The Divine Mrs. M. and I hosted another Cocktail Experience featuring the Vodka Martini. With Quantum of Solace just out, I used a James Bond theme. I’m a Bond fan, but not so much a Vodka Martini fan.
I don’t understand Vodka. I haven’t found a way to enjoy it. The closest I’ve come is our alternate drink from last night, The Divine’s French Martini. Give it a shot. Here’s the recipe:
2 oz of Vodka
1/2 oz of Frambroise (Raspberry Liqueur)
1/2 oz of Pineapple juice
shake well. Serve up in a chilled glass. Peel the skin off a lemon, fold it and rub together. This will drop some of the oils into the drink. Then drop the skin into the drink. Enjoy.
I’ll be a terrible old person.
For what seems like the 10th year, I took my 7 year old daughter to a retirement home for her dance troupe to perform. I’m told this is kindness, but it really seems like taunting the elderly. These girsl – from 3 to 14 or so come in a dance for – in this case women – in walkers and wheelchairs dragging oxygen tanks and IV bags behind them.
If I was one of these old people I’d be mad at these kids coming in a flaunting their youth, their energy, and intact hips at me. Why don’t you go eat your Thanksgiving dinner at a soup kitchen and not give any away – just let them watch?I’d scream. Or why not go to a Solzhenitsyn-esque cancer ward to bruch your long flowing locks in from of the chemo patients?
At least that’s what I’d think if I was one of these people.
But they just clapped.
I’ve been watching Weeds through my netflix instant account. Not a bad show. At least it’s different. And not a bad way to pass 26 minutes.
However, the one thing that bothers me is the opening credits. This is season one I’m talking about . It’s the song “Little Boxes”. The lyrics are here.
The accompanying video to the credits bug me but much less so.
It reminds me of the opening scene in Chaplin’s Modern Times. Youtube of it here, but if you’re not in the mood to wait the 90 seconds until the part I’m referring to it’s the opening shot of the movie. A bunch of sheep are being hearded. They’re sheep. Of course that means mindless and unthinking. After a few seconds the film transitions to workers coming out of a subway stop.
I found that and Little Boxes insulting. Look. I don’t understand the desire to live in a development. I don’t want to work as a nameless drone for a large corporation. But we can’t all be comic geniuses and folk singers. Some folks like living in the suburbs. Most folks do. Some folks like working a job they don’t take home and spend the time after as they see fit.
I’m thinking these are most people.
Leave them along and don’t insult them.
I’ve been doing a few radio appearances the last week plus but forgetting to post links to the podcast. Here’s last night.
Others are here, here, here, and here.
I sent the below out and the Bond debate got a spirited response. If you want a quiet day, don’t put down Sean Connery.
December 8 will be the Vodka Martini night at the next Cocktail Experience at the Cincinnati Athletic Club. As the attached invite shows, it is in honor of the 22nd James Bond Film. I’ve been practicing my martini’s and – much to my wife Alicia’s annoyance – my Bond accent.
I will commit a double blasphemy here in stating that Daniel Craig is the best Bond yet – better even that Sean Connery. It is a double blasphemy because most say Connery is King and until the 1940s my family held British citizenship and came from Perth, Scotland. They may disinherit me for saying this.
My quibble with Connery is simple – he’s not that good of an actor. Need proof? Well, his defining role was an English Spy…with a strong Scottish accent. He’s also know for his role in the Untouchables where he plays an Irish cop in Chicago…with a strong Scottish accent. Many loved him in The Hunt for Red October where he played a Russian submarine captain…with a strong Scottish accent.
Disagree? Come on down to the cocktail experience to argue with me.
Alicia and I continued our anniversary with a Harry Connick, Jr. concert last night. I walked away feeling somewhat low. Connick is witty, likable, charming, multi-talented, and is married to a former Victoria Secret model. i consoled myself by saying “My God is a just god and thus Mr. Connick most likely has no stamina in the bedroom.”
That’s it. Feel better by tearing down others.
But, really, a great show.
Hello Scott Sloan listeners!
If you have questions or feedback to my appearance on November 17, feel free to email me at firstname.lastname@example.org
Strange as it may seem, Alicia and I forgot our anniversary was upon us. She remember noon Saturday. I quickly thumbed through some magazines to pick a great restaurant. We didn’t have a reservation, but after the staff consulted we were seated at Slim’s. Our quick review. Go there. Soon.
Cincinnati Magazine rated it #5 in the city. Last year we went to a higher rated one and were disappointed by a magnatitude of 1000x. Slims is it.
The city where I live has a long tradiation of trick or treating the Sunday before Halloween. So my house is now filled with candy. I realized. I realized something: there’s something especially sweet about swiping a little bit size candy bar out of my daughter’s pumpkin tote. It makes her so mad.
Much of my news writing is done via email. Most times, people write better than the speak…and I don’t have to take notes so fast. It gives me the leisure to write it up at the dining room table.
But every so often, I need to go out to an event. Other freelancers I speak with (and a few editors) tell me to show up, get the basics, get out then write it up. But I can’t do that. Paranoia – as always – compels me to stay. What if something happens? Something big? Then I mindlessly submit my story and look like an idiot.
I’m convinced that I’ll be the guy who ducks out early from Ambassador Hotel just before Robert Kennedy say’s “My thanks to all of you and now it’s on to Chicago and let’s win there…”
However, I’m just covering a simple story that will earn me a little check and be forgotten…but just in case, I’ll be there to the end.