The candy-corn martini might be my greatest triumph yet, and as you know that’s really saying something.
Came to me during Happy Hour, as all great ideas do: If I plunk a dozen kernels of candy corn in a standard martini, hold it up to the light till it fogs, I might have something that captures the great American spirit.
The Candy-Corn Martini: For unto you is born this day in the City of Angels, a savior, Christ our corn. And this should be a sign unto you…
Look, my mouth has always been a spiritual place — where bar foods go to get married, a tiny chapel for dinner and drink.
I’m keeping it open extra hours during this amazing month, this pre-pre-Lenten festival that leads to the holidays.
If I work it right, you won’t see a gap between Halloween and Christmas. It’ll just be one long wad of incredible moments.
Oh, these October days. Can I gush a little more? In LA, the leaves don’t change but the sunlight does; the afternoons now look like apple cider.
This particular fall has an early start – a little crisp, a little soupy. The other night, I made a fire. And a candy-corn martini. OK, two.
I get so easily caught up. Bought my grandbaby some pumpkin PJs the other day, and a tiny cable-knit sweater that will make her look like an Irish Christmas ornament.
And each night on the telly, there seems to be a better ballgame than the last.
How about dem Dodgers? I promised my Twitter followers they would beat the Cards, and they did (just barely).
I have some issues with the Dodgers — their front office is an arrogant bunch of sap-holes. But as the Dodgers go, so goes LA. The players bring a lot of happiness to this big funky church. I root for them every chance.
One of the best things about watching a Dodger game is trying to identify the near-dead celebs in the expensive seats behind home plate.
True story: The Dodgers hire a guy just to jiggle awake the old goats after every game. If he can’t, he dials up their publicists.
Among the old celebs the other night was Lou Adler, the ancient beatnik in the white beret.
Adler is to music what Frank Gehry is to stainless steel. He’s an LA legend, a pal of Jack Nicholson, the record producer behind “Tapestry” and a hundred other hits. Among the vintage celebs (Pat Sajak, Mary Hart), Adler stands out as someone who did some really worthwhile stuff.
In watching him, I had this urge to ask: “Hey Lou, does today’s music sound like bus brakes to you? Because it sure does to me.”
By the way, it frosts my pumpkins when the rich people in the front-row seats don’t stand up during Dodger rallies. As a friend pointed out, the true fans are up in the nose bleeds. During rallies, they stand on their seats, cheering wildly, painting each other in mustard and beer.
The Los Angeles Dodgers are a Neiman Marcus franchise with an increasingly working-class fan base. Go figure.
I’ve been enjoying the LA Rams lately too. They are like a Ron Howard movie, their gee-whiz Opie coach absorbing all the blame when the team occasionally stumbles.
I wouldn’t think that’s a recipe for success. But it seems to work with these jock millennials. Now Sean McVay’s got himself an Opie quarterback, a gee-whiz soulmate. Only good things ahead.
I don’t cover sports anymore, for obvious reasons, but I’m glad to point out that LA’s pro teams have the best front offices in the business – Lakers, Rams, Dodgers. Savvy execs, super-smart GMs…the best and the brightest.
Even the Chargers have created some heat, with their super-young quarterback with the weed-dealer hair.
Man, we’re lucky. LA doesn’t suffer fools or second place.
Sure, our pizza and architecture mostly suck, but our fans are pretty interesting. That’s where the history is, in folks like Lou Adler and Vin Scully.
In LA, the monuments actually move. Some of them drive Bentleys (nobody’s perfect).
I was remembering Kid Scully the other night during the Dodger game, griping about how the current crop of baseball announcers rattles off stats all game long. For a moment, thought I was back in trig class. Yikes.
Vin Scully took another approach. Vinny did Dodger games like he was narrating a Thornton Wilder play. He’d tell us about the characters, the town, the back stories, who secretly loved whom.
Speaking of love…
“I love watching men be men and having a good time,” my friend Laura texted after the dramatic win on Wednesday.
Well, there’s an ancient notion, old as baseball itself: Love.
Oh, and men being men.
Seems that nobody appreciates men anymore. So it’s nice to see us have a moment for a change.
Cue the confetti! Light the fireworks! Next up: Men being men!
Oh, these textbook American moments – men acting like men and maybe something more, showing grit, courage and class.
Filling our beer cups with hope.
The Oct. 16 Happy Hour Hike is sold out. Thanks for all who responded. Info will come by email early next week. Look for the hike to launch around 2 pm, with details to follow on meet-up location and our terrific post-hike watering hole. If you missed out, we’ll have another adventure in November. Cheers!