Ok, so Oprah has given women in the mid-west the "a-ha moment." The rest of use just come to our senses and are like, "Oh, ok. Cool." Then you go back to eating your taco or would have you.
So last night, I attended an alumni dinner at my alma mater, John Jay College of CJ. The requisite nostalgia set in upon the escalator ride past the library that I used to laboriously hate undergraduate students in for four days a week, that one fateful semester.
Anyways, Sue, my colleague and drinking committee comrade, and I participated in the necessary, albeit, haughty tones of complaint...how crappy some of our professors were, how terrible registration was, how good the cheese fries were, and how we had little to no sleep with what felt like nothing to show for.
But here I was, at this table with all these old, nerdy dudes working in NYC in professions, much like myself. And, I'll just say it, I felt at home. I heard half of what they were talking to me about because the wine was flowing and a graduate from the class of '75 was hopelessly searching out fellow graduates. But I heard enough to realize that, I know I'm nerd, but for reals, I'm like a neerrrdddd. I'm going to be that old dude at the table, asking the waitress to being me more wine, going to alumni dinners for the free chicken cacciatore and "networking" possibilities.
Is this an ego-massage? I guess so. But how good can you be without one every now and then. I challenge you to try it. You have the Joe's Three-Weeks to Get Your Ego Massaged challenge.
Report back.
3.31.2009
3.28.2009
Saturday, Cloudy Saturday
And it's dreamy. I oft perplex my fellow imbibers and theologians alike when I say things like, "I don't like sunny days," or "Thank God, its raining." If not for the mere jolt of confusion, then for the self-realization that I am time and again fascinated by people's reactions to bad weather. What I enjoy at a deeper, psychoanalytic level is that these [some] folks also tend to depend their personalities on the waxing and waning of ol' Mr. Sunshine. When in fact, that once pop science go-to, Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD), doesn't even really exsist. People are just as sad as they are in the winter as they are in the summer. You're sad. Now move on.
So anyway, I tend to live up such dreary days with complete immersion into the arts. Like laying in bed and watching creepy French films or documentaries about the Bronx. Sunny days do no permit this as friends tend to direct social activities to parks and walks. Blargh. There are exceptions to this rule, of course [re: Colleen's Epic Birthday].
Today's art: musica. I am completely enthralled by the Black Kids (besides liking every Black band that there is, this Black band is actually quite antithetical to the whole Black-as-dark theme). Maybe a tad late in this train, as they were apparently heralded as the band to look out for in 2008. They're deliciously good with upbeat, dance-pants jing-jang jiggles such as "I'm Not Going to Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance With You." Which, if there was ever a self-modified themesong, well, this is it. Accordingly, the Besnard Lakes are my new favorite band of this year. Give "Devastation" a try. I'm just going to start telling strangers that..."no really, tell me what's its like."
A blog about music wouldn't be complete without my concert-going announcement: I will rocking out to Ra Ra Riot next weekend. I'm looking forward to it. Incl: if you don't have it yet, get this track: MGMT's Electric Feel.
So anyway, I tend to live up such dreary days with complete immersion into the arts. Like laying in bed and watching creepy French films or documentaries about the Bronx. Sunny days do no permit this as friends tend to direct social activities to parks and walks. Blargh. There are exceptions to this rule, of course [re: Colleen's Epic Birthday].
Today's art: musica. I am completely enthralled by the Black Kids (besides liking every Black band that there is, this Black band is actually quite antithetical to the whole Black-as-dark theme). Maybe a tad late in this train, as they were apparently heralded as the band to look out for in 2008. They're deliciously good with upbeat, dance-pants jing-jang jiggles such as "I'm Not Going to Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance With You." Which, if there was ever a self-modified themesong, well, this is it. Accordingly, the Besnard Lakes are my new favorite band of this year. Give "Devastation" a try. I'm just going to start telling strangers that..."no really, tell me what's its like."
A blog about music wouldn't be complete without my concert-going announcement: I will rocking out to Ra Ra Riot next weekend. I'm looking forward to it. Incl: if you don't have it yet, get this track: MGMT's Electric Feel.
3.27.2009
Should you prove your love...
make me somma deese...
Buttermilk Biscuits
Adapted from George Weld, Egg
(Makes 8 to 10 biscuits)
1 pound and 10 ounces bleached all-purpose flour
3 tablespoons baking powder
1 tablespoon kosher salt
1 tablespoon turbinado sugar
3 ounces cold unsalted butter
2½ cups buttermilk or sour milk*, plus more for brushing
1. Preheat oven to 500°. In a large bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, salt and sugar.
2. Cut half of the butter into thin sheets and place them in the freezer.
3. Blend the remaining butter into the flour mixture with your hands. Work quickly, blending until the flour resembles very coarse meal with a few pea-size lumps. With a rubber spatula, mix the buttermilk or sour milk into the flour and butter just until a dough begins to form.
4. Dump dough onto a floured work surface and pat it into a rough rectangle about ¼ inch thick. Lay the slices of frozen butter on top, then fold the dough over twice (as if you were folding a letter in thirds). Press down gently on the dough until it's about ¾ inch thick. Use a 2½-inch biscuit cutter to punch out biscuits (do not twist the cutter). Place biscuits onto a greased baking sheet and brush the tops with milk.
5. Bake the biscuits for 13 to 18 minutes, until risen, golden and light. If they feel wet or heavy, bake them longer.
* To make sour milk, combine 2½ cups of whole milk with 2½ tablespoons of white vinegar.
Buttermilk Biscuits
Adapted from George Weld, Egg
(Makes 8 to 10 biscuits)
1 pound and 10 ounces bleached all-purpose flour
3 tablespoons baking powder
1 tablespoon kosher salt
1 tablespoon turbinado sugar
3 ounces cold unsalted butter
2½ cups buttermilk or sour milk*, plus more for brushing
1. Preheat oven to 500°. In a large bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, salt and sugar.
2. Cut half of the butter into thin sheets and place them in the freezer.
3. Blend the remaining butter into the flour mixture with your hands. Work quickly, blending until the flour resembles very coarse meal with a few pea-size lumps. With a rubber spatula, mix the buttermilk or sour milk into the flour and butter just until a dough begins to form.
4. Dump dough onto a floured work surface and pat it into a rough rectangle about ¼ inch thick. Lay the slices of frozen butter on top, then fold the dough over twice (as if you were folding a letter in thirds). Press down gently on the dough until it's about ¾ inch thick. Use a 2½-inch biscuit cutter to punch out biscuits (do not twist the cutter). Place biscuits onto a greased baking sheet and brush the tops with milk.
5. Bake the biscuits for 13 to 18 minutes, until risen, golden and light. If they feel wet or heavy, bake them longer.
* To make sour milk, combine 2½ cups of whole milk with 2½ tablespoons of white vinegar.
Your aura is purple!
So some firefighter dude and his brother sanitation worker were indicted in the ol' Kings County this morn on charges of growing "hydroponic pot." I don't even know what that is, but its out there, kids. Just take my word for it...I don't want to link to the article (although, I did try to find the always irreverent clip from Almost Famous, only to find a plethora of links to some Shakira video about a poem and a horse).
In the dictation of Polonius, this much is true: the NYPD, FDNY, and now the DOS, likes to be naughty. In the industry, we call this reaction formation. Its like when your dad plays video games with you but ends up getting in trouble by your mom, sorta. Or like finding out your boss likes to drink...alot.
This just in, the Nerd Herd needs our help. If you don't help them, then you were cool and popular in high school and are now fat and boring, registering with classmates.com, and seriously considering botox before the reunion.
In the dictation of Polonius, this much is true: the NYPD, FDNY, and now the DOS, likes to be naughty. In the industry, we call this reaction formation. Its like when your dad plays video games with you but ends up getting in trouble by your mom, sorta. Or like finding out your boss likes to drink...alot.
This just in, the Nerd Herd needs our help. If you don't help them, then you were cool and popular in high school and are now fat and boring, registering with classmates.com, and seriously considering botox before the reunion.
3.26.2009
Celebrity Courtroom
Can I be the first man on earth to think of this? How awesome would be to see arraignments and trials that only center on crazy, criminal celebrities (I have a thing for alliteration). Nothing like courtTV or whatever it is now, just a show that encompasses the full realm of interaction, by celebrities, with the criminal justice system...from arrest onward. Sans confidentiality, et. al, this could work, make millions, and be hosted by yours truly.
Case in point: The State of New York v. Kenley non-Penley.
BETTER case in point: I didn't believe this would be so easy and good, but it was. Even with the catsup.
Case in point: The State of New York v. Kenley non-Penley.
BETTER case in point: I didn't believe this would be so easy and good, but it was. Even with the catsup.
3.25.2009
"Ribeye, Bloody"
LostBlogging "He's Our You"
The "He" that's their Sayid was the cowboy in Mulholland Dr. You remember him? He's the one that gave Joe from Six Feet Under an irreconciliable ultimatum. I reckon they wanted a creep that could both be feared and underestimated simultaneously, much like our good killer, Sayid.
The meat of the matter: If kid-Ben met Sayid in his past, but Sayid meets kid-Ben after having met adult-Ben, then who's present is this, and who's past for that matter. This leads me to believe that temporal-life is not the Lost-lesson (bah-ha!) here.
I also love how with Juliet saying she didn't want to have to tell Kate to stay away from her beau, she's effectively still telling her to stay away from her beau. And hot damn, LaFleur...who'd a think he'd be a die-hard convert? Someone fills the standard-issue boots all too well.
And WOW: "That's why I'm here." NEED I SAY MORE?!
Ok, but WAIT! THE ENDING! Ben doesn't die, so...
The "He" that's their Sayid was the cowboy in Mulholland Dr. You remember him? He's the one that gave Joe from Six Feet Under an irreconciliable ultimatum. I reckon they wanted a creep that could both be feared and underestimated simultaneously, much like our good killer, Sayid.
The meat of the matter: If kid-Ben met Sayid in his past, but Sayid meets kid-Ben after having met adult-Ben, then who's present is this, and who's past for that matter. This leads me to believe that temporal-life is not the Lost-lesson (bah-ha!) here.
I also love how with Juliet saying she didn't want to have to tell Kate to stay away from her beau, she's effectively still telling her to stay away from her beau. And hot damn, LaFleur...who'd a think he'd be a die-hard convert? Someone fills the standard-issue boots all too well.
And WOW: "That's why I'm here." NEED I SAY MORE?!
Ok, but WAIT! THE ENDING! Ben doesn't die, so...
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