5 pitchers of Tequila-infused punch.
Hint: once the Triple Sec and Orange Cognac are depleted, mix with lemonade.
2 Bowlfuls of fresh, best-guacamole-to-date. Serve with tortilla chips.
Cheesy snacks, and conversation.
Marinate chicken and rip apart once blackened.
Turn the music up as the day wears on.
Eat a hot dog if you see one unattended.
Drink water because the sun (and tequila) has beat it out of you.
Massages!
Nightcap it with chinese food and gummie bears.
Serves 20.
4.20.2009
The Art of Self-Grounding
It's rough. But sometimes man, you just gotta do it. Turn off the cell phone. Log off the net. Listen to some solemn jams and not hear another human voice until your roommate warns you about the smoking steak he has on the stove on a cool Sunday night.
It's good for you because a) you benefit from some serious self-reflection and b)watch some weird cable movies you otherwise wouldn't see.
I did get out and enjoy the first true days of Spring 2009, i.e. backyard. But more importantly, I did some drawerings. Which I oft used to do, but gave up in a blind search for immediate satisfactions.
Go arts.
It's good for you because a) you benefit from some serious self-reflection and b)watch some weird cable movies you otherwise wouldn't see.
I did get out and enjoy the first true days of Spring 2009, i.e. backyard. But more importantly, I did some drawerings. Which I oft used to do, but gave up in a blind search for immediate satisfactions.
Go arts.
4.16.2009
Where is my tattoo?
Unfortunately, other pressing finances back-burned my tattoo until early summer. But for the meantime, I'm preparing to have two within weeks of each other AND a trip to Europe to show off my tats to the hot, Italian ladies that want to bring me wine and make fresh pastas.
But it will be a slight deviation on the following norm w/ mine own personal tweaks:
Because I have an odd map fetish. Also, Tat # 2 will be an arrow on a special place, mostly because I also have an odd directional theses on life.
Speaking in nerd, I'll go on to say that "Binary Love" by The Rakes is kinda the one song to rule them all right now...
But it will be a slight deviation on the following norm w/ mine own personal tweaks:
Because I have an odd map fetish. Also, Tat # 2 will be an arrow on a special place, mostly because I also have an odd directional theses on life.
Speaking in nerd, I'll go on to say that "Binary Love" by The Rakes is kinda the one song to rule them all right now...
4.14.2009
The Love-Hate Paradox
I've oft found myself criticizing others' hot-cold tendencies as a bad thing. Akin to Borderline Personality Disorder, one of my personal favorite flavours of PD, the oscillation between intense feelings of admiration and intense feelings of degradation only incite one valuable and interesting element: intensity.
This leads me to believe, or rather, self-psychoanalyse, that my boredom with the average has left me privy to a blind affection, and dare I say, immediate attraction, to intensity. Intense hate, love, anger, sweetness, etc. Lukewarm and moderate sincerely disinterest me, but in my late night revelings, I've somehow reacted to ideals of postulated love with, yes...intensity.
I, myself, have come to realize that I am not a mediocre-liker/lover/hater of anything. I either like it, or not. Et cetera. (the fact that i just wrote out etc says a lot about my need for extremity).
This intensity, is short-lived, however. Like, I would never cheat death by bungee-cord jumping or taking a cruise a mile above the dark abyss. Things are just hot or cold with me. Once they've become warm, I simply bore of it and find the next hot thing. This saddens me to no end (see...), mainly because I'm conflicted about my prefernce for room-temperature pizza...pizza that's been left out and isn't cold, nor hot. Just warm.
Me feelings of warmth are under evaluation. So if I seem a pare above, or below, the norm lately...this is why.
This leads me to believe, or rather, self-psychoanalyse, that my boredom with the average has left me privy to a blind affection, and dare I say, immediate attraction, to intensity. Intense hate, love, anger, sweetness, etc. Lukewarm and moderate sincerely disinterest me, but in my late night revelings, I've somehow reacted to ideals of postulated love with, yes...intensity.
I, myself, have come to realize that I am not a mediocre-liker/lover/hater of anything. I either like it, or not. Et cetera. (the fact that i just wrote out etc says a lot about my need for extremity).
This intensity, is short-lived, however. Like, I would never cheat death by bungee-cord jumping or taking a cruise a mile above the dark abyss. Things are just hot or cold with me. Once they've become warm, I simply bore of it and find the next hot thing. This saddens me to no end (see...), mainly because I'm conflicted about my prefernce for room-temperature pizza...pizza that's been left out and isn't cold, nor hot. Just warm.
Me feelings of warmth are under evaluation. So if I seem a pare above, or below, the norm lately...this is why.
4.09.2009
You can take the gay man out of gay porn,...
but you can't take him out of the theatre...
And in other semi-gay (haha, semi) news: to quell an old argument of mine, fall shows are far superior to spring shows...
And in other semi-gay (haha, semi) news: to quell an old argument of mine, fall shows are far superior to spring shows...
4.07.2009
4.06.2009
Saturday Night Liter
The pre-party on Saturday night brought me upon this lucky fumbling.
Prepre thyself for a hearty heartbreaking...
“The Village Blacksmith”
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Under a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate'er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.
And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And bear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter's voice,
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his haul, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.
Toiling,--rejoicing,--sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.
----
Prepre thyself for a hearty heartbreaking...
“The Village Blacksmith”
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Under a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate'er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.
And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And bear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter's voice,
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his haul, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.
Toiling,--rejoicing,--sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.
----
4.05.2009
Maybe we don't...
We come off like amateurs...some average band trying to come to grips with success...jealous and fighting and breaking up. We're buffoons!
'' Rock and roll can save the world'' ?!
''The chicks are great'' ?!
I sound like a dick.
You are a dick.
I never said that.
Maybe we just don't see ourselves the way we really are.
'' Rock and roll can save the world'' ?!
''The chicks are great'' ?!
I sound like a dick.
You are a dick.
I never said that.
Maybe we just don't see ourselves the way we really are.
4.04.2009
Oriental Antidote
I oft complain about the my failed expectations that is Chinese food in New York.
It's either too expensive, or too greasy, or too bland. All of which happen to cure the hangover jollies.
Last night I [over]ordered and opted to get the pork dumpling, steamed of course, in lieu of the chicken nuggets [re: NOT Chinese food]. Well, they were some the best I have ever had! Thay were meaty, not too meaty, but also had a tiny spice-kick.
Let it be known that my love of NYC Chinese was reinvigorated by a Greenpoint Chinesery. The pork fried rice, albeit that odd yellow, was also tasty.
I've been fully recharged to tackle the PILE that is my closet.
Thank the Almighty its cloudy, as well. 'Twere sunny, I'd be agro and not at all thinking on doing yoga-hour in my room, again. Yeah. I do yoga too. Which is basically just me, sitting in pretzled positions that I'm apt to anyways, set to Radiohead or other post-collegiate cry-baby concerto, and thinking...about pork.
4.03.2009
4.01.2009
Around-the-World in about 4 Hours
In the second season of this little show called Mad Men, at the behest of Don, Betty hosted a dinner that impressed his clients at their quaint Ossining home. Because the Dutch were trying to market Heineken to the States, Betty planned a well-rounded, cultural feast catering to their world-domination through what would eventually become the fancy-boy's beer of choice...in college.
Long story short, a little club that started about a year ago, Dinner Club, with three people and a hunger pain soon became the exclusive club of only five members that either most people frown upon, or beg to be a part of. Longer story short, besides massive hangovers, many a fine dinner has been hosted by Tiffany: chipotle pepper & cheese casserole (?); Stephanie: fennel & goat cheese pizza, and most recently, a Southern menu of highly delicious home fried chicken, mac & cheese, and collards!; yours truly: Spanish fare consisting of albodingas (Spanish meatballs that were awesome!), sherried mushrooms, and saffron-infused mashed taters; and Colleen's Americanized chicken sausage-infused meatloaf, crispy green beans, and goat cheese taters on a bed of BACON.
In my menu planning for the next meeting, I take from Betty, or rather the writers at AMC, a worldy menu...I believe I'll begin with these (I really like tapas, ok) and top them off with a few of these fine American gents.
As for a main course and sides...any ideas? Should I invite a Frenchie, an Englishman, an Asian?
Long story short, a little club that started about a year ago, Dinner Club, with three people and a hunger pain soon became the exclusive club of only five members that either most people frown upon, or beg to be a part of. Longer story short, besides massive hangovers, many a fine dinner has been hosted by Tiffany: chipotle pepper & cheese casserole (?); Stephanie: fennel & goat cheese pizza, and most recently, a Southern menu of highly delicious home fried chicken, mac & cheese, and collards!; yours truly: Spanish fare consisting of albodingas (Spanish meatballs that were awesome!), sherried mushrooms, and saffron-infused mashed taters; and Colleen's Americanized chicken sausage-infused meatloaf, crispy green beans, and goat cheese taters on a bed of BACON.
In my menu planning for the next meeting, I take from Betty, or rather the writers at AMC, a worldy menu...I believe I'll begin with these (I really like tapas, ok) and top them off with a few of these fine American gents.
As for a main course and sides...any ideas? Should I invite a Frenchie, an Englishman, an Asian?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
