14

This 'first' was one I was prepared to keep trying until I got it right.  Even if that meant over and over and over and over again...

 

Have you ever tried to make the perfect classic martini, like you see in the movies?  I'm not sure I'd ever even consumed one.  Oh, I've occasionally tried fake ones – the Appletini, the Choclatini – drinks that would make James Bond retch.   But a real martini?  I know there's gin in there, and I recognize the glass, but that's where my need for a bartender comes in.

Luckily, we have the internet.  I found an article entitled "12 Steps to the Perfect Martini."  (I know - I'm sure it's just a coincidence that it's 12 steps.)  I had no idea it almost takes a chemistry degree to mix a drink.  But I'm up to the challenge.  And also thirsty.  Good thing it's almost noon; don't want the neighbours talking.

First, get the vermouth out of the fridge.  (Did you know that vermouth is a perishable?  Once it's opened, it needs to go in the fridge - seriously.)  Apparently, a capful is all you need.  That seems a bit stingy.  I used extra.

Now take your glass pitcher or metal shaker out of the freezer.  That seems to be the trend.  Everything comes from the fridge or freezer.  The liquids, the ice, the glass, the pitcher.  No room for food – the appliance can now only hold booze and the necessary accoutrements.  (This is not as practical as it sounds.)

I actually don't have a metal shaker, or a glass pitcher, so I improvised.  I found a tall glass container in my pantry that would suffice (I wrapped my spaghetti in plastic wrap temporarily).

Put ice cubes in the pitcher – lots of them (about 7 or 8).  In goes the vermouth, coating the ice cubes and the bottom of the pitcher.  Swirl it around a little and then strain the pitcher over the sink, so any excess liquid drains.  It's a little sad to think of pouring vermouth down the drain, but I promise, very little comes out.

Get the gin out of the freezer and pour 2 shots into the pitcher.  Because I'm using glass here, we stir, rather than shake.  (Sorry, 007.)  Apparently it's something to do with friction from the ice causing a chain reaction of cold, and there has to be some ice melt dilution.  (Okay, okay, whatever.)  And you knew this was coming.  You're just supposed to swirl gently – you don't want to "bruise the gin".   We've all heard that phrase a hundred times – no one ever says what it means.  It certainly says nothing in this web article.  I'm assuming there are university courses that cover the subject fully.

Now, you set the pitcher down and put on a Frank Sinatra CD.  Well, that's what Instruction number 6 says...  A martini tastes better with background music.  Fine.  Makes perfect sense. (??)  But since it's still technically Christmas, I'm putting on a Sinatra Christmas album.  (Hey - I'm doing this 'My Way'.)  Luckily, for someone out there I know, the instructions specifically state that Dean Martin is also acceptable.

Swirl the pitcher again.

Now put out some cocktail peanuts.  I have to be careful with Instruction number 8.  I like peanuts, but they don't like me very much, and that's all I have to say about that.

Swirl the pitcher some more.

Grab a jar of green olives from the fridge – sorry if you hate them, but they are not optional.  You're supposed to poke out those little red things.  Then you stab two olives with a toothpick (through the sides, not through the core, as I found out).

Swirl the pitcher yet again.  I'm getting carpal-tunnel here...

Finally.  The martini glass comes out of the freezer.  Strain the martini from the pitcher into the glass, and drop in the olives, which immediately sink to the bottom.

Time for the taste-test!  I lift the glass, with my non-stirring hand, and take a sip.  And then I realize – I have no idea what this is supposed to taste like.  But as with art, I don't know what's good, I just know what I like. And I've decided I like it.  (Either that, or my throat is so numb from the cold, it could taste like turpentine and I wouldn't be any the wiser.)  I think the olives are supposed to be eaten last.  I quite like them right from the jar, but I must admit that a nice gin bath improves them significantly.

I did draw upon some past experience for this...Many, many, many years ago, when I worked behind the candy counter in a movie theatre (actually, at several of them), I became a bit of a legend for my ability to make the perfect Swamp – a very careful mixture of every soda that came from the fountainhead, in specific amounts, in a specific order.  I finished off by shaking gently.  And I always warned my customer to insert and use the straw with caution.  One does not want to bruise the ginger ale...

One Thing That >50 Me Has Learned Along the Way...

If you are a pet owner, or you are planning to become one, then it is your responsibility to make sure you have at least one "godparent" for your pet(s).  What happens if you (and your partner, if applicable) unexpectedly pass away?  What happens to your dog/cat/fish/whatever?  Back to the Humane Society?  Flushed?  It won't be your decision – you won't be there to look out for Fluffy/Fido/Bubbles.  Plan ahead!  I had a friend once who talked about getting a dog upon retirement - to walk, for the exercise.  First of all, not the best reason for getting a pet.  Second of all, said friend had a history of health problems.  I wondered what would happen to the pooch if my friend left us permanently, much sooner than any of us feared to imagine.  Tragically, that's exactly what happened.  Dealing with the friend's collection of fish was a big enough chore for his closest relative – thank goodness, no other living creatures (well, not pets, anyway)...  So consider carefully before you give Grandma or Grandpa 3 kittens as a gift.   Because at some point in the future, you will suddenly acquire 3 adult cats.

13

Tchaikovsky lived from 1840 to 1893.  I'm no historian, but I don't think they had LSD back then.  And I can't explain how someone could hallucinate this fantasy without some serious acid-dropping.






This was my first visit to this particular venue, and also my first time attending the ballet.

Sorry – no pictures for this first-time experience.  The lady handing out programs at the door kept repeating, "No food or drink; no photography", to every single person.  Presumably the dancers could be distracted by 2,000 flash bulbs going off in their faces.

But I can show you the facility.   I was up in Ring 5.  Not recommended for people afraid of heights or prone to nosebleeds – it's about 60 feet off the floor.  I could still see the stage quite well though, from Row A.


As I settled into my seat, and reminisced on my childhood after-school ballet classes, I prepared to be bored out of my skull for the next 2 hours.


The story begins with a Russian hoedown.  Sometime in the 1800's, a family hosts a Christmas Eve party out in their barn, after the stable boy, Peter, has chased out all the rats.  The party is well-attended - demonstrating that your average 1800's Russian probably would have killed for Netflix.

Suddenly the family's Uncle Nikolai shows up. (There really is one in every family...) He performs magic and hands out presents to all the children.  He's got a dancing horse and a roller-skating bear.  I guess we understand now why no one was allowed in the house.

Nikolai gives one of the kids, Marie, a nutcracker doll.  She and her brother, Misha, start fighting over it, until Dad takes it away and sends them off to bed.

This is where things start to get really weird.  A bunch of giant, dancing mice show up in the children's bedroom.  Their Christmas tree grows to huge proportions.  Nikolai secretly returns the nutcracker doll to Marie, and he comes to life.  Coincidentally, the Nutcracker looks very much like Peter, the rather hot stable boy.  He dances around wearing his very smart soldier's blazer, and a pair of tights that make him appear bare-bummed, while the audience behaves like this is not giggle-worthy.  (Or is that just me?)

Suddenly there's a war going on between the mice and regiments of dogs and cats and other toys that have come to life, with Misha and Marie helping the mice to victory.  When the war ends, one of the beds sails off with the kids and the Nutcracker.  They meet the Snow Queen, who gives the kids a beautiful ice boat pulled by unicorns.  (I swear I'm not making any of this up.)  They arrive in the land of the Sugar Plum Fairy and her various minions, who insist on hearing all about the children's adventures, which must have been thrilling because then they all fall asleep.  Then there's a banquet with a lot of dancing food.  Marie and Misha finally get seated at a dinner table, where they start a food fight.  At some point during all this nonsense, the Nutcracker falls in love with the Sugar Plum Fairy.

Marie and Misha wake up in their own bedroom.  Gluttons for punishment,  they fall asleep again.  But luckily the only thing that happens this time is a farewell to the Nutcracker and the Sugar Plum Fairy.  Not being ones for long engagements, they head off together.

 

 

I assure you that at no point during the performance was I bored.  I was far too busy trying to figure out what the hell was going on.  I didn't understand any of it.  But who cares?  The scenery, costumes, music and dancing were all stunning.  I was enthralled.

I highly recommend going to see "The Nutcracker".  And if you feel like smoking a little something before going in, it just might help...

One Thing That >50 Me Has Learned Along the Way...
 
Before you buy an article of clothing, always read the label.  Does it have to be hand-washed to stay looking good?  I personally don't buy anything that can't go in the washing machine, or stay acceptably clean with maximum quarterly trips to the dry cleaners.  If I had some kind of paid household assistance, that would be different.  But since it's just me, I'm not spending precious time ringing stuff out at the kitchen sink.  And then "lay flat to dry."  Where am I supposed to do that?  On the stove, the floor, the kitchen table?  None of those places are practical.  And while you're reading that label, consider its country of origin.  If the hands that made it earned 50 cents for doing so, in a rickety firetrap, yet the price tag is $189.99, leave it in the store.  Designer brand corporations will not get the message that their behaviour is unethical and immoral if we keep rewarding them.

12

Tis' the season!  For visiting a very popular local tourist attraction, at a time of year when it's wall-to-wall people, eating and drinking and shopping and...well, that's pretty much it.  And because it's Christmas - $5 just to get in and join the crowd.

So here we are.  Our famous Distillery District, whose cobblestones streets have been used countless times for various TV shows and movies - and I had never been there.

The old, crumbling buildings of Gooderham & Worts were restored to sell $500 sweaters (hey, they're machine washable!), $30,000 ink blot paintings, and $45,000 beds.

We went to this store to try out the mattress we'd heard about with a sticker price of $110,000.  But unfortunately, by the time we got there, it was no longer on display, because it had been sold.  I repeat – someone bought a bed that cost $110,000.  I know - I can't wrap my head around it either.  The one I lay down on which only cost $45,000 was quite comfortable, but what was in the $110,000 bed?  Brad Pitt?

A Christmas tree formed out of beer kegs.  Why, the scene is only missing dancing sugar plums... 

I'm assuming when this place was built, the background wasn't a sea of condos.

Many of the stores had long line-ups to get inside, the only one of which I could comprehend was the chocolate store (where they have a chocolate laboratory, with people actually wearing lab coats, like they're inventing the stuff).  Here's an enormous contraption that grinds the beans.  People who know me well would not even have to think twice about whether or not I walked out of that place empty-handed.  But it's a gift – I swear it!

This building was once a bottling facility – now gutted and re-purposed as an art gallery.  Not that I understood any of the paintings.  But I'm always impressed when something that big and heavy hangs suspended on a wall.  (I had a cleaning closet shelf in my old apartment; the only thing it held was TP and Kleenex, and it fell down 3 times before I finally gave up.)






One thing I really appreciate about this place is that all the wares for sale appear to be from the developed world.  No sweatshop goods.  Much of it is 'made in Canada'.

The historical significance of this place can be seen and felt – right here, in fact.  Don't strain yourself – I'll read it for you.  It says, "This millstone, brought from England on the schooner 'Kingston' to the town of York, 1832, was used for grinding grain in the historic windmill of Gooderham & Worts.  The windmill stood 52 feet southwest by south of this point. It was the eastern limit of the famous old 'Windmill Line on which the original plan  of the city of Toronto was based."  (I added the punctuation; maybe that hadn't been invented yet.)

 

I'm not sure exactly what this plaque means, but I do know that if you travel just a little bit south of here, you'll fall into a lake.  How difficult is it to plan a town around that?
 

One Thing That >50 Me Has Learned Along the Way...
 

Your vote matters.  Treat your right to vote with the seriousness that it deserves.  If you're sick and tired of hearing people say to you (right after confessing that you never vote), "well, if you can't be bothered to vote, you have no right to complain about politicians, or the way they spend your tax dollars, etc.", then don't raise the subject with me either.  You're likely to get a similar response.  Vote.  It's a privilege that people in countries you'd never step foot in are dying for - literally.  And don't expect a pass by claiming yours is only one vote, how much could it matter.  In 1923, one vote gave Adolf Hitler leadership of the Nazi Party.  Vote.