Mixing it up

Hi everyone, and welcome yet again to this little slice of the internets called UOPTA. No, that doesn't stand for "Unceremoniously Obnoxious Pterodactyls Terrorize Aardvarks," but I think I saw a special about that on the National Geographic channel once. Instead, this UOPTA is where I think about things, remember other things, and then type them up for your visual consumption. Sound good? (Thanks to my lovely wife for supplying that UOPTA. Send your own in to ptklein@gmail.com, would ya?)

Speaking of that same lovely wife, we recently started doing something that many people had been almost begging us to do: watch Mad Men. I can't tell you how many people were shocked that I wasn't watching it and expressed harsh disapproval. It wasn't that I was against the show, I just wanted to have some time to start watching from the beginning and eventually catch up to the current episodes. It's similar to how I've felt for a while about The Wire. Everyone tells me it's great and that I'm really missing out, so I plan on watching the entire series at some point. Well, we're making our way through the first season, and I'm rather enjoying it so far. Aside from my wonderment at the amount of smoking and drinking, it's a well-acted and intriguing show.

That said, I'd like to focus on one word in particular from that last sentence: "drinking." I'm not a big drinker by any means, but part of me can't help but find a half-full rocks glass with some indiscernible brownish liquid incredibly cool. (Not to the extent that the Mad Men characters have those glasses in their hands, mind you.) I've often wanted to have "my drink" be something cool when I go to a bar or party, but that kind of thing apparently doesn't happen naturally at all. Uh oh, I feel a random tangent that will hopefully tie back in nicely coming on.

My tastes often expand either by accident or by the power of suggestion. Here is a non-drinking example. Way back in the day, I went to summer camp with my favorite brother and a few friends. One day in particular, the counselors organized "The Dating Game" in which the campers would partake. The winners would get to go to McDonalds for lunch, so naturally, we all wanted to win. I was probably only around 8 or 9 years old, so dating wasn't really on the top of my list yet. I was a good kid who didn't cause any problems, so I was chosen to be one of the three unseen suitors during one of the games. I remember it fairly clearly. I was Bachelor #2, and along with the two other suitors who flanked me, I stared straight ahead at the crowd. The unseen bachelorette asked me only one question: "Bachelor #2, if you were a sandwich, which part would you be and why?" Not turning on any charm whatsoever, I replied, "Well, I guess I'd be middle part, because...I just like being in the middle of things. That's why I'm Bachelor #2." The other guys each got two questions, and then time was called. I saw some girls in the crowd holding up fingers to the bachelorette as to which guy to choose. I felt like I saw many more ones and threes, but she surprisingly selected me. Confused but eager to eat some quality fast food, I smiled.

We got to McDonalds, and a counselor took all of our orders. As if programmed, I rattled off, "A Big Mac combo, just cheese and pickles, and a Coke Classic for the drink." I grabbed some ketchup packets and got a table with the other boys my age, completely missing the point of the game. (In truth, I don't remember a single thing about the bachelorette - not name, hair color, anything. What a ladykiller I was.) We were all talking about something very important (like which Beastie Boys song was our favorite) when the trays of food came. I opened the styrofoam box in front of me and saw a Big Mac with everything on it. I asked around at my table, but the only other Big Mac was also that way. I did something very un-young-Peter-like: I just went for it. To my shock, I really liked it. Maybe special sauce, lettuce, and onions weren't going to kill me after all. Who knew? From that day forward, the formerly picky burger eater ordered the Big Mac without saying, "With no..." anything. Way to go me. And that horizon was broadened by accident.

To get back to drinking and how that ties in, I'd like to briefly go through my evolution of imbibing alcoholic beverages. When I first began drinking alcohol (almost legally), I stuck to some things that tasted ok. This meant wine coolers, the glorious but now defunct Zima, and other similar concoctions. I drank beer, but I still made a face after almost every sip. It was a means to an end though, and I wanted to acquire the taste. Time passed, and beer and I became good friends. I tried some hard liquor every once in a while, but nothing really struck my fancy. Then, during my senior year of college, I became a big fan of spiced rum and Coke. I even bought a bottle of Captain Morgan's to "fix myself a drink" from time to time. (I put that in quotes because I can't say that phrase without affecting my voice to sound either old-fashioned or possibly creepy.) We had tall glasses in our place that I'd use for that, starting with three fingers of rum and then an entire can of Coke. It fit perfectly, and better yet, it got my friend Greg to start calling me "Three Finger Klein." I felt like a gunslinger or something.

More years passed, and I pretty much stuck to beer, wine (which I was learning to really appreciate), and my Cap'n and Coke. Greg had started liking scotch, and tried it a couple of times with the same exact response: "Why didn't I remember that I don't like this?" It was too strong, and while I thought about learning to acquire that taste as well, the cons outweighed the pros. Then, in April of 2007, I was at a charity event for work with my lovely wife and some friends. One of the guys was going to the bar and asked if I wanted anything. "Surprise me," I said, feeling extremely daring. He came back a few minutes later with something. "What is it?" I asked. "I'll tell you later," he said. I took a sip and really liked it. He told me it was a 7 and 7. I asked what that was, and he told me (Seagram's 7 and 7-Up or a similar product). More branching out! My lovely wife missed the last part of the conversation and asked what I was drinking. "7 and 7," I said all cool-like. "What's that?" she asked. "Fourteen," I said, and then I waited for a rim shot to accompany her shaking head. It never came. But here I was, suddenly with two mixed drinks that I liked. I was getting somewhere.

Let's fast forward some more until we get to May of this year. I was at a conference in Ron Burgundy's hometown, hanging out with some clients after dinner. We'd had a few drinks (a 7 and 7 and a couple of beers over the course of a few hours), and one guy wanted "an after dinner drink" before calling it a night. "Uh oh, I have no such thing in my stable," I thought. The first guy ordered a cognac, and I thought about joining him in that, even though it honestly scared me a little. The guy next to me said, "What are you having?" "Whatever you are," I said. This was a frightening statement, because that guy drinks so much that he practically has gills. "You sure?" he asked. With a look and voice that exuded confidence, I said, "Absolutely. Surprise me." "Ok. Two Makers Mark Manhattans please," he said. I gulped. I didn't know what kind of liquor Makers Mark was for sure, and I didn't know what happened to it when it became the Manhattan version. The drinks came, and to my utter surprise, I rather enjoyed it. So much so, in fact, that I immediately sent myself an email that only said, "Makers Mark Manhattan." Ready for the best part? This drink looks cool. I'm talking "Mad Men cool" here, served in a rocks glass and everything. I think I now have a go-to cool drink, not cut with any soda to wuss it up or anything. According to a website I looked at the next day, it's two parts Makers Mark (which I learned is a bourbon - I like bourbon?), one part vermouth, a dash of something called bitters, and an optional garnish of a cherry. How cool is that? I feel like I should go get a fedora or something.

I haven't had the opportunity to order one of my new drinks again yet, but I assure you that I will soon. I'm not gonna go out and buy three new bottles for the off chance that I'll feel like "fixing myself a drink" one night after work. That's just not my thing, but hopefully I go out somewhere soon that I can just rattle that off and soak in the coolness. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, the former Bachelor #2 is back in the middle of things, and he's bringing several drink options with him.

With that, let's mix, shake, and strain ourselves on over to the Car Watch.

First off, my homey Rockabye saw a plate that takes things to a new level: "ATRNY4U." Yes, it's not enough to be in the yellow pages, have a bus bench ad, or maybe a website. This lawyer wants you to know that, should the time come, s/he is there to represent you. One problem though: how do we contact this attorney? That's why we need the ultimate in lawyer car advertisements: two bumper stickers on either side of the plate that read "LAWYER," and the 7-digit phone number as the plate. The area code can be on the top part of the license plate frame, and the bottom can alert us to any specialties (i.e. personal injury). It's just a matter of time, isn't it?

Next up, my lovely wife and I saw a plate that I really liked: "MUU WAH." It's clearly an attempt to replicate an evil laugh, and I applaud that.

Lastly, I saw a van for a flooring company. Their phone number, as boldly lettered onto its side, is 866-WE DO WUD. I'm torn here. Normally, I'd applaud this person for sticking to the true 7 digits and not getting into the famed 800-SAVETHECHILDREN territory. That said, I would actually prefer to see WOOD there, despite the superfluous 8th digit. "WUD" just looks stupid to me, and that's clearly not the point of getting a vanity number. So...good effort, I guess, but poor execution.

Ok, this ended up taking up more space than I'd imagined, so I'm ending this here and now. Meet me back here next Friday for more stuff, ok? In the meantime, please email me with anything that crosses your mind (inlcuding things that UOPTA can stand for). And now, los happies: Have a very happy Fourth of July tomorrow, my friends and friends of friends. On Sunday, my favorite nephew goes from "almost fo-wuh" to actually 4 years old, so happy birthday to that frickin' adorable kid. And...I think that's it. I don't have my calendar in front of me, so I apologize if I'm missing anyone's birthday or half-birthday. Let me know and I'll apologize profusely (or antifusely). Take care, everyone.