rustyshrapnel

REVIEW: SASA

2008-07-16T12:33:00.005-05:00

Sasa is the latest restaurant offering to open in the Shaker Square area. Since my boyfriend started working at Sarava, I've been visiting Shaker more often and I'm really starting to like the place as an evening entertainment option. It's close to my Coventry apartment and it has what I enjoy during the summer: patio dining. Coventry restaurants can be nice (Pacific East, Mint Cafe), but good luck with outdoor dining. The only restaurant (and I use the term loosely) on Coventry with decent patio seating is Panini's, and my idea of a good time is not eating mediocre food while some chachbag spills his beer on me because he's too busy watching the game on the fifteen widescreen televisions blaring all over the place to see where he's going.

We were seated outside by the friendly hostess and didn't have to wait long before the server came up to take our drink orders. I went with the Tokyo Sangria, which was delicious. It was in the style of a white sangria, but had fresh ginger in it and no added sugar. It was clean, crisp, and gingery, without that cloyingly sweet taste that spoils so many fruit-base cocktails. Aron wanted sake and let the server choose one for him. I can't remember the name of what he received but I tried a bit of it and was not totally put-off. It was very smooth and drinkable. Sasa prides itself on its sake collection and holds semi-regular sake tastings in addition to Sake Night every Wednesday, where they feature select sakes at discount prices. I figure if I'm going to start learning about sake, this might be a good place to do it at.

The menu is divided up into small, medium, and large menu items, as the Izakaya style of dining encourages plate-sharing among the table, much like a tapas bar. Aron and I started with the Grill Sampler, which had small portions of shrimp, scallops in a plum wine syrup, Korean short ribs (kalbi), kushiyaki chicken on a skewer, and grilled shishito peppers. There was just enough of each item for two people to share, and they were very good. I liked the kushiyaki chicken and kalbi in particular. They were tender and not dry or chewy and the sauces chosen for each were savory and flavorful without being overtly salty. The shishito peppers were tempura fried in a light panko.

For my entree I went with the miso marinated black cod with yuzu butter sauce, grilled onions, steamed bok choy, and takikomi rice. I asked the server what takikomi rice was and she said it was similar to fried rice. I asked if it was a white or a brown rice and she said brown, so I went with the takikomi instead of subbing in something like steamed Chinese broccoli (which they do have as a side option). I should have gone with the broccoli. The takikomi rice came in a thick, glutinous puck of obviously white rice made brown by the presence of soy sauce, tasted bland and uninspiring, and had an assortment of half-hearted vegetables and teensy little shrimps in it. The rest of the entree was amazing, though. It was actually fairly impressive how incredibly bad the takikomi rice was compared to how incredibly good the rest of the entree was. I'd definitely get the black cod again as well as recommend it to anyone. Just don't get the takikomi rice. It's terrible. I'll be subbing it out of anything I get at Sasa in the future in favor of the deliciously and delicately steamed bok choy or Chinese broccoli.

For dessert we shared the brownie with green tea ice cream, which is exactly what it is: two brownies with two scoops of green tea ice cream. The brownies were moist and super chocolatey and yummy, and there was almond whipped cream on top which I think I would have bathed in given the chance. Mmmmm. All in all, an excellent meal (aside from the rice...it really was that bad, I'm mentioning how bad it is a third time just in case) and I will definitely be adding Sasa to my regular repetoire of Great Summer Dining Options.

Sasa website: http://www.sasamatsu.com/home.php

MEET THE DARE

2008-07-11T15:10:00.007-05:00

I've been waiting for Verizon to cough this up into their phone lineup since I learned about it in February. Initially slated for an April release, it then got pushed to May, then June, and finally
July. I adored the Prada phone that LG produced in their European and Asian markets, but me being a Verizon customer and the Prada being a GSM phone meant that union was not to be.

(My laptop is generously providing the backdrop to these pictures. The racing stripe makes it run faster.)

Look, you can see my plants!

This being my first "smartphone," I was worried it would be big and clunky. I was pleasantly surprised to find out that it's really not that much longer or thicker than my old Razr (or as I like to call it, that piece-of-shit phone). It's definitely clutch purse-friendly, ladies.

Another one of my concerns was the pure touch-screen format. I'm not the most graceful person in the world and I was worried I'd be fat-fingering all over its sleek little interface, much like an awkward 14-year-old at his first hormonally-charged co-ed dance. After doing the little calibration exercise they set up when you first turn on the phone, though, I found very little difficulty navigating my way around the menus and tapping out text messages. The text messaging feature is especially nice, because if you flip the phone to its long side a full qwerty keyboard appears to facilitate typing. Flipping it back to its short side produces the standard phone pad. Other fun features include drag-and-drop menu customization and USB data storage (once you snag a microSD card for the phone, which doesn't come standard but you can get at least a gig for cheap anywhere that does computer products). It's also a full-function mp3 player, although I won't be using it for one since I already have an ipod for that. I did however download the entire music suite from Super Mario 1, 2, 3, Super Mario World, and Super Mario RPG into it. I'm retarded like that.

Speaking of music, I was trying to put new ringtones into the phone (Verizon's standard ringtone offerings are notoriously awful) and found that while Verizon has an application to access and download new ringtones, the Dare is still so new that they haven't made a ringtone app for it yet. So Verizon, I will say this to you right now: I wanted to be legit. I wanted to go to your store, access your ringtones, pay you money, and download them straight to my phone. I really did. Your lack of available software for a phone that was initially slated for an April release date forced me into Hacking Your Matrix in order to put my own ringtones into your product. I hope you're happy.

Ringtone drama aside, I'm very enamored of the LG Dare. Some of the negative things I've heard about it (slow interface, clunky touch-screen) may be the result of people not calibrating their screens properly, or maybe having really big fingers. I find using my fingernail to tap things produces the best results. I've had it for about 3 days now and I keep finding features about it that make me go "oh, that's really neat!" Highly recommended for people like me who aren't totally corporate yet and might not need something as crazy as a Blackberry or a Treo, but who still want a little more than a standard phone can offer.

MY MENAGERIE

2008-07-07T09:58:00.003-05:00

Left front: Socrates the Greek basil
Right front: Virgil the Genoese basil
In back: Plato the tomato

They're doing quite well so far. I've never really cultivated plants (I like to joke I have a black thumb) before so not only is this an opportunity for fresh herbs and fruits, it's an exercise in learning how to keep green things alive long enough to have said fresh herbs and fruits. Fortunately my apartment is blessed with a ginormous sun-room in the front so light is not an issue and I don't have to mess around with outside boxes or anything. However, I do happen to have a cat with herbivorous tendencies, and while I haven't seen any little bitty teeth marks appearing on the leaves yet, I worry that it's merely a matter of time.

BUFFALO CHICKEN MAC AND CHEESE

2008-07-04T08:00:00.001-05:00

Sometimes it's time to put away the multigrain and the low fat and the high fiber and stop worrying about whether I got my proper Omega-3's and antioxidants for the day. Sometimes I just need to wear pajamas and settle down on the couch with a tray of something really bad and really awesome at the same time. Generally, a square of dark chocolate will do it for me, but occasionally there comes a time when I just gotta splurge.

For me, that means fried buffalo chicken. It's one of my favorite indulgences. I was recently at a Geological Society of America conference in Buffalo, NY, which afforded me an opportunity to pick up a jar (or four) of the original buffalo wing sauce from the Anchor Bar and Restaurant. I've been thinking of what to do with this sauce for a while. It's the original; something special should be done. I'm not going to just baste some wings with this stuff and call it a day. No, this calls for something supremely, sublimely, superlatively decadent. This requires the combination of two amazing indulgence foods into one unbeatable combination for zero health benefit but incredible personal satisfaction for all those involved.

This requires fried buffalo chicken macaroni and cheese.

Now, stay with me here. It's not really *that* much of a stretch. Lots of buffalo chicken recipes include cheese. It's also kind of stupid easy to make, once I sat down and started sketching it out.

Things you will need:

Wing sauce. I used close to a whole 12 oz. bottle for this recipe, but your mileage may vary depending on how much you like wing sauce. I personally say when in doubt, add more wing sauce.

Cheese. Lots of it. As cheap as you want to go. As much delicious cheap melty cheese as you can get your greasy little meathooks on. Packages of cheapo American melt delightfully, or you could be a little more high-end and get some shredded cheddar type stuff. Just make sure it melts. Don't come crying to me 'cause your fancy parmigiano reggiano idea didn't take off. There is NO classy way to do this dish so don't even try. It's blue collar and that's the way it's supposed to be. Velveeta if you want. Four cups at least.

Chicken breast. I used five medium-sized pieces of chicken breast. Dice them a day (or at least a few hours) ahead of time and put the chunks in a freezer bag with some of the wing sauce, making sure all the chicken is covered, and let it marinade in the fridge.

Macaroni (or some kind of pasta). This is a no-brainer. Take package of macaroni, place in boiling water, cook, drain, set aside in a large mixing bowl or casserole dish. If you can use a casserole dish, you save a step but you might make a mess mixing the other stuff into the macaroni later.

Two medium-sized onions and 3 cloves of garlic, chopped.

Milk.

Pepper to taste.

Prep:

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees.

In a container (I used a medium sized tupperware), crack an egg into about half a cup of flour and mix it up. Add some wing sauce to this mixture and mix well. The mix should have a decent consistency to it but not be too thin. You want it to stick to the chicken. Add another egg if you think you need more binder. Drop the chunks of chicken into the mix and roll them around, get them well-coated. Pan fry the coated chunks in some oil (I use safflower but canola works just as well).

On medium heat in a wok, sautee the onions and garlic for a bit until the onions start going clear. Dump in the cheese and start working it around on the medium heat, and add in some milk to keep the consistency kinda runny. You need a big saucepan or wok for this 'cause you're going to be making a bucketload of cheese sauce. If the sauce seems too runny, put some flour in to thicken it up a bit. Keep working it around until it's all melty. Mmmmm, melty. I also dumped some wing sauce into this for Ultimate Buffalo Flavor. If you love bleu cheese with your buffalo wings, you could even put some bleu crumbles into the cheese sauce for a bit of zing.

Once it's melty and bubbly, dump in the fried chicken and mix it all together. Reduce the heat to low and let it simmer for a smidge, then pour the whole shebangabang on top of the macaroni and mix well. Now, at this point you could theoretically serve it if you wanted, but I decided I wanted a nice finish on top. I sprinkled some breadcrumbs over the surface and added some dabs of butter, along with some sprigs of Greek basil from Socrates and a drizzle of yes, MORE WING SAUCE. Bake at 350 for about 25 minutes, and you get a pretty little crisp finish on top of the casserole.

Voila. Guaranteed to be a crowd-pleaser, if not an artery-clogger. My sister's boyfriend went back three times for more. Makes awesome leftovers if there's anything left.

GREEK FEAST

2008-07-02T09:39:00.005-05:00

My boyfriend and I have kinda crappy schedules. Crappy in that they don't mesh well with each other. We therefore make an effort to have at least one night a week where we have an "us" night, which usually involves me making some kind of dinner and then we go see a movie or go out with friends. It's a nice way to make sure we get some quality time in during the busy week.

I was cruising Whole Foods yesterday (one of my favorite past-times), just seeing what looked good, and happened across a package of fresh-ground merguez lamb. I adore cooking with sausage. It almost feels like cheating, because you're already starting with so much flavor in the dish you barely have to do anything to the rest of it. I snapped up the lamb and decided that this was going to be the basis of my "us" dinner tonight. I've been on kind of a Mediterranean kick lately so I wanted to make something with heavy Greek influences. For the side, I didn't want something that would fight with the merguez so I found some white bean and basil ravioli at Whole Foods that looked just right.

Halloumi is fun. It's traditionally a Greek sheep-goat blend cheese, heavily brined (salty to taste). You might see halloumi billed as the "grilling cheese." Halloumi's primary characteristic is its absolute refusal to melt under heat. Oh sure, it'll get flat and kinda soft, but it will NOT bubble and melt. You'd have to put this stuff under some sort of blowtorch I think if you really wanted melty halloumi, but why would you? I bought a brick and cut it into 1/4" thick slices for grilling. I like to use grilled halloumi in place of bread for a bruschetta-style appetizer. It doesn't take too long to grill, and I grilled some baby bella mushrooms with them while I was at it and arranged them on top of the finished halloumi with a side of feta-stuffed olives. Pretty simple, but a very nice easy little appetizer.

I paired some whole-wheat pita chips with it for the people who simply have to have their cheese on some sort of bread product.

For the main course, I dipped into my Spice Basket and developed a spice paste that I felt was properly Mediterranean and would go well with the spices already present in the merguez.

Mediterranean spice paste:

1/4 cup lemon juice
2 cloves garlic, chopped
1 tbl dried oregano
1/2 tsp dried anise
1 tsp dried fennel
1 tsp dried parsley
1 tsp paprika
1 tsp black pepper
1 tsp dried dill
1 tsp dried thyme
1 1/2 tsp dried rosemary (I like rosemary)

Combine all ingredients in a mortar and mash together to form a paste. Refrigerate any unused portions afterwards. I found that this made just enough paste to do dinner for four people with a smidge left over, so your mileage may vary. If you're a garlic fiend do 3 cloves.

While the ravioli was cooking up, I halved a package of grape tomatoes and started sauteeing them in a pan with a dab each of safflower and olive oil. I really like cooking with grape tomatoes. I think they look adorable and class up any kind of dish rather than chopping up big ol' tomatoes and using that instead. Not that there's anything wrong with big ol' tomatoes, but if the tomatoes are going to be a big visual presence, I prefer using grape or cherry tomatoes. I sauteed them for a while, adding in the spice paste as they cooked and more olive oil. As the tomatoes cook they stew up a bit, releasing their juices and helping to form a sort of light sauce with the olive oil and the spice paste. Feel free to flatten a few to release as much of the tomato juice as you can during the process. I sauteed them for about 5-7 minutes on medium heat.

While all this was going on, I had the lamb cooking in my large wok, working it around on medium-high heat and breaking it up into small chunks. Once the lamb was properly cooked through and broken up, I turned off the heat and mixed tabbouleh into the lamb. You can make your own tabbouleh or you can be pressed for time like me (we had to make it to a movie at seven) and cheat by buying some tabbouleh and using that instead. Fortunately we are blessed in Cleveland to have excellent options for Lebanese food so if you do buy local ready-made here you're generally getting a good product.

I took the sauteed tomato-spice sauce (should I even call it a sauce? It almost seems too light to be a "sauce") and spooned it onto the raviolis, and added the lamb-tabbouleh mixture to the plate. Garnish with a sprig of fresh rosemary.

The finished product. It turned out really well, much better than I anticipated. The lemon and parsley in the tabbouleh complemented the spices in the merguez beautifully and the white bean and basil was a nice mellow and slightly sweet addition to the tomato mix. My boyfriend proclaimed this the best meal I've made to date yet. I was pretty happy because this was one of the first dinners I've really developed on my own in terms of tastes and pairing.

In other news, my little Greek basil plant who I have named Socrates has a new friend. I purchased a sweet basil plant to help supplement my fresh basil fixation, and have named this latest addition to my menagerie Virgil. Socrates and Virgil seem very happy together at the moment, blissfully unaware that I am fattening them for the slaughter.

PEDAL POWER

2008-06-25T07:19:00.003-05:00

I like to think of myself as a fairly active person. I participated in sports all through school and my college campus was not car-friendly (I guess when they built it in 1693 they weren't anticipating the invention of the automobile) so I walked pretty much anywhere within reason. I went dancing on weekends at clubs with my friends. When I moved back to Cleveland I worked cart staff at a golf course, which meant long days of hauling gear over uneven but picturesque terrain, fishing golf balls out of smelly but picturesque wetlands, and washing endless miles of dirty carts. I never really had to worry about my physical health because I was always doing something that required activity.

Then, I started my master's thesis. My day went from humping Dr. Whatsis's bag 12 miles in 78 degree weather to sitting in a lab in front of a microscope identifying algae. My level of daily activity went from probably an 8 or a 9 to a near-0. I didn't really think about it too much until I realized that I was wheezing carrying 4 bags of groceries up the 3 flights of stairs to my apartment. I was out of shape. I had also gained weight, at least 10 pounds since I graduated college. The most daily activity I had any given day was walking to my car to go to and from work. Something needed to be done.

Someone once told me the most important thing you can do for yourself on exercise is to be honest with yourself about your exercise limitations. People are creatures of habit and they have specific natures about things. It's why extreme diets rarely work, because eventually a person will return to their preferred method of doing things.

Well, I decided that I had to start working out. My current lifestyle no longer supports my previous ability to not exercise and still be okay. I would start an exercise regimen! It will be a lifestyle change! I will attend gym regularly and have a trainer who will keep me in line and I will be buff and ripped! For the record, I hate exercising. I hate going to gyms. I'm one of those people who spend a half hour just getting ready to go to the gym because I don't want people to see me in there looking unkempt with stubbly legs and a "Margaritaville - Been There, Drank That" teeshirt sweating to the oldies on an elliptical. However, I gave it an honest shot. I enrolled in trainer sessions with a delightful young man named Reggie whose nickname at the gym was "Killer."

It was brutal. After the first few sessions I began to wonder if it would just be better if Reggie stuck me in a corner and beat me savagely for a half hour, because I would imagine the level of physical discomfort afterwards to be roughly the same. I lasted out my entire four-month session block and then I stopped seeing Killer.

No, I had to accept my limitations. My nature does not work for gyms. I need a reliable way to work out at home, where I can just roll out of bed with unshaven pits and a pair of boxer shorts with rocket ships on them and sweat all over myself without anyone looking. I bought an elliptical machine for my apartment, a compact model that works quite well...when I'm actually on it. I discovered it's very easy to wake up in the morning, roll out of bed, and walk right past the elliptical while on my way to making a sausage and egg omelette. Drats.

I had to find something that meshed well with some other activity I was already doing on a regular basis. What was I doing on a regular basis? Sitting on my ass.

EUREKA.

Behold, the under-desk mini cycler. I get on this in the mornings now and by the time I've finished getting through my emails, I've done 30 minutes of cardio. Then it's a matter of taking a shower and heading off to work. When I work from home, I do at least 4 miles a day. I had to remove the sliding keyboard tray from my desk to accommodate my knees moving up and down while I cycle, and the cycle mechanism does make some noise while I pedal so I wouldn't recommend this for an office building but it's great for home use. I still use the elliptical on weekends but this is a perfect alternative during the busy weekdays for gym-hating chair jockeys like me. I'm sure Reggie would be thrilled.

STAND BACK, I'M ABOUT TO BE HERETICAL

2008-06-13T10:26:00.004-05:00

My dad recently sent me this link and asked for my opinion on it: http://www.kusi.com/weather/colemanscorner/19842304.html

I'd like to preface by saying I do not know who this John Coleman fellow is other than through this speech that he's given. For all I know he could be some raving crackpot crazyman that nobody likes, or a wonderful human being who visits nursing homes and pets puppies.

My opinion, as someone who will be completing their master's in environmental science shortly and has spent quite a few years pondering matters such as these:

Mr. Coleman's points are valid; however like most people trying to prove a point he takes them to an extreme. To say that we humans haven't been impacting the environment with factory and exhaust emissions since the industrial revolution is a bit ludicrous. There's plenty of evidence for that happening. Hell, I'm seeing it on a near-daily basis with some of the research going on in my lab. The difference is that it's going on at a micro-scale, in terms of local acid-rain production or trees being choked on major highways. It does happen, but it's a problem that's best dealt with on a regional level, not a global level.

I did a feasibility study on carbon emission reduction during the Kyoto Protocol heyday (remember when everyone was upset that the US didn't sign that?) and in order to offset the emissions from just one coal-fired electric plant, we'd have to completely reforest about 90% of Ohio . For one plant. Imagine that on a global scale. That's why the Kyoto Protocol makes no sense except from a feel-good "let's plant more trees" perspective. That's why I'm glad the US didn't sign it, because it's a lazy protocol that did nothing but make a bunch of countries feel good about themselves in the short-term but will do absolutely nothing for the world in the long-term.

This is the problem with the current environmental movement. It's very easy to focus on "feel-good" environmentalism, like building green roofs and replanting trees, but what exactly does that do for us in the long run? Really, not much. An environmental group here at Cleveland State just had a big fundraiser to raise money for a green roof on top of the new Rec Center . Everyone got into it and they raised a lot of money for it; but a green roof, while pretty, will do NOTHING for the environment. It's too small to make any serious dent in carbon emissions and all it does is let people know that hey, some people thought putting a garden up here would be pretty. It's a waste of money. What they should have done was put some solar cells up there and try to offset some of the energy costs of running that new Rec Center. Solar cells might not look as pretty as a green roof, but they make a hell of a lot more sense in terms of bang for your buck. It's time we ushered in a new age of Pragmatic Environmentalism, where we take the true science behind the concepts and apply them in smarter, more efficient ways. We need to be able to get to the crux of the situation and identify just what exactly it is we need to do, and develop solutions for it. It may not be as fun as planting trees, and it may even go against some people's notion of what environmentalism is, but it needs to be done.

This is where Mr. Coleman is absolutely 100% correct: Global warming (I don't even like this term, it's inaccurate and I prefer using phrases like "human-induced climate change") is not humanity's biggest problem. It's not even close to our biggest problem. Overpopulation and freshwater availability are going to be our two biggest crises within the next few decades and you barely hear a peep out of anyone about those issues. Why? Because they're hard. Because they're not easily solved. Because they're serious, concrete threats that people don't want to think about. Because it's far far easier to have Hollywood fundraisers for some esoteric concept like "stop global warming" and feel like you're contributing to something than to go out to Bangladesh and teach a reluctant government to educate and protect their women, or to go to Cairo and build efficient rooftop water collectors for the city's poor. It's easier to build a pretty park on some roofs than it is to pass legislature requiring water-efficient toilets and facilities in all new governmental buildings, and to start retro-fitting old buildings.

There's going to be a lot going on in the environmental movement in the next few decades. Whether or not it's a step forward or a step backwards is up to people like my colleagues and me to decide, and I think the first step is proper education of the public as to what exactly helps and what does not. Mr. Coleman's speech, while extreme, is a step in the right direction because it forces people to question an issue they previously may not have questioned. It may not be completely right, but it forces awareness, which is something Al Gore did with his movie whether we liked it or not.

ADVENTURES IN CHEFFERY, ROUND TWO

2008-06-11T08:33:00.004-05:00

Since I'd never performed any Act of Chef with roasting a bird before, I decided to keep the hen part as simple as possible and do a basic herb rub. However, I determined that the blue oyster mushrooms I picked up were going to go into a stuffing. I have also never made a stuffing from scratch, but I figured it couldn't be that hard. It's just bread and stuff and sticking that in an oven, right? Right!

(Note: if I ever want to make a stuffing from scratch again, smack me and tell me to buy a box of StoveTop.)

I went to the nearby Whole Foods and started cruising for materials. I found a loaf of rosemary bread that I figured would work brilliantly for the base, as well as some dried porcinis and morels to go with the blue oysters. I snagged some celery and some fresh thyme and rosemary. I don't even like celery in stuff usually, but my grandma's stuffing always had celery in it so I figured this probably should too. I had small spanish onions already at home, but grabbed some scallions as well. I like scallions. In a stroke of luck, I found that Whole Foods has cornish game hens in its meat department, so I bought Roasty a little friend. My sister christened it Flatty van der Free-Range. I wanted to add "de la GMO" onto the end but my sister declared I could not mix nationalities. However, we now had enough game hen for four people, which pleased me tremendously.

Stuffing materials ended up being like this:

1 loaf rosemary bread
1/2 lb blue oyster mushrooms, rough chop
1 oz. dried porcinis, reconstituted and rough chop
1 oz. dried morels, reconstituted and rough chop
4 scallions, chopped
1 spanish onion, chopped
2 stalks celery, chopped
dried unsweetened cherries, reconstituted
~1/4 cup fresh parsley, chopped
~1 tbl fresh thyme, chopped
~1/2 tsp fresh rosemary, chopped (I like rosemary)
black pepper to taste
olive oil
veggie stock (chicken stock works too, I just like to keep things vegetarian for my veggiefriends if I can)

Since I only have 1 oven (it's ghetto but it's gas and surprisingly accurate on temperatures) I had to calculate out this dinner to be able to bake a stuffing (Project Porcini) and roast game hens (Project Salmonella) all by dinnertime. I decided to start with the stuffing first and finish that, so I wouldn't have to worry about stuffing prep while I was completely wazzing out about game hens. I decided to start early. Project Porcini started at 2:30 in the afternoon.

I used to work in a bakery and the loaf of rosemary was calling to me. I love using a bread knife. I'm like a professional bread knife ninja. Swack swack swack! The crust fell off in thin crusty shingles and the bread's delicious innards lay exposed and ready. Some people cut their bread into cubes when they're doing things like stuffing or bread pudding. I prefer ripping; I feel it's a more natural process and the results look more "homemade." YMMV. I aimed for about 1x1" chunks and mixed a little olive oil into the ripped bread before I spread it out on a baking sheet and toasted it at 375 for about 15 mins. You don't need to soak the bread in olive oil; just a little (maybe like 2-3 tbl) mixed around to get it golden and crusty and yum. It's not bruschetta, it's stuffing. I used my hands to get it mixed. You could be a pansy and use a brush if you want. Once the bread is toasted, cover it and set it aside. You don't really need to cover it, I just had to because otherwise I'd be sneaking pieces off of it to munch on.

I was thinking of cheating with the herbs since I had the dried versions already at home, but once I had chopped the fresh ones up and smelled how good that was, I was glad I made the call to use fresh. It really does make a difference. While I was chopping the stuff that needs to be chopped, I boiled some water (about 2 1/2 cups) in a teakettle and dumped the dried porcinis and morels in a saucepot and put the dried cherries in a bowl. Once the water was ready, I poured about 2 cups worth over the shrooms (I think 1 cup for 1 oz. dried is a good rule of thumb) and the rest over the cherries to reconstitute them. Let those sit for about 15-20 minutes, then drained the delicious mushroom juice from the mushrooms and added about a half a cup of heated veggie stock to it. I didn't save the cherry-water. That stuff was kinda grody. Rough chopped all of the shrooms and set them aside.

If I thought smelling the morels and porcinis while they were reconstituting was good, smelling them while I was sauteeing them with the blue oysters, onions, scallions, and celery was unbelievable. I wanted to eat the entire wok-full of stuff. The fact that it was sitting in about a stick's worth of butter (8 tbl for those keeping score at home) too probably didn't help. Okay I lie. It wasn't butter. I use Smart Balance's Omega-3 Light buttery spread for my butter needs. It's vegan and I have yet to find a recipe that calls for butter where this little gem doesn't more than adequately perform. I also put a spray's worth of Bragg Liquid Aminos in the sautee pan, which I use now in place of salt for a lot of recipes.

While I was in the act of sauteeing, my boyfriend walks into the kitchen. I dimly remember that he said he would be home around 5, and I was suprised he was home so early. He surveyed the kitchen (which by now looked like a culinary version of Bombs Over Baghdad) and said "is dinner ready soon?" I informed him that no, dinner would not be ready soon as the stuffing hasn't even been finalized and put in the oven yet, and it needs about an hour to bake, and then I still have to roast the hens after that, which will be another hour. He looked nonplussed.

"But it's 5:15."

"REALLY?"

"Yeah, really." He paused. "How long have you been at this?"

Where the fuck did the time go? Did I drop into some black hole of stuffing preparation where I was just wildly inefficient and not making the best possible use of space and time? Did I get kidnapped by aliens for an hour between the mushroom reconstituting and the bread toasting? I still don't know why that took so long, but I now know that I will NOT be making a stuffing from scratch unless I'm in a place with more than one oven. I finished sauteeing and dumped the butter-onion-mushroom-celery results into a large bowl with the cherries, thyme, rosemary, parsley and bread, poured the mushroom stock over it, mixed it up, added some black pepper, hucked the result into a greased 9x5 baking pan, covered it with foil, and shoved it into the oven at 375 for 30 minutes. Whew.

After all that, Project Salmonella was refreshingly easy. I have a very nice pair of kitchen shears that I used to split the birds (spines are really cool looking). I cleaned each half with some lemon juice and patted them dry, then made a rub mixture of olive oil, chopped garlic, sage, rosemary, black pepper, and oregano and gave Roasty and Flatty a good massage (tried to get the rub between the skin and the muscle whenever I could), then placed them cut-side down in a casserole dish and poured a little white wine over them. I still had to wait on the damn stuffing, which after 30 mins were up, I took out and removed the foil and put it back in for another 30 mins at 350 to make the top of the stuffing kinda brown and crusty.

I decided to take this opportunity to set aside the roasting pan and completely disinfect the kitchen. I'm a little paranoid about cooking with raw poultry. I then took a shower, because I needed either that or a stiff drink and we weren't going down to the wine bar until after dinner. Once the stuffing came out for the last time, I bumped the oven temp back up to 375 and put the roasting pan in for an hour and cleaned the kitchen again. Fortunately, thanks to my delightfully accurate oven, the birds were perfect after exactly 1 hour. I think I would have freaked out had they been overcooked at this point. I think I would have freaked out had anything been overcooked at this point.

The end result of all this work being dinner didn't get done until 8, but it was declared delicious by all parties involved. Stuffing is a total PAIN IN MY ASS. I do not know why stuffing takes as long as it does. It's like some sort of Time Vortex or Space Rift opens up while you make a stuffing and sucks you away for 2 and a half hours. Roasting, on the other hand, is surprisingly easy and I now feel like I've moved one more step up in my plan for Total Kitchen Domination.

ADVENTURES IN CHEFFERY, ROUND ONE

2008-06-07T11:33:00.004-05:00

Being a foodie for as long as I have, it was only a matter of time before I started developing an interest in cooking. My early efforts in the kitchen were sophomoric at best (cook pasta, sautee something, dump on pasta, add sauce, eat), but after over a year now of gastronomic puttering I like to think I'm fairly decent at the culinary craft.

Then I go and do something that puts me in completely over my head and I realize I still have a long way to go.

Shaker Square hosts a farmer's market on Saturdays, and this Saturday Aron and I puttered up there to check the produce out. Everything looked tremendously good and I made several purchases of millet, spinach, blue oyster mushrooms, and some tatsoi that I wanted to experiment with. I stopped by one of the meat stalls with the intent of picking up rabbit, but they were already out. The man then pulled out from his cooler one of the cutest wee little carcasses I've ever seen and placed it in front of me.

"That's adorable. What is it?"

"This is a cornish game hen, fresh from yesterday."

I'm assuming that means they killed the little sucker on Friday so they could bring it to the market on Saturday. I've never done anything with a game hen, or any kind of raw bird other than the occasional chicken breast or duck thigh (note: already in easy to manage pieces) and I was intrigued. It was so small, how can I go wrong? It's not like I'm trying to wrestle a goose or a turkey. I bought it.

They told me it would stay fresh in my refrigerator 'till Wednesday, but ideally I should do something with it within the next 2 days. I took it home and placed it on my counter. It sat there, naked, and I realized I had no earthly idea what to do with it. This thing still has all its organs in it. It's still completely connected. There's bits in there I don't want to eat, and I will have to remove without ruining the rest of the bird in the process. I may have to touch Guts and Things That Are Squishy. I may have to extract a spinal column.

So, I ended up wrapping it gently and placing it in my refrigerator for the time being, and now I'm doing research on What Exactly to Do With a Cornish Game Hen. Most recipes assume people know how to dress and prepare a bird, and it's kind of hard to find one that starts from Ground Zero. However, I have named the hen Roasty McMushrooms to inspire me (I want to include those blue oysters in the recipe somehow), and I have faith that by Monday I may actually have some inkling of what to do with it.

DANA CARVEY IS BENJAMIN BUTTON

2008-06-05T09:25:00.006-05:00

Being a huge F. Scott Fitzgerald fan, I'm naturally excited when any work of his receives attention in this day and age. The upcoming movie "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" is adapted from a short story of his from 1922, about a man who ages in reverse. Brad Pitt plays the title role, but this post isn't about Mr. Pitt, however lovely he may be. It isn't even about F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Dana Carvey is Benjamin Button.

I realized this while getting back into Myspace, which I honestly have not paid attention to since its takeover by McMurdoch and Co. There's a whole new "control panel" design that has been implemented in my absence, with flashy color options and lots of impressively counterintuitive button placement. It does however leave lots of new room for Myspace promotions, one of which is the "Myspace Celebrity Featured Icon." The idea (I think) being that you take this celebrity that they're currently portraying and place it as your own icon, either as a show of solidarity to some overpaid nut who's completely out of touch with reality, or in the hopes that people will actually think you are that celebrity, presumably leading to all sorts of hilarity and hijinks.

Anyways. The current Featured Celebrity is Dana Carvey, and he's lookin good!

This man was born in 1955, which puts him at about 53 years old. I call shenanigans.

Now, most people with normal lines of brain-logic would just argue photoshopping and airbrushing. I on the other hand, advance this hypothesis: Dana Carvey is aging in reverse.

My lines of evidence include this picture from 1989, when he should be about 34:

Neh? Neh? Are you seeing it? That's right, eye wrinkles. At 34! BUSTED, DANA.

Clearly, the Wayne's World and Church Lady sketches were started in 1986 so Dana could hide his reverse-receding hairline under wigs until things started to look normal. Mike Myers was probably in on the conspiracy, and the entire SNL cast was ordered to keep mum about it.

As a scientist, I can only hope that Mr. Carvey does the right thing and donates his body now while we can still experience it.

REVIEW: TREE COUNTRY BISTRO

2008-06-04T09:15:00.002-05:00

Coventry, already boasting excellent Thai and Japanese/Malaysian restaurants, needs another Asian-themed restaurant like it needs another sports bar, or maybe a hole in its head. This however hasn't stopped Tree Country from opening its doors in the space Que Tal used to occupy. I adore Asian food, being lactose-inefficient I find myself cooking Asian-style cuisine fairly often. I'm also spoiled rotten from having Pacific East and Mint Cafe a block from my apartment. However, I'm always willing to give a new restaurant a look-see, and when my sister brought home the takeout menu from Tree Country I eagerly perused it. My first impression was "jesus, that's a LOT of Asian food." Tree Country has decided that its secret to success lies in bludgeoning you over the head with as many different regional styles and offerings as it possibly can. Its menu states that it's a "taste of Asian, Japanese, Korean and Thai," and there's easily 40 different entree-style dishes on the menu, not including all the various permutations of maki roll, curries, and sashimi a la carte.

The drink menu is pretty standard with hot green tea and thai-style tea as well as an assortment of smoothie-type drinks. I asked which smoothies were able to be made with no milk/yogurt etc. in them and the lady seemed kinda thrown for a bit, but told me that the lychee, pineapple, and coconut had no dairy in them. I went with the pineapple and it was pretty much what I wanted (fruit juice blended with ice). I did notice soybean milk on their takeout menu but it wasn't on their in-house menu; I will probably ask about that next time. My boyfriend got the hot green tea and was pleased with it. The tea mixture in the bag was leafy and had chunks of other things in there, and it was fragrant and tasty.

Since we've had more than our fill of Thai and Japanese on this street, we decided to order Korean dishes and get a maki roll as an appetizer. We went with the Cleveland Roll, which is BBQ eel tempura and cucumber rolled up with seared salmon and eel sauce on top. It was surprisingly good; the fish quality was decent and I liked the flavor of the seared salmon (it was flame-seared and slightly blackened in parts which I enjoy). There's not a roll like it at Pac East, and I'd probably get it again. Their specialty rolls are about 8 pieces to a roll and there's definitely enough going on with one that if you get that and a small salad or soup, you're good to go.

Our Korean entrees were delicious. I ordered the Kimchibokum, which was thinly-sliced pork and kimchi with pieces of tofu tossed in. They had a brown rice option which pleased me tremendously. I used to date a Korean and he taught me all about the proper way to do kimchi. Apparently his mother used to make it the old-school way, where you assemble the ingredients in a jar and bury the jar in your yard to ferment. I doubt this was buried kimchi, but it was very spicy and very good. My only complaint was there wasn't enough of it on the plate. The presentation was done on a sizzling skillet over a wooden board and I enjoyed it thoroughly. My boyfriend had the Spicy Seafood Noodle Soup, a Korean-style spiced soup with squid, scallops, shrimp, and veggies in it. He declared that it was also very good, but it wasn't as spicy as mine. I tried a bit of it and agreed with him. I could probably eat that Kimchibokum at least 3 times a week, it was that good.

I think the next time I'm over there I'm going to check out their green curry. I'm a huge fan of green curry and making a successful green curry still eludes me. Mint Cafe's green curry is fantastic, of course, and I'm curious to see if Tree Country's is any different.

I admit have mixed feelings about this place. Pacific East and Mint Cafe are easily at the top of their game in their respective styles and each one is less than a block from Tree Country. The only thing Tree Country offers that they don't is their Korean-style fare, which admittedly is very good. Tree Country does have some unique specialty maki rolls, and their specialty roll prices are competitive with Pacific East's, but I think I'll still find myself heading over to Pac East for my Japanese fix and Mint Cafe for my Thai cravings. The Korean is not to be denied, though. If Tree Country can survive I'll definitely make a place for them in my Asian lineup based merely on their Korean fare.

REVIEW: BODEGA

2008-05-29T09:33:00.002-05:00

Yesterday my sister and I with our respective boyfriends traipsed up the street to the new martini/tapas bar Bodega. Unlike most of the bars here on Coventry which specialize in the college-age "beer and bombs" crowd who prefer their drinks cheap and in pitchers, Bodega aims for the yuppie upper-20's low 30's clientele, people who are willing to shell out $9-$12 for some swanky cocktail and prefer snacking on ceviche instead of chicken wings.

The interior reflects this attitude, as it is clearly designed in the vein of a slick West 6th bar (low-slung couches, modern minimalist table furniture, strategically-placed curtains). I enjoyed the design elements and I thought the color scheme was good, but the space is very large and echoey, which made the loud party music they were pumping in reverb to the point of irritation at times. The chairs were surprisingly comfy to sit in. I like comfy chairs. The tables had a cheap plastic top with no tablecloth, which ordinarily I would have been okay with but the servers were really into baptizing the table along with my water glass and I have a hang-up about wet on tables. I spent a lot of time surreptitiously mopping up after the water boy came around.

Their cocktail list is HUGE and incredibly overwhelming. Fortunately things were arranged by tastes and primary components, so I was able to ignore the entire "desserts" and "berries" section because I know I'm not a fan of fruity or sugary sweet drinks. Their wine and beer list is anemic and mediocre; clearly you come here for the cocktails. This is fine with me because the best wine and beer place on the planet happens to thrive a few doors up, and I would be going there for my vino y cerveza anyways. I ended up going with a ginger vodka and green tea concoction; it sounded pretty good together. Instead of what I was hoping for (a nice light gingery vodka with a hint of green tea), I got something that tasted like a tiny amount of cheap-ass well vodka got drowned in a concentrated syrup of Arizona green tea. It was really sweet and extremely gross. Apparently instead of green tea, what Bodega uses is some type of green tea liqueur, which if you do get in anything, make sure to say you don't want a lot of it. It's really strong and will completely overpower any drink you have it in otherwise. I couldn't taste the ginger at all in my drink because of it. In the bartender's defense, she did remake the drink with less liqueur for me and it was passable after that. I won't be getting it again though. My sister ordered the Vesper, a Lillet-blanc martini popularized from the latest 007 movie, and was thrilled with it.

Bodega has no entree-sized dishes; they deal entirely in small plates known as tapas in a mediterranean-middle eastern fusion style. Everything looked very tasty and I had a hard time deciding which ones to go with. I ended up getting the Barcelona peppers (peppers and sausage with a tomato-basil sauce) and the Spanish cigars (mushrooms, spinach, and feta wrapped in filo). They were both delicious, but I especially liked the Barcelona peppers. I'm not sure what type of peppers were used but they had heat on them and the sausage was spicy as well. I always enjoy when restaurants aren't afraid to put some zing in their dishes. Two tapas made an acceptable-sized entree for me, but our boyfriends were clearly languishing from lack of serious food portions. This is a place for cocktails and noshies, not a true sit-down eating experience. The average price ranged from $6-9 on the tapas, with some in the $12 range (a small filet steak). My sister got the lambchops, which were a twee overdone but still very tasty. They came on a bed of saffron-mustard rice which my sister declared delicious but my boyfriend (who also had the lamb) didn't like at all. My sister's boyfriend got the couscous salad (which was basically couscous and chickpeas) and the mussels, which didn't look that special and he didn't seem that thrilled with. I'm not surprised...it's generally a bad idea to get mussels in Cleveland unless you're in a place that's known for its mussels.

Long story short, I'd go back but I wouldn't take my boyfriend back with me. This is a place to take your girlfriends and get politely twisped on fancy cocktails while enjoying some noshies. There was a scallop ceviche on the menu I didn't get around to and definitely want to try, and I'd hit the Barcelona peppers again for sure. Overall I was pleased; I think the drink list is a little gimmicky but it's a nice departure from the standard sports-bar experience you see all too often on Coventry now.

CHAIN CALORIES

2008-05-23T07:35:00.002-05:00

http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/local/364097_calories22.html

This article in the Seattle Post-Intelligencer (what is a "Post-Intelligencer," incidentally?) details the shocking (SHOCKING) revelation that chain restaurants aren't always honest about how low-fat or low-cal their "diet" meals are.

Chain restaurants (Applebee's, Friday's, Cheesecake Factory, Macaroni Grill, etc.) specialize in high-volume, low-cost fare. They are not there to make sure you're getting your full nutritional benefit from their food. Their primary concern is to perfect a chicken pesto that costs $2 in overhead and can be made by any GED-educated line chef in their kitchens across the country roughly the same way and the same time, every time. Going into one of these places and expecting a magical, healthful gastronomic event is kind of like searching YouTube for a hot Gloria Steinem/Ann Coulter porno. In short, not happening. (Although, that would be awesome. If any of you have a line on Steinem/Coulter action, let me know.)

I generally avoid chain restaurants like the plague. There are several reasons for this choice, but the primary reason can be summed up simply by looking at the menu of any of these establishments. When you're examining the 15-page menu at the Cheesecake Factory and you realize that out of all the food options presented you're maybe only interested in 3 of them, and even then it's iffy because you're pretty sure you can cook it better yourself, the experience kind of loses its magic. Bottom line, the food just isn't that interesting because they have to pander to the common culinary denominator. That's not to say this method isn't successful; the Cheesecake Factory makes ridiculous amounts of money per year catering to the bland unimaginative stomachs of Middle America. Really though, if I want a dry salmon filet with a side of overcooked rice and vegetables clearly sauteed in butter although I asked for no butter, I can go fuck food up in my own kitchen for a lot less money.

(On a side note, who the hell designed the interior of the Cheesecake Factory? It looks like Ancient Egypt got wasted and had a messy night of indiscretion with Renaissance Italy after throwing up in the toilet of Colonial India's apartment.)

I would personally rather eat out less and instead choose a more expensive place known for its creative food applications than a glorified cafeteria. I want to be pleasantly surprised by what chefs can do that I can't; I don't go out to places to eat things I can cook, and I certainly don't go out to restaurants to eat "diet" food. It's one thing to present healthful options as part of a well-planned and creative menu (case in point, Steve Schimoler's recent opening Crop); it's quite another to tack on a "diet menu" consisting of bland overdone meats with steamed vegetables and salads with all the goofy shit (bacon bits and egg gunk come to mind) removed to make it more "healthy" but still retaining that disgusting vinaigrette crap and all the fantastic iceberg lettuce you can eat, as well as loaded with sodium in order to maintain some false semblance of flavor. It's a crime against food what chain restaurants do on a daily basis. The fact that people seem not only fine with this but actually enjoy it (had someone say to me the other day "oh my god I LOVE the Cheesecake Factory!") really makes me wonder about this country sometimes.

I also operate by the >50% rule: if I'm in a restaurant and over half of the middle-aged patrons in it are overweight, I try not to make the restaurant part of my standard lineup. I choose the middle-aged sector (30-50 years old) because factors like children and anorexic tweens tend to skew the stats a bit, and most people within that age range should be able to make their own decisions about their personal health and food preferences. Just say no to chain restaurants. It may cost you less to eat there, but the tradeoff in quality is simply not worth it.

NERD DIETARY ALGORITHMS

2008-05-21T08:00:00.004-05:00

Nathan: I like a round robin algorithm myself

Ceez: what's that?

Nathan: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Round-robin_scheduling

Nathan: It keeps me from starving

Ceez: gosh

Ceez: that must be a hell of a program then

Ceez: so you take an equal share of everything on your plate?

Nathan: Basically I just keep eating everything in front of me, without prejiduce, until it's gone or I'm dead. As it mentions, if the tasks are varying, sometimes I fail since I get sick off of one part, and other parts don't get eaten

Nathan: but yes, in order

Ceez: is there a specific order or is this initial random task assignment

Nathan: Usually the initialization comes in on their own, so it starts out as a queue.

Nathan: I also prioritize my algorithm slightly so that yummier things get eaten faster. But really, that only has a minor impact since it'll all be eaten anyway

Ceez: does the =!M&M or =M&M function restructure the queue?

Ceez: IE are there any overarching dominant variables

Nathan: M&Ms are a fairly heavy job to process. They usually come in on their own in order not to starve the other processes during a heavy period. Luckilly they can be consumed at a low frequency

Nathan: So by the time a second one is initalized, the previous one is finished

Nathan: in this way it begins to resemble any other sort of algorithm, since I only deal with one job at a time

Ceez: Aron didn't make me breakfast this morning and then ate all the soymilk and left, where does that fit into the algorithm

Nathan: Jello. Jello is usually given high priorities, but will not be accepted into the pre-processing queue until we can validate that memory access algorithms will not corrupt any of the other jobs in the queue

Nathan: Sounds like you might be entering into a deadlock situation unless you can work around the problem using a substitute.

Ceez: I'm thinking of initializing skim milk into the queue just to spite him

Ceez: I just had some maximum throughput though, the espresso kicked in

Ceez: one of those situations where you examine the output and you're just like "wow, where did all that come from?"

Nathan: That's just gross

Σ(m[cat]) ↑ S[l] ± d

2008-05-15T09:19:00.005-05:00

Ceez says:
I'm coming up with a working hypothesis on cat mass increase as a direct correlation to their resting state

Ceez says:
IE the longer a cat stays in one place, the heavier it gets

Ceez says:
this is unique to felines

Misha says:
i don't think that's possible though

Misha says:
you can't add mass to something

Ceez says:
perhaps their gravitational pull is increasing

Misha says:
well you can, but it's got to come from somewhere else

Misha says:
that goes back to mass though,

Misha says:
gravitational pull is based on mass

Misha says:
if you hypothesize that the longer a cat rests, the more mass it gloms from the surrounding environment, that would make sense

Ceez says:
I think they have the ability to draw in matter from around their location

Misha says:
dust

Misha says:
she attracts dust

Ceez says:
which they can then discharge at will on things like cashmere sweaters and bed linens

Ceez says:
I wonder if I can get funded for this

BIRD IS THE WORD

2008-05-14T17:08:00.000-05:00

Ceez says:
okay so I almost nailed a bird

Misha says:
murr?

Ceez says:
I'm drivin down hampshire

Ceez says:
and there's this bird pecking at this crumb thing on the road

Ceez says:
and I'm like okay birds gonna fly away

Ceez says:
and bird is like no I want this crumb

Ceez says:
and I'm like NO BIRD FLY AWAY

Ceez says:
and bird is like NO I WANT THIS CRUMB

Ceez says:
so I swerved

Ceez says:
and the bird was like oh snap son, and flew away

Ceez says:
I'm not very pro-avian today

CARPET CONVERSATION

2008-04-29T13:47:00.003-05:00

Misha says:
jim showed us three separate books of carpet samples today and asked us to flag the ones we wanted

Misha says:
and we asked him which ones he wanted, and he pointed at one book and said "cheap"

Ceez says:
jim is so weird

Ceez says:
but I guess carpet doesn't really matter

Ceez says:
are there any berber samples? Might want something hard-wearing

Misha says:
it's all industrial corporate carpeting

Ceez says:
if there's one named "oatmeal" get that

Ceez says:
I love it when people name carpet colors stuff like "oatmeal"

Misha says:
my coworkers wouldn't let me

Ceez says:
it's fuckin carpet

Misha says:
"big sand dunes"

Ceez says:
"hazy wednesday afternoon in Cleveland over Lake Erie"

Ceez says:
and there's a heathered version too

Misha says:
I have one next to me that's called "On the Right Foot"

Ceez says:
jesus

Ceez says:
what color is THAT

Ceez says:
that's not a fuckin NAME

Ceez says:
I can't even tell what that would be

Ceez says:
is it purple?

Ceez says:
I would imagine it's purple

Misha says:
it's kind of a brownish beige with little squares of what looks like tiger striped tan and brown

Ceez says:
what's the point of naming a goddamn rug sample something that doesn't even hint at a color

Misha says:
it's hideous

Ceez says:
see they should name that "tiger puke"

Ceez says:
problem solved

Ceez says:
or "catbox calamity"

Ceez says:
that way you get some clever alliteration

Ceez says:
and a hint of what the color may look like

Ceez says:
as well as the pattern

Ceez says:
I should do this for a living

SPIDER SHOCKER

2007-08-17T09:11:00.000-05:00

The newest villain in the Spiderman newspaper comics is called "the Shocker." The Shocker. Either there was a monumental lapse in common sense at the syndicate, or this is a vast in-joke that literally took months in the making, as these strips are drawn far ahead of when they're actually published. Whatever happened, it's the funniest thing I've seen in Spiderman for over a year.

Incidentally, the Shocker's special ability appears to be making things vibrate by shooting electricity from his hands.

THIS MAY BE TOO MUCH INFORMATION

2007-06-19T09:26:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago Kevin and I were at work, studiously typing away on our respective laptops. I was just finishing up an email when I felt my heart try to jump into my right lung. It was a fleeting thing, so I shrugged it off as an isolated incident and kept at my work. Two minutes later, Kevin noticed me clutching at my chest.

"What's wrong?"

"I think my heart just tried to mambo into my lower esophagus."

"Does this happen often?"

"No, I've never felt this before today."

"Are you okay?"

I'm dying. I'm having a heart attack. My chest is going to explode. I want to call 911 and have them Life-Flight me to the nearest ER and begin extraordinary measures. "Yeah, I think so."

Have I updated my will lately? Have I even written a will? Who should get my "Mr. Potato Head picks his nose" t-shirt? Maybe I should just be buried in that shirt, I really like that shirt. Nobody else would appreciate its genius.

"You know, you drink a lot of caffeine. Maybe you should cut back."

My eyes slid sideways to the quad-shot iced espresso on my desk. The dewy condensate on the outside winked at me reassuringly. Cut back?

"I need my espresso, Kevin, otherwise I can't function."

"That statement is exactly why you need to cut back." He smiled at me indulgently.

Kevin is a Buddhist. Buddhists are rarely hyped-up about anything, and apparently can function perfectly well without massive injections of caffeine. Stupid Buddhists.

As if to punctuate his point, my heart took another pogo hop into my trachea. Crap.

"Okay...I'll switch to tea for a while or something."

"Good good...have you given a second thought to meditation as well?"

"Don't push your luck, Buddhist."

The next day I skipped my customary stop into the coffee shop and brought a large bottle of water instead. Halfway through the day, Alison came into the lab and found me with my chair wedged into a corner and my feet up on the countertop, passed out cold and probably drooling on myself. She poked me awake.

"Ugh. Gway."

"Were you out late last night?"

"Mur. No espresso."

"Why not?"

"Ask the Buddhist. Christ, my head hurts."

"Kevin?"

The tympani section of the Cleveland Orchestra had taken up residence in my head and were setting up for a month-long practice session of their interpretation of the 1812 Overture. I just looked at her, noting that she was blurry around the edges. "Yur."

"You're in caffeine withdrawal."

I muttered something about jumpy hearts and dewy condensate and passed out again.

The first few days would have been hell if I hadn't spent most of them sleeping. Once the withdrawal symptoms cleared up I actually felt pretty damn good. I hadn't drank any coffee through undergraduate school and I survived that just fine. It was only after a few more days, though, that I noticed a bigger problem.

I was standing in the coffee shop watching my sister prep some caramel mocha-frappa-cappa-lattes. "Hey Misha?"

"Yeah?" She started making an americano. It smelled divine.

"I haven't had any, you know, movement...for about four days."

"What?"

"You know, movement. I haven't had one for four days."

"Movement? What the fuck are you talking about?"

I leaned in close. "I haven't taken a shit for four days."

"You're disgusting. Why do you need to tell me this?"

"Because I think it's due to lack of caffeine."

She banged her grind cup on the bar authoritatively. "Oh, it's definitely due to lack of caffeine."

The manager came out from the back room and looked at me. "What's wrong?"

Misha started grinding some beans. These, too, smelled divine. "She hasn't been able to poop for four days."

The manager blinked. "That's gross. You'd better do something about that, then."

"I already eat a lot of fiber, it's just not working as well as I thought it would."

Misha set a quad-shot iced espresso on the bar. "Do it. You'll thank me later."

Enabled by the lure of free espresso and the promise of gastrointestinal relief, I cradled the beverage to me and savored it. Oh sweet sweet caffeinated ambrosia, mommy has missed you so much. Let us never be parted again!

A half-hour later, I felt a rumble Down Under and made for the commode. Epiphany! I exited the restroom and deposited the key on the counter with the air of a satisfied lover. My sister glanced at me from behind the espresso bar.

"That was the best shit I've ever taken."

"You're still disgusting. Don't tell me these things."

"It was a religious experience."

"I'm not listening."

"Thank you for enabling my relief."

"You're welcome. Now stop talking about it. There's customers in the store."

"Fine."

I may die early of a coronary thrombosis, but at least I'll die unclogged.

WORKING IN A LAB IS SOMETIMES NOT COOL

2007-04-27T12:58:00.000-05:00

Working in a lab is generally always cool. I wear a lab coat. I make my own hours. I can toast my sandwich bread over a Bunsen burner. I can formulate various chemical substances for sheer entertainment value. I have 24/7 access to fun items including but not limited to: a microscope with built-in digital camera, a ceramic high-heat oven, a spectrometer, and a dessicator. I wear safety goggles and rubber aprons. I wash things in acid. Most days, my job is a good job.

However, working in a lab is sometimes not cool.

I was rooting around in the lab refrigerator (which being the only refrigerator, serves dual purpose as the Refrigerator of Food and Science) for some carrot sticks, which I remembered seeing the other day hiding behind some mud samples in a plastic grocery bag. I located the bag and removed it from the fridge, noting that the bag's contents were assorted vegetables (including carrot sticks) and some random stuff sitting underneath the veggies that, being occupied with the idea of getting carrot sticks, I didn't look too closely at. The bag felt undulatory, like the bottom was full of liquid. As I went to grab the carrot sticks, the bag made a flatulent noise and discharged what appeared to be a semi-clear liquid, which promptly hit my pants and dribbled down my leg to pool inside my shoe.

It smelled absolutely unholy. Satan himself was moistening the interior of my shoe. I quickly tossed the bag in the garbage and began trying to towel the evil off me. The moistness was gone but the smell remained. Not only that, the smell was also emanating from the fridge and the floor around the fridge. My lab-mates Alison and Kevin began trying to deduce what could have produced such a smell, the guesses ranging from "old meat" to "mushrooms gone bad." Alison retrieved the bag from the garbage and riffled through it, eventually pulling out a Ziploc with something squarish and nearly unidentifiable sitting within, dribbling the Satan-juice out of a corner.

"I think it's cheese," she said. "Or rather, was cheese at some point."

We then pondered when the Refrigerator of Food and Science had last been cleaned out. In its entirety, probably never. There may be food in there from before Christmas. Things may have achieved sentience, or at least rudimentary zoological functions. The thought was sobering.

We tossed the bag and closed the refrigerator door. A few minutes went by.

"The smell isn't going away. Someone has to clean this." I said.

I had made the Fatal Error of Non-Denial: if you mention an unpleasant task that needs to be done, nine times out of ten you will be the one to do it. Alison and Kevin, firmly steeped in denial of the awful smell, smiled.

So today I suited up in lab coat, rubber boots, apron, and gloves and cleaned the Refrigerator of Food and Science. A large patch of Satan had percolated down to dry and congeal on the lowest shelf of the fridge, so I removed everything from all the shelves and scrubbed the interior with antibacterial soap. I then wiped down all the contents and checked the expiration dates on anything edible. Out of the 7 or so food items I found with dates, 5 had exceeded their expiration by well over a month, or in the case of the half and half creamer (gross), nearly three months (gross!). There was a baggie of something that looked like poop, which this fridge being used for samples as well as food, may actually be poop. I kept it since it was in a baggie and a date was written on it. Three bottles of Great Lakes beer were also deemed safe and survived the purge.

The shelves were clean but the smell inexplicably remained. I had an idea and removed the drawers from the very bottom of the fridge. There, quietly minding its own business under the drawers, was what appeared to be a live culture of an astonishingly pink-hued bacterium. Ordinarily I'd have taken a sample, but scientific curiosity lost and I mercilessly attacked it with a scrubber sponge full of lemon-fresh vitriol. I may have destroyed an unknown species in the process but the smell was finally gone.

I told my friend Vinnie the story of the juice in my shoe and his reaction was "god, that's disgusting." This from a guy whose previous job was in sewage.

Oh and that thing we thought was cheese? We found out today it was salmon.

TODD GOLDMAN IS AN ASSHOLE

2007-04-17T11:44:00.000-05:00

Being a former webcomic artist, I still follow the internet comic art community with some interest. Most of you have probably never heard of Dave Kelly (aka "Shmorky"), a web artist over at Something Awful. Kelly is currently experiencing what every artist hopes will never happen to them: seeing their own work blatantly ripped off (and in this case, profited from) by someone else. It's called plagiarism, and it's something they teach you in grade school not to do. Todd Goldman apparently never got that memo. Perhaps he was home-schooled by unscrupulous parents. Who knows?

Goldman, a self-styled "pop artist," owns a company called David and Goliath, which produces merchandise bearing Goldman's designs. By "designs" I mean "images which Goldman has sent to him from a team of minions whose job is to scour Google Image Search for fresh ideas, which Goldman then directly traces and alters slightly to suit his own purposes."

Think I'm being a little too harsh? Check out this site where Goldman's self-professed "original designs" are compared to previous works by other artists. (Note: Here's a mirror site in case you can't access that link.) The man has absolutely no shame. Regarding the Dave Kelly incident, Goldman is reported as saying "I made a judgment error and didn’t research the background of this particular submission. My intention was not to copy Mr. Kelly. I have never seen his work before and would never intentionally knock-off someone else’s idea." Sure you wouldn't, Todd. Not when it can make you a cool $4,000 or more off one painting.

My opinion? It's pretty obvious that Goldman has been doing this for a while and just now got busted with his pants down and a basket of kiddy porn. He's been hoping the internet comics community wouldn't notice his blatant acts of plagiarism (in some cases, direct tracing of the image can be observed), or maybe he's just stupid enough to think that if art is on the internet, it belongs to everyone! Somehow, I doubt the latter.

If there's not one already, there needs to be a boycott movement against David and Goliath products. Hit the fucker in his wallet, where it'll actually do some damage. It's not too hard to hop on this bandwagon since most of the merch sucks anyways.

I get a lot of people asking me why none of my old comics are still up on the internet. It's because of things like this that I took all my comics down and will not be posting any kind of internet archive. It's too easy to lose your work to some unscrupulous bastard.

Form your own opinion: Shmorky's original post on the Something Awful forums, with plenty of links to Goldman-related arcana.

SUBJECT LINES FROM MY SPAM INBOX

2007-04-17T09:30:00.001-05:00

(All capitalization and punctuation are verbatim)

Are shipshape who saturnine

in in grain

To promenade he exxon

Who has the bigger pen1s.? family

It well centrifugal

was aunt so seedling

The remonstrate to miterwort

Don't Be Shy Over Your Size Jockey

9 inches and you rock! at

I haileyville no mayslick

Psoriasis - the most dangerous illness of 21 century!

Increase Your Pen1s Width (Girth) By upto 20%.jimmie addend

Howard said Sal wanted to be a stockbroker so he wonders if he could explain it to them.

As metallurgy it nutritive

antonym lightning

BIG one

Get A Bigger Today! Jason grocer

unread message from ladie for you

John Herrera of the famous High Speed Triumph Research Laboratory, Myersville, Maryland, sent this snap of Felix Holstein performing his moving Dance to Spring.

Ordained to Jordan: and every thing, seem good

Try THis Out! zoom

With this structure you could render a whole power plant but it would not perform as well as other engines on smaller content.

Spend your night like a pronstar icicle

FUCK TICKETMASTER

2007-04-04T13:48:00.000-05:00

For the past year, the archaeological community has been abuzz over the Tutankhamun exhibit touring the US for the second time since the initial show in the 70's. Being that I harbor latent Indiana Jones fantasies (don't we all?), I really wanted to see this show. Fortunately, the last US show date was at the Ben Franklin Institute in Philadelphia, which is a driveable 6ish hours down that venerable strip of godforsaken asphalt, the Pennsylvania Turnpike (or as we eastern road warriors call it, "the Penna"). In addition, my best friends from college, also harboring deep Indy proclivities, would be able to drive up there from northern Virginia and meet us for a weekend of viewing the closet contents of dead Egyptians and drinking heavily afterward. Things were looking good.

I was put in charge of purchasing the tickets for the show since I had a credit card and the Franklin Institute was selling all advance tickets through Ticketmaster. The date we all agreed on was Saturday March 24, with Friday and Sunday being travel days.

It's a testament to my absent mind that despite writing this date down several times, it wasn't until after I'd purchased the six tickets (over $200!) that I realized I'd booked for Friday, March 23 instead. Fuck. Ticketmaster flat-out doesn't do refunds and getting ticket dates swapped is about as easy as convincing Anne Coulter to rock a porno with Gloria Steinem and Al Franken. I phoned Ticketmaster Cleveland and talked to Lisa, who opened with the surliest "Thank you for calling Ticketmaster. How may I make your day exceptional?" I've ever heard. Honestly, I think after a few dozen repetitions of that line I'd want to curbstomp puppies too. Lisa clearly wanted nothing to do with making my day exceptional, barking at me "Ticketmaster is under explicit orders from the Franklin Institute not to swap showtimes or offer refunds." Okay. My next phone call was to the Franklin Institute, where I met a very nice young man who informed me that Ticketmaster handles all advance ticket sales so I need to talk to them about it. He went on to say that he was confused as to why Lisa said Ticketmaster was under explicit orders from the Franklin Institute not to swap ticket dates, because the Franklin Institute issued no such orders and any advance sales are purely under Ticketmaster's control. I pored over Ticketmaster's policy section until I found some small print: "show time date changes can be made under extenuating circumstances, at Ticketmaster's discretion."

My next phone call was to Ticketmaster Philadelphia, to avoid getting Lisa again. A southern gent named Lloyd asked me how he could make my day exceptional. I asked him if I could get some show times swapped. He took my information and told me that he sees I've already called a Ticketmaster locale and gotten an answer to my question. I said yes, but the answer was wrong, because Ticketmaster is the sole handler of the Tut advance sales and the Franklin Institute issued no orders concerning the swapping of showtimes. There was a long pause, and then Lloyd said "welllll, we do make exceptions for extenuatin' circumstances. May I ask why your circumstances are extenuatin'?

It was at this point that I lost all shame. I broke down crying and managed to bust out a story about flights getting swapped and impossible to make it on Friday and having this planned for months and friends coming in from across the country and I'm a dirt poor student and I can't afford to buy these tickets again and oh Lloyd can you please help me? Lloyd, sounding rather alarmed, tried to calm me down and then typed out a petition to the person who has to approve such things, and promised to call me back within 20 minutes.

Sure enough, 20 minutes later Lloyd called me back and proudly informed me the petition was accepted, then swapped my showtimes right there on the phone with me. I hung up and congratulated myself on a job well done, despite a small loss of dignity in the processs.

My question is this: why does Ticketmaster make it so difficult to swap show dates for events that are months in advance? The prices didn't change from one day to the next and both days were available for bookings. Ticketmaster wouldn't have lost any money on the sale, since I still wanted the same number of tickets. Once I managed to get my petition approved, the swap took 3 minutes, if that. Instead of taking the easy 3 minutes to change my order, they flat-out lied to me, and expected me to buy the tickets all over again and write that first $200+ off as a total loss. Customers shouldn't be forced to (literally!) beg and plead for a fucking petition. Ticketmaster easily wins my vote for shittiest customer service.

I'M NOT DEAD YET

2007-02-16T12:59:00.000-05:00

I could go a few different ways with this update. I could explain to you all why I haven't been posting, with various excuses such as "graduate school" and "just haven't felt like it," et cetera. I could pretend like nothing's happened and jump into blogging again and hope you all welcome me with open arms and account numbers to Swiss or Bahamian bank portfolios. I could just say fuck it and go take a nap.

First off, I have a boyfriend. You can blame much of my not-being-on-the-internetness on him. We've been dating since Halloween and it's been wonderful. I think he looks startled because I'm ninja-grabbing his ass.

Secondly, I've taken up knitting. I don't have a photo of me knitting, so you'll have to make do with this shot of Russell Crowe exploring the fiber arts instead. I find it to be very cathartic. Some people yoga, I knit. We'll both be relaxed at the end of our sessions...but I'll have a scarf. Right now I'm knitting hats for my friends who are participating in the Cleveland St. Baldrick's shaving event to benefit children with cancer. While I won't be shaving my pate, I've gladly volunteered to knit snug caps for any of my friends that do participate. If you're interested in pledging to Maggie, Adam, or Faith, go here or here or here (or to all three places!) and help make a difference for kids with cancer through your generosity.

I've seen Justin puttering about. I knitted him a hat! Maybe he'll post pictures of it.

The Boy gave me a cold for Valentine's Day, so I'm going to sign off and take a nap.

MERRY CHRISKWANZUKKAHMADANSTICE

2006-12-23T11:38:00.000-05:00

May your holiday season rock hard.

THE FACTS OF LIFE

2006-12-14T21:51:00.000-05:00

Unlike most schoolchildren these days who can learn about sex quite readily from late-night Cinemax or HBO (or that stack of magazines in the box Dad doesn't let Mom see), I remained blissfully ignorant of the birds and the bees for a good long while. Being precocious, I knew something had to happen to make babies. I knew about pregnancy. I knew the baby sat inside the mom for nine months until she got sick of it and pushed it out. I just wasn't sure what the cause of the pregnancy was. Babies don't spontaneously generate themselves, do they?

I quickly discounted spontaneous generation because that would mean I could get pregnant at any time, which terrified me.

Even in 4th grade I knew the stork was a load of hooey. The idea of outsourcing baby-making and delivery to some avian middleman seemed patently ridiculous. Plus, I've seen storks at the zoo. They had trouble negotiating branches, let alone masterminding the global delivery of millions of mewling little chestbursters. Unless Ciconia ciconia suddenly merged with FedEx, storks bringing babies was out of the question.

No, it has to be some interaction between a man and a woman, I decided. It couldn't be something innocuous like touching or hugging, since that happens all the time and not everyone is getting pregnant. It had to be something serious. Something with pomp and circumstance involved. Maybe a ritual?

One night I was watching a movie, one of those Lifetime made-for-TV deals. One scene showed a blushing bride and her erstwhile groom exchanging a kiss at the altar beneath the benevolent gaze of a priest. Fast-forward a few frames, and the same couple is beaming at their newborn child, sleeping in a frilly wicker bassinet.

Why I hadn't made this connection before, I didn't know. It all seemed so patently obvious! The first thing married people do is have a baby, and they're not married until they have that kiss at the end of the ceremony. For the next year or so, I firmly believed that a priest had some sort of ability to certify a woman's uterus for baby-making, and that she got pregnant when she kissed the groom. I figured that was the whole point of having a wedding in the first place. Not until much later, when I eventually pieced things together from a copy of Grey's Anatomy I found by the roadside, did I realize where babies actually came from and that weddings only existed so the new couple could get a lot of gifts and money from their friends and family.

It's rather interesting the things that make sense when one doesn't know what's going on.

FUCK, IT'S COLD OUT

2006-12-07T16:53:00.000-05:00

Winter in Cleveland heralds the start of The Four-Hundred Dollar Gas Bill Season. Part of the character of living in a 1920's brownstone apartment is that I get to experience the outside weather inside my living room via the enormous drafty windows placed liberally throughout. While this may not be a pressing concern to me in the summer, it becomes the focal point of my life during the winter. It would be your focus too if you realized after a few days that you had to keep moving while you were in your apartment lest you start exhibiting the initial stages of hypothermia. Determined not to pay exorbitant heating bills nor freeze to death, I went to the hardware store and invested in plastic sheeting that can be (quickly and easily, the box says) cut and taped to the window frame, thereby sealing the window from drafts. One hour, a cut finger, two rolls of painter's tape, and much salty language later, I had my bedroom windows done. I went to bed with a deep sense of self satisfaction, secure in the knowledge that my bedroom, at least, would stay toasty.

I woke up the next morning somewhere in Antarctica. During the night the draft from my windows had popped some of the tape off, allowing the cold free access to my room. Let me reiterate: with my windows shut and sealed, the draft was still so strong it ripped off two layers of painter's tape from the windowframe. The next five minutes degenerated into a thermo-hedonistic bacchanalia of locating and putting on as much clothing as I could muster myself into without losing too many motor functions. I'd like to find whoever invented flannel and worship them as the deity they are clearly meant to be. I solved the problem temporarily by spending the next night over at my boyfriend's, whose apartment isn't near as drafty and who also enjoys the benefit of not having to pay for heating. I'll best you someday, winter, someday!

HALLOWEEN COSTUME

2006-11-10T15:55:00.001-05:00

Halloween is one of my favorite holidays. I try to have at least 3 or so costume ideas on hand in the week before Halloween, but I almost always end up throwing together last-minute costumes anyways. This year was no different. I was dead-set on what I was going to be until the day before Halloween when my sister and I went to Toys R Us for a little fake-weaponry shopping for her costume (it is really stinkin hard to find decent toy weapons nowadays, fuck you very much wacko anti-weapon activists) and we found these "spy gear" kits:

All sorts of little widgets and gizmos that real spies would never use since they're loaded with flashing lights, fiber-optics, and other attention-getting features, but would be perfect for a cyberpunk outlaw-style outfit. Widgets, gizmos, big fuck-all black boots, straps, buckles, and zippers all over the place, blaster gun on a low-slung belt, and a samurai sword. Think Firefly meets The Dark Tower.

A. came over and graciously helped me take these pictures. He knows more about digital camera stuff than me so he was able to make some "artsy" shots which I liked very much, since the extent of my camera knowledge is I can turn the flash on and off. I rule.

The fiber-optic hand thingy is by far the coolest piece of gear I had on. I have yet to figure out what actual "spy" use it would have, though. The orange ear-light was really bright; I had to keep turning it off when I talked to my friends because they claimed it was searing their retinas.

Han Solo, eat your heart out.

A PICTORIAL ESSAY OF AN ACCIDENTAL OCCURRENCE

2006-11-08T15:00:00.001-05:00

My cat likes to investigate my bathroom.

She also likes to jump on high places, and will get on top of the bathroom door and sit there while I do my hair or makeup.

Usually I don't pay this much thought, and simply retrieve her when I'm done with my morning oblations.

Yesterday morning however, the phone rang:

I, forgetting my cat was in such a delicate situation, opened my bathroom door rather swiftly to get to my phone, which was in my bedroom.

This leads into the simple physical concept of "friction loss." If an object (cat) is on a platform (top of door) but not attached to it by any outside means, it has a relatively simple friction coefficient due to the benefits of gravity. However, if the platform (top of door) is acted on by a strong enough force (me opening door quickly), the object (cat) cannot compensate and friction due to gravity is overcome, resulting in loss of friction (cat falls off top of door).

Fortunately for the cat, I managed to catch her. Unfortunately for me, I caught her with my face. Many, many people have probably fantasized about having an excited pussy on their face...not fun, I tell you. Not fun.

It could have been worse...she missed my eyeball by about a fraction of an inch.

I'm including this shot to let you decide whether or not my cat is an agent of Satan.

POPPING MY WAFFLE HOUSE CHERRY IN DAYTON

2006-10-30T18:47:00.000-05:00

Last weekend I went to visit my friend Keith in Dayton, Ohio, since he was interviewing at one of the hospitals there for the week. Keith graciously allowed me to stay at his luxury accommodations:

I'd rate the room one step above a Motel 6 and one step below a Knight's Inn. Keith is definitely the best-looking item in this photo.

So, Dayton. What does one do in Dayton? The answer:

Until last Saturday, I'd never been in a Waffle House. I've logged many hours in various Denny's and IHOPs, but not once have I taken advantage of the 24-hour waffle availability of this particular chain. Waffle House staff are insanely friendly. I'm used to surly waitstaff plunking down my food with dispassionate lethargy before they go hit their smoke break for 20 minutes, leaving me high and dry on orange juice refills. Not so at the Waffle House! We walked in and were greeted by every employee on duty. A leathery old regular strolled in after us and was welcomed with a resounding "Hey, Oscar!" At Waffle House, you're fucking family. I felt secure that my OJ cup would runneth over.

The menu was basic but satisfactory. Waffles, eggs in various permutations, hash browns, burgers, the ubiquitous steak breakfast (I've never witnessed steak being ordered for breakfast anytime, anywhere), soup, sandwiches, and something called "Bert's Chili™" which I did not order although they seem rather proud of it. I'm sure Bert makes a wonderful chili, though.

Drew and Keith ordered waffles:

Drew's blueberry-goo whipped cream presentation got top marks for artistry, while Keith's was lacking a little in execution, mostly because he insisted on mixing the whip and the blue together until it formed some sort of smoothish light-purple gesso on his waffle canvas. I forgot to take a picture of it which I regret now because it looked pretty goddamn nasty.

Joanna ordered the Waffle House hash browns:

Yes, those are hash browns with jalapeno peppers in them. Joanna is hardcore. Also, note the "Casa de Waffle" Picante Sauce, which is so very amusing on so many levels.

I, the lone breakfast renegade, opted for grilled cheese:

You're currently thinking "what the deuce is on that sandwich?" Waffle House provides a smorgasbord of condiments on each table, amply fulfilling my every slathering need. The featured topping is a mixture of ketchup and A1 sauce, which if you never tasted before, then you've never truly experienced how delicious life can be. Trust me.

My OJ also got refilled promptly every time. These people are pros.

Famous people who have been seen eating at a Waffle House, from their official site www.wafflehouse.com:

- Beyonce Knowles
- Reese Witherspoon
- Former President George Bush
- Emmitt Smith
- LeAnne Rimes
- Pete Sampras
- Usher
- Jay-Z
- Billy Bob Thornton
- Ludicris
- me

On a side note, I noticed this as we were leaving the Waffle House:

I've never eaten at a "Japanese Stake House" either. Dayton: two thumbs up!

MY TRUE.COM DATING EXPERIENCE

2006-10-16T11:50:00.000-05:00

A couple of weeks ago on a whim I decided to join True.com. They were offering free month-long trials, and I needed some writing material.

True prides itself on being an internet dating service for hot people. They lure you in with adverts featuring impossibly attractive people claiming to be single and desperately in need of that special brand of geek loving only you can provide.

This couple is apparently being attacked by the Pastel Octopi of Love.

Once you agree to the trial period, you're allowed to build your "looking for" profile. True offers a lot of customization for this aspect of the service. I started out fairly cautious, sticking to the middle of the road on most questions, until I got here:

At this point I remembered I was doing this for maximum entertainment value and not because I wanted something approaching an actual relationship. I went back to the beginning and restructured my profile to only return the best, the brightest, and the hottest men. Let's see the cream of True's crop!

(On a side note, who the fuck chooses "needing improvement?" Plastic surgeons looking for business?)

I also added a little blurb in my "soul mate" section, trying to nail the zeitgeist of detached and uninterested cleverness that characterizes the writers of my generation:

"My soul mate will put up with my quirks: my constantly cold feet, my habit of leaving chew marks in any pen laying around my apartment, my occasional need to be a complete geek, my rampant arachnophobia. They will like dirty americanos and clean socks. They will not say "that's so metal" unless they're being facetious. They will know what the word "facetious" means. They will understand the proper usage of irony. My soul mate probably does not exist."

I sat back and waited for the hotness to flood my inbox. In less than 24 hours, I had over 64 emails waiting for me, from such winners as:

I wish I could say these were the worst by far...but I only pulled an average slice of the Scary Pie for you.

These Lotharios left me messages ranging from fairly long statements about "shilvery" and how totally awesome their motorcycles are...

...to very direct statements such as:

Be still, my heart.

The moral of this story so far? Men on the internet have a dramatically overinflated opinion of how they look. They also think we're going to be impressed by grotesque mispellings and awesome motorcycles.

There was one exception to the general rule of horrific misrepresentation:
Meet Sean. He's hot, he's sassy, he's single. He is, I think, the only attractive man on True.com currently. He lives in Fargo, ND. I'm still debating if he actually exists, but decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. He probably doesn't exist, but it would be nice if he did, wouldn't it? This is what I'm talking about, people. If you're going to do this, do it goddamn right. Don't bill yourself as the Hottest Thing Since the Foreman Grill unless you've got a hot picture to go with it.

True.com also provides member services such as their Coaching Center, where they try to teach socially unfortunate losers to crawl out of their mother's basement and talk to people. This is what my Coaching Center looked like:

I'm so happy there are people like Coach Fite out there to help me find my special woman.

I canceled my month trial after only one week. I actually had to call the True.com service to cancel it, which let me chat for a bit with Theresa, the impossibly perky receptionist. She seemed genuinely confused that I was canceling my free month after only a week, and wanted to know why.

"But, it's free for the rest of the month. Why are you canceling now?"

"Is this call being recorded, Theresa?"

(Slight pause here. When she speaks again I think some of her perkiness has leaked out her ears.)

"...um, I can't tell you that for certain, but it might be."

"Theresa, if you really want to know why, I want you to make sure this call is being recorded. Otherwise, just cancel my service, please."

(Longer pause. Perkiness resumes. She is a professional, after all.)

"Okay, you're all canceled out. Have a great day!"

I thought this would be my last exchange with True, but they proceeded to flood my mailbox with dating spam for about a week after I canceled. I finally managed to clear myself of any True-related spam a few days ago. It was like removing a stubborn tumor. I don't recommend True.com; the level of satisfaction was roughly the same as having drunk fratboys try to pick me up in a dive bar.

STUPID SHIT I ENJOY

2006-10-10T09:44:00.000-05:00

1. YOUR ROCK STAR NAME: (first pet & current street name)
Frick Hampshire (YES FRICK HAMPSHIRE WILL ROCK YOUR NUTS TO RUSSIA)

2. YOUR "FLY Guy/Girl" NAME: (first initial of first name, first three letters of your middle name)
C-Mar (See Mar run. Run Mar, run!)

3. YOUR DETECTIVE NAME: (color of the shirt you wearing, favorite animal/insect)
Brown Zebra (This one is lame. I should have lied and said my favorite animal was falcon or hawk or diplodocus.)

4. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, city where you were born)
Maria Mayfield (Alliteration is still fun)

5. YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first name, first 2 letters of mom's maiden)
Zni-ch-cl (Looks like a shorthand for a chemical formula.)

6. SUPERHERO NAME: ("The", your favorite color, favorite drink)
The Blue Vodka (This is stupid unless you like shit drinks like Sex on the Beach or Melontinis.)

7. NASCAR NAME: (the first name of each grandfather)
Donald Donald (Don Donald? Donnie Donald? This could actually work.)

8. FUTURISTIC NAME: ( the name of your favorite perfume/cologne and the name of your favorite kind of shoes)
Prada Kors (Could also be a stripper name, I reckon.)

9.WITNESS PROTECTION NAME: (Your pet's name & your favorite actor's last name)
Bella Murray (Or Bella Cusack, I'm torn.)

THINGS THAT AMUSE ME: AIRFORCE NUTRISODA

2006-10-09T13:54:00.000-05:00

I found this in my dad's refrigerator last night. Nutritional pop?

"It's supposed to help my joints, I think." Dad points at the label. "See? It's called 'Flex.'"

I skim the back of the can. "Helps lubricate, repair and restore active joints for improved movement and flexibility.**"

"**This statement has not been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration. This product is not intended to diagnose, treat, cure or prevent any disease."

Okay, so it's supposed to be healthy pop. My first impression of this thing is jesus, that can is small. If that's how much a typical soda serving should be, our Big Gulp-loving nation is in serious trouble. Unlike that Diet Coke, however, Nutrisoda is packed full of Good Things™ like vitamins B6 and B12, magnesium, zinc, and ginseng. My "Flex" can also had stuff like glucosamine, chondroitin, L-lysine and L-proline, which sound like lower bowel disorders. Chondroitin is supposed to "attract fluid to proteoglycan molecules." I wasn't even aware I had proteoglycan molecules, much less that they were in imminent danger of dehydration. I popped the top and chugged. Aaaaah. I hoped my body was appreciating the 200% daily recommended allowance of B12 I just poured into it. I hoped my proteoglycan molecules were swelled to the brink with fluidic goodness. The only outward sign was a fairly loud burp about 20 seconds later. Juicy!

My can was supposed to taste like black cherry and apple, but I think the taste was much closer to the "Splenda meets indeterminate fruit punch flavorings" these types of drinks tend to have. Nothing new there.

Of special note: if you go to their website (advertised prominently on the back of each can), you can buy special "lifestyle paks" of Nutrisoda! They have such gems as the "Smoker's Quit Pak," the "Spa Pak," and the "Golf Pak." My personal fave is the "Party Pak," where you can perk up your metabolism beforehand with "Energize," stave off the premature aging effects of smoking and drug abuse with "Radiant," and justify your crippling alcoholism by toting along your own healthy "Slender" mixers. Cheers!

Sidebar: I have yet to figure out the whole Airforce/airplane logo thing. You wouldn't be allowed to take these cans on a plane and I doubt the US Airforce is pulling royalties from this shit.

IT'S A BEAUTIFUL DAY IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD

2006-10-08T16:25:00.001-05:00

Days like this don't often happen in autumn in Cleveland, so I thought I'd record it for posterity.

Hampshire Road. You can see my apartment from here!

My feet on the street.

KEEP YOUR PEDOPHILIA ON THE DOWN-LOW

2006-10-07T16:47:00.000-05:00

The Wall Street Journal Online recently posted a story on the dangers of using instant messages in the workplace and measures you can take to ensure privacy, no doubt inspired by the events that led to congressman Mark Foley's resignation. The problems I have with this run thusly:

1. You're at work. You should be working, not chatting on IM.

2. If you do need to use IM for work-related purposes, there shouldn't be any need for privacy.

3. If you're a sexual deviant, keep it out of the workplace. I'm not condoning pedophilia, but logically speaking, wouldn't it make sense to not advertise that fact on an easily-trackable networked system? Yeah.

Seriously, save it for your hand and that bottle of lube on your nightstand. Don't be sitting at your desk talking to the intern 30 feet down about how nice some assless chaps would be looking on his supple, chiseled thighs. Come on people, this isn't rocket science.

MUSIC SENSORY OVERLOAD

2006-10-06T20:47:00.000-05:00

I've long considered myself musically-impaired. I didn't start to pay attention to music until I started college and I still know very little about any of it except that I hear stuff occasionally that I like. Fortunately, I'm blessed with the friendship of some of the biggest indie-music snobs/geeks/obsessives this side of Cleveland, who've helped me develop my tastes. My only problem now is I'm having a hell of a time finding the music itself. The stuff I want doesn't exactly get stocked at my neighborhood Best Buy. At the suggestion of my friend Erin, I signed up to a site called www.emusic.com. Holy crap! Suddenly I'm up to my eyeballs in music, all ready and available for my downloading pleasure. I hardly knew where to start, so I started here:

Electric Six - Fire!

I'm a fan of these guys. I saw them at the Grog Shop a while ago (they're also playing the Grog again on Nov. 3). They're decadently, unapologetically, cleverly(?), dumb. I haven't figured out yet if the disco/rock/new wave mishmash they put out is ironic genius or just some guys making really fun, stupid music, and frankly I don't care. If you need to get your mad funk on, these guys are a good way to do it.

Interpol - Antics

Not Electric Six. I like them anyways.

James Figurine - Mistake Mistake Mistake Mistake

Do you like The Postal Service? This guy (Jimmy Tamborello) is the same guy who does The Postal Service! It doesn't sound anything like The Postal Service, though. I like to type The Postal Service for some reason.

Seriously, it's a good album. Downtempo, breaky-bass unf-unf-unf music. I like to think it's Jimmy Tamborello's way of coming home and lounging around in his boxers.

The New Pornographers - Twin Cinema

I'd never even heard of these people until today. Apparently this is their third album, which means I live under a rock when it comes to awesome music. Guitars! Guitars! Guitars guitars guitars! Tempo shift to vocal arrangement, then, GUITARS! Yayyyyy!

The Stills - Logic Will Break Your Heart

Fuck you, I like these guys.

The Wondermints - Mind if We Make Love to You

Another previously unknown band...but how can you go wrong with a name like The Wondermints? Nice 60's surfish rock sound. I'm glad they don't suck, because their name rules.

HAUNTED, JONATHAN STRANGE AND MR NORRELL

2006-09-21T16:32:00.000-05:00

Haunted - Chuck Palahniuk

What to say about a book that, in the first 20 pages, contains a story that has so far caused 60-odd people to faint during various public readings? The story is succinctly (and appropriately) titled Guts and will probably make me look askance at squid and swimming pools for a good long while. It is merely one, however, of a multitude of extremely fucked-up narratives that comprise this book. To use the descriptor "gore-fest" would be putting it mildly. To put it a little less mildly, ever wondered what a freshly-miscarried fetus tastes like? You'll find out eventually.

This is the first book by Palahniuk I've read, and also the first book where I actually had to take breaks from reading not because I was bored or tired or I had to pee or I needed a sandwich, but because I was so overwhelmed by what was going on in the text that I had to stop every once in a while in order to prevent my brain from completely tweaking out. This is a very hard book for an immersive reader. That being said, I do recommend it. Palahniuk's stories, while nearly always dealing some some horrific notion, are very clever and at times, hilarious. The short story about the New Age foot-masseuses embracing the shady side of their profession is some fine dark comedy, and I admit it...I giggled while I was reading about the fetus. I am a sick, sick, person.

Haunted deals with the public's contradictory attitude towards reality entertainment: they want it to be real but it must also be entertaining, something which true reality very rarely is. Also, does glorifying the concept of reality simultaneously destroy the concept of creativity? The characters of Haunted, initially hoping to reach their ultimate creative peak during three months of seclusion, instead plunge themselves into a self-created reality, a Hell carefully crafted for maximum entertainment value. Their eventual downward spiral is amazingly, almost frighteningly fast, which leads me to believe Palahniuk has a rather dim view of human nature in general. I tend to agree with him, but in a slightly different way: as god-awful as the events described in Haunted are, I firmly believe there's some reality-TV network exec out there who would option it.

Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke

After experiencing something like Haunted, I felt the need for lighter fare. Why I thought an 800-page book about the historical attributes of English magic in the early 1800's, replete with period prose and footnotes, constituted "lighter fare" is a mystery even to me. While browsing the book bins at Borders (alliteration is fun) I saw this fat paperback, proclaiming boldly across its cover "NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER!" "TIME MAGAZINE'S #1 BOOK OF THE YEAR!" I flipped it over and among more accolades and awards, I saw an excerpt from Neil Gaiman:

"Unquestionably the finest English novel of the fantastic written in the last seventy years."

Whoa. Seriously? Mr. Gaiman, being an accomplished author himself, surely knows the weight that statement carries. I mean, he's putting this book above Tolkien. This, along with the fact that I would probably, to paraphrase my friend Ian, "shoot the Pope if Neil Gaiman asked me to," compelled my purchase of this novel. That and it was sitting in the $7.99 bin. I'm a frugal fanatic.

Naturally, with such shining recommendations, I went into this book with high hopes. A devoted Austen reader, the notion of slightly Gothic prose and style didn't deter me in the slightest. I dove in with gusto.

400-some pages later, I found myself wondering when the story would start picking up. Uh oh. Did Neil do me wrong? I began idly skimming pages, trying to get through them faster and faster in the hopes that I would eventually snag a plot thread. Threads there were a-plenty (you simply cannot write an 800-page work of fiction without including some plot), but they just weren't that interesting. I guess Clarke meant this to be a slightly serious historical treatment, because it's chock-full of all the dry detachment that one associates with ponderous volumes like The War of 1812 and Napoleon's Favorite Breakfast Foods During the Second Empire. The parts of the book I ended up liking the most were the footnotes, which given the overall tone of her writing, doesn't surprise me. I felt this was where Clarke really shined...I really didn't give two whits about the fate of Jonathan Strange or Mr. Norrell, but the sheer amount of "historical" research that Clarke piled into her footnotes fascinated me. She fabricated an entire magical literary history, tracing back centuries, of sources and authors who refer to and criticize and extoll each other as accurately as any modern professorial college. I found the footnotes completely charming. I could have done without the rest, except that then the footnotes wouldn't have any notes to foot.

In Clarke's defense, the story did eventually pick up, 100 pages before the end. In an 800-page book, that's fucking depressing. I say wait for the movie adaptation, or read it if you, like me, have an overwhelming fondness for clever footnotes. There can't be many of us out there.