6 posts tagged “martini”
I was thinking of subletting this space. But instead, I'm going to start using it as a type of journal. Excpet the kind that other people can read. Making it less like a journal, actually, and more like a cry for help.
The more I think about it, it probably is a cry for help. A cry of "for the love of God, someone, don't let me do this!" After two years of hiatus from acting, I've decided to think about thinking about considering the possibility of a chance of starting back up again.
Wait! Calm down! Everyone! Please! Nothing is official yet. Calm . . . calm . . . calm . . .
(the sound of crickets, and, in the distance, a falling tree)
It's going to be a long trek back. I need a place to vent about the assholes I will inevitably encounter. And also a place to vent about what an asshole these assholes will undoubtedly turn me into. (Thanks in advance, assholes.) As well as a place to brag about my successes, lie about my failures, and "workshop" my ideas. Did I mention lying about my failures? Oh, good.
A person I know (is that diplomatic enough?) wants to help me develop a one man show based on my blog. I'm thinking of calling it www.benmartini.com. Or maybe just calling it Ben Martini's Happy Hour with the web address underneath. They've volunteered to help me produce, so we'll see what happens. I trust their experience, as their a veteran of Second City and a comedy writer to boot. The problem is that this potentially could take a lot of time. I'm already behind on watching movies and television shows. Not to mention, I just recently started to hit my stride with Karaoke Revolution and this "show" could really set me back. I don't know. I'm weary. I'm confused. I'm lazy and scared of doing anything productive.
My thought is to work up to something like this by doing stand up, again. But where the hell in Chicago is there to do stand up? This is Improv City, man. Stand up is a lonely animal in this place. A one man show (which is really just glorified stand up in this case) is a little scary. It costs money to produce. Critics come, and then they tell everyone how much you suck. If it bombs, then I get to hear from Spacecase, "I guess we can't go on vacation this year because you blew your time and money SUCKING IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE CITY!" (Just kidding, she would never say that. My mother would say that.) Yeah, I don't know. This will take some serious consideration and drinking of martinis.
If, by the way, anyone happens to read this who knows of open venues in Chicago for testing material, I'd appreciate a tip off. I am so out of the know.
I tried the vodka martini w/olives last night. It was amazing. And by "amazing", I actually mean horrible. I just can't do it. The vodka taste doesn't blend with either the vermouth or the olives. You have three tastes swirling around in your mouth fighting for supremacy over each other. Gin is the great uniter that brings them together.
Ah, gin, I'm sorry I looked anywhere else. But you know how it is, Baby. A man gets curious.
SLAP!
But, Baby -
SLAP, SLAP!
There. Did you get that out of your system? Now get in that shaker and stir yourself around a little bit while I get the anchovy stuffed olives. Feel free to douse yourself with 3-6 drops of vermouth, but no more than that. And here, wear this.
Oh, sorry. I sort of drifted off into my own little world there. Heh, heh. Imagine that.
I've always been skeptical of martini drinkers who choose vodka over gin. It's fine if you're ordering it with a lemon twist, or even with no accoutrement at all. But when I see a glass of vodka with olives, I want to retch. Gin has a salty taste that is complimented by the saltiness of the olives. Vodka I've always associated with citrus flavors. Gin is like food, and vodka is like a Gatorade on a hot day.
But then it hit me the other day. On it's own, I love vodka. I prefer vodka to gin, actually. Am I just drinking gin for the olives? And how can I assume vodka soaked olives won't taste good until I've tried them?
Furthermore, I sometimes order salads with olives in them. I sometimes order tater tots to eat on the side with my salad. Tater tots are made from potatoes. Vodka is made from potatoes.
See where I'm going with this?
I bought a bottle of Three Olives vodka. It is waiting at my house. I will try the vodka martini w/olives. And if I like it . . .
We may be standing on the brink of a new age.
A time when Ben Martini switches to the vodka martini.
I know, I'm a little scared, too. But also excited.
No, it's not about me this time. I'm talking about real martinis. It's getting a little crazy with all the martini drinks everywhere I go. Bars keep calling things martinis that aren't really martinis and it should stop. This weekend I had a Ragin' Cajun martini at a restaurant. It sounded like it would keep me warm against the 30 degree weather we've been having. It consisted of spicy tomato juice and vodka. I kept calling it a Bloody Mary, but the waiter kept correcting me. It's a martini, he would say. But it wasn't. It was a Bloody Mary.
I don't get it.
Too hot. Can't think. Most my sentences . . . less than four words. "Hot. No talk now." Like that.
I keep overhearing people on the train saying, "The worst thing about this heat is . . . ." Then they go on to say it's the humidity, or it's all the sweating, or what have you. The worst thing about the heat is the heat. It just sucks. Followed a close second by short tempers. This time of year, everyone is a dick. We're all hot, sweaty, and thoroughly disgusted with each other. We're pressed up against one another on trains, buses, in elevators. Forced to wear long pants for our jobs. The best shows are in reruns. Something has to give.
I go to work this morning, pour myself a glass of cold water, and the admin asst asks, "Why do you look so stressed?" I say, "Because It's hot." She replies, "It's gonna be hotter than that in the place you're going to after you die." Damn. (In her defense, she lives on the top floor of a 4 flat walk-up without air conditioning.)
I look at the news. Israel continues to lay the Old Testament smackdown on Lebanon. I shake my head, wondering what it will take to one day bring stability to the Middle East. (You know, other than larger countries not invading them.) And then it came to me, in two magic words: Air Conditioning. There needs to be a lot more air conditioning. And water parks. Now, hear me out. I know it's a lot more complicated than that. I'm not saying that this would automatically cure all hostillities. BUT . . . over time . . . I bet attitudes might relax significantly if people could spend more time in front of air conditioners and on water slides. We should also drop snow on them. Load up some planes and drop big, landfill-sized quantities of pure, Alaskan snow. We've been analyzing the situation all wrong. It has nothing to do with religious differences. That's just the type of shit people get hung up on when they're hot and they can't think straight. Everyone wants Israel, not because of Palastine, but because Israel has all the swimming pools and central air. There would be no more conflict if the nations of the world would band together, pool their money, and turn the whole Middle East into a luxory resort. We could all help out. We could have bake sales and stuff. Sell some magazine subscriptions, no big deal. I'd take a day off for that.
I know I need to think this out a little more, but I'm telling you there's something there.
Well, this is my blog. My name is Ben Martini. I live in Chicago.
I had a great post going yesterday. It was funny, informative, noble, with just the correct amount of humility. It made me proud to be me. Then the cat jumped up on the keyboard and made it all disappear. I tried to retrieve it, but then the whole site went down. (Which I also blame on Zelda the cat, who was sending out some funky psychic emissions last night.) Anyway, it seemed like too much work to type over, so I just went and had a beer instead.
The most notable thing about yesterday was that I finally tried Chubby Wieners. Let me clarify by adding that Chubby Wieners is a hot dog stand that just opened off the brown line stop at Western. Nearly hidden under the L tracks, I predict it will soon become Lincoln Square's best kept, dirty little secret. They serve up a mean chilli dog, which is not easy to find in Chicago. Most places specialize in your standard "Chicago" dog, but you don't always feel like having a salad on your wiener. Finding a quality chilli dog is a rare, beautiful thing. Hot dogs are under five bucks, and come with a generous helping of beer-battered fries. If you're in the mood for a polish, but don't want it grilled, they will deep fry it for you. And for $250 you can get a chubby wiener with a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label. Just in case you need a little something extra to help take the edge off. (See my photo collection, "Scary Things That I Eat," for a glimpse of Chubby's mascot.)
Okay, I think I'm done here. In the words of Stan Lee, 'Nuff Said.
