Sorry for the lack of blogging today, but having a crazy, busy day.
Yes, crazy and busy. Plus now my nutty but utterly spectacular wife Chris, who came home raving about what a dickhead Bob Schieffer was on Sunday and inspired this post, still wants to b-b-q right after the skies opened up and dropped three tons o’ water into our garden. It’s tough being me.
MORE: Chris would like me to point out that she’s right about Bob Schieffer and barbecuing. She has also asked me to take her off my mailing list.
Yes, I’m that fucking lame. Feel free to excoriate me in the comments (comparisons to Althouse are encouraged) or if you also watch this god-awful show, consider this your coming out party (I’m looking at you, Rob).
First, I’ll apologize to you, my lovely readers, if you’ve seen these great Japanese Nic Cage commercials before. Somehow they managed to elude me until yesterday. And more importantly, I’d like to apologize in advance to my lovely wife Chris who will undoubtedly have to deal with me yelling “I love pachinko!!!” throughout the weekend and probably clean through the next one.
I stumbled on this video at YouTube and figured I’d share. A cute little girl eats food and sleeps at the same time, all to a rockin’ AC/DC soundtrack.
(For the record, this video currently only has 53 views.)
If I had to choose a final meal, one choice that would definitely make it onto my short list of possibilities would be a hot dog from Blackie’s in Cheshire, CT smothered in their outrageously delicious homemade hot pepper relish. Incredibly wise out-of-town folks have been pleading with Blackie’s to sell their relish separately for decades now, but the family that owns the establishment have pushed back heartily, going so far as to deny relish to an ex-Nutmegger who flew in from California to bring some back to his dying mother (he was inundated with jars of copycat relish after the story ran in a local paper).
Well, I’m not quite sure when the Heavens Opened Up, but my visiting not-so-little brother just returned from Connecticut with a best. birthday. present. ever. for me. If you’re a hot dog lover, trust me, it’s time to buy yourself a gift.
Cakehead, my favorite food blog on the innertubes, is back after a short hiatus and Ms. Cakehead has got a great post up about an oddly-named food item she encountered on the Staten Island Ferry. Her post makes me, unbelievably, want to watch Idiocracy again. I didn’t think that was possible. Cakehead’s crafty that way.
TS of Instaputz has challenged the lovely Betty Cracker and me to list ten reasons why life is worth living. Let’s have at it.
Pizza, pasta and pretty much any other food that’s red, off-white and starchy.
Seeing the lush green hills of Costa Rica, the deep blue waters of Malaysia and the soot-soaked aching grace of the Czech Republic with my own undeserving eyes.
Crisp cold air breathed deeply through the nose on a hungover morning
The first paragraph of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Driving an hour and a half through a snow storm in my ‘64 Plymouth Fury convertible to see Pussy Galore open for Big Black in Providence, RI, having a snowball fight in a graveyard after the.best.show.ever., and then driving all the way home through a winter wonderland.
I wish that someone at the Food Network would push Guy Fieri (aka “The Most Annoying Sunglass-Tanned Shithead on Television") down an elevator shaft and let Coolio take over Diners, Drive-ins and Dives.
Yesterday I spent some time talking on the phone with someone who used to work at iVillage, and it led to a discussion of the types of content women search for online. My assumption was “recipes, healthcare, childcare and games”. He then told me that it was almost a legendary inside joke that the two biggest search terms on iVillage were perpetually “Chicken” and “Fellatio”.
This is a quick reminder guide for my fellow Big Applets:
Williamsburg: Go to the Rwanda Reporting benefit tonight at Supreme Trading featuring a performance by Francis and the Lights, free hard-to-find Rwandan food and an hour’s worth of complimentary Bass beer. The donation is a measly $20.
Manhattan: Go to see the wonderful and unique documentary Billy the Kid that opened last night at the IFC Center for a limited engagement. I haven’t had time to finish my review, but you can read some of the raves at Metacritic.
Manhattan: Go to see the long-awaited Holy Modal Rounders documentary Bound to Lose (and accompanying live music bonuses) at the Anthology during its one-week run (starts this Friday).
UPDATE: In comments the delightful and reliable Robin from oh. you. again. recommends buying tix for Au Revoir Parapluie (Farewell, Umbrella) at BAM in downtown Brooklyn. I’m doing that right now.
Recently I was cleaning off some of the detritus that we have magnetized (magneted?) to the fridge when I got a chance to reread something my wife and I had torn off a bag of Newman’s Own popcorn. This is really what it said (image below the fold):
LEGEND: I’ll tell you how bad it is. Nobody gets trusted with popcorn - except me. That includes the FBI, the IRS, Tiffany’s and concessionaires of any ilk. A good flick arrives on the local screen, you see ol’ Newman scuttling across the lobby with a greasy brown paper bag of this homemade popcorn in one hand and—you guessed it—a machete in the other. Who’s who lists a lot of one-armed people in my hometown. They got caught trying to muscle their way into my greasy brown paper bag. The way I feel—they got off easy. They should have been strung up.
Col. P.L. “Pops” Newman
“[Y]ou guessed it—a machete”? Are you fucking kidding me? Who would guess that Paul Newman would be “scuttling across the lobby” with “a greasy brown paper bag” and a fucking machete? And since when did “who’s who” start keeping tabs of amputees in any town, let alone the town where a deranged Paul Newman is running around wildly hacking people’s arms off? And why isn’t he under arrest for this crime or locked up in a mental ward? He owns the company that makes the popcorn and, instead of offering people free samples, HE LOBS OF THEIR LIMBS WITH A MACHETE if they try to eat any! And then, in case you don’t think his out-of-control sharing issues were batshit crazy enough, he has to add that all of these poor, sans-arms bastards are lucky because HE SHOULD HAVE KILLED THEM.
What does it say on the side of his salsa jars? That if you take any from him he’ll slowly peel off your skin and wear it like a suit? That he’ll jam your open mouth over a curb and ram his boot into the back of your head? If you sneak a sip of his lemonade will he tear the legs off of your children and make coffee tables using their tiny appendages?
I don’t even want to think about what he’ll do if you try to use any of his steak sauce because it probably involves guillotines, mass genocide and skull fucking.
