A Perfect Martini

For the past 13 days I have been enjoying one of the simple pleasures of life. The Martini! Only one per day; that’s what I had promised my daughter if she would be so kind to procure a bottle of Gordon’s Gin for me.

My daughter doesn’t really like me drinking Gin; she says that I get strange, at least stranger than my normal strangeness. Plus she mentions that I have the tendency to fall when trying to rise from a chair when I drink a Gin Martini. This phenomenon has only happened to me twice in the past 9 years; but unfortunately she was present at both times.

Some say that Gin is an acquired taste (as is any liquor or malt beverage coming from the British Isles), but I liked it the first time that I drank it, with tonic, when I was stationed in Africa. The Eritrean Bartender at the Service Club said that it was good for me; the quinine in the tonic water helped to prevent malaria. He explained, therefore the more that I drank the better it was for me; it would be good for my health. I bought into his theory because I wanted to drink more gin and tonics. Besides it was a plausible explanation.

I drank my first Martini at the Officers Club on Fort Meade, Maryland in 1969. I wanted to appear sophisticated and everyone who drank a Martini in the movies was stylish and sophisticated. I was at the club on my first date with a charming young lady that I had met the week before.

I ordered a Martini and she ordered a rum and coke. The bartender asked if I wanted it up or on the rocks, shaken or stirred and if I wanted an Olive or a Twist. I remember that James Bond drank his shaken and served up, so I ordered it shaken and up with both an Olive and Twist.

The first sip that I took nearly gagged me; how could anyone drink this concoction? My date asked if she could take a sip, I, of course, said yes and she took a sip. The look on her face was what I was feeling inside but afraid to show openly. I asked her if anything was wrong and she replied “How can you drink that horrible thing?” Nine months later she married me anyway; probably because I had switched back to gin and tonic.

In 1976 I went to a bar with my friend Les, who was a regular patron at this particular bar. Les' drink of choice was a martini, on the rocks with a twist. He didn’t have to order his drink because the bartender knew exactly what he wanted.

I watched the bartender prepare his Martini. First he put the Vermouth into the glass and swirled it around and then dumped it out. Next he rimmed the glass with a lemon twist, dropped it into the glass and iced the glass. Then he filled the iced glass with Beefeater Gin.

On the next round I ordered a Martini telling the bartender “The same as you made for Les, but make mine up and with both an Olive and a twist.” This time I enjoyed my Martini. Les told me that the key to a good Martini was to use as little Vermouth as possible. He was right!

Two years later, my favorite bartender, Bob and I created what I called the Perfect Martini (he called it George’s Special). 2 and ½ ounces of Gin (Gordon’s) and ½ oz of Vodka (Smirnoff) chilled on ice in a glass shaker (until the shaker frosted over) and then gently stirred. A splash of Noillly Prat Dry Vermouth and a dash of Bols Orange Curacao were poured into an up glass. Then ice was placed into the glass to chill it. The ice and liquid were then disposed of and the Gin was then poured into the glass (using a Julep strainer) and was garnished with both an Olive (Queen Size sans pimento) and a twist of lemon (the zest flavored the rim of the glass).

About 6 years ago, with a young (23 or 24) enchanting female friend, I went to a Martini and Cigar Bar in Tampa, Florida. This place had a list of more than 30 different Martinis with only 3 or 4 made with Gin. Prices ranged from $9 to $24 for a Martini. The crowd was young; in fact the guy sitting next to me was in his late 30’s and probably the second oldest person in the Bar.

My companion ordered a Stoli Cosmopolitan with Grand Marnier instead of Cointreau.
(Aside: this drink was invented in an Annapolis, Maryland Bar and Restaurant named McGarvey’s, by a bartender named Bill, for McGarvey’s owner Mike Ashford and his good friend and sailing buddy Walter Cronkite).

Then I explained to the bartender how I wanted my Martini prepared. I was going to play the stump the young blonde bartender game. She smiled and said that the bar only carried top shelve Gins (I chose Bombay Sapphire), and only had Marie Brizard Curacao, they did however carry my Noilly Prat Dry Vermouth (as well as several other brands). I was impressed (with her knowledge and her cleavage) as I watched her make the second best Martini that I have ever had in my life. It was close to perfect.

Our check for two drinks was $32 (and this is in Florida, not New York City). I left the young lady bartender a $20 tip and thanked her for making my day.

The Beach Bum

Die Hard - It's More Fun

Roughly 25 miles south of Nowhereville on US 19 is the town of Port Richey, Pasco County, Florida.

As in a many of Florida cities, there are strip clubs with naked dancing girls in Port Richey.

It’s not that I do not enjoy looking at naked women, which happens to be one of my favorite pastimes, next to Baseball, that is. I don’t want to pay to see them or have them sit (grind their butts) on my lap for a few dollars more. I've always been a man of action. And if I cannot complete the act, it is a waste of my time. It's like masturbation without the payoff.

Last Friday, at about 8 pm, a 28-year-old man went to the Brass Flamingo, an all-nude gentleman's club on U.S. 19.

I’ve never understood why they call them a gentleman’s club. The few times that I have been at one of these clubs, I noticed that, the male attendees have been far less than gentlemanlike. Of course the dancing girls were not too ladylike either.

The guy sat near the center stage to take in the entertainment.

One dancer named Vicky noticed he was spending money freely (probably sticking 5 and 10 dollar bills to his forehead), so she invited him to the "Champagne Room" for a private dance.

Of course, he accepted.

He then paid for one 30-minute dance, and then wanted another, and another. He probably had a 90 minute erection during this time.

The newspaper article went on to say that the private session lasted more than two hours. Vicky told the investigators that all the while, that he was "drinking heavily," At about 1 am., she asked some male employees (Bouncers) to move him to another room so he could sleep.

I read this as he either ran out of money, tried to get her to give him head or lay her, or he had already passed out from being over served.

Club employees checked on him periodically, according to an investigator's report. At 2 a.m., someone ( "Yo, this guy ain't breathing") had noticed he had no pulse and was not breathing. A manager called 911.
By that time he was already dead. I wonder if he Died Hard.

The Pasco County Sheriff's spokesman said there were no signs of foul play. Toxicology tests will be performed to determine his cause of death. The results could take up to six weeks; obviously they have no CSI technicians working for them. Vicky told investigators that she did “ (I did) not see him take any drugs”, he was just drinking mass quantizes of booze.

The Beach Bum

Sailing

In May of 1980, my marriage to the “General’s Daughter” was falling apart. I decided to quit my job and relocate to a different venue. It was a cooling off period, so to speak; a time to attempt to get my head back together again. So I left her and my three children in Maryland and headed for a safe haven; Chicago, “My Kind of Town”.

Chicago is a wonderful place to live during the summer months. It’s a vibrant city where there is always something to do or see. I moved in with my parents and got in touch with many close relatives and friends. I took a part-time job painting houses with my sister’s husband. The problem with that job was that I couldn’t climb up a ladder; I would get dizzy and the ground below would start to move (I have Vertigo). The running joke was that I had to stick with painting basement windows because I would get a nose bleed after the 4 rung of the ladder.

1980 was truly the Summer of George (my apologies to Jerry Seinfeld and George Costanza). After being in Chicagoland for about 3 weeks, my cousin, the Admiral, invited me to go out sailing on a boyhood friend’s (The Captain) sailboat. It was a 32 foot Sloop moored on a can in Burnham Park Harbor (Northerly Island).

I had never been sailing before; I had been on sail boats but only in the harbor. This was the Captain’s second sailboat. Actually it was his third.

The first was a Dinghy that he and I converted into a sailboat in his uncle’s garage. I believe that this vessel now lies at the bottom of Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. The second was an old wooden boat that leaked like a sieve. I can recall going to the harbor with the Captain, to pump out the bilge and drink beer, in the frigid month of November 1968.

In 1980 the Captain had just been bought out of his managerial job at International Harvester and was receiving severance pay; therefore he was in no hurry to take another job. Not only was this the “Summer of George”, it’s also the “Summer of the Captain”. Two friends with nothing to do besides enjoy what life has to offer.

I spent most all of my free time that summer on the Valiant. The Captain attempted to teach me how to sail. He gave group classes to would be sailors/boat owners to help defray the cost of his mooring and Yacht Club fees. The best of his students were invited to crew aboard the Valliant, especially if they were good looking young ladies.

Now that the groundwork has been set, I will relate several Valiant sailing stories on my next Blog. They will be slightly embellished due to a lack of memory of the participants in these escapades.

The Beach Bum

A Return To Normality

It’s back to normality for me. I have spent the past five days cavorting with a group of my old Army buddies. The members of our group that are still allowed to drink alcoholic beverages consumed them in mass quantities. Given the choice of taking prescription medicines to prolong my life or to continue to drink alcohol and kill myself; I chose the latter. Pleasure is much more important to me at this juncture in my life than keeping myself alive and being totally miserable in doing so.

We spent most of the time telling stories about the time that we spent in Eritrea (Ethiopia, at that time). We had four newcomers to our group this year and we heard a bunch of new tales. Including one about me (extremely exaggerated and embellished), which I emphatically denied. The Tale-Teller was confusing me with another friend, but nonetheless it was a good story.

Unfortunately some of the regular reunion attendees were unable to attend this year or it would have been the largest reunion that we have had in the past five years. We spent a lot of time talking about them and cutting them down (since they were not there to defend themselves). We also signed a Happy Birthday card for Donald Rumsfeld (one of last year's reunion attendees), who will be 75 years old in a few weeks. Some of the comments on the card were hilarious.

At the Saturday Night Banquet we all took turns berating ourselves and others in our group. It was like a Dean Martin Celebrity Roast. When it was my turn, I saluted our fallen comrades with a toast. Somehow I managed to do it without choking up.

Thank you, my Brothers! I had a great time and can’t wait until next year’s reunion, which is already in the planning stages.

The Beach Bum

The Bard

I just received an unexpected and interesting call from a female acquaintance that lives in Saint Petersburg. She got my number from a friend that I had worked with for 6 years.

What was most interesting about the call is that she remembered that it is going to be my birthday in 3 days. She also recalled a conversation that we had some years ago about my love for the theater and Shakespeare. She was inviting out to see Othello this Tuesday; the anniversary of my birth. I told her that I would think about it and would give her a call back.

I was being honest when I said “I would think about it”. Usually when I say that I will think about it, it means no way in Hell!

The last live theater production that I saw was Cats in the mid 1980’s. The last time I saw a production of a Shakespeare play was in the 1960’s before I went into the Army.

In High School, I hated my first forced reading of Shakespeare. It was Macbeth and was required reading in my first semester sophomore English class. What a drag for a 14 year old. What tedious reading, almost as bad as having to read Thoreau’s Walden!

It was announced in the syllabus of the second semester sophomore English class that we would be reading two more plays by the “Bard of Avon”. I had never seen so many frowns on the faces of my classmates (except those from the girls in my Freshman Biology class when we were told that we would be dissecting a Frog).

The first play we read was Hamlet. I liked this play much better than I did Macbeth. It was probably because the key quotes were much easier to memorize.

The second was Twelfth Night, or What you Will. After two tragedies, a comedy was a refreshing read. As an added bonus our teacher offered to chaperon us at a local production of this play in the Chicago suburbs. It was on a Saturday afternoon and I had much better things to do on a Saturday afternoon. However my parents told me I was going on this field trip or I would be restricted. It was a tough choice, but I went.

Seeing Shakespeare preformed live is nothing similar to just reading the play. There is so much more emotion in the words that he had written. Even mediocre Shakespearean actors can make your heart jump and flutter. Your eyes are riveted on the stage and you wait for the next line to be spoken. You begin to understand why Shakespeare was as highly acclaimed as a writer as he was.

Seeing Shakespeare preformed live is like eating peanuts. You can’t stop at just one. It is a good idea to read the play before you see it. Just to know the characters and their motives. But the words mean nothing unless they are spoken and when you hear them spoken you will be enthralled. You must remember that Shakespeare wrote them to be preformed, not read.

My favorites are his historical plays and his comedies. One of my favorites is Henry V. An excellent production of this play was brought to the screen by Kenneth Branagh; it was almost as exciting as seeing it performed live in the theater.

When Harry the King delivers his emotion packed speech to his men before Battle of Agincourt, it reminds me of my time spent in the military and the lasting friendship and brotherhood that I had established:

“We would not die in that man's company that fears his fellowship to die with us. This day is called the feast of Crispian. He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd, and rouse him at the name of Crispian. He that shall live this day, and see old age, will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, and say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.' Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, and say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.' Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, but he'll remember, with advantages, what feats he did that day. Then shall our names, familiar in his mouth as household words- Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester- Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red. This story shall the good man teach his son; and Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, from this day to the ending of the world, but we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, this day shall gentle his condition; and gentlemen in England now-a-bed shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here, and hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks that fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

The Beach Bum

I Scream, You Scream - Simple Pleasures

At times we forget the simple pleasures in our lives. These are the little things that make us happy during our day to day existence. A kiss on the cheek, a pat on the back, a nod of the head in appreciation, a smile or a wink that has just told you that you have “made my day” or perhaps just a simple Ice Cream Cone.

I have always preferred the sugar cones over the waffle cones. But out of a cone is not the way to really enjoy eating Ice Cream. It should be eaten out of a bowl or better yet, out of the Ice Cream container itself. This may be pure decadence on my part. But I believe that this is what eating Ice Cream is all about; satiating our primal wants and needs and enjoying it in the process.

My all-time favorite Ice Cream was produced by a Baltimore-Washington food chain; Giant Inc. It was named Double Chocolate Chip. This was one of their gourmet Ice Creams made with rich dark chocolate Ice Cream and large semi-sweet chocolate chips. This was truly a chocolate lover’s delight. Needless to say, I am a chocolate lover.

My second favorite is Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey. A Banana Ice Cream with large chunks of semi-sweet chocolate chips and walnuts. Nuts are on my “no-no” list, so I have ceased to purchase this product. A few years ago,during my annual visit to Chicagoland, my sister, “the Saint”, bought a pint of Chunky Monkey for me knowing that it was one of my favorites. She had forgotten that I could no longer eat nuts.

There it sat in her freezer calling out to me; “I’m in here, come and get me”. After four days the voice calling me sounded so sweet that I could no longer resist the temptation. I devoured the entire pint in less than 10 minutes. I spit out most of the walnuts. The one’s that did make it to my digestive tract did not harm me. But I am not one to tempt the Fates, so I haven’t eaten Chunky Monkey since that day.

Ben & Jerry's has come up with a new flavor. According to their website; The new flavor is a decadent melting pot of vanilla ice cream with fudge-covered waffle cone pieces and a caramel swirl. It’s the sweet taste of liberty in your mouth. Colbert believes AmeriCone Dream can make a difference. “I’m not afraid to say it. Dessert has a well-known liberal agenda. What I hope to do with this ice cream is bring some balance back to the freezer case.”

Stephen Colbert is donating his proceeds from the sale of AmeriCone Dream to charity through The Stephen Colbert AmeriCone Dream Fund. The Fund will support charities of concern to Stephen such as food and medical assistance for disadvantaged children, helping veterans and their families, and environmental causes.

The helping of veterans and their families is a very important issue to me. Our government, especially the current administration and the current and past House and Senate have treated veterans and their surviving families like garbage. This is a moral shame. It’s a greater shame because private citizens have done more for our veterans than our government has.

I do not support the war in Iraq, as I did not support the war in Viet Nam (and I spent four years of my life in the Army during the peak of the Viet Nam War). I do, however, support our military; the guys and gals that put it on the line for us on a daily basis.

At heart, I am a pacifist. To my way of thinking wars solve nothing and serve only as a means to deplete the world population. We live in a world with finite resources. The greater the population equals the lesser resources per inhabitant of our small planet. Therefore, religious scholars say that wars (as well as pestilence and famine) are a necessity. I just don’t buy into this biblical theory!

I am not fond of Vanilla Ice Cream, I do not like Waffle Cones and I’m a bit iffy on Caramel, However I will be buying Ben and Jerry’s “The Stephen Colbert AmeriCone” Ice Cream, as I now know that part of the proceeds will go to our military Vets and their families.

The Beach Bum