After years of being a gin martini man, the Manhattan has become my New Favorite Cocktail.

Recently, I tried my hand at crafting my own “house” versions of Manhattan mixin’s — sweet vermouth and the requisite cocktail cherry.

For the vermouth, I followed the guidance offered at the “Art of Drink” blog. For sweet vermouth, start with red wine. Then infuse it with a mixture of herbs, spices, and sugar. Finally, fortify it with brandy.

I decided to use some apricot tea as the “herbs and spices.” I steeped a few tea bags in a quarter bottle of wine while it simmered over a low flame for about 10 minutes. Then I added some baker’s sugar and a cup of brandy, and finally poured the mixture back into the bottle with the rest of the wine.

The results: still very wine-y compared to the Martini & Rossi vermouth I usually use. I probably should have used a bit more sugar and maybe have steeped more of the wine in more tea. I can’t really detect the apricot flavor, and it’s not particularly sweet (though the M&R stuff is a bit too sweet, in my opinion). But that’s not to say it isn’t tasty in a cocktail!

I’ve already written about the evil that is the modern Maraschino cherry. The “Explore the Pour” blog has an amusing article about “the neon nemesis” as well as instructions (via a book called The Art of the Bar) for making your own sweet cocktail cherries.

I didn’t have cinnamon sticks, so I sprinkled in a little powdered cinnamon (not the same, I know) and I only used one pound of cherries since this was a trial run.

The resulting fruit is really quite tasty — even more so once it’s soaked up a bit of the bourbon and vermouth from the Manhattan. Overall, the drink is much more aesthetically pleasing — the dark vermouth gives it a deeper hue and the almost-black cherry peeks out mysteriously from the bottom of the glass.

Next on the list is the bitters, which I will try using the techniques outlined at Boston Cocktails. I’m especially excited to try the Jamaican variety!

Last night, I played in a poker tournament organized by the Seattle Poker Open, an amateur poker league that arranges games at various local drinking establishments around Seattle.

Gambling is illegal within the city limits, so this is a “fun” league intended to provide a venue for those who want to play the game at a serious level without all that added stress of real money being involved. In this league, all players are allocated about $2,500 (or so) in chips. Betting levels go up every 20 minutes, and the game is played until all players but one are cleared out.

I enjoy a good game of Texas Hold ‘em but I haven’t much real life opportunity to play in a serious environment. So-called “card rooms” are legal in many communities that surround Seattle, so there are plenty of venues to find a game. But I’ve been intimidated having never played with strangers and with real stakes.

I happened on the Seattle Poker Open web site a couple months ago, but I only got around to signing up to play last week, around the beginning of their autumn season. The Wednesday night locale is a bar just a few blocks from my home, so it’s quite convenient.

The people were largely friendly and very patient with newcomers. I was initially seated at a table with two other rookies, and we all made little gaffes and breaches of protocol that in a real game with real money probably would not have been met with too favorably.

I lost two rather large pots early on; only one was due to bad playing. I calmed down and wised up as the game progressed and managed to make it to the final eleven (out of 36) before my stash was finally chipped away by the ever-increasing blind bets.

Overall, I had a really good time. I felt welcomed and comfortable and look forward to playing again next week.

If Amy lets me.

I’m contemplating taking fencing lessons at Seattle’s Salle Auriol. I’m undecided about this, but yhe beginner class starts Tuesday so I need to make up my mind.

I took fencing lessons when I lived in Iowa. What with all the rogue highwaymen prowling the Midwest, I felt I needed to be able to defend myself. I only managed to attend two classes before my interest levels (and thigh muscles) petered out. I’m not too sure why I think this time, a dozen years hence, will be any different.

The sport itself holds interest for me on a number of fronts. It’s played indoors, it involves cool gear (swords!), and it’s suitably anachronistic. On the other hand, it’s the kind of hobby that might attract the sort of person who engages in historical re-enactments and enjoys role-playing games.

Since I don’t make a move in my life with consulting teh Internets, I Googled “fencing” today to help me decide if I should take up this hobby or not. Among other things, I learned that Neil Diamond attended NYU on a fencing scholarship. Also, it seems, fencers have their own jokes. Here’s an example:

How many epeeists does it take to change a light bulb?

Two, but they have difficulty getting both bulbs in at the same time.

At this point, I’m really struggling to find marks to put in the “Pro” column…..

When I bought my new bike a month ago, I also paid for some $40 bike shorts that weren’t in stock but would be available, according to the sales clerk, “any day now.” Since the store gave me 20% off anything I purchased along with the bike, I chanced it and purchased the “vaporwear.”

The fact that I actually purchased spandex anything, let alone an article of clothing with foam in the butt, should have been a warning to me. If I believed in “signs” or “fate” or any such nonsense, I would have given up and asked for a refund after said garment failed to turn up after one, two, three, and finally four weeks. But no; the pain from my bruised backside was stronger than my pride or vanity, so I faithfully called the store every few days and each time, to their credit, they seemed just as exasperated as I was at the slowness of their distributor.

The other day, I made up my mind that if the shorts weren’t in stock when I called, I would demand a refund and just continue riding cushion-less until I developed a sufficiently calloused ass and no longer suffered discomfort during my commute.

I spoke with someone who from previous calls I had determined to be managerial in nature. She apologized profusely for the shorts’ continued absence and admitted that, yet again, the stock truck and come and gone without depositing my merchandise.

But before I could demand a refund, she countered with a Supreme Customer Service Move. “They did deliver some more expensive shorts, however,” she explained, “and I’ll give you a pair of those since you’ve waited so long.”

I went in today and picked up my one-freakin’-hundred dollar bike shorts and found that, in addition, said managerial-type-person had included a $25 gift card and a lovely little note expressing her sorrow over the matter (and, no, it did not include her phone number).

So, for $32, I ended up with $125 worth of merchandise. And I didn’t even have to complain.

Ladies and gentleman, I present to you another unsolicited Major Endoresment: BikeSport of Seattle. They kick, and protect, ass!

I am hereby attributing my recent bike crash to the fact that I was not jammin’ to appropriate swerve-avoidance tunes whilst pedaling.

Bike safety guidelines discourage the use of headphones. Luckily, I found some simple instructions for how to design and build a custom stereo for one’s two-wheeler.

Rock on!

Q: What’s typically hairy, bony, and flexible, and is currently wet and covered with blood and bruises?

A) A wounded Sasquatch gymnast just discovered outside Fremont and chased into the ship canal.

B) Jo-Jo The Dog-Faced Boy, Jim Milton Malone, and a contortionist getting into a fight and then diving over the edge of the circus boat.

C) My goddamned knee and elbow after wiping out on my goddamned new bike on a goddamned railroad track on the goddamned bike path in the goddamned rain!

Goddammit.

Continue reading "Riddle" »

OK, most of you are probably sick of hearing about my bike commuting and my efforts to conquer the “mountain stage” of my evening ride. But, there are probably one or two of you who are anxious to hear that I did, indeed, purchase the Giant FCR-3 and that I’m loving it. Plus, there have been a couple visitors driven to this site after searching for “giant fcr-3 reviews,” so for their sake, too, here’s my tale.

I was completely amazed at the difference in riding up the hill. During my test ride, it was virtually effortless. Shedding that 12 pounds from the bike’s weight really makes a difference. At the end of a long day, however, the ride home is still not completely without some huffing and puffing, but it’s not leaving me near death anymore.

The compact frame is taking some getting used to — my foot hits the front wheel if I turn while the pedal is in the wrong position — and I opted for some toe clips on the pedals, which, likewise, are causing me some grief (though once my feet are firmly planted, the clips improve the experience immensely). I also haven’t gotten completely used to the gear-shifting, but I’m getting the hang of it.

The seat is narrower and more supportive than on my other bike. It also has a nice little groove down the middle, which I affectionately call the “Prostate Protector.” The seat material is slightly tacky (meaning “sticky,” not “unfashionable”), which helps keep my butt from sliding off (a problem on my old seat).

The other night, I even rode to the store after Ray’s bedtime — something I’d never done because of the hills between here and there. On my new ride, they were nothing! I am now all motivated to bike everywhere!

Just like this family!

In a couple previous posts, I groused about the final 1.2-mile uphill leg of my evening bicycle commute. After getting in better shape and losing 20 pounds didn’t help, I was finally convinced to put down the whip of self-flagellation and turn my attention to my obscenely heavy, out-moded bike.

I am just now heading out to the store to pick up my new Giant FCR-3. Check it out.

Actually, I am going to test ride it, and I need to overcome my inherent tendency to not manage my own expectations. It might not work for me; I have to be prepared to just walk away.

Serenity now! Serenity now!

Oscar Madison and I are still locked in an epic battle on the virtual chess board (see the right-hand column for the game’s current status). The other day, the trash-talkin’ pseudononymous law professor from an unnamed location somewhere in the Midwest paid me a rather back-handed compliment. He remarked that I was playing a good game and wondered if I might be using a computer. In other words, he accused me of cheating.

Had he been seated in front of me, with only 64 small wooden squares and a handful of sculptured pieces between us, he would be eating a rook sandwich right now, if you know what I’m sayin’. But since a distance of somewhere between 750 and 1,500 miles separates us, I am rather limited in my ability to exact satisfaction.

The gentlemanly thing to do when faced with an opponent who resorts to such brutishness is to take the higher road. I cannot let this comment unnerve me. Was mich nicht umbringt, macht mich stärker.

On the other hand, I could always challenge him to a few rounds of chess boxing.

I have never been one to blame others for my shortcomings. I was raised in a good Catholic household in which I was taught: if something goes wrong, it’s your fault. (I love you, Mom. Kiss-kiss!) When I was on the Madtown M’s and once struck out in six straight plate appearances, I never once blamed the bat. When I was 10 and I failed to pick up an easy spare during the youth bowling league championship game thus causing my team to lose by 3 pins, I never blamed the ball. Nope. It was always me. Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.

Now, the idea that my bike has been the chief culprit in my inability to manage the 1.2-mile 1.75% uphill climb at the end of my commute had crossed my mind, but true to form I turned such suspicions back onto myself — my weak muscles, inefficient lungs, and general sorry-ass laziness. The other day, however, my friend Mary ventured down to my dank office in the unfashionable quarter of campus and spied my GT Slipstream resting innocently against a file cabinet. Mary is an avid cyclist and praised me for biking to work.

I admitted my trouble with the homeward commute, and admitted that I would likely bike in every day if not for that. She walked over to my bike, grabbed it with both hands, and hefted it up. “My God!” she grunted. “This is a heavy bike.”

Continue reading "Defeating the Mountain Stage: Phase 1" »

I was roped in to another month-long bike-to-work contest — the Group Health Commute Challenge. I actually quite enjoy biking to work — both the fact that I live in a community where I can do that, and the actual ride itself. Most of my 6-mile trek is along the Seattle ship canal on a smooth, flat bike trail that leads right into campus. It takes me about 20 minutes to ride in, which is 5 minutes less than the bus takes.

Riding home is another matter. Again, the bulk of the trip is fine — beautiful, in fact. But the last 1.2 miles is a steady uphill climb from the lowlands of the canal banks to the front door of my house.

I call it the Mountain Stage.

Continue reading "The Mountain Stage" »

I’ve been working out with dumbbells lately and now Amy has decided she wants in on the fitness action. Knowing our laziness, however, she realized that if we had to keep switching weights on and off the dumbbells it’d just give us an excuse to not do it at all and we’d sink back into our slothful existence. So, we headed out to Play It Again Sports over the weekend to pick up another set of dumbbell rods for her.

Amy also decided she needed a few more lighter weights for herself, so we picked out four 2.5 pound disks in addition to the rods. Ray was acting up a bit, so Amy scooped him up and took him out to the car while I went up to pay.

I was a bit self-conscious about buying, essentially, two 5-pound dumbbells, but the clerks were pretty busy gabbing with each other and weren’t paying customers a whole lot of attention. I paid for the weights and as I was scooping them up off the counter to leave, the cashier said: “Have a good set, man.”

I related this to Amy when I got back to the car, and she laughed so hard she started to cry.

“Did you clarify things with him?” she asked between sobs.

“No,” I replied. “I was caught off-guard. I may have even said ‘You too.’”

“That’s worse than having to buy tampons,” she acknowledged.

Now I either have to go back there and buy the 50 lb. weights, or never shop there again.

I started playing a game of email chess with my pal Oscar a few days ago, and he’s already taking the trash talk public over at the Columnist Manifesto. To me, that’s a sure sign of his sense of impending defeat.

I started playing email chess a few years ago with my friend kmk. He and I just completed a game a couple weeks ago, and I’ve just started another one with him. We’ll see how I manage two games at once. [Both game boards are depicted near the bottom of the right-hand column on the very website.]

I’ll admit to having never been a very good chess player. It probably has to do with the fact that I’m not a very visual thinker and I’m impatient. In face-to-face chess, I am undone by stupid moves.

But with email chess, there’s ample time between moves, and I find that if I just pay attention, work out all possible scenarios, and focus not only on offense (which is my nature) but defense as well, I tend to do OK. In addition, I’ve picked up some strategies here and there, and played lots of computer chess.

Oscar subscribes to Chess Life magazine and bandies about terms like “Nimzo-Indian.”

He is so going down.

The 2006 Formula 1 race season starts this weekend in Bahrain. Whereas F1 is the auto racing gold standard in most of the known world, the U.S. market is dominated by NASCAR, for which I hold tremendous disdain. Formula 1 cars are like rocket ships compared to NASCAR’s tractors. I would make more use of the snarky expansion of the NASCAR acronym — Non-Athletic Sport Centered Around Rednecks — if “centered around” wasn’t such poor grammar.

F1 isn’t just about driving around in circles as fast as you can go. There are no oval circuits in F1, and, in fact, F1’s governing body is constantly trying to regulate the cars to keep speeds down to increase competitiveness. There is probably more drama and intrigue off the track than on as teams constantly work around these regulations to redesign their cars to eke out precious RPM. Refueling and tyre-change strategies often vie for attention with speed. The whole sport pits engineers and strategists (and drivers) against policymakers, which makes it more a chess game played at 150 km/h.

Eons ago, when I was smart-ass graduate student attempting to prove that one could write academic papers about anything, I wrote a paper about Forumla 1 auto racing. Not only did I get an ‘A’, but the paper was selected by a conference on popular culture and I got to travel to exotic Bowling Green, OH, to present it.

The gist of the paper is that the sport helps create a cultural expression of “techo-fear” — it is the embodiment of both technological excess and the efforts to contain it. In reviewing it, I have to admit that it’s probably the least bullshit-laden of my academic papers. I wish it wasn’t so jargon-filled, but I stand behind my analysis of Formula 1 from a decade ago, and present to you “How Can One be a Formula 1 Race Fan? Fear, Technology and the Politics of Excess”

First, an apology for the prolonged silence (two days!). The Oscars took the wind out of my sails, and I’ve been extremely busy at work. If I get assigned to one more “task force,” I might just have to … uh, take someone to task for it. Or force the issue. See, I’m so brain-dead I can’t even be funny anymore (Audience: “What does he mean, ‘anymore’?”). But, I’m pretty well caught up now, so here am I with some nonsense again.

Excitement is coursing like electricity through Chez Steel today, not because former President Carter is speaking less than 200 yards from my office but because a new “cycle” of America’s Next Top Model starts tonight.

Amy and I watch two shows: Gilmore Girls and ANTM. What began as an ironically-detached activity sometime during ANTM Cycle 3 has become something we plan our week around. When Tyra and the girls aren’t on, we feel strangely empty, lonesome, and a little on edge. But starting tonight, that magic spark of excitement enters our lives again and we will begin to feel a renewed sense of purpose as we spend the next 13 weeks learning who will follow in the famous footsteps of Eva, Naima, and Nicole.

OK, so the ironic detachment is still there. But we like the show, and we’re not just a little ashamed to admit it.

I have to say, though, the current crop of gazelles doesn’t look all that inspired. Here’s my overview of the competitors and my pick for who’s packing her bads and going home tonight.

Continue reading "Fierce Competition!" »

Based on some further thinking and some feedback on this post, I’ve decided to go to the baseball tryout sessions throughout March but not sign up to play for the season.

Basically, it came down to money and time to spend with Ray. Since he goes to bed so early, the weekends are the only time I get to spend with him. It’ll be different next summer when he probably won’t be napping and can attend games, but this summer, it would just be too hard to not hang out with him every chance I get.

Back when I lived in Madison, Wisconsin, I played three seasons of second base on a recreational baseball team known as the Madtown M’s. In spite of my rather paltry .146 career batting average (damn curve balls) and a crippling injury suffered midway through my second season (a broken thumb), I thoroughly enjoyed being on the diamond — the infield chatter; the late-inning, nail-biting tension of a close game; the thrill of turning a tailor-made double-play. I didn’t play ball in high school or college and I considered myself lucky to have this latter-day opportunity to participate in my favorite sport, especially since most post-collegiates were expected to play the more beer-gut friendly game of slow-pitch softball. I played my last game for the M’s in August of 2003; we moved to Seattle the following March. After two seasons off, I now have to decide if I’m going to play this year.

Continue reading "To Play or Not to Play?" »

A few months back, I wrote about my relentless search for a pocket-sized mechanical pencil. This was to accompany my favorite pocket-sized pad of paper, the 3”x4” staple-bound Rhodia graph pad. I eventually gave up and settled for a “Pilot G-2 mini” gel pen, which did the job but caused me to cringe everytime I had to cross something out.

One day last week, I pulled out my pad and (inferior) pen on the bus to write something down and my bus-partner, a Japanese woman named Yasuko, mentioned that she had a tiny mechanical pencil about the size of my pen. I demanded to know where she got it, and was disappointed when she told me “Japan!” “But,” she continued, “you might find one at the Kinokuniya bookstore inside Uwajimaya” (a Japanese supermarket in the International District).

That Saturday, Familia Steel headed down to the ID….

Continue reading "The Unattainable Object Attained!" »

While everybody else in the city was watching the Seahawks lose to the … uh, other team, Familia Steel headed for the hills. Er, mountains, actually. Armed with our $6 sleds, we tackled the challenging slopes near Snoqualmie pass.

After growing up in the Midwest/Great Lakes Region, I can’t tell you how much I love the fact that there is no urban black snow or piles of thick sludge on the streets in the city, but we only have to drive less than hour to get our sled on if we want to.

I’ve always prided myself on doing my own taxes before my birthday (February 9). Part of my tax refund then goes into my annual birthday excursion to the blackjack tables. It’s a good system.

Before owning a house and having a kid, it was pretty simple — grab a 1040-EZ (later, a 1040A) at the library, grab a calculator, and take about 30 minutes. Things have gotten complicated in the last few years, but I’ve always made my deadline — though I haven’t always made it to the casino of late. The only concession to this whiz-bang modern technology the kids these days are all into was to download fill-in PDF forms from irs.gov. I still did all the work by hand, but my returns looked really sharp!

This year, inspired by a review of tax web sites on the LifeHacker web site, I checked out the top-rated on-line service, TurboTax.

Continue reading "A Less Taxing Method" »

We took Ray to the Seattle Mariners’ annual FanFest at Safeco Field yesterday. For two days, they open the field to the general public (well, the $10-paying general public) for base running, fly-ball catching, tee-ball hitting, etc. It’s mostly geared toward kids, though Ray is too little to engage in many of the activites.

He does enjoy, however, the Mariner Moose, and when we learned the Moose was holding court in the center field concourse, we made a bee-line for the event.

Just as we got to the front of the line, the Moose’s handler announced that the Moose had to take a 15-minute break. We patiently waited, but the Moose didn’t return after 15 minutes, or even after 30 minutes. It was cold, and though Ray was being a trooper about the whole thing, he started muttering about wanting to go home, so we left. On the way out, we bought him a stuffed Moose toy, which he loves and which we hope helps to prevent his being disillusioned and bummed out about baseball in general.

At one point while in line, Amy turned to me and said: “You know, this is really a letter-writing offense.” She was reading my mind, as I had already begun to compose the complaint letter which, if my complaint-letter-writing skills don’t fail me, would net us some free baseball tickets or other juicy booty from the Mariners. They disappointed my son, and they must pay!

Click “Continue Reading…” for photos and the complaint letter.

Continue reading "Waiting for the Mariner Moose" »

Sometime back in December, there was a nice, relatively warm, sunny day here in Seattle. On that day, a colleague of mine approached me and asked me to join her “Ride in the Rain” bike team. “Ride in the Rain” is an annual “challenge” sponsored by the University of Washington’s Transportation Services department and designed to encourage bicycle commuting even when the weather seems less-than-conducive to being outside. Teams form and members get points for each one-way commute they make during the month of January. If you make 20 or more, you get to attend a party.

I am now 1/10 of the way to getting my party, and I am very, very wet.

Continue reading "Riding in the Rain" »

There are 569 Google hits for the phrases “new years resolution” & “blog more.” I’m surprised; frankly, I thought there’d be more. I would certainly like to write more in 2006 and try to expand my audience (or, rather, gain one to begin with).

Others, in no particular order, are:

• The aforementioned “stop putting pens in my mouth.”


• I’ve already lost weight, so keeping it off and building up muscle tone is one. I’ve already been doing Pilates and dumbell exercises, so I just need to keep up with that.


• I’d like to keep going on the piano and practice at least 3 times a week. I bought “easy” sheet music books for Cole Porter and George Gershwin songs that I’m looking forward to. I already had a Tom Waits book, but the music is too complicated for me. If I can build up my skills and play one of the Tom Waits songs reasonably well by the end of the year, I’ll feel pretty good.


• I’d like to start to learn how to paint (pictures, not walls).


• I have a number of financial goals that I’m already on the way towards making.


• Most importantly, I’d like to spend more “quality time” with Amy in the evenings. Lately, we’ve been withdrawing into out own little solo activites at night. Over the holiday vacation, we spent time together in the evening playing Gin and other games, and we went out a couple nights, which was really fun.

Relatively boring and unspectacular goals, but eminently achievable, I think.