Mucho Mahalos to Trader Tiki for including my Scorpion Rising cocktail in his Mixology Monday: Rum roundup, featuring 34 ultra-sophisticated rum-based libations, and one cheap and tawdry kitchen experiment (mine). I want to try them all, but with my self-imposed 1-drink-per-week limit, I won't be done until sometime next year![Link: MxMo Rum Wrap-up]
I'm hoping we'll all develop strange powers, just like the Fantastic Four. I'd like to be able to dispense different kinds of liqueurs from my fingertips and grow mint and pickled onions from my eyebrows for garnish. That'd be boss.
I'll probably just get cancer.
(via Lady, That's My Skull)
I've been a big fan of the outstanding Funky 16 Corners weblog for several years now, so when Funky's proprietor, Larry, created a new 'blog called Iron Leg, dedicated to '60s rock and pop culture, I followed that too with great interest.
Today's entry comes to you courtesy of Paul Revere and the Raiders. Often derided as popstar buffoons attired in silly Revolutionary War outfits, the Raiders actually kicked ass on several levels, and this tune, The Great Airplane Strike, proves it by dropping a super-heavy slab of fuzzed-out guitar stomp right on our pointy, little heads.
There was a reason why the Sex Pistols covered these guys.
[Link: The Great Airplane Strike]
I've always been curious about the ending of my favorite film noir, Robert Aldrich's Kiss Me Deadly. Was it really a depiction of a nuclear Apocalypse that destroys brutal anti-hero, Mike Hammer, his secretary Velma, and the rest of Southern California along with them?
Thanks to some excellent cinematic detective work by film restoration expert, Alain Silver, the real ending to this dark masterpiece has finally been uncovered, and the equally excellent Noir of the Week weblog has the scoop.
After officially shedding 20 pounds, and shaving almost 20 points off my blood pressure to boot, I decided it was time to celebrate by treating myself to a tropical libation this afternoon.
In a recent e-mail discussion with my friend, Kosmonaut, regarding what would constitute an appropriate tiki drink for a large group of people, I'd suggested going with a classic bowl drink like the Scorpion, and multiplying the ingredients to serve the requisite number of imbibers.
Consequently, I had Scorpions on the brain all day today, so I opened up my copy of Beachbum Berry's Sippin' Safari to the Kelbo's Scorpion recipe, and started tweaking away down in the basement bar. The result can be seen there on the left, and I have dubbed it "Scorpion Rising". No, it's not a tribute to the films of Kenneth Anger, just the cleverest play on words that I could come up with in my semi-inebriated state.
As I said, the Scorpion is a bowl drink, meant to serve 2. Unfortunately, I have yet to locate a Tiki bowl to add to my collection, so I pulled my large Disney World Polynesian Village goblet down off the shelf to serve in it's place.
I've doubled the Bum's recipe, and added several additional ingredients (I'll let you guess which ones). With the addition of a bit more ice, this could've filled a small bowl quite nicely and served 3-4 aloha-shirted, fez-bedecked hipsters (like me!) equipped with long straws.
1 1/2 oz. Fresh-squeezed Lime Juice
1 1/2 oz. Fresh-squeezed (or not) Orange Juice
1 1/2 oz. Brandy (V.S.O.P.)
1 oz. Gin (Hendrick's)
2 oz. Dark Rum (Cruzan Blackstrap)
1 oz. Trader Vic's Passionfruit Syrup
1 oz. Orgeat Syrup
2 tsp. Pimento (Allspice) Liqueur (Berry Hill)
1/8 tsp. Absinthe (Mr. Jekyll)
2 dashes of Fee Bros. Peach Bitters
Add all ingredients to a cocktail shaker half-filled with crushed ice. Shake vigorously, then pour into a large goblet or bowl. Add more crushed ice to fill. Garnish with beak flower.
The resulting drink is smooth, light, and thanks to the Absinthe and bitters, quite aromatic, but it has a serious bite that sneaks up on your about a half-hour later, so don't go making 3 or 4 of these and pounding them all by yourself!
Okay, celebration's over. I've got another ten pounds to lose...
My mom doesn't have a computer, so she won't see this, but in honor of Mother's Day tomorrow, I wanted to show you all the 1944 high-school graduation photo of the woman who made me what I am today...a Fez-wearin', Tropical-cocktail sippin', opera-lovin', jet-settin' hipster!
Thanks, Mom!
At last, something has roused me from my blogospheric torpor! Max Sparber has disinterred the moldering corpse of the not-quite-dead-yet, Essential Ghoul's Record Shelf, a weblog dedicated to a rather specific list of song stylings which include the following topics:
I am a monster.
My girlfriend is a monster.
Everyone we know is a monster, so let's do a monster-specific dance.
I'm being chased by a werewolf.
I have had a spell cast on me.
Where did all my blood go?
The Ghoul then goes on to add a new topic to his repertoire: Let's sing a song about hilariously inaccurate television psychics.
Criswell Predicts tells the story behind Mae West's stirring hoochie-koochie paean to her psychic friend, the Amazing Criswell, who, as you may recall, predicted that Mae would not only become President of the United States in 1960, but would also accompany him to the Moon (along with Liberace).
It's a great song, and a terrific reintroduction for the Ghoul. You have been missed, you rotten old creep. Welcome back!
[Link: Criswell Predicts]
Mike Lynch has scanned and uploaded a number of old gag books in the past few months, but the desert-island theme of this collection really caught my eye (for what I assume are obvious reasons). Most of the humor is stale, un-P.C., and dated, but I still get a kick out of the fine line work on display.
[Link: SOUTH SEA CARTOONS compiled & edited by Harold Myers]
This might be an opportune moment to invite everyone to revisit my own tribute to lame, insensitive, tropical-island humor, the April, 1935 issue of Ballyhoo Magazine.
The best of the three by far was the first, Gone the Beachcomber, a float of Demerara 151 over Maraschino liqueur, 80-proof Demerara, lemon, lime, and passionfruit syrup. The Maraschino liqueur tended to obscure the other flavors, so I'd recommend cutting it back from 1/4 oz. to 1/8 oz. (1 tsp).
I followed it up with the Planter's Punch, which I topped with a flaming crouton stuck into a lime shell. With 3 tsp. of grenadine in the mix, the punch turned out far too sweet for my tastes. I had to 'shop the photo quite a bit to make the flame visible, but I think the contrasty colors make it look like it came out of an old brochure or postcard, so it's cool.
The final drink of the evening was the Tahitian, a combination of pineapple and lime juice, with 3 rums, which produced a very harsh-tasting, flat libation. I'm not sure what it was lacking, but it definitely needed something to lift it above the ordinary. It got better as the ice melted and diluted it, but I don't think I'll be making it again.
Happy 10th Anniversary to Beachbum Berry's Grog Log, the first book of tropical-cocktail mixology I ever bought, and still one of the best. I'll be looking forward to picking up a copy of the revised edition (if the Bum ever gets off his bum long enough to write it).
[Link: Happy Anniversary to Us]
The Drunken Severed Head and Frankesteinia take a nostalgic look at Norman Bridwell's classic childrens book.
[Link: How To Care For Your Monster, Part I, Part II][via Exclamation Mark]
My Best Blog Buddy Forever, Mr. Dante Fontana, is back on the job at PCL after a long hiatus, and submits this gem of Seventies self-improvementiana from the Livejournal Vintage Ads community. I can't wait to order this and release my "inner good looks", since Lord knows I don't have much in the way of "outer good looks" to release...
[Link: The Looking Good System]
Hanford Lemoore exacts his horrible revenge on Dr. Tiki (from Tiki Bar TV) at Forbidden Island in Alameda with this extremely clever prank involving the house jukebox.
Until today, I had been hitherto unawares of the phenomenon known as "Rickrolling". Suffice it to say that it involves Rick Astley, which should be enough to give any right-thinking person an unpleasant clenching sensation in the depths of their bowels.
[Link: How I Rickrolled Dr. Tiki]
