Gheorghasbord: It's Been a Week

There is a LOT to cover as we sweep out the cobwebs of my meager brain and dump the contents into your interweb experience. We'll start with the weirdest, and then...I mean, they're almost all superweird. So let's just start.

This is a hard headline to resist: Priest arrested for having threesome with corset-wearing dominatrices on church altar. The actual story is pretty true to the concept. If you're gonna break your vow of celibacy, you might as well go for it.

This headline, on the other hand, wildly underplays the most important part of the story: Trump Makes First Public Appearance Since Leaving Walter Reed. In fact, the paper of record waits until the 16th graf to give us this stupefying anecdote: 

"In several phone calls last weekend from the presidential suite at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center, Mr. Trump shared an idea he was considering: When he left the hospital, he wanted to appear frail at first when people saw him, according to people with knowledge of the conversations. But underneath his button-down dress shirt, he would wear a Superman T-shirt, which he would reveal as a symbol of strength when he ripped open the top layer. He ultimately did not go ahead with the stunt."

I mean, I know zman wears a Wu-Tang t-shirt at all times, just in case, but this defies belief. (I wonder how many times I've said that something Trump did defied belief. Maybe I should just starting believing.)

Closer to home, and - unbelievably - weirder still, can I offer you a story about hairy, venomous
caterpillars in Virginia? Called the puss caterpillar (bunch of perverts, you lot), this bizarre-looking beast features spine-like hairs that can cause "excruciating pain" for up to 12 hours. I think I'd prefer that to another week of Trump.

How about a musical palate cleanser before we push forward with the week's oddities and ephemera? Jack White was called into emergency duty as the musical guest for Saturday Night Live, and he proceeded to tear the place down:

Multiple outlets, led by The Athletic, are reporting that Jill Ellis is a candidate for DC United's open head coaching job. On the one hand, she's massively qualified, would be immediately respected by the players, and is as good a candidate as one could find to be the first woman to coach a men's professional team at the highest level in the U.S. Becky Hammon notwithstanding. On the other, I have a decent amount of direct personal experience with DC United's management, and they're either woefully undercapitalized, cheap as hell, or not all that great at the whole 'management' thing. If the club does choose the W&M grad who's done a couple of other things in her career, my fear is that she'd be set up to fail. Kinda like Bob Bradley at Swansea.

Finally, and because I don't want to spend 10,000 (more) words on this topic (though I inevitably will), a few thoughts on l'affaire Huge. I commend to your attention this well-reasoned piece by a neutral party about W&M's athletic misadventures. The key point the author makes is that the entire notion of focusing on football and basketball to the exclusion of seven sports (which is effectively the crux of Samantha Huge's strategy) completely misjudges the cultural value the W&M community places on the prominence of student-athletes as an integral part of the social and educational experience. Doing so without engaging the faculty and students in the process doubles down on that original sin.

I had friends who were track/cross-country athletes, gymnasts, soccer players, baseball players, football players, swimmers (female, anyway - the male swimmers were preening douchebags). I don't know that there are very many schools with competitive Division I programs where so many athletes are so close to their 'normal' peers. Samantha Huge missed that point from the beginning, which ultimately cost her.

Still to be resolved, though, is the question of whether W&M's Board of Visitors understands the culture of the school over which it presides. Huge didn't make the decision to cut sports on her own, or at least didn't greenlight it herself. The next few months will be interesting in that regard. I look forward to rocking my Liquidate Littel t-shirt, courtesy of Marls.

What do Eddie Van Halen and Thomas Edison have in common?

Did you know that Eddie Van Halen is an inventor?  He is named on three utility patents and two design patents.  The design patents are pretty easy to understand.  One claims the design of a guitar peghead, the other claims the design of a guitar pickup.

Two of the utility patents are a little more complicated.  One claims an apparatus for adjusting the tension on the strings of a musical instrument.  The other claims a humbugging pickup.  Whatever that is.

The third is my favorite.  It claims an apparatus that lets you play a stringed instrument tilted 90 degrees upward from how you normally hold it.  I like it not because I want to jam out perpendicularly, but because it has the most rock n roll figure I've ever seen in a patent.

Rest in peace Eddie Van Halen, guitar superhero and patent rockstar.

This Is a Sign

There’s a nice neighborhood adjacent to mine. Beautiful old houses, lots of families with kids and strollers and luxury vehicles and pleasant retirees who wave and smile when you drive by. Mostly... I mean, there are the usual outlier weirdos and crabby old people like there are everywhere. But a really nice neighborhood  

So many political signs. More Biden than Trump, but just lots and lots and lots of signs. All endorsing one candidate or another. 

Plus this one which I just saw today:

Love it. 

Friday Zen, featuring Tim Maia

During a recent Marc Maron podcast, he talked about needing peace one day and retreating from the noise and stress of life by going on a hike in Malibu. Nice option to have when you live in LA! Maron mentioned becoming entranced by a guy named Tim Maia during his hike, especially the song Nobody Can Live Forever. I had never heard of Maia, but with such a kickass first name, he's worth listening to. Maybe you all know him. Maybe you don't. The song came out in 1976. Perhaps it was inspired by animosity toward Gerald Ford. 

As you listen to Maia perform Nobody Can Live Forever below, remember that this phrase rings true for all, even demented Oompa Loompas in DC. And appreciate that 'fro. Hot damn, that is fantastic. 

Happy Friday, gents. 

A Story About Van Halen...and Learning That Hot for Teacher Made Me Hot for Girls

I was born in 1974. I was young for my grade. If somebody were to ask me "When did you first know that you liked girls?", I would struggle to answer definitively. I remember liking my kindergarten teacher (a disco bombshell named Miss Karik), but I think I liked her because she was friendly and young and nice. I liked my 4th grade teacher Mrs. Hillman, but again, it was because she smiled at me and was nice. I remember liking Ginger on Gilligan's Island a lot (hot take: I was Team Ginger). I remember wondering if I could reach my hand through the TV and pull her dress off. Kinda pervy, right? Don't cancel me! I was 10 and curious what ladies in their underwear looked like. I remember going to the abandoned barn in the field behind my backyard and looking at old Playboys. High school kids used to booze there, so I would walk around empty beer bottles and look at rain-soaked skin mags. I liked looking at the ladies, but that may have been because I knew it was something I wasn't supposed to do.   

So when did I REALLY learn that I like girls? That's easy. It was the Hot for Teacher video. I was 9. That song is a fucking monster. It's a 10/10 for tunes my friends and I would crank in our car with friends at the highest possible volume in high school. The hot-and-heavy drum intro. The masterful guitar licks that layer on top of that. The way it all comes together in a rock crescendo. Diamond Dave at the peak of his powers. Michael Anthony doing yeoman's work for the band with his underappreciated harmonies. The song relaying a basic schoolboy fantasy in an electric way. It all works. Even the phrase "I don't feel turned" was cool to me, even thought I still don't know what that means. I owned this album on vinyl, cassette and CD. Only album I can say that about (I think). 

But that video. Oh my sweet Lord, that video. T&A was all over the place on MTV back in the day, but it was often represented in a faraway sense. I couldn't relate to Duran Duran's Girls on Film, but I could relate to being a kid in the Hot For Teacher video and crushing on a teacher. But these weren't teachers. They were 80's babes in bikinis! With sashes! Dancing in front of kids! I remember thinking "that's not fair. I should've had a chance to be in that video." But 9 y/o TR was a pasty, chubby misfit. Unless they were casting a young  Meatloaf, I wasn't going to be on the telly. Let's just enjoy the video and all its 80's glory and agree that this is a song that will cement some thoughts about ladies in a young man's mind.  The video even has a Wizard of Oz feel to it. And when it goes to color, the fun starts. 

I could go on an on about Van Halen's great tunes, but the purpose of this post is to pay homage to Eddie Van Halen, warts and all. And there warts, to be sure. This story is one of the most amusing ones I know. 

To be clear, I am no expert on the band, just a fan. Here are two more tunes to pay tribute to a rock god that a misfit kid from NJ admired for a few years. We will start with a well-deserved nod to Eddie himself and go from there. 

This...is a Public Service Announcement

Okay, not really a public service announcement. But this is a call. 

A call to all my Gheorghies. We did a thing. You're going to enjoy the thing we did. But I need your address in order to let you know what the thing is. NOVA Gheorghies, I'll find a way to get the thing to you. But if you're not in the DMV, send an email to batogato15 at gmail dot com and stand by for the thing. (If you're saying to yourself, "I've already given him my address", you're correct and I still need it.)

The thing is glorious. And it'll make your friends jealous. Or confused. Probably confused. But you'll know. Yes you will.

Happy Bobby Thomson Home Run / Dave Winfield Birthday Day

If it's October 3rd, you know what day it is. That's right, It's Dave Winfield's birthday. The big man turns 6-9 today, so yeah, you're gonna hear from me. And we get to dust off the "Happy Birthday Dave Winfield" label. 

I thought we'd do something different this year and show off some of my Dave Winfield schwag. I finally set up my man cave/home office last winter. A key part of that was buying a display case and setting up my baseball cards in there. COVID hit before I was done, and my office became my gym. So I only got 69% of the way setting it up. But I did pull out some of my most cherished childhood memorabilia. Sorry for the poor photo quality. Annie Liebovitz was unavailable. 

Here is Winfield's 1974 Topps rookie card (middle). I have every Topps/Fleer/Donruss card of his from 1974 to 1989. As you may recall, the '89/'90 timeframe is when thoughts of boobies and beer began trumping thoughts of baseball cards and pro wrestling. One day I may get the few remaining Winfield cards ('90 to '95). But I'm gonna ignore Upper Deck. I dislike the Upper Deck brand almost as much as I dislike prime numbers. 

To the right in that trio is the "Two For the Title" 1985 Donruss card. Mattingly and Winfield went down to the wire for the 1984 batting title. Racist New Yorkers booed Winfield down the stretch. Fun times! To the left is an autographed 1984 Topps All-Star card of Winfield. I traded for this card from a kid who used to (like me) hang out at the gnarly arcade in the gnarly flea market that was next to the apartment complex where my dad lived. I regularly outmaneuvered kids there in baseball card trades. I was ruthless and wouldn't quit until I got what I wanted. I wish I had a sliver of that work ethic in college. The kid that traded me this card was Colin. He was an only child, a sad, obese boy who was an easy mark because he would cry all the time. Always attracted the wrong kind of attention. He pulled it together by high school, but it was tough going for him early on. 

Here is the biography of Dave written by him and Tom Parker. I'm gonna bet Parker did most of the heavy lifting on this. 

Here are framed SI covers I bought from SI. Was a cool offer they had about ten years ago. May still be something you all can do. I did one cover from each of my favorite pro teams. You know I was gonna go with big Dave for this. 

Happy birthday, big man. 

This is an ex... parrot...

 Parrots are funny.  Dead parrots can be highly amusing.

But live parrots can be even more fun. 

According to an article entitled, "Five parrots separated at British zoo after encouraging each other to curse profusely at guests" . . . well . . . that says it all.

Best quote:

According to the zoo's chief executive, "When a parrot tells you to 'fuck off' it amuses people very highly. It's brought a big smile to a really hard year." 

But now they've had to be moved. Pity. 

Carry on.

Inside TR's Head: Thoughts on Animal and the Number 567

I was saddened to hear last week of the passing of Joseph Laurinaitis, one half of the legendary wrestling tag team The Road Warriors, at the age of 60. The Road Warriors were my heroes as a kid. I was too young to know the tag team's moniker was an easy/lazy grab from the Mad Max franchise. And I was too young to know any other Black Sabbath song than the Warriors' original intro - Iron Man. But I was old enough to know their makeup kicked ass, their brutal domination of opponents kicked ass, and the song Iron Man kicked ass. They were the trailblazing antiheroes, paving the road for future wrestling stars like Steve Austin. 

My folks got divorced when I was in 4th grade. It was, like many divorces, long and messy. I would spend most weekends at my old man's apartment, and he would often leave me home alone to go out and do whatever guys in their early 40's do on Saturday nights when they are newly single. Fridays were for sons and Saturdays were for dates, I guess. When I was home alone, I think I was looking for an escape on the telly. At this time, we had basic cable. Sports was always something I gravitated to, but I started falling in love with pro wrestling. The WWF aired multiple times a week. The NWA aired on TBS late on Saturday afternoons. WCCW wrestling aired late Saturday night. And the AWA aired in the late mornings on Saturdays. It was through the AWA, a regional network based in/around the Twin Cities area, that I became acquainted with the Road Warriors. In retrospect, their schtick appears crude, but it was a shot of pre-pubescent adrenaline for me when I first saw them. I was hooked and they were my dudes. 

Here's where we get to the weird part. When they came to the ring, they used to be announced at 567 pounds. I loved that number b/c it decomposed nicely. It was 3 to the 4th power times 7. That's the first thing you all thought, right? I was happy their weight was not a prime number. I hate prime numbers. Except when I microwave things. I only microwave things with prime number times. Anyway, I would spend a lot of time dissecting that weight in my head. Animal was the power guy and Hawk was the speed guy in that duo, so Animal probably weighed more, right?  Maybe he was 294 and Hawk was 273. Or maybe he was 287 and Hawk was 280. I never used a prime number for either wrestler's weight in my head. Both had to be divisible by 7 or by 3. So 288 and 279 was possible, but not 290 and 277 or 295 and 272. Get it? Me neither. But that's how it had to be in my head. 

In the days of my youth, before my brain was occupied by thoughts of boobies and beer, numbers spun around in my head. I couldn't really control it. The fact that the Road Warriors' announced weight (which probably wasn't accurate in the first place) was a fun number to decompose made me like them even more. Yeah, I know that's weird. But I was home alone quite a bit and this was all soothing to me as I parked in front of the television. 

The Road Warriors had a fantastic run and are arguably the greatest tag team of all time, even if their peak was cut short by the typical issues facing wrestlers from that era (injuries, partying, erratic behavior, contractual disputes). They tore up regional circuits from 1983-1990, and then joined the WWF from 1990-1992. Their WWF run proved to be disappointing and each member kicked around for another 10+ years before finally retiring. 

I'll be the first to admit that pro wrestling looks silly when I watch it as an adult. But when I watch stuff from back in the day, I can still recall some of the juice I used to get from watching it and seeing my heroes perform death-defying stunts. Animal was a big part of that. 

Laurinaitis was also an investor in Zubaz, which is just icing on the cake of coolness for me. I assume that was his peak achievement in life, well above holding the tag team title in all three circuits and seeing his son James play linebacker in the NFL. Rest in peace, Mr. Laurinaitis. Thanks for being a source of escape, entertainment and mental math for me as a kid. 

What Car Should a Gheorghie Drive: rootsminer Edition

rootsminer is next up for WCSAGD.  rootsy has a history with vintage German cars, including the greatly celebrated Spirit of '76, a red 1976 VW Rabbit with four on the floor and some rust on the door, and his dad's 197-something chocolate brown Porsche 911 which he wrapped around a tree when he ran out of talent in the middle of a turn.  The moral here is don't lift off the gas in a rear-engined car while turning, you lose traction and the back of the car suddenly swaps places with the front.  Here's how to properly corner in a 911:

Cars aren't rootsy's only vintage interest, he's an accomplished musician in an old-timey band.  He is also an accomplished outdoorsman--he famously pioneered sleeping in a hammock underneath the Martha Wood.  

Taken together, he should drive something old and German, preferably air-cooled, that you shift for yourself, can go off-road, and can carry his band and all their gear.

rootsy should drive a 1983 VW Westfalia Vanagon Camper in Escorial Green.

The interior should be shod in Van Dyke EN Boogie Woogie fabric, of course.

1983 was the last year of the air cooled engine and the first year of the 5 speed transmission so it's something of a sweet spot.  Kinda like my sweet spot for rootsy.  As the name Camper implies, these vans are meant for camping.  The top pops up to give you a tent over the cabin below.

And it really is a cabin.  The P27 deluxe version (which is of course what rootsy should drive) has a fridge, a sink, a stove and two tables.  It even has a water tank so you can run the sink without having to hook up to a water line at a campground.

You can pick up one of these for under $20k.  This crispy-but-high-mileage specimen sold for $15,500 on BaT recently.  If you don't like green, Assuan Brown is the other right way to go.

I'm sure you're saying "rootsminer deserves a B32."  You're right.  But they only made fifteen and they cost well into six figures so it runs against the spirit of WCSAGD.

You might also say "rootsminer deserves an older cooler 'On the Road' type of VW van."  Sure, but they are suddenly through the roof.  

So that's what rootsy should drive.

Even More Emergency Filler

The premise: a young, German sound engineer named Marten encountered a street musician who inspired him. He hooked the man up with some recording, and it kind of went from there.

Next up, he rolled around Europe in a van with recording equipment inside. He recorded street musicians of many nationalities, instruments, abilities, music styles, and states of homelessness or otherwise. The project is called Smells Like Van Spirit.

This is his story. It's now an album that probably should be supported by lots of folks. Later it will be a documentary. I love this kind of shit. 

Check it out.

And this is one of the street bands he recorded. They're called Ramm Tamm Tilda.  This song is called... "Ramm Tamm Tilda." Enjoy. I did.

More Emergency Filler

 Quakers released a new mix tape of mostly beats, so they called it a beat tape, and they also set to a music video.  It's all good.  Their summary of the tape's origin story goes thusly: “They returned to the planet to find humans reaping ecological havoc. From their arsenal of secret weapons comes Heavy Tremors: a sonic assault to help bring the world back into balance. This siege of beats targets the few who systematically pillage the planet and its resources for their own benefit. Play it loud.”

I'm pretty sure I've posted Quakers songs here before but if not here's a personal favorite.  It features Guilty Simpson so I'm sure it's Teedge's fave too.

Emergency Filler

My creative reserves are running critically low at the moment. It's a multi-faceted diagnosis, in my mind. There's so much fuckery around us, from the jaw-dropping mendacity of our national leadership to the more locally-focused bullying incompetence of William & Mary athletic director Samantha Huge. I've got posts in my head on each of those topics and many others, but they arrive at my keyboard stillborn.

And yet, we've gone too long without new content, so I'm going to literally just share a thing that's been running around my brain the past few days that's given me pleasure. Friends, you can never have too much Oingo Boingo.

The Age of Majority

My marriage is old enough to drink. Turned 21 today. In honor of the day, and of my lovely bride, here's a video that will bring back memories for Whit and Dave, who were among my groomsmen. As our car pulled into the church before the wedding, this song came on the radio and we sung it out of tune at high volume. So random. So fun. Such a good memory.

Let Us Now Praise Genius Women

We introduced our readership to the cringily raunchy and outrageously funny Big Mouth way back in January 2019. In that post, we mentioned several of the voice actors, but we probably underplayed the funniest and most uniquely conceived character and performance in the whole ensemble.

Maya Rudolph garnered Big Mouth's first Emmy this week for her portrayal of Connie the Hormone Monstress. I can't really describe Connie, so here's a video of her greatest hits.

Rudolph also won an Emmy for her work as Kamala Harris in this season of Saturday Night Live.

All of which had me thinking that she's criminally underrated. Her SNL work with Fred Armisen alone is probably worth a series of posts. She's almost too good at inhabiting roles for us to remember how funny she is. Salud, Maya Rudolph, and long live Connie.

The Triumphant Return of "Fashion is Dumb"

What, and I cannot stress this enough, in the ever-loving fuck are these fits? This is like when Sandler let the kid dress himself in "Big Daddy". 0/10 do not recommend.

Whit Riot

Welcoming the big fella to the club, as he turns a round 50 (comment on the number, not his physique, as far as he knows) this fine day. A selection from his faves, the only band that matters.

 

 

------------------------------------------

Thanks, Robbie. Appreciate the thought from you and from my alma mater, who sent me this, no bullshit.  Apparently I'm celebrating my 103rd birthday, having matriculated in the 1940's.

Monday Morning Funk

I've heard some good rock songs as covered by funk bands lately.  Enjoy this small smattering to get your toes tapping on a Monday morning.

Of note, this cat Sylvester deserves a slightly deeper dive, but his take on Neil Young's "Southern Man" is exquisite.  And new to me as of last week. Enjoy.

Morning Sunshine

It's been a week, friends. It's been a lot of weeks, really. Ruth Bader Ginsburg's death hit hard, even as she carried way too much of the burden of the hopes of the left. I'm proactively pissed the fuck off about the hypocrisy and naked power-primary efforts Mitch McConnell's about to unleash to seat whatever lib-owning rich-enriching conservative Justice the Federalist Society convinces our mouth-breathing "leader" to nominate to replace RBG. Timely guestie from our friend Mr. Fairbank about one of the things that's gonna get worse before it gets better. Enjoy(?).

The coronavirus pandemic has spotlighted stresses throughout our society, none more than the gap between haves and have-nots. Millions are out of work and struggling to pay bills, while others work remotely and have financial cushions, and in some cases profit handsomely (looking at you, Jeff Bezos).

Coincidentally, or perhaps not, the RAND Corporation released a study this week on income inequality and the widening gap between the upper tier and the hoi polloi. Researchers found that between 1975 and 2018, income distribution cost the vast majority of American workers $47 trillion – that number topped $50 trillion earlier this year.

As the researchers explain, from the end of World War II until the mid-1970s, real income grew at approximately the rate of per capita economic growth across all income levels, creating an immense and prosperous middle class. Beginning in 1975, as policies, legislation and corporate practices changed, that model fizzled and income distribution pushed upward.

A few stats: if worker income had mirrored the increase in per capita economic growth since 1975, the median full-time worker would make about $42,000 more per year; adjusted for inflation, half of all full-time workers earn less than half of what they would have if income distribution were at previous levels; the top 1 percent’s share of total taxable income grew from nine percent in 1975 to 22 percent in 2018, while the bottom 90 percent of workers’ share of taxable income fell from 67 percent to 50 percent. There are a bunch of eye-opening findings, nicely summarized in several stories.

(Brief aside: This recent string of serious, “adult” posts is purely coincidental. I do not intend to disrupt the G:TB mission. As several of you know, and friends will attest, I’m often the least “adult” person in the room. These were topics about which I was passionate or had some understanding or found interesting.)

I stumbled on the RAND report through a tweet from a fellow named Dan Price. I was unfamiliar with him, which is mostly a tell on me and my range of knowledge. Price, 36, is something of a maverick and a rock star in business circles and who just happens to look a little like Dave Grohl. He is co-founder and CEO of a Seattle-based online credit card processing company, Gravity Payments, which he and his brother started while he was in college. He appears to be a business owner with a conscience, or at least a willingness to put his money where his principles are. He’s best known for goosing the minimum salary at his company to $70,000 annually and slashing his own salary from $1.1 million to the same $70k, back in 2015, after a conversation with a disgruntled employee.

The move got him pilloried by FoxNews, ridiculed by Rush Limbaugh and approached by Harvard Business School about his model and practices. He was a biz media darling and curiosity at the time. No one knew how the company’s wage transformation would play out, least of all him, but the company has grown gradually. According to one business site, the company does an estimated $38.2 million in revenue and employs approximately 200 people. They preach service to customers above bottom line, and their aim is to simplify credit card processing. The word “gibberish” is in their mission statement, as in: We don’t confuse our community business owners with credit card gibberish or hide anything in the fine print.

Before anyone canonizes Price, know that he was accused of domestic abuse by his ex-wife and was sued by his brother over fair market value and payments for the company. He was never charged with abuse, though his wife maintains her claim. He won the lawsuit by his brother.

Price’s Twitter account is worth a look, with insight into how he thinks and acts and questions about the corporate status quo. He sounds much like Seattle venture capitalist Nick Hanauer, another gent I stumbled upon while researching Price. Hanauer is a self-described “zillionaire” who also bangs away at income inequality. He routinely warns fellow rich folk that if inequality isn’t addressed that “the pitchforks will come for you.” He helped facilitate the RAND study, co-authored the piece about it on Time magazine’s website and hosts a podcast called “Pitchfork Economics.”

There’s much chatter these days about us being two Americas. Personally, I think that’s too narrow. We’re at least 20 or 25 Americas, depending on geography and means and interests and levels of engagement. Features of a free society. One factor that increasingly divides us, however, is the yawning chasm of financial inequality. Lotsa folks working their asses off and just treading water, while the swells benefit from a system that’s tilted toward them and go all Scrooge McDuck. And it’s all out in the open.

That has to change. People have to feel like they have a chance. Legislation can address it to a point, but not without stoking the divide in some ways. There are powerful and moneyed interests in maintaining the present structure. But when some people in the penthouse say that the system is flawed and needs to change for the good of society, people such as Price and Hanauer, and when there’s research that provides numbers and context, such as the RAND study, that’s immeasurably valuable in the discussion.

In the Spirit of Recognizing Holidays, Alternatively Titled "Juan Carlos Takes a Guestie"

[The King of Spain asked to take a G:TB guestie and who am I to say no? I assured him that this would be well received as the bar here is low.]

Longtime lurker, first time blogger…

Everyone should be celebrating Negroni Week. If you haven’t tried a negroni, it’s an excellent way to invest in yourself. Slightly sweet, somewhat bitter and plenty boozy, this cocktail’s profile is good advice on how to live your life.

I had my first Negroni at a Babbo in Greenwich Village about 22 years ago, on the first fancy date with my wife Julie. They served it up in a martini glass, garnished with a flamed blood orange peel. It was the perfect prelude to an amazing braised lamb shank. From that point on it’s been my go-to cocktail order.

Most cocktail historians believe the drink was created in Florence by Count Camillo Negroni, who asked a bartender to substitute gin for soda water in his favorite drink, the Americano.  Some say Camillo wasn’t a real count. If Camillo ran around Florence calling himself a count and invented this wonderful beverage, more power to him.

The classic Negroni is a perfect cocktail: equal parts gin, Compari, and sweet vermouth.  Garnish it with an orange peel. I make mine with two parts gin, and I recommend you do too. 

The Negroni format is flexible and forgiving, and has many respectable variations. The Boulevardier substitutes bourbon or rye for gin. An Old Pal subs rye for gin and dry for sweet vermouth. A bartender once told me, “it’s more crushable than a Negroni”, but I don’t recommend crushing too many. 

I don’t know where I learned the following under-the-radar variation but it’s worth making. I couldn’t find it’s official name. Let’s call it the Carlito.

2 oz mezcal

1 oz Aperol

1 oz Punt y Mes

Pour over ice and stir ingredients. Strain into an ice-filled lowball glass. Garnish with a lemon peel.

I’ve been in self-quarantine the past two weeks since my daughter was part of the outbreak TR referenced in a previous post. I’ve been dry - trying to bolster my immunity and drop the 8 lbs I gained over the summer grilling and drinking beers.  But it’s Friday, Negroni Week, the day after Free Queso Day, and I feel like celebrating.