Happy Birthday, Jimmy!

Today is my brother Jimmy's birthday. At least I think it is. I'm not very good with dates although I can usually guess your birthday within a three day window. So Jimmy's birthday is either the 24th, the 25th, or the 26th. Writing this now I'm beginning to feel like it's the 26th because my brother Larry's birthday is also in the twenties but in January. The 23rd, 24th or 25th. I did get the day right once when I called my brother Chris to wish him a happy birthday. You know, sang the song and everything. He let me run through the entire serenade, thanked me and then told me his birthday was actually in six months. Oh well, the sentiment is the same.

Happy Birthday, Jimmy! This is what I'd give you if I saw you today, or tomorrow, or the next day:

GO SOX!!

Go Sox!

In honor of tonight's game, I'm posting a little ditty that I'm sure all East Coasters are sick of seeing but I can't get enough of.

Brandy Alexander Part 2

I was reminded by Michelle's friend Pam of where I first heard of a Brandy Alexander -- The Mary Tyler Moore Show.

I tried to find a clip of the scene on You Tube but 20th Century Fox has pulled all clips from the site. (Something I think all companies will start doing thus making us pay for clips in the future which is another reason why writers should strike. But I digress.)

So here's a picture of the greatest cast of the greatest show EVER followed by a transcript of the scene. Lou: Look, miss, I was just about to have a drink and I wouldn't mind some company. Want one?
Mary: No, thank you.
Lou: I said I wouldn't mind some company!
Mary: Well, all right. I'll have a Brandy Alexander.
Lou (dumbfounded): How 'bout some coffee?


And just for fun, the greatest scene ever written:

Mary: Has the job been filled?
Lou: Yeah.
Mary: Oh.
Lou: But there is another job.
Mary: Oh?
Lou: I figured I'd hire a man for it.
Mary: Oh.
Lou: We can talk about it.
Mary: Well good.
Lou: How old are you?
Mary: Thirty.
Lou: No hedging! No 'how old do I look'?
Mary (smiles and shrugs her shoulders): Why hedge?
Lou: Yeah.
Mary: How old do I look?
Lou (pauses): Thirty. (opens booze bottle in his desk drawer) What religion are you?
Mary: Uh, Mr. Grant, I don't quite know how to say this, but, uh, you're not allowed to ask that when someone's applying for a job. It's against the law.
Lou: Wanna call a cop?
Mary (sweetly): No.
Lou: Good! Would you think I was violating your civil rights if I asked if you're married?
Mary: Presbyterian. (Lou stares at her.) Uh, well I, I, I decided I would answer your religion question.
Lou: Divorced?
Mary: No.
Lou: Never married!
Mary: No.
Lou: Why?
Mary: Why?
Lou: Do you type?
Mary: Mr. Grant, there's no simple answer to that question!
Lou: Yes there is! How 'bout 'no I can't type' or 'yes I can'?
Mary: There's no simple answer to why a person isn't married.
Lou: How many reasons can there be?
Mary (nervously): 65.
Lou (exasperated): Words per minute. My typing question!!
Mary: Yes.
Lou (gets up off his chair): Look miss! Would you try answering the questions as I ask them?
Mary (stands up): Yes, Mr. Grant, I will, but it does seem that you've been asking a lot of very personal questions that don't have a thing to do with my qualifications for this job.

If I could write like that I wouldn't need 10 milligrams of Adderall every time I sit down to write a script. And I wouldn't waste the first half hour of my Adderall induced concentration posting to my blog. Oh well.

The Return of Maniac Mommy

I'm again going to take a backseat to my sister in law, Michelle. No, she isn't really a maniac mother but I think sometimes she feels she is. In reality, she's an excellent mother. And when I first met her, she really didn't seem the type who'd have kids. But man, she jumped into the deep end and hasn't looked back since. This is one of the f*ing funniest things I've ever read. And, yes, those are diapers on the kids' heads. Take it away, Michelle:

So, the other night I was putting out toothbrushes for the kids and listening to them giggle in the next room. Then I heard one of them say to the other one, "OK, now you smell my butt." I rounded the corner to find pretty much what you'd expect: both of them naked and bent over, one presenting and the other inhaling.

This is how I found myself standing in my own home, shouting "No Butt Sniffing" with great vehemence. My two children cocked their heads at me, bemused. Smiles twitched at the corners of their mouths. Mommy is so funny when the veins stick out in her neck. "No butt sniffing." I said it again, like it might be less absurd, more serious the second time. "It's a rule."

That really is the bottom of the barrel, in parenting terms. Announcing that something's a rule. That's what I do all day, I make up rules. Don't pee on your sister. No fingers in the butt. Don't break that, don't throw that, don't touch that, don't lick that. (An admonition that is always, invariably followed by: STOP licking
that.) Sometimes I hear a commotion in the next room and I start shouting KNOCK IT OFF and waving my arms in the air, even though I can't see what's going on. I run toward them yelling, no, no, no, and
secretly I'm steeling myself. How grossed out am I prepared to be
right now? How much wine is left in the fridge? And then when I find
them spitting down the necks of the dolls they've behedded, and I
yank the toys away, the kids are truly mystified. Sammie says, "Oh,
all right," which she says just as Elmer Fudd would.
Yep, that's my job around here, bringing the party down.

Blog Action Day

Apparently today was Blog Action Day. Everyone who publishes a blog was encouraged to write about something that relates to the environment. Since I'm late to today's game, and I'm sure there have been a zillion posts that are more clever and more informed than mine could ever be, I'm going to write about the Brandy Alexander.

I was asked to make this a few weeks back at Vito on a Saturday night. I wasn't sure how to make it but George, one of the waiters (the gruffest of the bunch), used to be a bartender so he walked me through it. There was much discussion about whether or not to use the light or the dark Creme de Cacao. As I look it up on the web now, it seems to go either way. That night I made it with dark Creme de Cacao. Also, I didn't shake and strain it, but put a few ice cubes in alcohol and milk and blended it! All in all, it tasted kind of like a coffee shake.

We don't make many blended drinks at Vito. Mostly martinis and wine. I'm pretty sure my Brandy Alexander customer's first few sips were nothing but dust and old margarita mix. Maybe that's why she ordered three.

A Philly Wedding

I mentioned a few weeks back that I was too busy to post due to work, weddings, etc. Well, at long last, here are some pictures from my niece Krista's, wedding. All pictures are courtesy of my sister in law and renowned family photographer, Colleen.

Krista is my oldest brother Jim's oldest daughter. Here they both are trying not to cry as they walk down the aisle.
Here they are in a more relaxed moment before the reception.
Before the wedding I went to my mother's room to borrow some hairspray. She was tucked into her full-body girdle/body armor and was rolling around like a full tick trying to get her even more control top pantyhose on.

Once she got dressed, we slid her into the limo where she sat waiting to be pushed out. Here we are in the back seat of the limo.
My mother's date for the weekend was my cousin Paul. He was a good sport all weekend long doing whatever my mother wanted. However, in this picture he looks like he's being hijacked by my mobster brothers.
Colleen insists that the next picture is of one of the Baldwins, Chris Noth and George Clooney. I see the three dorks who tortured me most in my youth.
In all my pictures I try to keep my chin down, my cheeks in and my head tilted to minimize any double chin-ature. Here are Colleen and my mother not succeeding at the pose.
The Wedding Party.
The Bride and Groom (after a few cocktails, obviously).
The Bridesmaids rolled up to the church in a stretch Hummer. Here's me & Sam pretending like it's ours.
By the end of the night, I finally got to dance with the bride. I taught her the "Crank That" dance by Souljah Boy. It could catch on to be the new chicken dance.
For those of you who don't know the "Crank That" dance. It's time to learn.

Absolut Ruby Red

I bought a bottle of this stuff earlier today at work. Erica and I were sitting around waiting for something to do and we asked if we could run to the store for a minute. Being that there was nothing to do, Kenny, our boss, gave us permission to go. Erica (that's her in the picture to the left) and I headed straight to Vons for some cocktail mixings. We thought about Prosecco but Vons didn't carry it. Then I spied the Absolut Ruby Red. I've always been curious about it mainly because I liked the name. I'm not really a fan of grapefruit but I was certain we could make a decent cocktail from this. Erica was on board. We then headed to the juice aisle where I thought I'd get some grapefruit juice and some soda water to mix with the vodka. Erica pushed me toward the "light" juice. Always a fan of fewer calories, I took the bait.

We went back to the office to mix our cocktails but as we were walking up the stairs from her car we were distracted by the beauty of some man standing outside our stage. We immediately dropped our groceries and headed to the nearest and most discreet window so we could spy on this specimen. Turns out we had to run all the way over to the Girlfriends office to see who this dude was who was keeping us from the drink. Rick Fox. Now I know many of you think of Rick Fox as some played out old cornball, but I gotta tell you this man is a stone cold fox. I couldn't believe it. Anyway, after making an excuse to go down to stage to get a better look at The Fox, we came back upstairs to make our Ruby Red cocktail.

The drink we settled on:
1 1/ oz Absolut Ruby Red
2oz Soda Water
Splash light Ruby Red Grapefruit juice

It was not so great. There was kind of a gross after taste that I blamed on Erica's "light" grapefruit juice. We tried to jazz it up with what we had in the 'fridge. We found some pomegranate juice. That definitely took the edge off but it still wasn't right. It was missing a layer. It was missing the ingredient that makes you want to drink 16 of them. We powered through nonetheless and drank.

When I got home I looked online for Absolut's mixer suggestions and nothing really caught my eye. So I'm opening it up to my reader: any suggestions on a good mixer for Absolute Ruby Red Vodka?

An Excellent Showing

I had an excellent showing at Vito this past Saturday. At one point every seat at the bar (minus one) was filled with my friends. A big shout out to the Drim-Cahoons for stopping by and dragging the Sherer-Weissman's with them. Mainstays, Kerri and Sam, anchored the night while semi-regulars Stacey and Cowan enjoyed a lovely dinner at the bar. The big surprise of the night was the impropmtu "Burn" reunion (minus Stamos). All my ladies from Burning Man stopped by after a long day at a baby shower. Maura, Nancy and Linda came a little later than everyone else but stayed until I finished cleaning up. While at the bar, they managed to come up with no less than five reality shows to pitch to NBC. It's time to build the Burn Dynasty. Just in time for the writer's strike.

Barney

This is Barney. He was a friend's dog who passed away today. He was also one of the sweetest dogs I ever met. And given his size, I think he was a mix between a malamute and a horse.

Tell Daphne, Woody and Sandy we said "Hi" when you get to Rainbow Bridge. Let them know Brady will be there soon. Here's a picture of me and Brady dancing.

Happy Birthday, Lisa!

Today is Lisa Ricci Casparriello's birthday. She's my oldest (as in longest) friend. We met when I was around almost 3. She was 6. I ran outside in my diaper and begged her to play with me. She was like a big sister to me. She was the first person to tell me I needed a bra. She always made me be Kate Jackson so she could be Jacklyn Smith when we played Charlie's Angels. And she was the first person to turn me on to Woody Allen movies. What more could you ask for in a sister?

Happy Birthday, Lisa. I hope it's a good one.

I'll post a picture of her when I get home from work.

French Martini

I may have written a little about the French Martini a while back. I first heard of it when I was still working days at Vito. A woman ordered one during lunch and I didn't know what it was. I looked the cocktail up in my trusty Mr. Boston's it said:

1 1/2 oz. Vodka
1 oz. Black Raspberry Liqueur

That's what I made and it was promptly sent back. The woman requested pineapple juice to be mixed in. Both Hank and I thought that was disgusting but she was drinking and paying so who cares, right?

Since then the French Martini has become the new hip drink. You can order it at almost any bar (where the clientele is under 90) and you won't get looked at like you're from Mars. However you may not get the same drink twice. Seems the rules are fast and loose with the French Martini. I've ordered it a few different bars and it's always a little different.

The best I had was at West, the new steak/martini bar at the top of the Hotel Angeleno. (Formerly known as the round Holiday Inn that sits atop the 405 Freeway at the Sunset exit.) We went there to shoot our first episode this season and me and a few other writers spent the whole times upstairs taste testing martinis. The recipe at West was pretty elaborate:

1 oz Vodka
1 oz. Chambord
1 oz. Pineapple Juice
Splash of Grand Marnier
Splash of Cointreau

Shaken well. Served in chilled martini glass with a twist.

This recipe was delicious but deadly. I had three. Needless to say when I watched the premiere of my show the other night, none of the scenes seemed familiar.

At work we are always searching for a new drink to have on show night. The standard has been Pomegranate Lemonade Margaritas with a Grand Marnier floater. (My own recipe:2 oz. Patron, 1 1/2 oz. Pomegranate Lemonade, big splash of Grand Marnier on top. Stirred. Served over ice in a paper coffee cup so as to disguise what you're really drinking on stage.) It's delicious but we've had enough of them.

The criteria for show night drinks is few: powerful enough that you only need one but sweet enough that you can't taste the liquor. Tonight I made a tester French Martini for this weeks show. In an effort to pare my costs, I skipped the Cointreau. I can't substitute the Chambord for Black Raspberry liqueur because there is no comparison to Chambord.
It's raspberry with hints of vanilla and honey and really kicks the drink up a notch. Anyway, here's my recipe:

1 1/2 oz Vodka
1 oz Chambord
Enough Pineapple Juice to make it a lovely lavender color. (Not an exact measure, I know but sometimes you gotta just feel it.)

It turned out delicious. Didn't miss the Cointreau at all. Here's a picture of it. (I didn't have my photo crew with me so excuse the lousy image and the price tag on the bottom of the glass.)

Skinner's Rat

I want to thank everyone who commented on whether or not I was a terrible blogger. Those that said I wasn't are my new best friends. My brother Chris commented that the infrequency of my posts makes him feel like a Skinner's rat sitting in his cubicle waiting for treats. And since my brother knows I like to have pictures with my posts he sent me this:
That's why I love my brother. Support AND evidence to back it up.

Larry and his Femme Fatale

Actually that orchid is NOT edible. My apologies to all those who ran down to the Charles Hotel last night and ate a flower.

And yes, my brother is holding his pinky out.

Femme Fatale

The Femme Fatale is a drink served at the Charles Hotel's Noir martini bar.

It's ingredients:
Ketel One Citron
Cointreau
Parfait Armour
Raspberries
Lemon.


Shaken and served in a martini glass topped with and EDIBLE orchid.

I'm waiting on a picture of my brother drinking one.

Worst Blogger Ever

So now a few people have come forward and told me they think I am the worst blogger ever. And to be honest, my feelings are hurt. My first instinct, of course, is to say, "F*ck all y'all. Kick rocks. Dueces." But once the anger subsides I realize I've asked you to be commited to something of mine and I haven't held up my end of the bargain.

Chris suggested readers asking questions might help kick start things. Maybe. But his question was what are my thoughts on rye whiskey. And since I still don't have my whiskeys, my ryes, my bourbons and my scotches all that straight I can't give an honest answer.

I can however tell you that my brother Larry fell in love with a drink called the "Femme Fatale" served at the Charles Hotel. It's purple and the serve it with an orchid.

Now after reading that, what's the first question that pops in your mind? Send it in.

The Awful Truth

I just talked to Stacey and she told me I was the worst blogger she knew. She says she's bored most of the day and she only has so many sites she can read, mine being one of them and I have let her down by not posting more often. She's right. The truth always hurts.

I haven't been so excited about blogging lately because I haven't been excited about much. Depressed? Maybe. Sick of my job? Definitely.

I'm so sick of my regular job that it makes me sick of my second job: bartending. By the time Saturday rolls around, I am so sick of working, so sick of cleaning my house, and so sick of having to be somewhere at sometime that I don't even want to go to Vito.

But here's the difference between my regular job and Vito, Vito is like the gym: once you get there you are so happy you went. Like Alberto, one of my favorite waiters, said to me this weekend, "This place is calming for me. When I come here I just think: Showtime!" He's so right. And when you think of it that way, it feels like the best place to be. Still waiting for that to happen at The Game which is interesting it hasn't happened there since that is the place where I'm basically paid to "perform" It's showtime on the CW and I could give a shit.

Also, the pressure of wanting to make each post here on this blog interactive (you know: pictures, links, etc.) has obviously crushed me. So instead of trying to figure out a picture that goes with this post I'm going to post a picture of our 4th dog, Brady. He's really Uncle Balls' dog but he lives with us now. He has a brain tumor. He makes me happy everyday he's still alive. Because believe me, his days are numbered.

Blogging through depression ain't easy.

And Now A Few Words From Another Family Member...

It's been a very busy few weeks (weddings, work, etc.) so once again I'm going to rely on the benevolence of others and their words.

My sister-in-law, Michelle, is also a writer. She teaches at Grub Street which is an adult education writing center. She also ghost writes books for dudes who aren't talented enough to make what they have to say interesting (heart surgeons and doctors who want to introduce new diet phenoms). She also reports for Worth Magazine. Articles so good and in depth they have the power to tear families apart. Literally. On top of all this, she's a mother who sends me some of the funniest observations on motherhood.

Here's a picture of Michelle's kids:


Here's her latest email:

OK. Samantha's new thing is that her socks have to be absolutely
clean or she freaks out. She can be soaked to the armpits in her own
pee, she can have dried spaghetti sauce caked on her sleeves and
chocolate smears around her collar, but if one spec of dirt has
marred her socks, it's a total f*cking disaster. And she can feel the
dirt in her shoes. She knows the socks are dirty before she even
takes her shoes off and she's already whining and complaining. I
can't tell you the number of socks we go through every day. And your
mother is like some kind of sock dealer. She shows up at the house
with new pairs all the time, with sparklies and hot pink flowers. And
I'm like, you're sending me to hell with these. What are you doing?

Samantha is right this minute writhing on the floor with her little
pink polka dot socks, twisting them around and ramping herself up for
more wailing. Why? I don't know why, except that the tantrum started
when the supposedly clean socks came out of the drier with stains
still on them (Mommie didn't use enough stain remover, that's another
level of hell, right?) So I put more stain remover on them and put
them right back in the washer. Resistance is futile. Now she wants to
wear them, but they're still dirty.

And your mother is threatening to buy Samantha a leotard for her little
preschool gymnastics class. You know, with the low cut front and the
little gauzy skirt sewn in. And I'm thinking 1) I'm going to have to
keep it immaculately clean to keep the crazies away, even though
she'll want to wear it while making mud pies, 2) I'm going to have
to wrestle her into it and pry her out of it kicking and screaming
once a week for a 45 minute "gymnastics" class. Please shoot me now.

And I thought boys were hard. Garret doesn't know that he has socks.
He barely knows that he has feet. He'd run around naked if we'd let
him. Suddenly these are good things.

Sorry to rant, but it's just possible that Larry and I have kids who
are far crazier than the two of us put together.

What To Watch by Stacey Silverman

I'm proud to bring to you my first guest post. My friend Stacey is a bit of a TV guru. She works for CBS/Paramount and therefore has access to everything the networks are serving up this fall. She's previewed all the new shows for us and has broken it down into one category: what new show we MUST watch this fall. Not five or six, but one. Take it away, Stace!

What to Watch
by Stacey Silverman

Sadly, I am one of those TV nerds that loves watching all of the new fall pilots as soon as I can get my hands on them. I get some pathetic, cheap thrill out of saying to people, "You just saw that one, I like watched it months ago…" (you have to say that line like a valley girl, because it sounds so much more obnoxious that way).

By April/ May of this year I assumed I had finished watched everything and had made all of my predictions for the upcoming season regarding what would stay and what would go, to anyone who would listen. I was wrong. While going through a pile of DVD's on my desk last week, I stumbled upon Life, a new hour drama that will be on NBC this fall. Somehow, in my viewing marathon, I had skipped Life, so I sat down to watch it, not expecting much. It was another cop show and it's gotta be off the charts for me to commit my TIVO to a new cop show.

Well, People Who Read Bean's Blog, I am more than happy to say, that Life was one of the more enjoyable 42 minutes of television I have had in quite some time. The premise is thus: a cop spends 12 years in prison after being wrongly convicted of murder. When the verdict is overturned and he is released, he gets a $50 million dollar settlement from the department, but also decides to go back to the force (for reasons that will later become evident). The post prison Charlie Crews is surprisingly one of the most delightful, quirky, and fucking handsome cops to come to TV in a longtime. Not the direction I would have assumed network TV would have taken a character fresh out of 12 years in jail, but I applaud the choice. Damian Lewis, plays Charlie, a Brit that you might remember from Band of Brothers, and he is really the one and only reason to watch the show, because Life is Damian Lewis. The show might not be off the charts- but he is. Besides the great looks, he plays this character as part neurotic part eccentric who eats only fruit, and is obsessed with the Zen Buddhist way of living life "in the moment." Apparently this is what got him through his years in jail, and he is attempting to continue this path on the outside world, to varying degrees of success. I'm not describing it well at all, but trust me, this aspect of the show is thoroughly entertaining. Or maybe anything coming out of his mouth would be entertaining to me. I am an admitted cheeseball, with a growing spiritual side as the years go by, so there is nothing I like better than being made to think about the meaning of life from a sexy cop who I would definitely remove my pants for if he asked.

In the end you have a pretty good combo of character driven drama, a bit of procedural, a drop of humor, and a shitload of hotness.

Men, I realize this post was a little one-sided. You should watch the show too, it's good.

Life, premiers September 26th at 10pm on NBC.

An All Vito Weekend

It's been two weeks since I last tended bar and this weekend I'll be making up for lost time. I'm working both Saturday and Sunday night. Saturday I'll only be there for the rush -- 7pm - 10pm. Sunday I'll be there all night. Opening at 4:30pm and there 'til closing. If anyone is interested in schlepping to Santa Monica on Sunday, I'll reward you will a belly full of food and booze.

In case you forgot:
Vito
28th & Ocean Park
Parking in the Rear. (I said "in the rear." Hee hee.)

Back From Burning Man

So I'm back from Burning Man.

(This is The Man about to burn. He's the green neon thing in the middle of the fireworks.)

I haven't written about it yet because I can't seem to get my head around it. Every time I try to explain it to someone I feel like I'm either coming up short or talking in cliches.

It was truly one of the craziest, weirdest, most intense experiences I've ever had. In hindsight, it wasn't so bad. In fact, as the days pass, I think I want to go back. But that's not how I felt when I woke up on Saturday and went for a bike ride around The Playa with Maura. (Pictured here)

Our first stop was the Center Camp Cafe where you can buy a cup of coffee. Not that you'd want one because it's a hundred f*cking degrees out. Anyway, coffee and ice are the only things you can buy at Burning Man. Everything else is "gifted." Which means if you want something you need to learn how to ask for it. Not an easy thing for someone like me who hates to ask for stuff. But the whole idea of Burning Man is "radical self-reliance." So relying on yourself to have the guts to ask someone for what you want is part of the weekend. Ugh.

When Maura and I got to Center Camp there was some sort of free expression dance going on in the middle of the enormous, circus-size and circus-smelling tent. From what I could tell the point of this dance was to constantly be touching your partner with a part of your body -- not just your hands. This of course meant a lot of sweaty people were sticking their dirty faces in some one else's stinky armpit while a bunch of dudes with their balls hanging out sat around and watched. This is all Maura needed to see to want to get the fuck out of Dodge with me.

More to come...