Making Memories with a Spoon

Well, I guess this weekend officially kicked off summer, huh?  While I'm not wild (at all) about the oppressive heat that is sure to plague us fair-skinned, indoor types for the next 5 months or so, this product almost doesn't make me mind summer. 

The other day at Whole Foods I picked up a carton of Ciao Bella Belgian Chocolate gelato.  Oh.  Wow.  It is so good. 

It was the perfect accompaniment to a quiet Memorial Day with a stack of Redbox DVDs.  I feel like I was eating this every time I turned around, but the funny thing is that there's still plenty left.  I think it's so rich that it only seems like you're eating a lot. 

And isn't that only more more reason to celebrate?  Now I'm looking forward to trying their other flavors, including the sorbets.  Hold me back.

I hope you all had a great weekend.

(Image from freshtomarket.com)

Happy Birthday, Mr. Harlan Ellison

In tribute to author, Harlan Ellison, who's birthday is today, I'd like to reprint an excerpt from Gay Talese's legendary profile of Frank Sinatra entitled, "Frank Sinatra Has A Cold". Keep in mind this is an earlier draft than the one that appeared in Esquire magazine in 1965...

The room cracked with the clack of billiard balls. There were about a dozen spectators in the room, most of them young men who were watching Leo Durocher shoot against two other aspiring hustlers who were not very good. This private drinking club has among its membership many actors, directors, writers, models, nearly all of them a good deal younger than Sinatra or Durocher and much more casual in the way they dress for the evening. Many of the young women, their long hair flowing loosely below their shoulders, wore tight, fanny-fitting Jax pants and very expensive sweaters; and a few of the young men wore blue or green velour shirts with high collars and narrow tight pants, and Italian loafers.

It was obvious from the way Sinatra looked at these people in the poolroom that they were not his style, but he leaned back against a high stool that was against the wall, holding his drink in his right hand, and said nothing, just watched Durocher slam the billiard balls back and forth. The younger men in the room, accustomed to seeing Sinatra at this club, treated him without deference, although they said nothing offensive. They were a cool young group, very California-cool and casual, and one of the coolest seemed to be a little guy, very quick of movement, who had a sharp profile, pale blue eyes, blondish hair, and squared eyeglasses. He wore a pair of brown corduroy slacks, a green shaggy-dog Shetland sweater, a tan suede jacket, and Game Warden boots, for which he had recently paid $60.

Frank Sinatra, leaning against the stool, sniffling a bit from his cold, could not take his eyes off the Game Warden boots. Once, after gazing at them for a few moments, he turned away; but now he was focused on them again. The owner of the boots, who was just standing in them watching the pool game, was named Harlan Ellison, a writer who had just completed work on a screenplay, The Oscar. Finally Sinatra could not contain himself.

"Hey," he yelled in his slightly harsh voice that still had a soft, sharp edge. "Those Italian boots?"

Without taking his eyes off the pool game in progress, Ellison muttered, "I dunno. Italian leather, maybe."

Sinatra, not to be thwarted, snarled back, "The hell you talkin' about, kid?"

Ellison slowly shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then coolly regarded Sinatra.

"By Italian leather, I mean that they were made with the left-over skin from yer ma's last labiaoplasty." The room temperature dropped by several degrees. Several mouths opened in disbelief. The music playing over the scene came to an abrupt, needle-scratching halt. Sinatra himself turned purple in rage, his clenching fist shattering the bourbon tumbler in it. Shards poked through his flesh, dripping blood and Jack Daniels onto the parquet.

"WHAT-DID-YOU-SAY?" choked out Sinatra, his eyes bulging from their sockets in disbelief.

"I got six more pairs like 'em at home, all made from your mother's meat curtains, you tone-deaf, dago wop guinea spaghetti-slurpin' gimlet-eyed, fat-titted embarrassing stereotype douchenozzle, that's what I said. Are you retarded as well as ugly and stupid?" Ellison then turned his back on Sinatra, putting a dime on the pool table to indicate that he was next in line to play pool.

Sinatra quivered with a fury so intense it looked like he was stuck in an industrial paint-mixer. He appeared to have bitten through his lower lip, spitting pinkish saliva like a rabid dog. Slowly, he turned to the pale and quiet crowd of sycophants and hangers-on around him. With a superhuman effort, he regained his composure and addressed them in a low, menacing voice.

"Let's blow this joint." With the air of a funeral procession, Sinatra and his cronies filed out the door. The room was as still as a museum. All eyes were on Ellison, nonchalantly picking through the pool cue rack, searching for a favorite. Finally the tension in the room started to deflate, when suddenly, Sinatra angrily strode back in, and spun Harlan around to face him.

"Just one thing, you sawed-off runt.", Sinatra menaced, an inch from Ellison's implacable face. "A douche-nozzle, that's that little rubber tip on the end of a hose connected to a douche-bag, right?"

Ellison nodded. "That would be correct, Mr. Sinatra."

"Just making sure, is all." Sinatra spun on his heels and walked out, not to be seen for a very long time.


For obvious reasons, this draft has not seen the light of day until now...

Hope for the Future

You know, it seems sometimes like we're living in the End of Days. The Gulf coast is being covered by a multi-million gallon oil slick, and the engineers and oil executives charged with cleaning it up seem to think yelling at it will make it go away. North Korea is starting to rattle its saber. Insane Clown Posse make a video wherein they gap with awe at elementary physics like chimps. And Jenny McCarthy is an advocate for bringing us all back to the Dark Ages. Bleak times indeed.

Then I see something like the following, and I think...





"I think we're all gonna be okay."

My Always List: Classic

I can't really say enough about this next item on my list.  Banana Republic's Classic is something I've worn for many years now, and it's probably my favorite go-to, everyday fragrance.  I say 'fragrance' instead of 'cologne' because this is unisex and not very heavy at all. 

It's sort of a clean citrus smell, and if I were to have designed a bottle, this would probably have been it.  Plus, I like that it lasts all day and is not expensive.  It's simple and, well, classic.  Of course.

Mais Oui!

Late last week for a breakfast potluck at work, I made this French Toast Casserole. 

It's one of those stale bread/dozen eggs/quart of heavy cream deals.  But doesn't this look worth it?

In the words of Ina, how bad could that be?  (It's not her recipe, though.  I found it in this book.)

My Always List: Shampure

After my face is clean and scrubbed, it's time to wash the hair.  And one of my favorite shampoos is Aveda's Shampure, which was introduced to me by my pal Ashley many moons ago.

If you've never smelled the scent, then it's really hard to imagine.  It's earthy.  Like dirt-earthy.  But in the best way.  I've even gotten the gals at Aveda to mix up the fragrance into a spray bottle so I can wear it as a cologne when I feel so inclined. 

What's Your Type?

Do you sometimes struggle to choose just the right font? 

I saw this super-cool link/picture in my Real Simple daily dispatch and thought I would share.  It's graphically appealing and pretty funny if you take the time to read it.

Have a great weekend!

My Always List: Scrub

After obtaining clean skin, sometimes it's necessary to scrub.  I've tried several over the years, but last year I ran across this Kiehl's scrub, and it's my favorite. 

I talked a bit about Kiehl's last year in a post about one of their ads, but I've only grown fonder of the brand since then. This scrub is a bit pricey, but my first tube literally lasted a year. A dab'll do ya, so I like to divide the price by 12 months and then by how many times a month (4-6) I use it.  Then it's not so bad at all. 

It has pineapple and papaya and smells good enough to eat, if you like fruit.

My Fish Story

Well, not exactly.

But this is the one that got away.

Remember how I lusted after just such a fixture a few months ago?  Well, the natural-colored fixture was the right size, but the blasted thing had a diffuser underneath--ya know, exactly where the light should come out.  That might be good for a pool hall but not for my poorly lit bedroom.  

They had a taller, gray fixture (see above) that actually has a metallic interior to bounce light around, and when it went on sale a couple of weeks ago, I snatched it up.  However, much like awkward teenage girls everywhere, it was a bit too tall.  At least for my space.

I do love it, but it's not right for me at this point in the game.

Le sigh.  ...the search continues. 

Finally, Lorne!

They got it (mostly) right for a change!  Did you see Betty White host SNL this weekend? 

She's a living legend, as far as I'm concerned, and she was joined by some of the great recent female cast members of the show.  They brought back skits like Delicious Dish and Sally O'Malley.  And, praise Jesus, Tina Fey and Amy Poehler on Weekend Update.  And Whitney. Houston.  (Yes, AM, I got your text.  Loved it!)

To top it all off, Jay-Z turned it out with a medley of some of his greatest hits, followed by a surprisingly sweet rendition of "Forever Young," dedicated to Betty White herself.  I was a little disappointed that Beyonce did not make a surprise appearance, but there were plenty of those to go around. 

This is how the show needs to be done.  Please, Lorne Michaels, take notes if you haven't already.

And here's a sketch that didn't make it to the broadcast.  Shhh....it's Debbie Downer.  I laughed until I (almost) cried.

My Always List: Purity

Ok.  Title of the post.  You may be thinking "He's a Jo Bro?!" 

But no.  I had this idea after looking around J.Crew.  Their creative director (Jenna Lyons, for those keeping score) comes up with an "always list" for each season.  I like that idea, so I'm blatantly copying it.

I thought I would start with the basics.  And there's nothing more basic than clean skin.  My choice to accomplish this goal is a face wash called Purity Made Simple by the brand Philosophy. 

I would classify my skin as sensitive and normal to oily.  This is just what the doctor ordered--if I went to a dermatologist, that is.  It "melts" away the oil without drying my face out.  Yikes.  Plus, it smells really good. 

Secret: I buy mine from QVC, just like an old lady, because it's way cheaper to get the jumbo size there.  And it lasts (literally) a year or longer. 

Kick Ass (D :The comic, not the movie.) I'm not sure whether writer Mark Millar is Stupid-Smart or Smart-Stupid. By which I mean he's either too stupid to understand one of the underlying requirements of a compelling story is to create characters a reader can form some kind of empathy with. While being smart enough to know how to pander to an adolescent (in mentality if not in age) readership by filling his comics with lovingly rendered scenes of people being shot in the balls, fried in the balls, shot in the face, having various body parts removed by knives, having a ten-year old girl get shot and beaten, etc.

OR: He's just smart enough to know that if he fills a basic superhero trope-what if superheros really, REALLY, really, no-Watchmen-post-modern bullshit-here with all sorts of post-modern references-exist, like having his protagonist become famous over YouTube, his characters face off over lines like, "You think this is some kind of Harry Osborne vs. Peter Parker moment?", he will create a post-post-modern superhero comic book that will have fat Comic Book Guys giggling and punching each other in their flabby arms with glee and saying, 'Oh, dude! He totally referenced the Punisher, there!'. While being stupid in that the only reason none of his 'superhero' characters get killed or put into wheelchairs or get sent to jail or the mental ward by the cops is that there's no story, otherwise.

It's Idiot Plotting. Like in the horror movie when the Horny Teenagers Split Up to Check Out Old Man Johnson's Allegedly Haunted House And Possibly Suck Face And Rub Genitals Only To Get Meticulously And Brutally Murdered By Hatchet Face Who The Old Dude At The Stop-N-Go Says Haunts The Johnson House, But It Turns Out In The Third Reel That Hatchet Face Is In Fact Poindexter The Nerd Who Is Insanely Bitter That Kelly Terwilliger Didn't Go On That Date With Him. If the horny teenagers had decided, in the first reel, to just reasonably decide, 'Fuck that, let's rent 'Saw 8' and chillax at Stacey's house!', there'd be no movie.

Actually, I've read enough of Millar's work to consider a third option. He's possibly Smart-Bitter. He's talented enough to come up with high-concept comics, like Superman being Soviet Russian, or thinly-veiled celebrities being part of a secret cabal of assassins, or Kick-Ass. But he knows he doesn't have the chops to create engaging stories, or empathic characters. So I'm starting to see a sort of passive admonishment to his audience. 'This is me, fucking you in the ass', the Eminem clone says to the reader in the final page of Wanted. He's in essence, saying, 'I hate you flabby turds who read my junk, I hate the comic publishers for being too pusillanimous to produce anything other than adolescent power/revenge fantasies, but most of all, I hate myself, for I can do nothing else. Fuck my life.'

Lust List: Gap

Do you ever find yourself hitting up the exact same websites every week?  Even looking at the exact same items every time?  I do that fairly regularly, and Gap is usually a place I stop. 

As I mentioned with J.Crew a few days ago, it always helps when what I want goes on sale, and with Gap, you never have to wonder.  I can honestly say that everything at Gap goes on sale if you watch closely enough.  Or they will give you a coupon or a survey/coupon.  I live for those. 

Granted, I don't need any of these things, but that's why this is the lust list.

I know.  It's another cardigan.  And it's striped.  I say, if something works, ride it until the wheels fall off.  This one's good for work because it's lightweight but long-sleeved.

And even though I get plenty of Where's Waldo and Steve-from-Blue's-Clues references when I wear horizontal stripes, I say they're worth it.

The last thing I need.  But again.  Lust.

Aren't these the coolest?!  (They're boxers, but I wish they would make this fabric into pajama pants.)

This is a kid's shirt, but I have to represent the Smokies.  Dolly would be proud.  :)  I could probably swing a XXXL.

May Days

There's really no point in my pointing out how quickly these months are flying. It seems that the storied April showers have waited until...oh...today.

Here's hoping for a mild month for mothers and meterology.