5:00 Fridays - For Duke

So I suppose it's not news anymore that Duke won some big basketball tournament. I inadvertently taught my sons to do air quotes and say "the game" because everyone around the water cooler seems to talk incessantly about "the game" regardless the time of year. Now Bird and Deal taunt and mock Mac Daddy every time he watches sports (It's only sports or the news with that guy. I don't know why he can't branch out into quality programming like Gossip Girl.).

I don't know squat about sports and usually choose my bracket based on very important, studied criteria such as school colors, mascot, and the city the school is located in. I don't know any player names and sure as hell don't know any stats. I didn't even know what "in the paint" meant until I got my friend John Hollis' book called Life in the Paint (Dude, it's for sale on Amazon. Check it out. John is a whole mess of awesome, but don't tell him I told you so. I like to keep him on my curmudgeonly stubborn side.). And then on Twitter @illig sent me straight to Google with his cager reference.

It would only make sense that I honor Duke in today's 5:00 Fridays post.

Duke Ellington, that is. You didn't really think I'd toast Coach K and the Dukies, did you?


Duke's a Champ (from The Daily Cocktail book my friend Kate gave me)

1-2 ounces vodka
1/2 ounce blackberry brandy

Pour the vodka and blackberry brandy into a mixing glass half filled with ice (cubed, not crushed). Stir and strain into a martini glass. Kick back and listen to some jazz...and I ain't talkin' Utah.


A few lyrics from Duke Ellington's Cocktail for Two:

"Most any afternoon at five
We'll be so glad we're both alive
Then maybe fortune will complete her plan
That all began
With cocktails for two"

5:00 Fridays

First of all, I'd like to thank all 12 people reading my blog today. I realize March Madness is upon us. In hindsight, I realize that is precisely why Mac Daddy whisked me off to Charleston for a tenth anniversary surprise getaway last weekend. Points scored and subsequently redeemed for an inordinate number of hours perched in front of our old dusty TV following an orange ball bouncing from here to fro. I can't get past the lanky guys in ill fitting shorts who have massive pipes. Did boys have muscles like that when I was in college? I think not.

Couch therapy takes on a whole new meaning during March Madness. Pass the chips, man.

Basketball is more grunge less refined, right? It's a beer swilling sport for the most part. Then again, all sports are beer swilling sports. Well, not polo or horse racing, but I'm not talking country club and cotillion here. Mac Daddy is a slave to basketball. He evens follows my alma mater to keep me abreast of all that's (not) happening on the court in Hooville. Apparently my guys weren't on the bubble this year. They weren't in the same zip code as the bubble. There might have never even been a bubble.

In any case, because I'm not a bitter kind of girl, I'd like to celebrate the bubble today. A toast to those teams whose bubbles didn't burst (not that I know who they are).


The Bubble

2 ounces lychee juice
3 ounces dry champagne

Pour the lychee juice into a champagne glass and top with champagne. Leave the garnish out today. I mean really, you can only fancy up hoops so much.

Cheers to the Madness that is March!

So tell me, who'd you pick to go all the way?

5:00 Fridays

The Olympics start tonight. I've always been a big fan, perhaps so I can live vicariously, seeing that I have no athletic prowess. I toyed with taking up curling so I could make headlines as the only Indian curler. Plus I figured that sport took the least athletic prowess (no offense curlers, but how hard can a sport requiring a broom be? the exception being quidditch). One of my early dates with Mac Daddy was watching the opening ceremonies together. We oohed and aahed at the athletes, laughed at some of the outfits, ranked the countries we most wanted to visit, and tried to guess the capitals of each country. Yeah, we're dorks.

When I was a kid I wrote a letter to Jimmy Carter when he boycotted the Moscow games in 1980. As I recall, I wrote in support of his decision but told him I felt sorry for the athletes. He, rather a grunt cornered somewhere in the basement bowels of the White House, wrote back to me. Autographed picture to boot. Just like what I got when I wrote to Lucille Ball (not about the Olympics, just as an admirer).

Tonight we're going to let Bird and Deal stay up past their bed time to watch some of the Olympic opening ceremonies. I'll regale them with stories about how their uncle, my older, therefore old brother, was even in the Atlanta opening ceremony. You see, he was in the right place at the right time. Also why he has a cool networky job, worked as an online producer on Rockstar Supernova, and was on Jeopardy once. My big brother was the official country sign carrier for Palestine, historically marking the first time Palestinian athletes competed in the Games under their own country's flag. Politics and world affairs aside, it was historic.

In honor of the 2008 Olympic Games in Beijing, I present to you a gold medal cocktail.

Lychee Marteenee (Oh, such a kick to say!)

Grab a martini glass. Swirl some ice around in it to chill. Dip the rim into edible gold powder (or go for silver or bronze if you're feeling more like Avis and less like Hertz). You can find the stuff at any bakery supply or even craft store. High end grocery stores and places like Sur La Table will carry it too.

Now get your shaker and fill it with ice. If you have a plastic shaker, use it as a vase; it's worthless as a proper cocktail shaker. Note to cross off the numskull who gifted it to you from your holiday card list. A stainless steel one will serve you better. Better yet, ask Santa for a sterling silver one. Now we're talkin'!

Into the shaker add 2 ounces of Grey Goose vodka
Pour in 1 teaspoon of lime juice (freshly squeezed only, not that junk in the plastic lime)
Add 2 ounces of lychee drink (found in the Asian section of most grocery stores these days) -OR- Add 2 ounces of pureed canned lychees with a dash of the syrup.
Add a dash (or maybe three) of Cointreau or Grenadine. I prefer Cointreau but rarely have it on hand. Looks I should grab a bottle if this 5:00 Fridays post is going to continue.

Play some Ric Ocasek and Shake It Up! Now all you've got! Woo-oo!

Garnish with a couple chunks of fresh pineapple. Prepare to be transported to Beijing, minus the crowds, price gouging, noise, and pollution. Inhale the Olympic spirit from the comfort of your own couch.

It's About TIME

Here I am writing about sports again...kinda. My old friend from UVa., John Hollis, is an accomplished sports writer. Check out his article in the latest issue of Time Magazine. (You can see it here. http://www.time.com/time/arts/article/0,8599,1707253,00.html)

Yes, ladies and gentleman, I am in the company of a TIME writer. I knew John waaaaayyyy back in the day when there was more partying than writing going on. He's now a dad, a husband (not mine, mind you) and a real, published writer. It's good to see that all those mistakes, indiscretions, and profound errors in judgement from college did not translate to a cesspool of a life. Of course, I've only read and heard about said mistakes, indiscretions, and errors in judgement.

Knowing that Bird and Deal just might turn out as well as John Hollis makes all the future trauma of college antics a bit more palatable.

Packer Country Is Wherever You Are

Green Bay Packer fans are EVERYWHERE. Trust me, when you least expect it, a zealous fan sporting the big, green G will be in line behind you (sometimes inebriated or well on the way). This very scene played out for me in the NEW DELHI AIRPORT, as in INDIA. And once again on a cruise to TORTOLA where an entire group of workers from Manitowoc were on a company incentive trip. Those guys wore Packer cummberbunds and bowties on formal night. Clearly the definition of "formal attire" differs regionally.

So I married a Packer fan. Luckily the colors don't suck. It would have been awful to marry a Dolphins fan. Teal and orange? Sheesh. I can live with green and gold...more green than gold is more flattering for everyone. My husband, henceforth known as Mac Daddy for purposes of this blog, is from Wisconsin, which makes him a die hard Packer fan. It's like being born in the U.S. to become a citizen automatically. He can't help being a Packer fan; he was BORN one. Since we have been married for over five years, assuming the same citizenship rules apply, I am a Packer fan now too. Our children, because their dad was BORN a Packer fan, are naturally fans too. Blood runs green and gold, as they say in 'Sconsin. My guys stop short of face paint and the regular Lambeau Field brouhaha, but we have all forms of Packer gear known to man: hats, shirts, #4 jerseys, slippers, pennants, and even Christmas ornaments. I myself have an awfully cute pink Packer baseball cap (proceeds benefit breast cancer research). You too can get one here http://www.sportsfanfare.com/sf-reepnkgby04.html.

Today is a big day in Packerland...not that I'm into sports at all. I view big game days as an opportunity to eat junk food (loaded chicken nachos and brats, natch, for today's game), drink some beers, and read trashy magazines (Us Weekly and People). My little words of wisdom are that all you need to watch in any game are the last two minutes. Everything always hinges on those fateful two minutes. Why waste the other 178 minutes when you could be doing something remotely productive, oh say, like folding the mountains of laundry piled on the guest bed or clipping the holly bushes that are growing as wild as Mr. Magorium's hair? Hint Hint, Mac Daddy.

While I don't enjoy sports, or even understand any sport other than tennis, I do succumb to Packer fever. I can't leave the Green Bay airport without buying one last Packer souvenir. Everyone could use a logo-emblazoned cheese plate with matching knife, right? And don't get me started on the lunchbox that came replete with a stash of cheesecurds and sausage sticks. I didn't grow up in a town with a football team so I happily embrace the Packers. I've even visited Lambeau Field (the old and the new) on several occasions. I kicked a field goal at the Packer Hall of Fame, and had my photo taken with a lifesize Brett Favre cutout. Crazy as it sounds, Lambeau Field really does have an undescribable mystique. You can feel a special aura around the whole place. Wacky, I know. It really is hallowed ground. Millions of frozen fans can't be wrong. You won't find such fierce camaraderie anywhere. It's true that a fellow Packer fan will stop to help change a flat tire on a stranded car that sports a Packer sticker.

There are no fair weather Packer fans. Being a part of such fan verve, even if I just married into it, is pretty damn fun. Note to Brett Favre, notice how we pronounce "verve" versus "Favre" even though the phonetics are not the same (maddening, I tell you!). Here at Dirt & Noise we are gearing up for today's big game. Bird and Deal are sporting their #4 jerseys and have been chanting "GO PACKERS!" all morning. We don't even remind them to use an inside voice.