something. Hence, when my drink hears my voice, it will play "Valencia;" Jacques' will play "Out of the Dawn," and Mom's will play "Cruising Down the River."

Therefore, it makes sense that a party of thirty-five people somehow produces ninety-three dirty glasses. People lose their drinks and then get a new glass. I have yet to understand, though, why people insist on losing their drinks in very strange places. One week after the Preakness, I was still discovering glasses that had been lost a)in the bathrooms, b)under the piano, c) in fireplaces and most intriguingly d)in the basement. (Whoever you were, I hope you had fun in the basement, and I certainly hope you had fun with somebody else, because I can't imagine why else you'd have gone to the basement in the first place.)

All things of this sort are to be expected at a Baltimorean party. Our mission, here, is to provide lots of drinks and food. I tend to specialize in a combination of Old Maryland food and weird stuff that I've culled from '30s cookbooks; it's nothing unusual here to see ham biscuits alongside some freakish gelatin mold. (I am particularly proud of the multicolored cream cheese/gelatin/fruit glop that I served this year. Not too many people ate it, but it was really pretty.)

Any respectable party is based on the host's particular preferences and skills. As I'm a Marylander and a Southerner (they're certainly not mutually exclusive; see previous posts) my Preakness beverage of choice is a julep. (See also previous posts concerning the creation of a julep.)

Evidently, at some point in recent history, commercialism invaded private parties as well as hotel bars. Somewhere in the '70s, the Maryland Jockey Club decided that drinking the traditional Maryland-style julep (with rye, that is) was just not quite the hallmark they wanted. After all, everybody in Louisville was drinking juleps (with bourbon, thanks) on Derby day. (Nota bene: much of Louisville aristocracy has Maryland roots.) In a burst of idiotic individualism, the Jockey Club decided that a new drink must, like Aphrodite, be born out of the foam at Pimlico. The Black-Eyed Susan was thus created.

I have no idea what is in a Black-Eyed Susan and I have no intention to learn. I did hear once that it involves Benedictine, which is a perfectly good liqueur, but not something that I normally include in my drinking procedure.

The Black-Eyed Susan was born purely out of an inferiority complex, and I want no truck with it. Old Maryland people have always had juleps on spring and summer racing days, so who am I--or, who is anyone--to buck tradition? And why should Pimlico have an inferiority complex, anyway? Those picture hats that the Louisville ladies wear went out in 1921, even though I do find them lovely. Baltimore ladies wear pretty hats too, and some of them were purchased in this century.

This week I ducked into Pimlico after school to catch the last three races of the day. I only made $10.50 on my bets, but it was well worth it. When I went to the bar and asked for a julep I got one and it was just right, made with rye, and nobody acted as though there was anything even slightly odd about the request. Vivat Baltimorea antiqua.