March 30, 2010
The last week or two, I reread all the Hoke Moseley books by Charles Willeford. If you don’t them, or Mr. Willeford’s work, and you know how to read, then change your reading patterns. Or get out. That’s how I sound after reading them, but it’s not how they sound, because they’re not as fake tough (and some of the less-detective/etc ones not at all), but what I like to think of as naturalistically insane. Very matter of factly crazy somehow. Hoke Moseley is a Miami detective, who deals with some criminals but also ends up taking care of his teenage daughters and his pregnant partner (well, she’s not always pregnant, as she has a baby in one of them) and various random Floridians. He drinks Early Times mostly (though isn’t opposed to other options) and has false teeth. This isn’t really saying much really about the books, but this might help: I think if I could have one more book written of any series, I might choose to have one more Hoke Moseley book written by Charles Willeford. If that tells you anything (I wonder what other people would pick with this option? What would you choose?) This quote is from Sideswipe, the 3rd of 4 Moseley books.
Frank was in his den, watching a lacrosse game on cable, and Helen was in the living room. She sat at her fruitwood desk, addressing envelopes and enclosing mimeographed letters requesting donations for the Palm Beach Center for Abused Children. She was on the last few envelopes when Hoke joined her in the living room. He poured three ounces of Chivas Regal at the bar, added two ice cubes, and gave himself a splash of soda. Helen looked over her shoulder and smiled. “I’m about finished Hoke. Could you fix me a pink gin please?”
“Tanqueray or Beefeater?”
“It doesn’t make any difference when you add bitters, so I’d just as soon have Gordon’s.”
Because it did make a difference, Hoke poured three ounces of Tanqueray into a crystal glass, added ice cubes, and put in a liberal sprinkling of Angostura bitters. He took a cocktail napkin from the stack and put the napkin and drink on the edge of the desk where Helen could reach it.
“Thank you,” Helen sipped her drink. “This is Tanqueray.”
“There is a difference then.”
—Charles Willeford, Sideswipe
PS: The other Willeford books (not in this series) are also darn fine. Especially The Pick Up (one of the great, and the first book by him I read), and Cockfighter (which was of course made into the fine, fine movie starring the best actor ever, Warren Oates).
March 2, 2010
Okay, that’s just a catchy headline in most situations, because in most situations I like my bars safe and booze-y and full of cozy chums. But for some reason, the below panel, from a knockout Stan Lee / George Tuska comic called “Acid Test!” printed in the October 1973 issue of Tales of the Zombie #2, (though originally presented in the July 1953 issue of Menace #5 under the title “Nightmare!”–huge props to the amazing pre- and post-code horror comics site The Horrors of It All, which is where I found this, and where I visit every day to get my chill on) made me think of how some days you go to a bar to forget, or try to forget, the murdering you’ve done. That’s all right, too (even if for most of us it’s symbolic murder, one hopes). Especially when the bartender below is such a dead ringer for bartending pal Andrew B. Or is it bartending pal Andrew F? Now that I look at it, a bit of both. The fact that the bartender turns out to be a certain famous evil-doer has nothing to do with it, naturally.
February 19, 2010
Listen, just because I like, or sorta like, or have read all the way through, a book, doesn’t mean I have to agree with the quote provided here on the Spiked Punch. Sometimes, I just want to use a quote for education purposes, or to disagree with, or because I think it’s just the rootin-tootin-est. The below falls somewhere in there, but for sure it: comes from a book with a great name (The Corpse with Sticky Fingers), comes from a book written by George Bagby, and illustrates a rule I like to live by (by stating the opposite. See, this is the educating part), which is that you never turn down a pink gin when jump music is on. The inspector might, but me? Never. Even when on the job. Especially when on the job. So, now you know.
She shut the door behind us and turned up the radio. Jump music jumped at us. She made a vague gesture in the direction of the bottle of gin.
“How about a pink gin?” she said
“Not on the job, thank you,” said the inspector.
— George Bagby, The Corpse with Sticky Fingers
January 26, 2010
I don’t know much, but I know I love the song “Starry Eyes” by Mötley Crüe. Do I love the book by Donald Hamilton called Assassins Have Starry Eyes? Not as much, definitely. But I did like it, though I don’t know the Hamilton oeuvre that well (and yes, I did just bust out the “oeuvre.” I rule like that, literarily.) I don’t even know Matt Helm, who’s called out so boldly on the coverm but who isn’t in the book at all. I do know that the book was once called Assignment Murder, but the Crüe never had a song called that (though, in hindsight, maybe they should have). And that it’s a funny jumble of a book, with some mystery, some intrigue, some hard-to-believeness, and some anti-government plot or rigmarole that Donald (if I can call him Donald) seems down on somewhat. I also know that the following quote is a nice kick in the face to those who would drink a pre-made or a poorly made Martini, and that is why I’m quoting it, and why Mötley Crüe would dig the book, because they don’t stand (in leather and thigh high boots) for any bad Martinis.
“Another of the same for me,” he said, pushing a tall glass in her direction. “And a Martini for my son-in-law; and none of that tired old bar mix, sister. Have him make it up fresh: Noilly Prat vermouth and Gordon’s gin, one to five–is that about right Greg?”
“One to five is fine,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said. “And none of those damn olives sister. Just a twist of lemon. Got it?”
–Donald Hamilton, Assassins Have Starry Eyes
January 12, 2010
Some days (January days, often, as it seems January is not only a cold month temperature-wise, but also a cold month life-wise, being the month of re-orgs, and silly resolutions, and uncomfortable whatnots. And if not all those actually happen, there tends to be the threat of all those, anyways) you need a bit of boozy medicine. If you’re in need, then you’ll especially like this quote from an old pulp called Murder in Havana. Which is about, funny enough, a bunch of murders in Havana, that our main character “Andy” tipsily stumbles in to (it’s not my pal Andy Sweet–who was one of the writers of Battleship, Battleship, Battleship–though it could have been, cause both are go-get-um guys). Anywho, Andy thinks that sometimes you just have to take your medicine (booze, that is). Here, see for yourself:
His bag was already on the customs bench and he opened it for a uniformed inspector who made but a cursory examination until he found the leather-covered flask. He unscrewed it, sniffed rum, grinned. ‘Medicine,’ he said. ‘Medicine.’ Andy grinned back at him and opened the briefcase.
—Murder in Havana, George Harmon Coxe
December 15, 2009
It is the middle of the holiday cocktail party season. There are, let’s see, daytime work holiday parties, and nighttime work holiday parties, afternoon drinking parties with friends, and evening drinking parties with friends, holiday booze-teas with families, and holiday booze-luncheons with families, and holiday booze evenings with families, and then a host of parties thrown by those that might be friends, but not good friends, but parties you feel you should go to anyway, in the spirit of the season. With all this holiday partying, it’s possible (if not probable) that one or two of the parties may be more chore than cheer. With that, I’d like to present the following poem by Catullus, ancient partier. The poem is about these later parties a bit, and may well be worth reciting loudly when you’re at any holiday party. The translation (because, well, I can’t read ancient Latin) is by modern partier and poet Ed Skoog (did you get Mister Skylight yet? Cause if not, I’m sending a zombie Catullus to haunt you) and is, well, delicious.
Poem 27
Are you tending the bar, kid? Pour me the strong stuff,
the Falernian wine, and one for yourself. We’re going to need it,
the way this party is going. Our host, Postumia, is drunker than
these grapes. No water, please. It kills what wine is.
Save water for the fool who prefers his own sorrow.
This wine is more than wine. It’s the blood of the god
whose mother was destroyed by his father’s splendor,
the god of madness and ecstasy, who shares it with us.
— Poem 27, Catullus, translated by Ed Skoog
PS: Enjoy this drunken poetry and lit’rature stuff? Then you must, I say must, visit the blog Drunk Literature. It’s a literary boozehound’s dream blog.
October 23, 2009
Well, some may know this already, and I’m not such a good “blow-my-own-horn” guy, so I’m going to keep this sorta short: my new book Dark Spirits: 200 Classy Concoctions Starring Bourbon, Brandy, Scotch, Whiskey, Rum and More is out, and ready for you to take it home, drink with it, and cuddle with it (well, at least pet it a little). The basic overview of the books is that it’s a bunch of dark-spirit based recipes broken out into seven fun (one hopes, at least) thematic chapters: Dark Classics, Bartender’s Choice, Bubbly Refreshers, Dim the Lights–Chill the Cocktails, Dark Drinks That Go Bump in the Night, Powerful Punches, and Hot Stuff. All the recipes are surrounded by what I like to think of as “party talk,” so histories, stories, quotes, suggestions for specific occasions, facts, further readings, and genial cocktail chatter. Also, as with a few of my other books, it has stunning and wonderful and wondrous photos taken by award-winning genius photographer Melissa Punch. While all that’s good and well, to complete my little sales pitch (see, I’m bad at this), I’ve decided to bulletize a few salient points:
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Has two drinks in it (Sweet Louise, Very Old Fashioned) by bartender-about-town-and-serious-vest-wearer Andrew Bohrer
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Has a host of obscure literary and comic book references (though the Dr. Strange lines were sadly cut during editing–Neilalien will not buy this book), including the most obscure of all, a quote from Fandral from the 1976 issue of Marvel Spotlight, Marvel Spotlight on Warriors Three in the Rob Roy recipe
Okay, maybe that last one’s pushing it, but hey, Dark Spirits just might have you in it. And if not, you can certainly pretend. It’s available now at Amazon, and if you don’t want to buy it there, check out this page for more options. And let me just thank you in advance for the support, and for keeping me well-stocked in booze. And, let me tempt you with one more item below, the fabulous pic for the Crimson Slippers (won’t you be sad if you don’t have a book with that picture in your collection? I think so).
PS: Oh, could you (if you’re a facebook-er, and haven’t yet), also please become a fan of me on my A.J. Rathbun facebook fan page? If not, the PR guy at my publisher is going to beat me with a tape recorder. And I can’t take the scars.
October 20, 2009
I can’t get enough of The Long Goodbye. Maybe it’s cause I’m a big Raymond Chandler fan. Maybe it’s cause I think his creation Philip Marlowe is a big dollop of hard-boiled fun (some like Sam Spade or the Continental Op better. I say, “why not have all of them?”). Maybe it’s cause I have a soft spot in my hard heart for the Robert Altman movie version of the Long Goodbye, starring the genius, Eliot Gould. But maybe, just maybe, most of all, my liking of the Long Goodbye is because of this quote (which I featured in good ol’ Good Spirits, and which is admittedly a rough-around-the-edges, smelling-a-bit-like-bourbon, not-what-you-take-home-to-the-parents, quote. But great, so great, anyway):
Alcohol is like love. The first kiss is magic, the second is intimate, the third is routine. After that you take the girl’s clothes off.
–Raymond Chandler, The Long Goodbye
