My Bloody Valentine

My Bloody Valentine Cocktail

In the late '80s,  I worked as an outside insurance adjuster in the DC/ Northern Virginia/ Maryland land of congestion.  Traffic was criminal and I spent 10 hour days in a butt ugly light blue Nissan Sentra --  Not exactly what I had in mind when the boss promised a 'company car.'  With only an AM/FM radio, music choices were mostly country, Christian or Barry White.  I finally found an alternative station out of Annapolis that could just make it to Manassas before it was rolled over by, 'Three Rusty Nails.'

I was a sponge soaking up new sounds and bands out of Annapolis.  The Feelies did a cover of Patti Smith's, 'Dancing Barefoot' that this one dj played over and over but never identified.  I finally recorded it on my company, 'Olympus micro cassette' and played it for a kid at an alternative music store in Alexandria.

My Bloody Valentine, a band MIA in most everyone's vocabulary in Northern Virginia,  had huge play on the Annapolis station.  Again, like the Feelies, they were a unique sound, but they were a tad more more popular and every once in a while I'd hear them while eating crab at the Quarter Deck in Arlington or throwing back beers at the Tune In on the Hill.

I wanted to do a cocktail for Valentine's Day and I really liked the Negroni that uses Prosecco instead of gin.  Along the same lines, I replaced the Prosecco with Blood Orange soda and while it's not a requirement,  a couple shakes of Regan's Orange bitters really rounds this cocktail out.  It's more  refreshing than boozy.  Bitter, but quaffable.  I first used a martini glass but the Golf Foxtrot inherited a dozen or so coupes from her grandmother and while I'm not a big "colored glass" guy, they do pair well with the bloody red.  

2 oz Aperol or Campari
3/4 oz Sweet Vermouth
4 oz Blood Orange Soda
2 shakes Regan Orange Bitters

Add ice and stir until very cold.  Strain into a coupe.  Maybe throw in a Whitman's Sampler for her.  I gave one to a stripper on Valentine's Day in 1977.  I was driving a '68 Dodge Charger and pulled into the parking lot behind behind the Suzy Wong Club when a cop...

Temptation

By the time I arrived in NYC in '84, New Order's, 'Temptation' had been out but not for long. I wound up with a bunch of the French guys who were rebuilding the Statue of Liberty torch in the same repousse way the original was constructed.

We wound up in a bar in midtown and lady luck and, I think, Lady Liberty, were looking down on us -- Not that it doesn't hurt to have 13 Frenchmen who make a living banging copper against wood. Girls were everywhere and so were the French. Me? I was lucky to be along for the ride.

I think it was an Irish bar - A massive place and we were on a balcony over looking the bar. 'Temptation' came on and the French started dancing by themselves. In no time, and I mean, NO. TIME. They were joined by women from every direction. I joined the human car wash and I remember it as a pure miracle I was lucky enough to join. The song seemed to just go on an on...

The French slowly paired up and left the balcony with their new American friends but I didn't want the dance to stop.

The College Graduation Party

College Graduation Party, St Augustine Beach, 1984 (photo by M.E.)

From Left: Teen, Kennedy, Tintin, Troyer, Dr. Van Lueven,  Ledbetter and "Man wants a case of beer" Harvey

A Stirring Story

Crate&Barrel Martini Pitcher

My mother hired me to tend bar for a party in her home the Summer between my leaving the Army and starting college.  It was mostly opening beer bottles, pouring white wine and sloshing together the occasional G&T or V&T.

A neighbor, who had flown B-17s in WWII, dated Suzanne Pleshette and wrote for Esquire in the late '50s, approached my bar in the kitchen, flashed his brilliant smile and asked for a gin martini. For years, I had made martinis for the Old Man. That  consisted of taking a bottle of Beefeater and a martini glass out of the freezer, filling the glass with syrupy chilled gin and adding a couple olives. It was how the old man liked it -- It was how I liked it.

I explain to Bernie there's no gin in the freezer and he scoffs, "You don't make martinis with frozen gin." I'm guessing Bernie was in his early sixties then. "Got a pitcher?" We find the appropriate mid 20th century Danish glass vessel and set to work. Bernie pours eight ounces of gin, adds a teaspoon of dry Vermouth and throws in a couple handfuls of ice.

Etsy Italian Martini Pitcher

I volunteer my unsolicited wisdom of 22 years, "Stirred, not shaken? I never understood that. Doesn't get cold enough. I'd rather just have it out of the freezer." Bernie stir's the pitcher with a glass rod, "The gin needs the dilution from the ice," Bernie says while the ice sounds like the high keys of a piano. I shake my head, "Bernie, this could take years." Bernie looks surprised, "You have someplace to go?" "No," I admit, "Not at ten bucks an hour." Bernie asks if I've decided my major. "English," I say proudly.

The glass rod continues counter clockwise. Bernie stares into the pitcher, smiles and looks up at me, "I was an English major." Bernie pauses and stirs...I'll tell you a story every English major should know. Sadly, most don't. Lost to time, I guess." "Sure," I say and wonder if this is when Bernie'll tell me how he planked Suzanne Pleshette.

"So," Bernie stirs, "Oscar Wilde was released from a prison in Reading after serving a couple years for sodomy. Everyone knew it was with Alfred Douglas, the son of the Marquess of Queensberry." "The boxing Queensberry?" I ask. Bernie stirs and nods, "Mmmm, Alfred was known among his friends as Bosie. His father, the Marquess, had it in for Wilde. Set Wilde up - although in the trial it was Wilde who put himself in jail." "Really?" I say, lost in the pentameter of the glass rod.

Slope Martini Pitcher

"It's true," Bernie says. "Wilde's released in the late afternoon and since London's almost a day away by coach, he looked for a hotel room in town.  Everywhere he went, once he signed the register, he was told to leave. He drags himself into a tiny inn and explains to the innkeeper, "Look, I'm Oscar Wilde. I have served two years hard labor for my crime, I've learned my lesson and have turned over a new leaf. I've been turned away from every inn and am desperate for a room. Would you help me, sir?" The pitcher frosts with the chill of ice as Bernie maintains his stirring cadence."

"So what did the innkeeper do?" I ask. Bernie smiles, "What could he do? He rings for a page and instructs the young man to carry Wilde's bags to his room. Wilde thanks the innkeeper and follows the young man up the stairs. Five minutes go by and no page.  Then 10, 15. Finally, a half hour later the page still hasn't returned. The innkeeper trudges up the stairs and knocks on Wilde's door. No answer." Juniper wafts around our heads and it whets my appetite like garlic hitting hot olive oil.

Orrefors Martini Pitcher

"You do have olives?" Bernie asks. "Sure," I grab a Manzanilla bottle from the fridge. Bernie hums to himself while I open the olive jar and ask, "So, no answer at the door?" I bring Bernie back from some place far away. I'm guessing he's with Suzanne Pleshette. I know I'd be. "No answer at the door. So the innkeeper pulls out a key, opens the door and there's Wilde, stark naked in bed with the page, also naked. The innkeeper, shocked, says, 'Mr Wilde! You assured me you had turned over a new leaf!' Wilde looks up at the innkeeper and says, 'And I promise I will, sir - - Just as soon as I get to the bottom of this page.'"

You probably had to have been an English major to appreciate this -- but every man should have his own martini pitcher and stirring story. 

Happy Hump Day

A Connoisseur of Impending Doom

I'd get off at Wall Street even though Bowling Green was closer to the park service work boat.  One reason was an addiction to the balls-to-wall energy on Wall Street.  People moving with an expressed purpose, laser focused determination and guts full of cranky anxiety. You know, how most of us commute home.  In 1985, working women wore little silk blossom ties with navy flannel suits and white leather running shoes, their heels sticking out of LL Bean canvas totes. I wonder where they all went.

The other reason was food. There was a Greek coffee stand run by George. There's always a guy named George in a Greek coffee stand.  A regular coffee, three fast spoons of sugar, and too much cream.  Like melted Hagen Daaz coffee ice cream... only sweeter.

If I was flush, there was a small diner in an office building on Broad Street where two, huge breasted Puerto Rican waitresses, in turtlenecks and rainbow clip-on suspenders, served the only grits south of 125th Street.

The soundtrack came from Madonna's, Like A Virgin on a beat up Radio Shack walkman.  WNBC's,  Don Imus thought she sounded like Minnie Mouse on helium.  Young suits on park benches snorted cocaine with the Journal or NY Post on their lap and Ray Bans covering their eyes. But mostly I remember him and the smell.  A ripe and rotting  BO. 

He was tucked half way into a bright blue sleeping bag at the end of a park bench.  Long silver hair streaked in black fell onto a long grey beard that fell onto a signal yellow shirt. He looked up and pointed at me like he was gonna hit a fly ball my direction.  But he didn't. Instead, he yelled, "This could happen to you!" Fellow pedestrians peel away as his eyes lock on me. Too lazy to detour, I approach the bench as he follows me with his pointing finger, extended for emphasis, by a long yellow nail with a thick black crescent of crud underneath.

"Yeah, you.  Fucking, Stacy Keach! This could happen to you!"

I walk by looking straight ahead.  "Fuck you, Stacy Keach!  Fuck  youuuuuu..." slowly ebbs away under Minnie Mouse's, Dress You Up.  "Stacy Keach?" I wondered. I don't look like Stacy Keach.  Don't get me wrong.  I like Stacy Keach.  He's amazing in 'The Traveling Executioner' and 'Doc.'  27 years later I still don't get Stacy Keach -- That it could happen to me?  A day doesn't go by that I know it can and probably will.

Bastian's Inspiration: GQ 1982

Michael Bastian cites early '80s GQ as inspiration for his Spring 2013 collection. So I had to see for myself. I thought you should too. I do like those banana shorts.

Style Council: Nautical Flag Trousers

Nautical Flag Trousers - Two days left to bid here on eBay

I could fit in these -- Maybe 10 years ago. Even then, barely. I was thinking of buying 'em anyway. Just so I could look at 'em in the closet. No bids so far. If you're a 34"/30", you'd be crazy not to. Update: Nautical Trou make $169.50 via eight bids.



Of course, if Paul Weller could do this video in the '80s, you could certainly wear these pants. No matter, uh...what you do.

NY in the '80s

11th Avenue & 31st Street, photo by Stephen Siegel, 1987

Fascinating Flickr account here of NYC in the '80s.


Fascinating advertising campaign in the '80s.

Probable Maximum Loss: Cole Haan

Esquire Gentleman Magazine, Spring / Summer 1993

Probable Maximum Loss or PML is an insurance term I always called the "Ka-Boom" factor. PML is a basic underwriting strategy where an insurance company figures it's total maximum loss in a building, location, region or... shoe maker.

Cole Haan started in Chicago in 1928 and were, by the time I knew them in the '80s, the classic shoe choice. Whether a simple calf tassel loafer (my first post college shoe) or their perfect correspondent in buck and tan calf -- Cole Haan was classic. You didn't wear tassel loafers -- you wore Cole Haan tassel loafers.

In 1993, Cole Haan introduced the venetian loafer you see in the advertisement above. It was a clean looking shoe made in their Maine factory. In 1988, Cole Haan was bought by Nike and shortly afterwards closed their Maine plant and moved all manufacture off shore. How odd that Cole Haan became, if not the first, one of the earliest shoe companies to embrace off shore while leaving pricing the same.

Today, pricing remains high for what you get but design has really suffered as seen here. The plastic injected shoe so commonly associated with Donald Pliner is seen across the Cole Haan line. This may have more to do with the small world of shoe design talent but I think it stems more from what Asian factories are comfortable making. Who knows. I don't pretend to know a lot about making shoes. I do understand Probable Maximum Loss. You know? Ka-Boom!

Extinct Etamine Etymolgy

The Holy Grail

Etamine pullover


Etamine in yellow, white, blue, pink and melon


Etamine defined


I was talking to Tom Davis (MTM Shirts) at Brooks Brothers last week. We covered a lot of ground but everything stopped when he brought up etamine. An ultra light voile-like fabric used by Brooks Brothers for shirting years ago. I did some digging around and didn't find much. I'm still digging.

A weekend wander through textile and fashion books reveal the letter 'E' has the fewest entries and etamine ain't one of 'em. The internet will tell you it's a light porous cotton in an open mesh, susceptible to snagging, with a slight gloss finish. Dig a little deeper into the etymology and, by 1936, etamine is pretty much extinct.

Hardly a surprise Brooks Brothers catalogs from the late '70s and early '80s show the shirt Tom remembered. Short sleeve pullover in basic blue, yellow and white with pink and melon added in 1981. Great colors, popular pullover style and a fabric that appears to breathe better than linen. Cheaper too according to a web site that sells etamine for three bucks a meter (beware minimum order).

Who knows if etamine today is the same as it was in 1981? That's a question not a statement. If you know, please let me know, since the hunt is on. Summers don't look like they're gonna get any cooler.

A Sweatshirt of a Certain Age

I've dragged this hooded sweat shirt around since 1985. I haven't been able to wear it since 1992. It's not that I've gained weight. I have. And like the weight I've packed on -- this sweatshirt is witness to years of change -- In myself and in my closet.

I wore this sweatshirt on a date in Philadelphia one night. Under a leather flight jacket with skin tight 501s and Timberland work boots. I complained to my date, later my wife, later my ex-wife, that I had been hit on by two gay men on my way to pick her up. She looked me up and down, arched an eyebrow and said, "Maybe it's the way you're dressing."

A lotta oxford has flowed through the closet since 1986. What I swore I would never wear: bow ties, double breasted blazers, suede shoes, club collars...not only reside in my closet but fit as well. My sweatshirt looks on. No longer worn. Not because it's too small, but because it isn't who I am anymore. A medium.

The Highway - 1980

Fanning Springs, FL (photo courtesy of the new Stuckey's)

Outside Florence, SC on 16 May 1980.

The stretch of I-95 between Ft Bragg, NC and St Augustine, FL was about eight hours of the most uninteresting highway-- then and today. Only things missing today are Stuckey's and cheap gas. Whoops. Scratch that Stuckey's comment.

1980's Chicks - Brooks Brothers

If loving this is wrong then I don't want to be right...

Spring 1989

Spring 1989

Fall 1988

Spring 1989

Spring 1988

Fall 1989

Spring 1988

Spring 1989

Fall 1989

Spring 1988

A lot of the catalogs Brook's Brothers put out for women were (and still are) cheesy spectacles of poor layout, bad photography and laughable back drops. Early '80s back drops stand out with a whole lot of split rail fences, Mt Vernon porches and ersatz fireplaces.

Something happened in '88 and '89. And not just the catalogs but the clothing as well. Beautiful photography with scenes of Manhattan hooked up with models who looked they made a living modeling. And the clothes were amazing. Grown up and sophisticated in rich fabrics for decades of wear. Hell, even that damned tassel flattie disappeared (for a while).

I'd love to know what happened. And I'd love to know why it ended. A real shame because Brook's never came close to this kind of erudite style again. With a lot of '80s inspired fashion showing up everywhere today you'd think this would be a no brainer.