January 29, 2009
When you read the paper tomorrow and discover Ladybird was beaten, set on fire and left to die somewhere off Johnson Drive, allow me to explain myself.
Sometime last week she rang me up and asked if I would be interested in squiring her t…sorry, momentarily distracted by a hot Osmond with MS on my TV machine, and young Master Seacrest was distracted too, if I’m any judge. Anyhoo, she asked if I would be interested in squiring her to a salsa class with our co-worker, the divine Miss Brown, and La Brown’s adorable boyfriend, Button. Channeling Billy Dean and that delicate petal of a woman, Tiffany from Rock of Love, I responded “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
Wisely, probably, she chose not to tell me we wouldn’t be dancing with each other exclusively until we’d already arrived at the venue. I was not amused. You see, I’m not much of a dancer anyway. I lack rhythm and have an innate desire not to make a spectacle of myself. When put in a situation where people are looking at me, I tend to get tongue-tied and break out in a flop-sweat. It isn’t pretty. I don’t know what I was thinking.
So the class starts and I’m thinking to myself, this 1…2…3…5…6…7 stuff isn’t that bad. Then they asked us to turn. It took me significantly longer to turn than everyone else in the class. So long, in fact, that they were well on their way into another 123567 by the time the room stopped spinning that I just gave up and caught up with the subsequent count. “So what,” I said to myself, “chicks do most of the turning. I can get by without this.”
Next they lined us up boys-facing-girls and had us begin doing the whole thing as a real dance. I latched on to Ladybird like a life preserver, but all to soon the hateful instructor shouted “Switch!” and that was when I encountered the first person of the evening to absolutely despise me. In our line were three young African (Somali, maybe? I dunno; they all had accents) ladies, all of whom had been taking classes for some time and all of whom were absolutely incapable of making eye contact with me. Each of them, I’m sure, loathes my clumsy feet and my apparent inability to turn anyone with whom I don’t spend half of everyday talking. But I found a special way to loathe each of them in return. Allow me to illuminate. (more…)
January 28, 2009
January 23, 2009
Just back from Jesus Christ Superstar at the Midland with The Husband, Patterson, Ladybird & LA. The theater looks fantastic, but the seating was Southwest-tight. Ladybird assures me that its not always so, having recently attended an Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater performance there.
Ted Neeley is 104 if he’s a day (Wikipedia says 66, but what they’re selling I ain’t buying). Seriously, it was like the cast of Rent up there and someone’s grampa wandered on stage. Half his songs, looks like they just replay the damn soundtrack from 30-odd years ago cuz he can’t do the shrieks anymore. When he appeared on stage Patterson leaned over and whispered “I didn’t know Vincent Price was in this” in my ear. Mary Magdalene may not know how to love him, but I do. Give him some hot tea and put him to bed after Wheel of Fortune.
Thank god for Hot Guard Number One with the beard and short hair. Musical… musical.
Also thank god for $9 vodka rocks from hyper-muscled bartenders with dreamy eyes.
January 21, 2009
There’s been quite a bit of chatter about this classic cocktail of late, both in local blogosphere and nationally. Ancillary Adams, citing inspiration from the New York Times liquor blog Proof, provided his (insanely wrong, in my humble opinion) recipe for the drink. The aforementioned Proof went on at some length regarding the battle between the fruit-salad and…well, the old-fashioned contingents in the OF wars. Liquor Snob links to a couple recipes.
I’m a big fan of the old fashioned and have a few rules to guide you. Use a small glass, an old fashioned glass if you will, something around 5-6 oz. In the bottom pour 2 barspoons simple syrup (1:1 sugar to water, shaken or heated until sugar dissolves, but for the love of all that’s holy, don’t let it start to simmer). You can use more or less to taste; I don’t care for an overly sweet Old Fashioned. Add three dashes Angostura, more or less. Or use your favorite aromatic bitters. I’m a huge fan of Fee Bros. Whiskey Barrel-Aged Aromatic Bitters. Or their more common offering, the Old Fashioned Aromatic Bitters, available locally at Red-X and probably other places. Right now I’m test driving the aromatic bitters from The Bitter Truth. Not bad, very anise-y, but it took like twelve dashes to taste the darned things.
Add a good-sized ice cube or two. If, like me, your Tovolo trays haven’t arrived yet due mainly in part to having yet to be ordered, use whatever ice you have. I had some crap ice from the 31st St. Berbiglia that’s been partially melted and refrozen and had to be dropped several times on the kitchen floor reducing most of it to ice dust. Sigh. Fill to within half an inch of the top with a decent bourbon (I like Old Grandad 80 proof for this) or rye (Rittenhouse, sometimes. Or Wild Turkey 101). Give it a stir. Twist a bit of lemon peel over the top and drop the peel in. Easy-peasy. And no innocent oranges nor cherries were harmed, and that’s got to make you feel better about yourself.
The thing about Old Fashioned is they can pretty much be made from any base spirit. While bourbon & rye are traditional, you’ll find a lot of brandy Old Fashioned up Minnesota-way. You could even use vodka or gin, I suppose, but there are far nicer applications for those.
Something I’ve been playing with lately, the Newfangled Old Fashioned, made in the manner described above but substitue rhum agricole for the bourbon. Delicious.
We made it! And many of us weren’t extraordinarily rendered! Some of us can even afford store brands and the occasional trip to the thrift store! And we haven’t been attacked since the last time we were attacked on 9/11 if you ignore the attacks on our allies(easy cuz they’re foreign and sometimes brown) and forget about those pesky anthrax mailings and stuff. So hurray for us.
I’m wary of investing too much in Barack Obama’s mastery of the Force, but surely things can only get better, right?
Gawd, I hope so.
January 20, 2009
So that’s exciting and new. The Obamicon, I mean. Hardly anybody on the internet’s done that before. Totally now.
I’ve banged out a lot of shiz since last we spoke, lo those many drinks ago. And sadly, I can’t share most of it with you. What can I tell you? Well, I’ve got some links. And a fabulous drink or two I’ll be sharing with you in a day or two when I find the time to mix and take photos. And isn’t that lovely? Won’t that be enough? Christ, you selfish bastards will take the last of me.
So, Cliff & Sarah from the Regensblog are in town and having a lurvely time with Sarah’s folks. We had a fantastic breakfast at the Corner in Westport today (not, as you may immediately assume, because of the 1/2 star cuisine, but more from the terribly witty conversation, a fantastic catch-up and the AWESOME presents they brought me from Europe including a bottle of Derby from the Guerlain flagship in Paris and a selection of cocktail bitters from The Bitter Truth in their nearly-native Germany). Then it was back here for some more conversatin’ and a meet & greet with the Ladies and Shmo (yes, we still have Shmo; seriously, no one’s gonna take him when he’s so weird & shakey & stuck to me like glue every time we have a go-see with potential adopters). Then, Cliff & Sarah left, to be shortly replaced by my dear friend Scoots for an afternoon of True Blood (don’t be a hater; its a fantastic show and I’m mesmerized by Anna Paquin’s teeth) and beverages before he had to scoot(see?) on home.
In other news, there was a busy holiday with gifts given & recieved, parties thrown & attended. And seriously I received like the best Christmas present EVAH this year but frankly you’d probably rather not know what it was because it’s extra private, slightly risque and incredibly practical for the likes of my set that I’d be a bit embarrassed to share it with you. Suffice it to say, I’ve never been fresher.
And I hope you’ve been following the Crusty Bastard’s blog, because frankly that kid’s going places. Fer realz. I’m talking trans-global following and shiz. Seriously. The CB’s autographing pics for fans. Well, maybe not for the most recent post, but check the back-posts. Kidz got skillz.
Shorty story long, I hope to get back here more often, because I’ve been neglectful and that’s disappointing. Maybe not for you fucks, but I hate not following through on shit I start and if I’m going to close out a chapter I like to put bitches on notice. So I’m gonna try.