In this spirit, I want to mark the passing of a star of the last century, Mr. Steve Rossi. Steve Rossi was probably best known as the smooth crooner who teamed up with light-socket-haired funnyman Marty Allen. Allen & Rossi were one of the last of the great handsome man-and-a-monkey/shyster-and-the-shyster’d couplings that defined comedy for nearly a century (and descended in a straight line from the “Dutch” comics of Bowery Dime Museums of the late 19th Century and Vaudeville, reminding us that much American comedy is based on the immigrant’s experience of confusion and assimilation). Allen & Rossi were so loved that they appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show 44 times (imagine being big enough to host SNL 44 times!), and were so well respected that they were personally chosen by Sullivan to appear on the same shows that the Beatles appeared on (in fact, Allen & Rossi appeared on three of the four Beatles/Sullivan shows). Steve Rossi was a much-loved figure amongst classic Vegas entertainers, and he worked regularly until the end of his life.

There was a time when fame was less a construct of social media and bad behavior, and more the result of artists who worked their asses off, made people laugh and cry, and left them wanting more of both; in many ways, that time is lost forever (though, of course, many artists still work hard for their success, and achieve fame via creating distinct, original, and creative work). We should always honor those men, like Steve Rossi, who stepped into the spotlight night after night after night in nightclubs glamorous and grim, and knew that their survival depended on treating every audience like a fresh ingénue to be wooed, seduced, and conquered. These entertainers, these people like Steve Rossi, are one of the treasured legacies of our culture, and I hope that there will be many, many beautiful journeys ahead for Mr. Rossi, who passed this weekend at age 82.

Today we also remember another star, one who did not live past 21.

Despite the fact that Stuart Sutcliffe achieved virtually no fame during his too-brief life, he is known throughout the world today, and his spirit and style helped shape one of the most ubiquitous creative forces of the last one hundred years.

Stuart Sutcliffe, who would have been 74 on Monday, June 23, was the original bassist for the Beatles; far more significantly, his deep artistic heart and his extraordinary sense of style (specifically his James Dean-meets-Dean Moriarty-meets-Left Bank cool) profoundly defined who the Beatles were and what they were to become; in fact, I don’t think it’s going too far to say that Sutcliffe’s powerful desire to inject the Beatles’ relatively pedestrian (circa 1960) music with the artistic heart of the American beats and abstract impressionists is what created what we came to know as “the Beatles,” and caused them to achieve a creative style and a cultural ambition that set them far, far apart from their Mersey and Hamburg contemporaries who played very similar American-based rock and pop. Sutcliffe, who was John Lennon’s best friend, was also essential in inspiring Lennon to bring a healthy dose of artistry and lunacy into the nascent rock band, and I personally believe Sutcliffe’s spirit was a formative part of Lennon’s personality until the day Lennon died.

In 1960 on the Beatles first trip to Hamburg, Sutcliffe met Astrid Kirchherr, and the two fell in love; Kirchherr (and her ex-boyfriend, Klaus Voormann) set about re-making the Beatles in their own image, turning them into remarkable existentialist hipsters, and most notably (in terms of the band’s long-term imaging) intimidating John, Paul, George, and Stuart into giving up their greaser-style DA’s and replacing them with fashionably sloppy French bowl cuts. Sutcliffe ended up leaving the Beatles to stay in Hamburg with Kirchherr – where he died of a stroke, violently young, in 1962 — but the effect that Sutcliffe, Kirchherr, and Voormann had on the Beatles is literally incalculable; they are minor players in very, very key roles on one of the great stages of history.

The Buddha said that all phenomenon is the result of causes and conditions; which is to say that in the great and massively diverse planetarium we call Entertainment, or Amusement, or the Silly, Serious, Tragic, and Trivial things that Distract us, nothing arises out of the blue. Nothing. A fundamental element of the Beatles’ character lies in the outsider interests of Stuart Sutcliffe, who we honor in this column; and the beautiful, twisting, corny, ever-shifting beast that is American comedy, descended from the trials and errors of the immigrant experience as interpreted by Weber & Fields, Abbott and Costello, the Marx Brothers, Olsen & Johnson, Martin & Lewis, and Allen & Rossi, also lay deep in the heart of Steve Rossi, who we also honor today, and bid farewell to. Your cheers echo loudly in my heart, Mr. Rossi.

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In this Episode:

When To Tell The Bartender: Anne Zander used to bartend. She gives some good advice about how not to hit on your server, and speaks from her own personal experience about the one time the tables were turned. It didn’t go so well.

The X-Pastor: Sean Tucker used to be a pastor. He talks about the fascinating journey that led him away from the church.

PLUS listener shout outs and an impromptu appearance from Katharine’s favorite Twitterer Fat Gay Vegan! Like what you hear? Tip me! Or give the show 5 stars!

Here is a photo of Anne and me in London, or is it America?

Sean Tucker, looking mighty fine:

Music Credits:

“Setting Sun” by Chris Powers

“London” by The Smiths

“Not From London” by Petula 62

“Kingdom of Doom” by The Good, the Bad & the Queen

“Bottled in Cork” by Ted Leo & The Pharmacists

Source: Tell The Bartender
http://tellthebartender.com/2014/06/23/episode-37-london-calling/

In the early 1950s, Boy Novak, who is about 18, runs away from her home after her father, a rat catcher, abuses and humiliates her one time too many. Her mother died long ago, and she is leaving behind only her friend Charlie, who might or might not love her. She fetches up in a small town in central Massachusetts, where she lives in a boarding house and makes enough money doing odd jobs to survive – and even pay back the money she stole from her father. She becomes friends with two of the other young women in the boarding house, particularly Mia, a journalist. Through them she meets Arturo Whitman, the widowed father of Snow. He’s a history teacher turned jewelry-maker, and he gives Boy a gift of a bracelet: a gold snake that winds up her arm.

Appearances here are deceiving. The first hint comes when Boy meets Arturo’s mother, sister and daughter. Snow’s other grandmother, Agnes Miller, is also there. The room is dark, and there are areas of conversation that are clearly but silently declared out of bounds. The second hint comes when Arturo’s other sister, Clara, sends a gift to celebrate Arturo’s wedding to Boy. The gift is the first time Boy learns of Clara’s existence. Clara and her mother don’t get along, Arturo tells Boy. But it’s not because of anything that Clara has done, really. It’s because of who Clara is.

The language of Arturo’s Massachusetts family carried a few tones of the south. At first the reader winces at the anachronisms, but this book is carefully crafted, and the language is another clue. When Boy and Arturo have a daughter, Bird, who is born “with a suntan,” the secret is out. The Whitmans and the Millers are emigres from Mississippi. They are also passing as white – during the move north they decided to uncheck the race box. Hence the dark rooms and conversational shutdowns. Clara’s fault, if it is one, is that she has been born with dark skin. Keeping the secret in the nineteen fifties leads to some grotesque behavior, but as Snow later says,

. . . you can’t feel nauseated by the Whitmans and the Millers without feeling nauseated by the kind of world that’s rewarded them for adapting to it like this.

This is only the beginning of the revelations and understanding that Boy, Snow, and Bird come to over the 15 or so years covered by the novel. The reader becomes enmeshed in this family drama, sharing Boy’s and Bird’s need to know, to understand, to manage. Everyone pays a price when the secrets are revealed.

The complex racial and social themes provide a persuasive background for this deeply felt story of family life. Do you agree? Let us know in the comments.

Have a book you want me to know about? Email me at asbowie@gmail.com. I also blog about metrics at asbowie.blogspot.com.

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In this Episode:

Jeffrey Cranor, co-creator of the amazing podcast Welcome To Night Vale, talks to the Bartender about art, writing, performing, and what keeps him going.

PLUS listener shout outs, Keith and the Girl and Citizen Radio shout outs, and a drink of the week inspired by Welcome To Night Vale! Like what you hear? Tip me! Or give the show 5 stars!

Here is our guest looking dapper:

Music Credits:

“Setting Sun” by Chris Powers

“Somewhere in Texas” by The Raveonettes

“Bottled in Cork” by Ted Leo & The Pharmacists

Source: Tell The Bartender
http://tellthebartender.com/2014/06/06/episode-36-writing-creating-and-the-fine-art-of-getting-someones-name-right/

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In this Episode:

Brokedown Dorm Room: Dylan Marron tells us about the time he was caught in a pretty serious drug bust, unbeknownst to him.

UCBanned: Jake Hart was banned from the Upright Citizens Brigade Theater for a year. He’ll explain why.

PLUS listener shout outs, Mara Wilson and Citizen Radio shout outs, and 24 and Mad Men spoilers from actor Tate Donovan! (Not really.) Like what you hear? Tip me! Or give the show 5 stars!

Dylan Marron is an actor/writer/awesome person. You may recognize him as the voice of Carlos in Welcome To Night Vale. Here he is the day we recorded!

Jake Hart is a comedian and the host of two awesome storytelling shows, The Dump and ASS. Here is he not getting kicked out of a club!

Music Credits:

“Setting Sun” by Chris Powers

“Tender” by Blur

“The Killing Moon” by Echo & The Bunnymen

“Out of Sequence” by Phenotract

“Bottled in Cork” by Ted Leo & The Pharmacists

Source: Tell The Bartender
http://tellthebartender.com/2014/05/26/episode-35-caught-in-the-act/

But…how do you start? Here are a few steps that I took to begin my journey.

1. Select the shop.

Stop into your neighborhood wines shops and pick one that will from then on be dubbed “your wine shop.” Select one with a good selection and high and low price points. Make sure that you’ll feel comfortable talking to the clerks and won’t be intimidated by the vibe. Even if their selection is a bit overwhelming, a good clerk can easily guide you to the right bottles. Take note of their specials, events or classes they offer and their displays. If there’s a tasting, taste! That’s a great way to get the conversation started.

2. Introduce yourself.

Many people are embarrassed that they don’t know much about wine, or that they only want to spend $10 a bottle. No need to be ashamed. It’s a sensible place to start and the important thing is that you be open to everything and ready to learn. Let the clerk know you want to learn about wine but you’re just getting started. Be clear about your budget and your likes/dislikes (if you have any). Let them know that you’d like them to guide you: they’ll be thrilled that you’re a clean, unbiased slate!

3. Start with the basics

A good way to start selecting bottles is to focus on varietals, instead of regions, and to keep each bottle under $10 or $15 (or whatever budget you set). Ask your new best friend in wine to choose bottles for you that they feel represent the varietal you’re interested in. Need a place to start? Begin with the basics: Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, Pinot Noir, Chardonnay, Pinot Grigio and Sauvignon Blanc, to name a few. The bottles the clerk picks for you may be blends of different kinds of grapes but that’s ok. Not all wines, even if they are called by one varietal name, are purely made from that grape. Then once you have some basics down and have tried a few bottles of some standard varietals, branch out into the lesser-known ones. These are often some of the best values in the store because there is less demand for them, but it certainly does not mean that they’re any less delicious.

4.Taste it!

This is the fun part! Go home, open a bottle and pour a glass. Look at the color, the viscosity (the thickness) and the effervescence (if there is any). Take some notes. Then swirl it around, stick your nose in and breathe deeply. Take more notes. Finally, take a sip. Don’t just swallow, let it pour over your tongue, get some air into your mouth and really taste it. Write down anything you think of, no matter how silly. Is it sweet and fruity? Does it dry your mouth out? Is there some spice? A lot of people use strange vocabulary to describe wine, but just try to describe it with whatever comes to your mind.

Can’t articulate the flavors? Have someone else give it a sip. Did you taste the same things or different things? If different, can you taste the flavors your friend tasted? If you’ve given it a few tries and you’re still stumped, go online and look up some tasting notes for the wine. Do you agree with them? It’s ok to disagree too (taste is subjective!), just try to write down what you tasted differently. This will help you get better at identifying and then giving names to the many different flavors that wine can have.

5. Repeat as necessary.

If you continue with this, even if just for a couple months, you’ll start to make connections between how a certain grape varietals display in wine and then how the region it’s from can affect it. At the very least, you’ll recognize common varietal names and know the basics of what they taste like. That’s some pretty solid knowledge to have in your back pocket. From there it’s easy to branch out into blends, different regions and to explore things you really liked. Remember to take a picture of the label. If you liked the bottle, it will be easier to go find it again and easier for you to remember what you liked about. Cheers!

Selina Andersson heads up events and social media for Tipsy, a wine and spirits shop in Brooklyn. Tipsy hosts 3 or more free tasting events every week. Visit us at the corner of Myrtle and Classon or online at www.shoptipsy.com.

The city’s real estate press, as usual, went wild over the announcement.

The Brooklyn Eagle did a little stalking of the home’s owners, Claire Silberman Leaf and her husband Stuart Leaf:

A phone call to the residence further confirmed that the apartment belongs to her and her husband. The couple has lived in Brooklyn Heights since the 1980s, online sources indicate. Neither Claire nor Stuart has called back, or responded to an email.

For a time, they rented 70 Willow St., a source said – the stunning 19th-century Brooklyn Heights house that’s in tourist guidebooks because Truman Capote lived there while writing Breakfast at Tiffany’s and In Cold Blood.

Brownstoner, as usual, stuck to the math of real estate observing:

The unit is 11,000 square feet and has been “totally reconfigured,” according to the listing. There’s a formal dining room, a landscaped terrace, wine storage for 3,500 bottles, a screening room, library, central air, and a private guest suite. There are also two deeded parking spaces.

To put that in perspective, a 4,700-square-foot penthouse in the same building recently sold for $9,825,000, MNS announced last week. The building, whose address is 360 Furman Street, has 14 stories and 438 units.

Curbed , who broke the story, put the whole thing in perspective:

If the place sells for anywhere close to the asking price, it would smash the record for the borough’s most expensive home ever, currently held by 70 Willow Street, which sold for $12.5 million in 2012. This “Brooklyn is the new Manhattan” thing just reached a whole new level.

So what does $32 million bucks get you?

A nice terrace over looking Manhattan

A room for all the wine you’ll drink in this lifetime

A home theater fit for any character in ‘Game of Thrones’

Full listing at Sotheby’s.

Its also got some great options for those nights when it’s 9pm and you’re eyeing that bottle of wine you’ve been dying to drink, but you have nothing “gourmet” to pair with it. That’s right winos, there are flavor combinations abound in those snack-filled aisles and we won’t pass judgment when you reach for that bag of pork rinds too (plus they go great with a finger or two of bourbon, but that’s another article altogether.).

If it’s a chilly night and you’ve got a big, hearty bottle of red, an easy place to start is with beef jerky. It’s the charcuterie of the bodega, loaded with salty umami flavors and tones of beefy goodness. Almost any deep fruit-forward red with some tannins, whether it’s a blend or not, will be a delicious accompaniment to a bag of jerky. Zinfandel, Barbera, Nebbiolo and Sangiovese are great starting points for this pairing, but you’ll find that almost any jammier red will do nicely.

Warmer weather means easy-drinking whites that are best enjoyed on your fire escape. And yes, we promise, your bodega will come through here too! If you’ve got a crisp white wine with strong acidity or minerality, look no further than your bodega’s refrigerator. Chances are they’ll have some cheese rounds and a back aisle might even lead to a hidden jar of preserves. Any fruity preserve, like apricot, raspberry or strawberry, atop a slice of cheese is so tasty with a bottle of Pinot Grigio, Chenin Blanc or Albariño, just to name a few.

Does your white have some buttery notes, like a Chardonnay, or is it a bit heavier without the aforementioned racing acidity? Find your bodega’s trail mix section and look for some dried fruit. Apricots, dates and figs will match your bottle’s bigger body and add a perfect touch of sweetness to cut the lingering qualities.

If you’ve picked up one of the luscious North Western Pinot Noirs, you’re in for a real treat. These Pinots, especially those from Oregon, tend to have lovely smoky notes, just under a subtle fruity layer so they lend themselves so well to smoked nuts. My pick is a bag of smoked almonds which have a host of complex flavors; they’re nutty, slightly creamy, salty and deliciously smoky. I love to snack on these bad boys with an earthy Pinot Noir that has silky tannins and cedar undertones.

Of course, we can’t forget about those with a sweet tooth. If you’ve got a full-bodied Malbec, chocolate is your best friend. These Malbecs, especially those from Mendoza, Argentina are big and bold, but many times also have undertones of vanilla or spice. Grab a pint of your bodega’s deepest, darkest chocolate ice cream or chocolate bar and indulge.

Nicole works with Tipsy, a wine and spirits shop in Brooklyn. Tipsy hosts 3 or more free tasting events every week. Visit us at the corner of Myrtle and Classon or online at www.shoptipsy.com.

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In this Episode:

The bartender is joined by Mara Wilson and Wyatt Cenac for a very special live show about relationships. PLUS listener shout outs, and we play Craigslist Ad or Casting Notice with Matty Blake! Recorded at Union Hall in Brooklyn, NY.

Watch a clip of the opening here:

Photos taken by the amazing Tom Scola:

Music Credits:

“Setting Sun” by Chris Powers

“Bottled in Cork” by Ted Leo & The Pharmacists

Source: Tell The Bartender
http://tellthebartender.com/2014/05/13/episode-34-live-with-mara-wilson-and-wyatt-cenac/

You may not have heard of ol’ Dieter, but his precise calculations helped his pal, Robert Goddard, launch the first liquid fueled rocket!  The little one-room (plus alcove) museum has been opened by Die Deutsch-Amerikanische Freundschaft Gesellschaft für Wissenschaftliche Verbesserung und Vergesslichkeit der Dinge, die Geschehen Kann oder Maynot Haben, Bevor wir Geboren Wurden, so Lassen Sie uns Einfach mit Dingen, Warum Nicht? (The German American Friendship Society for Scientific Improvement and Forgetfulness of Things that May or May Not Have Happened Before We Were Even Born, so Let’s Just Get On With Things, Why Not?), and it tells you simply everything you need to know about the legendary Herr Doktor Dieter, who emigrated to Brooklyn Heights in 1921, where he set up a little basement workshop on Hicks Street.  Communicating by mail and telegram with the famous Doctor Goddard, who lived in Ohio, our homeboy Herr Doktor used his knowledge of obscure math concepts like Continued Fractions and Sphere Eversion to help calculate potential parabolic velocities.  Viehmann’s personal eccentricities and extreme political beliefs later stained his reputation, which is perhaps why it’s taken so long for him to be honored in his hometown; Viehmann was deported in 1938 when it was alleged he was conducting experiments in Mendelian Eugenics (his phrase) on neighborhood dogs that he kidnapped, and he further damaged his reputation by standing on the sidewalk outside the Ahavas Israel Shul in Greenpoint every Friday night for four years and cooking ham and buttermilk soup in a giant tureen while singing “You’re a Grand Old Flag” in Yiddish.

After his deportation, Viehmann used his almost obsessive knowledge of the Fourier Coefficients (a0=1af0f[x] dx, ah=2af0f[x]cos 2πhax dx, and so on) to help the Third Reich develop X-Ray Weaponry.  Alas, his tic-like habit of singing the patriotic songs of Irving Berlin in Yiddish (it is likely the Herr Doktor suffered from an undiagnosed form of Tourettes Syndrome) caused his undoing, and following prolonged torture by the Reich’s most notorious interrogator, Wilhelm Tim-Tuefel, Doktor Dieter Viehmann died a horrible death in the Brandenburg an der Havel Prison camp outside Berlin.  The new Viehmann Museum doesn’t gloss over this, and they include an actual page from the Doktor’s Prison Diary, in which he writes “I have cut out my own tongue with a shard from a broken mirror to stop me from singing the most disgraceful songs that caused my spiritual defenestration.  Yet I cannot help humming them.  Why, oh why, did I ever let my darling wife Mitzi take me to that production of This is The Army by that merciless Hebrew genius of melody?”

In happier news, the museum also features a great little ball pit for the kiddies!

And Now.,..The Three Dot Round-Up! 

 Mr. Remarkable highly recommends the great new show at Faux Felines, that terrific new drag club on Kent and 11^th in Williamsburg!  I was especially taken by a special Tribute to Lady Newscasters, starring Miss Christiane A Man Poor, Lady Diane Saw Ya, and the REAL Lara Spencer (who knew?!?  She tucks very well!)…I had a simply scrumptious meal at Le Pain Quotidien on Montague Street, but I got nothin’ but quizzical looks when I asked them why their John didn’t have “traditional” French toilets…All you young ‘uns can go on and on about Game of Thrones, but just give me a little Adam 12 on the ME Channel, and I’m happier than Joey Heatherton with a Percodan prescription!…As I write this, the New York Mets are STILL playin’ above .500!  I haven’t been this surprised since Christine Longet was set free.  I have a bet with Mister Marty Allen (“Hello Dere!”) that if the Amazin’s finish above .500 for the season, he has to dye his famous crazy hairdo Mets’ Blue and Orange!…Hey, if you’re like me, you have very fond memories of Sid and Marty Kroft’s Banana Splits TV show – I mean, there is nuthin’, and I mean zero-zilch-nada-null-нульовий-bupkiss-rien-nix-nought- aon rud-doodley squat- គ្មានអ្វី- שום דבר –nuthin’ funnier that chimps in people’s clothing singin’ rock music, is there?!?  Well, good news for all of you lovers of jaw-flappin’ simians in tuxedos!  The FX Network is gonna be airing MonkeyTV, a show based around an all-chimp group called Guns’n’Lemurs, and their rise to the top!  I can’t wait, and until then I’ll stand in front of the TV holding my banana!…Speakin’ of bananas, I don’t go to Broadway much these days – the prices for tickets are higher than Paul Simon’s bail, and the quality is lower than Paul Simon’s tail! – but I must say I am truly looking forward to seeing Harvey Fierstein’s new musical about Harry Belafonte, The Banana Boat Song Trilogy.  It opens at the Lunt-Fontanne Theater in September!   Maybe by the time it opens, I’ll finally be able to take the R Train from this luverly little town to the Big Apple!…AND THAT’S WHY I LOVE LIVIN’ IN BROOKLYN!

Mr. Sommer’s opinions and grasp of reality are entirely his own. 

Timothy Sommer has earned a considerable reputation as a musician, journalist, record producer, music industry executive, MTV/VH-1 VJ, and purveyor of minor cultural dada-ism.  He is currently writing NOVA, OTTO? AVON, a palindromic history of the German love for Lox and Shakespeare.  He also continues his efforts to get one-time New York Mets’ reliever and long-time Toronto Blue Jays team medic Ron Taylor into the Medical Wing of the Canadian Baseball Hall of Fame. 

IN WATERMELON SUGAR the deeds were done and done again as my life is done in watermelon sugar.Richard Brautigan, In Watermelon Sugar

The Tunnel of Love might amuse you….
Richard Thompson, “Wall of Death”

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I was invited to a tasting of Coney Island Brewing Company’s summer seasonal brew, “Tunnel of Love Watermelon Wheat.” You can see it, freshly drawn, in the photo above, sitting on the bar of The Brazen Fox, where the event was held. Before I tasted it, I had Richard Brautigan’s words in mind, and feared I might be getting something akin to alcoholic Hawaiian Punch. I took a sniff–hop aroma prevailed, but with a little hint of fruit–then a swig. Like Richard Thompson said I might be, I was amused. Even pleased. This was beer, not melon juice, though the melon flavor was there, working well with the cascade and citra hops, and with the two row barley malt, malted and unmalted wheat, and dark crystal malt. It’s not something I’d make my everyday beer, but I’d be glad to take it to our roof deck or to a beach on a summer afternoon with some chips and salsa. At 4.8 percent ABV, you can have more than one without fear.

On the way in we were greeted by Sarina Appel, who encouraged me to try Mermaid Pilsner and Seas the Day IPL, both of which I’d previously tasted from bottles (see here and here), on draught. I did, and didn’t taste any major difference from my earlier impressions, other than that the Pilsner seemed a bit more assertively hoppy, and the India Pale Lager perhaps a bit less so, than I remembered.

My wife and I had a delightful and informative conversation with Coney Island’s brewmaster, Jon Carpenter. Actually, my wife got the conversation going, asking Jon about the varieties of yeast used in brewing. Jon is a native Californian and a graduate of U.C. Davis. He has previously worked for L.A.’s Golden Road and for Dogfish Head in Delaware, makers of 90 Minute Imperial IPA (I’ve yet to try their 120 Minute, but must soon; stay tuned). I also had the opportunity to meet Alan Newman, head of Alchemy & Science, Boston Brewing Company’s “craft beer incubator,” which now owns Coney Island Brewing. Alan told me a tale of how he and Steve Hindy, President and co-founder of the Brooklyn Brewery (see my reviews of their brews here and here and here) were at a convention in Las Vegas when the 9/11 attacks occurred and, because all air transport was grounded, bought a van and returned by highway to the East Coast.

Source: Self-Absorbed Boomer
http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/tzVM/~3/6mqzfxEFOz4/coney-island-brewing-companys-tunnel-of.html

You may have heard about Brooklyn’s burgeoning distillery scene, but whiskey, rye and bourbon aren’t the only things our borough is producing.

A few months ago we were introduced to a liqueur called Sorel, which is a Caribbean spirit made from hibiscus flowers. The producer of this spirit, Jack (pictured), is a New Yorker, born and raised, but has roots leading back to Barbados. His grandparents told him stories of sending the neighborhood children to pick the flowers, which, Jack says, “are as common as dandelions,” so that they could make hibiscus iced tea. Since Barbados was part of the spice route, they flavored the tea with cinnamon, cloves, ginger and nutmeg. When the kids were asleep, his grandparents would spike it with rum, making it a perfect nightcap.

For years, Jack made his own version of Sorel right here in New York, but never had aspirations to bottle or sell it. That changed when he was suddenly diagnosed with cancer and given a five percent survival rate. Jack quickly reassessed his goals and focused more intensely on what was important to him: enjoying time with friends and family while discovering and drinking spirits, especially Sorel. He applied himself fully to making a commercial version of the liqueur and officially launched his distillery in Red Hook in May of 2012. He beat the odds and is healthy today.

Jack only uses organic grain alcohol as his base of his Sorel, as well as pure cane sugar and imported spices. What really impresses us is the flexibility of this liqueur; it’s delicious straight up, hot or on ice, with mixers, in punch and the list goes on. When Jack visited our shop, he shared a recipe with us called “The Ariana” and this cocktail is our new go-to for every boozy brunch.

The Ariana

For one cocktail, you’ll need:
1 champagne flute
2 oz Sorel liqueur
3 oz Prosecco
Pour Prosecco into champagne flute and finish with Sorel.

Or, you could take after the founder himself, who likes to mix two parts Brenne Single Malt Whiskey with one part Sorel. This combination, he says, brings out the best qualities of each spirit. Now that’s a motto I’ll keep in mind the next time I’m mixing up a cocktail.

Selina Andersson heads up events and social media for Tipsy, a wine and spirits shop in Brooklyn. Tipsy hosts 3 or more free tasting events every week. Visit us at the corner of Myrtle and Classon or online at www.shoptipsy.com.

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M is a Sudanese activist living in Cairo. As a young man in Sudan M was kidnapped, forced to join the military, and punished for refusing to learn bomb-making tactics. Years later M was released and built a life in Sudan. Yet he was seized again and tortured by the government. He bribed his way to freedom, sold his house, and fled to Cairo. Now he’s running out of money. M faces a choice between selling a kidney and becoming a suicide bomber.

I was introduced to M by friends in our Sudanese training program. On the final day of training our translator tugged my sleeve while I was busy checking the encryption on a mobile device. M – shy, short, with a strong voice but sympathetic disposition and dressed in Western clothing – was was introduced as a Cairo resident friend of our group. M shared his story as we sat together on cracked brown couches in the bright, smoke-filled lobby of a small hotel in downtown Cairo.

The experiences shared by M are raw, unvettable, and sometimes shocking. Yet M’s experience is shared by thousands of Sudanese  refugees and internally displaced persons. To learn more about systemic marginalization and the wars in Sudan, Kordofan, and Darfur please read Richard Cockett’s Sudan, Darfur, Islamism and the World.

Note: This interview was conducted with a local, untrained translator and recorded on the fly with a Marantz PMD620. I speak Arabic poorly and did my best to keep up with the narrative, but surely much nuance and context was lost in translation. Arabic clarification and edits are welcome.

Thanks for listening.

سلام‎

Learn More:

• The Sudan Project
• Small World News
• StoryMaker

Filed under: Audio, Blog, Culture, Interviews, Media, News and Politics, News/Commentary, Podcast, Politics, Post Archive, Radio, Reporting Tagged: Audio, Egypt, Escape, Freedom, Interview, Kidney, Podcast, Sudan, Suicide Bomb

Source: Dan Patterson
http://danpatterson.com/2014/04/22/sudan-stories-the-story-of-m-sell-a-kidney-or-make-bombs/

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In this Episode:

Evan Davis recalls the first time he did comedy, had sex, and got drunk. This did not all happen in one night.

Coree Spencer tells us about the first time she moved out of her house due to impossible circumstances, and found herself homeless at 17.

PLUS, news about the LIVE show on May 8th with Wyatt Cenac and Mara Wilson, and listener shout outs! Like what you hear? Tip me! Or give the show 5 stars!

Evan Davis is a comedian, film buff and all around great guy.

Coree Spencer is a comedian, storyteller, filmmaker, and in her spare time rocks it on Twitter. Here she is emulating what my album cover would be if I had a band:

Music Credits:

“Setting Sun” by Chris Powers

“Ceremony” by New Order

“Is It Wicked Not To Care” by Belle & Sebastian

“Kiss Them For Me” by Siouxsie and the Banshees

“Predictable” by Bran Van 3000

“Bottled in Cork” by Ted Leo & The Pharmacists

Source: Tell The Bartender
http://tellthebartender.com/2014/04/13/episode-32-a-series-of-firsts/

Now, the details behind the dazzling line of copy I recorded above hardly matters; suffice to see that Mr. Chapman, a left-handed pitcher of Cuban-Andorran descent who can throw a baseball at an almost supernatural speed, was quite recently on the receiving end of a batted line-drive to the forehead that nearly resulted in his premature defenestration from mortality (or, as they might say in Catalan, the native tongue of Andorra, esports induïda per decapitació); and the injury did, most indeed, leave our dear fast-balling friend with head full of staples.

What matters is this:  Baseball is back.

Baseball, which kept us company as a lonely child, and thrilled us when our middle school world was full of taunts and the snail-gray of boredom; baseball, which taught us math, patience, frustration, and loyalty to team and town; baseball, whose elegant pace reminded us of the need to breathe amidst the now-continuous distractions of the day, and whose green fields are full of space yet demand attention; baseball, whose radio and television announcers comforted us through long summer nights and shorter autumn days with tube-warmed voices as familiar as our mothers; baseball, which never changes yet is always in motion, and which continually promises us a spot under lights or sun in which to simultaneously richly relax and deeply focus; baseball, which allows us to have the heroes of every stage of our long lives immediately recalled simply by seeing the number on a uniform; baseball, which belongs to the sepia city and the sluicing subways and the green fields and the crystal blue country skies, all at the same time; baseball, which declines to grow old, even as we do; baseball, which refuses to be rushed in an era where now has already come and gone; baseball, my dear friends, which like the beautiful cream-colored bird glimpsed from the Brooklyn Bridge and silhouetted against the skyline, mysteriously vanishes with the chill and returns with the first rumor of spring; baseball is back.

And to honor the return of baseball, and inspired by the accidental poetry to be found in the headline about the fastballer felled by fickle flicks of ashen bat, I am going to present you with some baseball haikus, to remind us of the grace, simplicity, and poetry inherent in our greatest game.

Aroldis Chapman/Has a Head Full of Staples/A courageous Red.

Moe Berg, Atomic Spy/Heisenberg’s sworn enemy/Batted .243.

Third Base Coach Ed Yost/Relays signals in my dreams/Of Miracle Days.

All Hail Pumpsie Green/Who sought solace in Holy Lands/With pal Gene Conley.

They called him The Bird/He flew, he skipped, then flamed out/What a character.

Alex Rodriguez/Shame, shame, shame, shame, shame, shame, shame./Shame, shame, what a shame.

I have seen few sights/As disturbing and odd as/Davey Johnson’s neck.

On Montague Street/We stop and pause at a plague:/Jackie was signed here.

…AND THAT’S WHY I LOVE LIVIN’ IN BROOKLYN. 

Tim Sommer has been employed to varying degrees of gainfulness as a musician, record producer, DJ, VJ, and music industry executive.   The first baseball game he ever attended was on July 8, 1969, at Shea Stadium.  The New York Mets scored three runs in the 9^th to come from behind and beat the Chicago Cubs, 4 – 3, giving Jerry Koosman the win.  

Source: Brooklyn Heights Blog
http://brooklynheightsblog.com/archives/66448

Well, since I wasn’t exactly out and about this past week (unless you call confinement to a mattress in a 5’ by 7’ windowless room on Swinburne Island “going out”), Mr. Recoverin’ Remarkable is going to have to dig into his archives for this week’s column!  (Oh, by the way, dearest readers, The Carrie Fisher Center is on Swinburne Island, and Swinburne Island, for those who don’t know, is a man-made Island – built in 1873 – in the Lower Bay, not too far from Staten Island; it originally housed the doomed and quarantined sick who were pulled off of Ellis Island. Real estate is cheap there, and the CFCTPA knew a bargain when they saw one, so they snapped it up and put up a few sheds and a Quonset hut, and imported a couple of doctors from, as far as I can tell, the Philippines).

(Oh, by the way, the poor chap pictured below isn’t me, but the unfortunate Leon Czolgosz, who you, dear reader, shall learn a little more about shortly.)

Fortunately, I have a file set aside for precisely these occasions (I last utilized it in 1986, when my depression over the suicide of Queens borough President Donald Manes tipped me into a catatonic state for three weeks).  The file is labeled Remarkable Facts!, and it contains all sorts of Tantalizin’ Tidbits and Insanely Amazin’ Info I’ve collected over the years!  AND IT’S ALL TRUE!!!

• Researchers at Duke University have determined that 8 out of 10 people will become sleepy if they stare a dog directly in the eye!

•  In the Netherlands, it is considered exceedingly rude to touch a stranger’s bicycle tire!

•   The reason we call a prostitutes’ client a “John” is because of a very public scandal involving Indianapolis mayor John O’Dwyer in 1904!

•   When President Lyndon Johnson was depressed, he would have aides roll him inside a carpet and throw him down a flight of stairs!

• The original name of IHOP (the International House of Pancakes) was IHOPWESOOT (The International House of People Who Eat Spaghetti Out of Troughs)! In 1955, brothers Jerry and Al Lapin opened two IHOPWESOOTS – one in Siler City, North Carolina, the other in Greeneville, South Carolina.  These eateries were great successes, so the brothers opened a third IHOPWESOOT in 1956 in Greensboro, North Carolina.  Problems with the North Carolina health department forced the two N.C. IHOPWESOOT’s to close in 1958, so in 1959, Jerry and Al reconfigured these two locations around a breakfast and pancake friendly concept, shortened the name, and the rest is history!  Oh, the one remaining IHOPWESOOT (the South Carolina one) changed its’ name in 1962 to Ye Olde Spaghetti Feedbag, and remains open to this day!

• Jared Folgle – whom the world knows as “the Subway guy” – is the grandson of atomic spies Ethel and Julius Rosenberg!

•  Before Merv Griffin created Jeopardy!, he created a less-successful game show called That’s No Lady, That’s My Chimp!

• The Black and Tan, a libatious staple of every Irish pub, was invented in 1916 by a Dublin-based terrorist group working for Irish independence, The Blacken Ten!

• The actual inventor of the recording process later known as the Edison Disk was Leon Czolgosz!  After Thomas Edison stole Czolgosz’s idea, the inventor descended into madness, culminating with his assassination of President William McKinley in 1901!

•  Due to the fact that he was born in England, funnyman Bob Hope was briefly interred as a Suspicious Alien by the U.S. Government during the 1938 Cordell Hull Poisoning Crisis!

• The dog breed name “Pit Bull” originated with legendary British Prime Minister Winston Churchill!  Churchill, who was notoriously cruel to animals, owned four Staffordshire Bull Terriers, whom he kept chained in a small cage behind his quarters in the War Office.  The Prime Minister took to feeding the dogs only peach pits, which he claimed kept them “hungry, healthy, and regular as a soldier,” further citing that when he had been a prisoner of war himself in a Boer prison camp, his captors had fed him only on peach pits, and he had “turned out fine.”  Before long, due to their simple and constant diets, people around the War Office began to refer to Churchill’s dogs simply as “Pit Bulls.”

(Mr. Sommer’s opinions and grasp of reality are entirely his own)

Tim Sommer has been employed to varying degrees of gainfulness as a musician, record producer, DJ, VJ, and music industry executive.   He is currently working on Beame!, a musical about New York City’s much maligned elfin Mayor of the same name, and he recently testified before the veterans’ committee of the Baseball Hall of Fame that middle reliever Terry Leach was the best pitcher he ever saw.

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In this Episode:

Mark Duffy worked in the World Trade Center for 20 years until September 11th, 2001. His son Chris was in school, just a few miles away. The two talk about that day and how they finally found their way home.

PLUS, a new drink inspired by and named after Blair Koenig from STFU Parents and listener shout outs! Like what you hear? Tip me! Or give the show 5 stars!

Chris Duffy is the host of You’re The Expert, an awesome show. Mark Duffy is retired and is a master hiker. He plans to climb to the highest peak in all 50 states.

Music Credits:

“Setting Sun” by Chris Powers

“Happens All The Time” by Chris Powers

“Pink Moon” by Nick Drake

“Bottled in Cork” by Ted Leo & The Pharmacists

Source: Tell The Bartender
http://tellthebartender.com/2014/03/30/episode-31-a-911-story/

Brooklyn Heights resident/member of fun. Jack Antonoff’s side project, Bleachers, dropped a new music video this week. The clip for “I Wanna Get Better” was directed by his girlfriend and fellow Brooklyn Heights resident/former Mr. Video III staffer/’Girls’ star Lena Dunham.

Radio.com News: The clip has Antonoff showing off his acting chops (and his pjs) as he tries to get his girlfriend to stay. “I’ll make you an espresso,” he pleads. But alas, she’s not interested in caffeine.

The break-up leads us into Antonoff’s day, which follows him through coffee spills and therapy sessions with patients that include Retta from Parks and Recreation and the bleached blond girl on the single’s cover singing his lyrics back at him. And of course, talking about take your daughter to work day, power clashing and abortion dogs.

Source: Brooklyn Heights Blog
http://brooklynheightsblog.com/archives/66429

But, hey, any and all lists like BK Mag’s are subjective. So why not pile on with our own completely subjective list of the 5 Brooklynites we felt should have been part of the 100.

Jake Dobkin, Gothamist: Everyone you know reads Gothamist. Dobkin and company have successfully recreated the water cooler for real New Yorkers (and the well assimilated) who want to share their irritation, bemusement and “outrage” over the daily grind that is living in this crazy city. You don’t get more “Brooklyn Culture” than that.

Otis Pearsall, Preservationist – Without Pearsall’s leadership in the landmarking of Brooklyn Heights 50 years ago, none of this “brownstoning” would have been possible. Much of Brooklyn would look a lot more like Queens by now.

Adam Suerte, Artist: A Cobble Hill native (pictured above), the tattoo artist and gallery owner is one of a small handful of folks who represent real Brooklyn Culture. And, he’s the designer of our “remixed” logo above too.

Jim Carden and Andy Templar co-owners, The Bell House, Floyd, Union Hall: Forget the fact that they created the most awesome idea ever – BOCCE IN A BAR at Floyd and later Union Hall. Carden and Templar opened the Bell House which is arguably the epicenter of the best of “Brooklyn Culture”. From DJ Steve Reynold’s Party Like It’s 1999, the annual Kentucky Derby Party (hosted by Michael Boyd), hosting many podcasts, the NPR show Ask Me Another, John Hodgman’s Ragnarok, and the list goes on. They have created a venue where the creative and unpretentious can thrive.

Jeff Strabone, New Brooklyn Theater, #SaveLICH : The educator and former president of the Cobble Hill Association has been a tenacious warrior in the effort to save Long Island College Hospital. At the same time as chairman of the New Brooklyn Theater, he staged a production of Edward Albee’s The Death of Bessie Smith INSIDE Interfaith Hospital.

Who else do you think should be on this list of The Omitted? We encourage you to add your own thoughts about who we missed in the comments below.

Kat expects to start at the school where her parents teach, until a medical exam before she starts school finds that Kat has scoliosis. That means a different school, in which Kat boards six nights a week, with medical and athletic treatments as well as education. The segregation seems strange to an American, but Kat’s Russian family tacks as needed. Kat absorbs the other children, the dorms, the matrons, and learns that even inside the school there’s a hierarchy. All the same, she hopes one day to become a mannequin girl, that is, a model: tall, straight, and of course beautiful.

In the second part, set in 1986, the first winds of perestroika are perceptible even in Kat’s school. Misha and Anechka have become popular teachers there, in charge of the drama club and its annual productions. Kat follows in their wake, but teenage storms occur, and Kat finds that her behavior is far from the ideal she’d planned. Kat struggles to steer her own course. As a penance for some teenage sins, she tutors Mironov, a fellow student whose disability is quite visible and who has always been mean. Though they have some serious fights, they wind up quite friendly. And Kat needs friendliness, for Anechka’s need for drama sends her like a hurricane through quite a few lives.

The final part of the novel takes place in 1988, when Kat and her friends are getting ready to leave school. The army and service in Afghanistan await some, while others will go to college. Jules, Kat and Mironov prepare by going to Alexander and Valentina’s dacha for tea, conversation, and tutoring in English. The larger world comes into their view in another way, as the Roshdals introduce them to a survivor of the Sumgait pogrom. Kat falls in love with another boy, neglects her schoolwork, loses her way, until Litman brings her safe to port in a satisfying ending.

The Moscow background of “Mannequin Girl” provides American readers an interesting look into life in the former Soviet Union. The foreground issue of growing up is surprisingly similar to what a Western teenager might experience. Do you agree? Let us know in the comments.

Have a book you want me to know about? Email me at asbowie AT gmail DOT com. I also blog about metrics at asbowie DOT blogspot DOT com.

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In this Episode:

Mike Blejer was 11 years old when his au pair started sexually abusing him. After we hear his story, he talks about how common sexual assault is and why survivors are often hesitant to talk about it. The Bartender then shares her own experience with this topic, and why she hasn’t publicly addressed it until recently.

PLUS, news about the second guest for the the Live Show/BIRTHDAY EXTRAVAGANZA  with Janeane Garofalo on March 5th, and listener shout outs! ALSO a great article about the show by Eliza Berman can be found in The Billfold this week!

Like what you hear? Tip me! Or give the show 5 stars! And you can get your tix to the live show here!

About the Guest:

Mike Blejer is an awesome comedian, actor, musician and person based in New York City. His podcast is Malignant Brain Humor and it’s amazing. Here he is working the “smeyes” in a recent photo:

Music Credits:

“Setting Sun” by Chris Powers

“Dry the Rain” by The Beta Band

“End of a Century” by Blur

“Bottled in Cork” by Ted Leo & The Pharmacists

Source: Tell The Bartender
http://tellthebartender.com/2014/03/03/episode-28-the-conspiracy-of-silence/

Nothing seems to work well in Spain, not the mail, not the police, not Eamonn and Laura’s marriage, and, to be truthful, not Eamonn himself. He and Laura emigrated with high hopes; both of them telecommuted to publishing jobs, and there seemed to be no reason not to invest their life savings in a community – with a swimming pool – in warm sunny Spain. Then came the worldwide economic crash and the loss of both jobs. Laura is writing a novel, and so is Eamonn, he says, but mostly he is teaching English. It’s dispiriting, and Laura has decided to return to England for an extended visit “to think.” She’s not returning his phone calls, or his texts, or his emails.

Though Eamonn has told none of this to his father, and it is several weeks before Eamonn confesses that Laura has gone on more than a research trip, it’s obvious to Dermot that things are not right. Lomaverde is mostly abandoned, or perhaps was never inhabited. There are a few other denizens, and Dermot slowly makes their acquaintance. but there’s plenty of time for father-son bonding over walks and meals. Eamonn slips further into despair, while Dermot, far from being unhappy, blossoms in the southern sun. The attentions of a Swedish emigrée painter help, as does the fact that there’s a lot in Eamonn’s flat that needs fixing, and Dermot is very handy.

The prose is spare and sere, like the southern Spanish landscape. Here’s Eamonn’s view of Dermot at the start of Dermot’s visit:

Every image Eamonn had of his father was of him busying himself at some task. If not actually out at work, he would be gardening, or washing the Astra, or rearranging tools in the garage, or doing something impenetrable with the gutters. Even his occasional moments of relaxation had an intent quality to them. A concerted decision to sit down and watch a television program between certain times.

O’Flynn tells her story by alternating between the viewpoints of the two men. She reaches back into their history, shared and separate, with warmth and humor. This technique lets the reader get close to both Dermot and Eamonn while watching each of them come to understand that he is . . . but that would be giving too much away. O’Flynn brings the novel to a satisfying and fully credible conclusion.

There are several vignettes that stayed with me from this book. Do you have a favorite moment? Let us know in the comments.
Have a book you want me to know about? Email me at asbowie@gmail.com.

India Pale Lager? I’ve long been a fan of India pale ales, or IPAs as they’re usually called. I like their intense hop bitterness balanced, in the best of them, by a rich barley malt flavor. I didn’t know quite what to expect from this lager offering by Coney Island Brewing Company. “India Pale” made me expect big flavor, so I paired it with a Vietnamese bánh mì from Hanco’s, doused with some extra hot sauce.

I poured, and was rewarded with a full, foamy head. The color (photo above) was a golden amber. I took a whiff: the aroma was powerfully hoppy, with some floral notes. My first sip made my taste buds confirm the evidence of my nose. The hops have it! A few bites of the sandwich convinced me it was a good pairing. Still, I thought, while this beer goes well with spicy, flavorful food, is it something I’d want to drink by itself?

After a few minutes, though, the beer started to open up. I began to get some of the “[b]ig citrus and passion fruit aromas” promised on the label and on the brewer’s website. The flavor also became more rounded, with fruit overtones softening the hoppy edge. I realized that I should have taken the beer out of the fridge and poured it a few minutes before tasting.

I checked the ingredients on the website. Five kinds of hops are used: Galena, Warrior, and Simcoe, all of which are considered “bittering” hops; Cascade, which is moderately bitter and gives a floral aroma; and Citra, a fairly new variety that has quickly become popular (with some dissenters) and that accounts for the notes of passion fruit. There are four malts: two row barley (commonly used in the best beers and ales), malted wheat, oats, and biscuit malt (I had to look that up). The last three would, I believe, tone down the flavor of the two row barley, and, set against the assertiveness of the hops, explains the beer’s lack of any noticeable malt flavor or aroma.

On balance, this is a good beer. It would go very well with spicy food like bánh mì, Hunan or Szechuan cuisine, and the more picante of Mexican dishes. At a moderate 4.8 percent alcohol by volume, it shouldn’t get you in trouble too quickly. My preference continues to be for IPAs that balance the hops with malt. Still, I would drink this again, maybe with my next takeout vindaloo curry.

So, what about this Coney Island Brewing Company? Is the beer made on Coney Island? No, it’s brewed upstate, in Clifton Park, just south of Saratoga Springs, by the Shmaltz Brewing Company, makers of He’Brew (“The Chosen Beer”) and other craft beers and ales. In this respect Coney Island Brewing is much like Brooklyn Brewery, which has most of its beer and ale brewed under contract by F.X. Matt in Utica. Coney Island Brewing does have a tiny brewery at 1208 Surf Avenue on Coney Island where small batches of specialty brews are made and sold to the public. The brewing venture is a partnership between Shmaltz and Coney Island USA, a not-for-profit arts organization dedicated to “defending the honor of American popular culture.”

Next on my beer tasting agenda is Coney Island Brewing’s Mermaid Pilsner. I’ll be reporting on it soon.

Source: Self-Absorbed Boomer
http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/tzVM/~3/YNNwXnnxALY/coney-island-brewings-seas-day-india.html

But did you know that the Winter Olympics were once almost in Brooklyn!

The story starts in 1936 with Stephen W. McKeever, the owner of the Brooklyn Dodgers.  One day while watching a ball game, he and his pal Robert Moses  (yes, the master builder – try sayin’ those two words three times fast!) were jawin’ about the pomp and spectacle of the recently concluded Olympic Games in Munich.  They agreed that the krauts could sure put on a show, but they thought they could do better! So McKeever and Moses decided to join forces and bring an Olympics to Brooklyn!

The first thing they needed to do, of course, was put together a good proposal, and pitch it to the International Olympic Committee, who were then headquartered in Lausanne, Switzerland.  Now, Moses and McKeever cleverly thought that getting the winter games would be easier than getting the summer ones!  The Winter Olympics were only a few years old at that point (they had started in 1924), and they weren’t the big deal they were to later become (in fact, the first Winter Games in the U.S., in 1932 in Lake Placid, had been a decidedly tepid affair – only fourteen events in four sports were staged, and many of the world’s greatest winter athletes were no-shows because they didn’t want to spend the money to come over from Europe!).  In fact, this was one of the things Moses and McKeever wanted to change, and oh boy oh boy, they had big plans.

In January of 1937, McKeever, Moses, and famed architect Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, arrived in the land o’ banks and chocolate (that would be Switzerland! Ha!) to try to convince the IOC to award the 1944 Winter Olympics to Brooklyn!  Here’s what McKeever, Moses, and Mies had in mind:  They wanted to build an ARTIFICIAL MOUNTAIN in Prospect Park for all the downhill skiing and bobsleddy-type events; they wanted to convert Bed Stuy Armory into a state-of-the-art indoor arena to house hockey and skating; and they wanted to put a ROOF on McKeever’s own Ebbets Field, so they would have a site for a majestic opening and closing ceremonies befitting the grandeur of the games!

Boy, the ’44 Brooklyn Winter Olympics was sure gonna be a sight to behold!

Moses, of course, had long-term goals in mind:  he hoped to make the Prospect Park mountain permanent and create an income generatin’ tourist attraction to bring skiing and hiking into the city (it would be called Mount Moses, of course); and he also wanted to keep the dome on Ebbets Field, to create a forward-looking monument to the future which he hoped would compliment his plans for the 1939 World’s Fair, then being built in Flushing Meadows’ Park.

Well, when the Moses and his pals presented their ambitious plans to the crusty old burghers at the IOC, the reaction was swift.  Henri de Baillet-Latour, the Belgian head of the IOC, bluntly pronounced “C’est le travail de rêveurs et les Juifs, bien haut sur l’opium Hébreu” (“This is the work of dreamers and Jews, clearly high on Hebrew opium”); and with that one withering sentence, he dismissed Moses, McKeever, and Mies, and awarded the 1944 Winter Olympics to the city of Cortina d’Ambezzo, Italy.

Moses was never one to take defeat lightly.  Angrily, he announced that he would start his own International athletic competition to compete with the Olympics; this would be called The World Congress of Athletic Progress, and he would hold it every two years, to be permanently housed in the new Brooklyn winter paradise Moses was planning on building.  Now, McKeever thought that such an endeavor would surely bankrupt Moses, McKeever, the Dodgers, and the borough of Brooklyn, so he suggested to Moses that they all be good sports and accept that you win some, you lose some (a phrase first attributed, by the way, to the Roman Emperor Elagabulus; very shortly before his execution in 222 A.D. for his “unspeakably disgusting life”, ol’ King Gabby famously said “vincis, aliquam perdas”).   Well, ol’ master builder Moses didn’t like that kind of conciliatory talk, and he attacked his former partner with a rather large decorative ashtray presented to him in 1935 by New York Governor Herbert Lehman.  This incident was later hushed up, but there are some who believe the injuries Moses inflicted on McKeever contributed to his death in 1938, though that’s never been remotely proven.

But that’s another story, and Moses plowed ahead with his plans for his own personal Olympics.  To help promote the idea, he enlisted some corporate sponsors, high-profile politicians, and contemporary celebrities for a radio telethon to both raise money for The World Congress of Athletic Progress and familiarize the public sector with the concept. So, on November 14, 1937 a telethon titled Champion Spark Plugs and Pepsodent, the Antiseptic Toothpaste Present Muscle, Pride, and Progress aired on the Mutual Broadcasting Network, beamed live for eleven hours from the Mutual studios at 1440 Broadway.  It was quite an event!  Hosted by Comedian Fred Allen and surrealist painter/celebrity Salvador Dali, the remarkable evening also featured performances by the Boswell Sisters, Orson Welles, Kay Kyser, Chester Lauck and Norris Goff of Lum and Abner, Ed Wynn, noted juvenile Eddie Cantor impersonator Larry “L’il Banjo Eyes” Kase, the Dandy Dixie Minstrels, and star athletes from the New York Giants (Moses had switched team allegiances after the rupture of his relationship with McKeever).

The telethon was a disaster.  First of all, in order to emphasize the gravity of the event, Moses insisted that every reference in the script to the proposed inaugural games of The World Congress of Athletic Progress (slated at that time for February, 1942) include the date being written out in Roman Numerals.  This detail wreaked havoc with all the talent on the show, who found themselves attempting to pronounce “MCMXLII” as a word!  By the middle of the show, the considerable vocal talent had agreed upon a pronunciation of “Mick-Mix-ell” (as in “I’m Ray Corrigan, and Ernest Truex, Rosita Serrano and I want to tell you about The World Congress of Athletic Progress in February of Mick-Mix-ell”), and this infuriated Moses to such a degree that he physically attacked Ed Wynn’s wife and infant daughter.  Secondly, less than a third of the way through the marathon broadcast, news broke of the Japanese victory at Shanghai (in the ongoing and tragic Second Japanese-Sino War), and Mutual continually broke into the broadcast to update news about the event.

Within days, the grand idea of The World Congress of Athletic Progress was dead.  Moses licked his wounds, concentrated on the 1939 World’s Fair, had Rita Serrano deported to Nazi Germany, and went on to many great projects, but Prospect Park never got it’s mountain, Ebbets Field never got its’ roof, and the remarkable events of the global conflagration known as The Second World War preoccupied everyone’s minds for years to come.

There was an interesting fall-out from the event, however:  Salvador Dali and Fred Allen formed an unlikely friendship, with amazing results!  The artistic insouciance and conceptual savoir faire of the genius artist and the witty, fertile, and febrile mind of the great comedian combined to come up with one of era’s greatest inventions:  the toy we came to know as The Slinky.  But that’s another story.  Let’s just say that Dali saw the tightly coiled spring as the only possible reaction to the ludicrousness of the Civil War that had just wracked his native Spain (he envisioned the toys being dropped in the tens of thousands over the war-wracked plains of Andalusia), whereas Allen saw the ultimate commercial potential of the strange and mischievous object.

Once again, no time for THE THREE DOT ROUND-UP! Boy, there’s a lot of gossip and news piling up!  AND THAT’S WHY I LOVE LIVING IN BROOKLYN! 

(The author’s opinions and grasp of reality are entirely his own)

Tim Sommer has been employed as a musician, record producer, DJ, VJ, and music industry executive of some little note.   He is the author of the critically acclaimed I, Wellonmellon:  The Dark World of the Women in the Films of Jerry Lewis, and he continues his efforts to get the New York Mets pitcher Al Jackson into the Hall of Fame.

In Christa’s telling Christa’s and Cara’s emotional lives revolved around each other; they steadied each other like the gravitational pull of twin stars. Their mother was single for most of their lives; she left their abusive father when the girls were very young; a military stepfather left the family when the girls were teenagers. So there was a great deal of loss as they grew up. The girls were entwined; the twins went to college together; their lives don’t seem to have diverged much until after college.

There are theories that drug addiction is genetic and that it isn’t; that some personalities are more prone to addiction than others; that many addicts are survivors of child or later sexual abuse, and that they are self-medicating. Cara became a drug addict – when is not quite clear. It is clear that her life, and Christa’s, was immeasurably changed after Cara was brutally raped in the fall of 2001. Cara survived the rape – and the rapist was arrested, tried, and convicted – but things fell apart for both twins after the rape. First Cara’s marriage dissolved, and eventually so did Christa’s. Once Cara died, Christa’s life spun into depression and instability.

Cara and Christa, together, went through harrowing stages of Cara’s addiction and recovery: the increasing drug use and decreasing reliability of the twins’ relationship. The family’s hope that an expensive rehab stay would help. Cara’s expulsion almost at the end of rehab. Christa’s refusal to have much to do with her sister as Cara became more and more dependant on drugs, including heroin. Cara’s move home to their mother’s house, and her death there, in a bathroom, one afternoon.

“Her” is a disturbing book to read. Parravani brings her sister’s sufferings to the page both through her shared pain and through her writing skills. As students, both twins wanted to be writers, but Christa traded writing for photography during college. After Cara died Christa reclaimed the art. She has borrowed from her sister’s diary and a series of comments Cara made about photographs Christa took of the pair. The book is called “Her”, not “Hers,” not “Ours,” but it’s a tribute to Parravani’s skill as a writer that any of those titles would be equally apt. If you have a twin, or a sibling, or even if you don’t, this is a book worth reading for its close study of the emotional lives of siblings. Do you agree? Let us know in the comments.

Have a book you want me to know about? Email me at asbowie@gmail.com. I also blog about metrics at asbowie.blogspot.com.

Anyway, it’s a story I love to tell…so here, Ladies & Gentleman of the most Kingly of Counties, is the story of Presidents Day!

Like so many great American holidays, the roots of Presidents Day lie in Germany…but that part comes later, so let’s begin here:  Due to unforeseen problems in the calendar reforms introduced by Pope Pius XI and Vice President Charles Curtis in 1930, the year 1935 was going to be 26 minutes too long…unless no fewer than THREE new three-day weekends were introduced into the American work calendar! So in February of 1934 the government created Memorial Day and Labor Day, but they still needed one more!

Enter legendary film director King Vidor, who was an avid follower of current events (as we all know!); he was also a great friend of another Vice President, FDR’s John Nance Garner. In September of 1934 while Garner and Vidor were on the Hearst yacht pulling a train on Marion Davies, they were discussing the calendar problem. Vidor mentioned something interesting that had just happened in Germany:  the Nazis had introduced a holiday to commemorate the life and achievements of their legendary President, Paul von Hindenburg, who had recently died. In fact, not only had the Krauts created Präsident Tag, they had made it – you guessed it – a three-day weekend! (Or, as they call it, Einen Tag Nach Sonntag Knödel und Kalbfleisch ohne Angst vor Arbeitszeitverdauungsstörungen Essen – “An extra day after Sunday to eat dumplings and veal without fear of work-time indigestion”).

After cleaning up, Vidor and Nance discussed their brainstorm with some of the other guests on the yacht (who included actors Adolphe Menjou and Franklin Pangborn, Los Angeles mayor Frank Shaw, and George Putnam, the husband of aviatrix Amelia Earhart).  They all agreed that a holiday to commemorate America’s Presidents was a first-rate idea! Not only would it solve the calendar problem that was dangling over the very fabric of time like the Sword of Damocles, but the holiday could also boost the economy due to increased revenue from both tourism and Presidents Day souvenirs.

Within three days, Vice President Nance and the newspaper big-wig William Randolph Hearst were in Washington to present the Presidents Day idea to a phalanx of congressmen and senators (and also to seek out a legendary specialist to cure a rather persistent case of the Suppurating Gleet they had both acquired).  Provisionally, they slated the holiday for March to coincide with the birthdays of Andrew Jackson, Grover Cleveland, James Madison, and John Tyler, but this notion got caught up in the heated racial politics of the day.  The southern contingent loved the idea of a March holiday, because it honored both hootin’ an’ hollerin’ Andrew Jackson and because John Tyler was the father-in-law of Reb-in-Chief Jefferson Davis.  The Northern politicos, however, bristled at the idea of turning the new holiday into an excuse to wave the rebel flag, so the whole Presidents Day idea stalled for a while, bogged down in partisan politics.

But the clock was ticking!  By now it was already the middle of October 1934, and 1935, with it’s potentially missing 26 minutes, was just weeks away!

Enter the legendary Adolphe Zukor, the founder and head of Paramount Pictures.  Born a poor Jewish girl in Hungary, few Americans loved their adopted land as much as ol’ Addie.  He had read about the holiday deadlock in Der Hollywood Teglekh Bleter, the popular Yiddish-language Tinsel Town gossip daily, and he sprang into action, getting directly in touch with ol’ FDR himself!  Zukor promised the President that if the Federal Government would move the proposed holiday to February, he would personally guarantee that Paramount would produce movies about the three Presidents born in that short and cruel month — George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, and William Henry Harrison.

Well, that sealed the deal (an expression first heard, coincidentally, in the Presidential campaign of Benjamin Harrison, ol’ William Henry’s grandson), and F.D.R. used his considerable powers to push through the February date for the new Presidents Day Holiday!  But the kerfuffle over the new holiday wasn’t over yet!  Remember how I just said there were two President Harrisons (and you probably do, unless your memory is impaired by, say, an overwhelming Percodan addiction that greatly reduced your ability to recall events between 1972 and 1983, and left 11 years of your life a soiled, soggy fog of regret and sadness)? Well, some of the same southern politicos who were pressing for the March holiday were inexplicably confused by the relatively simply notion of there being two President Harrisons.  One of the leaders of the Southern Dems, South Carolina Senator James F. Byrnes, completely mistook the latter Benjamin Harrison for the former William Henry Harrison!  And since Benjamin Harrison was very forward thinking on segregation and civil rights, Byrnes and the Southern Dems – confusing, as I just said, William for Benjamin – said they would only approve the February holiday if Harrison was eliminated from the list of Presidents commemorated by the Holiday!

(Boy, what a story!)

So, Harrison was kicked to the curb, and the February Presidents Day Holiday was signed into law just in time, on December 19^th, 1934, and the dilemma of the extra 26 minutes was solved.

I know what you’re thinking:  If Harrison didn’t pass the muster of the Southern Dems due to his support of Civil Rights, why did they support ol’ Abe?  Well, to be frank, I’ve never been able to figure that out.  I first heard the gist of the Presidents Day story from Nelson Rockefeller, Lou Walters, and Walter Winchell on one very, very long night at the Latin Quarter Club when I was still in my twenties, and I was able to confirm virtually all of it via extensive research conducted by my crack staff in the lonely days after the Apollo 1 fire on January 27, 1967 (everyone was pretty stunned, and I thought it would cheer everyone up to engage in some serious investigatory work!), but that was one question we never were able to answer.

Oh…and what ever happened to the Presidential biopics Adolphe Zukor promised an eager nation?  Well, that’s an interesting story in its’ own right, but I’ll try to “shorthand” it here:  The Abe Lincoln biography was re-scripted as a comedy vehicle for Paramount’s reigning bombshell, Mae West, and ol’ Banjo Eyes himself, Mr. Eddie Cantor.  In the film, titled Dumb Mr. Lincoln, Lincoln (as portrayed by Cantor) worries that Mrs. Lincoln (West) is cheating on him; and she is, in fact, carrying on with virtually everyone in sight, including Ulysses Grant and Vice President Andrew Jackson (played by the vaudeville team of Smith and Dale, also signed to Paramount).  She even has a peccadillo with Frederick Douglass (played by Cantor in blackface, surely one of the most offensive portrayals in Cantor’s otherwise distinguished career). A young Gary Cooper shows up briefly as the bodyguard at Fords’ Theatre who West distracts from his duty with her womanly charms.  Now, unfortunately – or maybe fortunately – the film was withdrawn almost immediately upon release, and all copies thrown into San Pedro Bay; movie censor Will Hays said that “…not only is this film a savage desecration of the memory of one of our greatest Presidents, but a scene with Mae West and Charlie Dale hints at a depravity only known in the darkest alleys of Algiers.”

How about that.

Now, the Washington biographical film also got handed over to the Paramount comedy department, but with happier results:  The L’il Georgie series, starring Jackie Cooper as young George Washington (and also featuring Ben Turpin and Ernie “Sunshine” Morrison), was a popular series of 12 two-reelers depicting somewhat idealized scenes from the childhood of our first President.

(Bizarrely, Dumb Mr. Lincoln got remade in the late 1960s, despite – or perhaps because of – the infamy and ignominy of the original picture. In the 1968 version, Lincoln is portrayed by Pat Buttram – Mr. Haney from Green Acres – and the lusty Mrs. Lincoln is portrayed by Beverly Garland, a last-minute replacement for Jayne Mansfield, who died just weeks before filming.  Arnold Stang plays Ulysses Grant, and V.P. Johnson by a somewhat miscast Nick Adams. A peculiar and discordant anti-war theme, obviously inspired by the contemporary situation in Vietnam, underlines the movie.)

WHEW.  Now, I warned you it was a long story, didn’t I?  No time left for the THE THREE DOT ROUND-UP!  But, as I said so many years ago on that mysterious talk show, you’ve been a great audience, AND THAT’S WHY I LOVE LIVING IN BROOKLYN! 

P.S.  You know…now that I think about it…I believe the talk show may have been Agronsky & Company.

Tim Sommer has been employed as a musician, record producer, DJ, VJ, and music industry executive.   He is the author of the critically acclaimed From Duel to Prinze:  How Suicide Framed Television in the 1970s , and he continues his efforts to get the city of New York to rename the borough of Queens after Gil Hodges.

Listen to Episode 27: The Extra Files

Download From iTunes Here

In this Episode:

Corey talks about receiving communion in a church AND getting a Bar Mitzvah in a van, Libby introduces a new boyfriend to an eccentric family member, and the bartender herself tells the story about reuniting with her kindergarten sweetheart. PLUS, news about the Live Show/BIRTHDAY EXTRAVAGANZA on March 5th, a drink recipe, and listener shout outs!

Also, like what you hear? Tip me! Or give the show 5 stars! And you can get your tix to the live show here!

About the Guests:

Corey Eisenstein is a cinematographer, director, writer and photographer based in Brooklyn.

Libby is Katharine’s friend, and a very lucky gal.

Katharine Heller is the host of this podcast. She recorded the story you heard at The Dump, a weekly storytelling show at The Creek and the Cave and hosted by the amazing Jake Hart.

Music Credits:

“Setting Sun” by Chris Powers

“Safe from Harm” by Massive Attack

“Part of the Process” by Morcheeba

“A Rose is a Rose” by Poe

“Playground Love” by Air

“Bottled in Cork” by Ted Leo & The Pharmacists

Source: Tell The Bartender
http://tellthebartender.com/2014/02/17/episode-27-the-extra-files/

Now, as you know, I took over this column in 1966 from its’ creator, the amazin’ Kermit Roosevelt Clinton-Henry, whose work was so admired in this parish that the city fathers named not one but two streets after him. The rest is history, and I am proud to be part of such an estimable legacy of accuracy and mirth.

Nevertheless, I will be the first to confess I am human and I do make mistakes.  So this week, I’m gonna do something I’ve never done before:  note some of my errors of the last 38 years.  As Brooklyn’s own Walt Whitman said, “All faults may be forgiven of him who has perfect candor.”  So here goes (oh, and I’ve noted the original publication date of the column):

*  Borough Hall did not get it’s name from the burros that originally grazed there (6/11/94).

 *  The word “semitic” descends from Shem, the eldest son of Noah and Emzara, not from Shemp, the third born son of Solomon and Jennie Horowitz (5/4/02).

*  Walt Disney’s Fantasia was not “in part” based on The Protocols of the Elders of Zion  (11/10/70).

*  Moe Berg, the second-string baseball catcher of the 1920s/30s who was also an Atomic spy (and who came within a hairs’ breadth of assassinating German physicist Werner Heisenberg), played for the Boston Red Sox, not the Boston Braves  (5/28/84).

*  During the manpower crisis of the First World War, trains on the IRT subway line were not manned by monkeys “most” of the time  (10/8/09).

*  The German title of Billy Crystal’s 1992 film, Mr. Saturday Night, was not Crystalnacht.

*  My statement that French Fries were “neither French nor Fried” was not entirely accurate  (8/2/80).

*  Funnyman Jerry Lewis did not have a stillborn twin named Jesse Garon Levitch (7/5/94).

 *  Speaking of the King of Comedy, there is no convincing evidence that in the early 1990s he was planning a sequel to The Geisha Boy exploring the “dark side” of Mr. Wooley, to be titled The Day Watanabe Cried, (10/26/93).

*  In my second-ever column (published on 3/5/66), I gave a misleading account of the censorship controversy surrounding the Disney film That Darn C**t.  The film, starring Don Knotts, Dean Jones, Roddy McDowell, Kathleen Freeman, Ed Wynn, and Clint Howard, was withdrawn from circulation not because of the somewhat risqué title, but because of a brief scene in which Clint Howard held hands with an African American child.

THE THREE-DOT ROUNDUP will be back next week!   Thank you for letting l’il ol’ me air some of my dirty laundry, and I am quite sure you very, very kind people will forgive me, AND THAT’S WHY I LOVE LIVING IN BROOKLYN! 

(Mr. Sommer’s opinions and grasp of reality are entirely his own)

Tim Sommer has been employed to varying degrees of gainfulness as a musician, record producer, DJ, VJ, and music industry executive.   This spring he will be in a bookstore near you with his co-author Paul Sherman promoting their new work, Dick Sargent:  Second Darrin But First in Our Hearts, and he continues his efforts to get the New York Yankees to rename Yankee Stadium after one of their best and bravest, Mr. Elston Howard. 

Sally Jay’s Uncle Roger has funded her for two years in Europe. “Uncle Roger had invented a special kind of screw which made him very, very rich, and a special kind of oracular noblesse oblige in distributing his largess, which made him very, very godlike.” At 13, Sally Jay ran away from school to become a bullfighter. After she was returned to her family, Uncle Roger summoned her to a meeting. Sally Jay told him then that she wanted her freedom – which at 13 meant “I want to stay out as late as I like and eat whatever I like any time I want to.” He promised to stake her to a couple of years once she finished school. Sally Jay’s self-knowledge hasn’t increased much in the intervening 10 years. As she puts it “I am totally incomprehensible to everyone including myself.”

So Sally Jay makes mistakes. She loses her passport. She drops one lover, takes up another, then leaves him to follow an American she regards as her true love to a villa near Biarritz. Entertaining complications ensure, all observed and reported by Sally Jay. She may not have much insight into herself, but she more than makes up for it by her understanding and portrayal of what is going on beneath the surface of the many social events she attends. She is invited to a dinner with her new beau, Larry Keevil. Even though the host, an Italian diplomat, is one of Sally’s discarded lovers she’s under the impression the dinner is an effort to remain friends, or at least an illustration of European sophistication. She’s quickly disabused, first by the presence of her own uncouth cousin and his wife, and then by the extremely smooth performance of the Contessa, another guest, who persuades Larry to leave with her. Sally Jay says of her former beau:

It was his feeling for economy I admired most. Obviously a fan of Sartre’s Huis Clos, he had gone to no unnecessary expense or complication to achieve his effects, simply following the Master’s formula of collecting together a few carefully selected souls and watching them torture one another . . . or rather, I realized with a start, watching them torture me. Florentine revenge was apparently every bit as effective as Corsican.

There are many more richly comic scenes in this book: Sally Jay’s efforts to persuade the American Embassy to issue her a new passport. Working as an extra in a French movie. Late nights in bars and nightclubs. Sally’s slow awakening to the fact that she has, indeed, made several mistakes, and her careful extrication of herself from them. This is a delightful book, very funny, and, as Terry Teachout observes in his introduction, its lessons, if they are there at all, are only between the lines. Do you agree? Let us know in the comments.

Have a book you want me to know about? Email me at asbowie@gmail.com. I also blog about metrics at asbowie.blogspot.com.