Even if Bonnie does have some of my good looks. I seem to have all the bad ones.
But family did grow, officially, a bit this past Saturday when my sister went and got married. The fellow she married has a kid who is, I think, pretty much on his own or will be in not very long. Not sure of the official relative designation and I don’t really care.
So if I seemed a bit more scarce or less given to extended comments this past weekend, I was seriously distracted due to travel, preparation, visiting, the actual ceremony, the gathering after, and more travel back home. It was a nice relatively small event held in a friend’s back yard. Evidently sister & fiance had considered just doing the Justice of the Peace thing and taking care of it, but as she put it, “It turns out we’re bad at eloping.”
Just as well. It was something of a family reunion but without the pointlessness of such a thing. And if I didn’t know everyone there, it was close enough. That was likely as it was kept fairly small and not some “every vaguely related person we can possibly think of” but “family out to first cousins(& their kids) and a few friends.”
The weather cooperated and the ceremony was held outdoors. Really, things were about as ideal as they could be in late May. And now back to what passes for normal.
But I also don’t charge $200 an hour:
Several weeks, perhaps even months, ago I was chatting with a fellow and mentioned something of the Watergate scandal, which I was at least vaguely aware of when it was The Big Deal (filled the news, etc.) and not just (“ancient”) history. Partway through the explanation of the mess it dawned on the fellow that Watergate, named for the hotel where the break-in happened, was the original -gate and that #GamerGate was not. Good thing I have a thick skull. A ‘facepalm’ with a hoof is a helluva thing.
The whole Scandal -gate suffixing is Rather Tired, I’d say. The great thing about the AbScam sting was it had a name sans -gate. A book about a political scandal written before Watergate was great, no -gate! The one really good use of the suffix was, I think, the Jim & Tammy Faye Bakker mess. Some wag dubbed it Pearli-gate.
And now we supposedly have ComicsGate. I await the day a manufacturer of entrances/exits for fences is embroiled in scandal and we have GateGate. It seems only a matter of time.
There is a very good restaurant a few blocks from home. This place is therefore easily within walking distance, which is good as this place also has a bar. As I work nights, my supper is in the morning and I can walk over and have it served to me. And have a drink or two. Also, I like to bake, but really should not eat the results of that as I’m trying to reduce my tonnage. One gal who works there noted that I brought cakes and brownies to her former workplace (someone I once worked with works there and… things happened) and so I bake something roughly weekly and take it over for the staff.
The folks tending the bar, at least during the day and excluding the owner, tend to be younger and rather less experienced. I found myself furthering their education by explaining how to make even some of the IBA standard cocktails. The classics like the Manhattan*, the Martini*, and even the Old Fashioned. Then there are those more obscure things I order from time to time. Alright, fairly often. More than once a drink (one of the standards) was added to the billing system’s menu after I ordered it.
A few weeks ago I casually mentioned that the selection was good, but it was a shame there was no rye. I do like the Manhattan and while it’s a very forgiving drink and a decent bourbon will do, it’s better (to me, anyway) with rye. The owner took note and I was expecting Jim Beam rye (quite acceptable) or maybe Old Overholt to appear. Nope. Bulleit rye. He wasn’t messing around. And… the bottle remained pointedly unopened until I was there. That was a bit of a surprise.
But last week something happened I really was not expecting and to be honest, I am still boggled by it. I can see the reasoning, but still. I had ordered and guided the bartender through the making of the Jasmine which, as the article relates, tastes rather like grapefruit (without the nasty note I dislike) despite the complete absence of it. As it came time to settle up the owner added another button to the system. It was NOT ‘Jasmine’. It was my button. My name on it. Yeah, just for me. And the price is set a bit low, and even so the instruction was, “Unless it’s something like Johnnie Walker Blue, just use this for him.”
I’m still “picking my jaw up off the floor” when I think about this. Why, yes, I do believe I’ll walk over there a bit later this morning.
* Those tend to have wildly varying ratios and ingredients depending upon the patron’s tastes. I tend to go for the supposed 1940’s ratios, myself.
I’ve been told more than a few times that I seem to be a bit out of time, or in the wrong time. It’s an odd mix. Sometimes I think I’m already too far in the past from where I should be. When others claim it, I am suddenly something that stepped out of the past or such. Perhaps it’s an effect of knowing a bit of history – and sometimes having at least a bit of contact with it. Not just my own age (Which is jarring enough. My car is older than some co-workers now!) but that my grandparents were fairly long-lived, and I’ve met some of my great-grandparents though those memories are faint. Thus I have, or had, at least some near-direct contact with things of perhaps a century ago.
With old movies, classic cartoons, and even some older textbooks – as well as fondness for histories of scientific discovery and such – that gets a bit more background yet. I know full well that nowadays, had I the ability to time travel, I would have a rough time even getting by in years I’ve lived through. But I suspect more than a few people might have the idea that I could visit the 1940’s or 1930’s and actually get away with it for more than a few minutes. I do not believe this to be the case.
I would appreciate the music. The stuff on broadcast radio in the 1970’s didn’t really capture my attention. When an even-then ancient reel to reel recorder appeared and one reel was songs from The Glenn Miller Story it was a jolt as if the Universe suddenly told me, “Here, MUSIC!”
A few songs speak to me a bit of history and things I didn’t experience. Or didn’t experience the first time around, but with recorded media and re-runs and such, I could get a taste of them. I never saw Saturday Matinee serials or such in theaters – but I did follow the adventures of Flash Gordon, Gene Autry at the Radio Ranch, and such when big dishes and C-band satellite was a big deal. A sampling of these tunes:
DEARIE (Gordon MacRae & Jo Stafford)
“Do you remember… when we stayed up all night to get Pittsburgh on a crystal set?”
Get Out Those Old Phonograph Records
“…listen to the music play!”
(Stay Up Stan) The All Night Record Man
“There’s a man you should know, who puts on a show, each night at a radio station. When you’re going to bed, he gets up instead and he goes to his odd occupation.”
These are all interesting to me, but rather historical. That is, I appreciate them and they inspire some feeling but it’s pleasant pseudo-reminiscence, not a jolt. A few days ago I happened across something more recent, but still old and aimed more at those who came before me. It’s pretty clearly for those who grew up in the 1950’s and perhaps 1960’s. There are a few things that might seem ‘universal’ enough that even later they could be experienced. Overall, I did not get or go through those either. Perhaps that’s why, at least initially, it hit harder than might be expected.
It was jarring. I was feeling like I missed out on things I simply could not have experienced (with a couple exceptions where I could have had them – or did have them but didn’t want them). The style of the singing also caught me some. I kinda want a tune like that for the times I really did go through. There might be one, but I suspect if so it’s in a style I dislike. Or perhaps it’s best I don’t encounter such thing? Maybe it would remind me too much of things I’ve missed out on. Then again, maybe not. I did go watch a few “You’re an ’80’s Kid if…” sort of video and found that I didn’t recall several things mentioned, but have no feeling of missing out. And in some cases, such as the Cabbage Patch craze, was glad to have been well outside of it, watching a bit of the world go mad without getting mixed up in the madness.
Winter is finally over, the snow all melted away at last. Summer might not be quite here yet, but a Summer-y cocktail for milder nights can be enjoyed. This one is a variation of the Aviation, but despite the ancestry and the name of the gin, this is not the place for the mild Aviation gin. Something juniper-forward is called for, so Tanqueray is a good choice:
1.5 oz gin (Tanqueray)
0.5 oz Cointreau
0.5 oz creme de violette
0.5 oz lime juice
Shake with ice, strain into champagne flute.
It’s a pleasant fairly light tasting thing with a nice bluish-purple look to it. Add to a mild moonlit night and accompany with Moonlight Cocktail [Glenn Miller].