I'm just a bit busy with work these days, which for a freelancer is a glorious thing. So for those of you who show up here regularly, have a look at this . . .
Thanks Philipp . . . and don't worry, now I'm going back to work!
11 January 2010
08 January 2010
06 January 2010
It was a Moondog kinda year. . .
2009 did not suck.
In many ways it was quite spectacular, and yes I'm speaking on a very personal level here. Around the world, the suckiness factor threatened to go off of the proverbial charts, but I suspect that moving beyond the disasters and other mediated madness we were fed in 2009, there was a lot of quiet non-suckiness going on. People fell in love, got married, had babies, had more babies, finished school, started school, cooked, ate, made new friends, held on to old ones, got new jobs, kept old jobs, took walks, read books, wrote books, had sex, traveled far, traveled wide, and stayed their happy asses at home.
I have no complaints about the year that was. It was full of good times, good food, good friends, new love, and Moondog . . . to whom I was introduced by my new love. I've been given a lot of music by my new man, as he attempts to help us find some common ground between soulless computer-generated electro noise and ear-numbing guitar wailing rock.
With Moondog, he hit the jackpot.
So as I say goodbye to 2009 and throw my arms open to 2010, I'd like to feature my favorite Moondog track. Okay, it's not my absolute favorite, but somehow it fits for this year-end/year-begin phase. I consider these lyrics words to live by and am doing my best to do so.
Happy New Year Y'all. May it be full of all of the stuff that makes you joyful!!
In many ways it was quite spectacular, and yes I'm speaking on a very personal level here. Around the world, the suckiness factor threatened to go off of the proverbial charts, but I suspect that moving beyond the disasters and other mediated madness we were fed in 2009, there was a lot of quiet non-suckiness going on. People fell in love, got married, had babies, had more babies, finished school, started school, cooked, ate, made new friends, held on to old ones, got new jobs, kept old jobs, took walks, read books, wrote books, had sex, traveled far, traveled wide, and stayed their happy asses at home.
I have no complaints about the year that was. It was full of good times, good food, good friends, new love, and Moondog . . . to whom I was introduced by my new love. I've been given a lot of music by my new man, as he attempts to help us find some common ground between soulless computer-generated electro noise and ear-numbing guitar wailing rock.
With Moondog, he hit the jackpot.
So as I say goodbye to 2009 and throw my arms open to 2010, I'd like to feature my favorite Moondog track. Okay, it's not my absolute favorite, but somehow it fits for this year-end/year-begin phase. I consider these lyrics words to live by and am doing my best to do so.
Happy New Year Y'all. May it be full of all of the stuff that makes you joyful!!
Do Your Thing
Do your thing!
Be fancy-free to call the tune you sing.
Don't give up!
That's not the way to win a loving cup.
Do your best,
and opportunity will do the rest.
Don't give in!
Capitulation is the greatest sin.
Do what's right,
what's right for you, to do with all your might.
Don't regret!
What might have been, you might as well forget.
Stand your ground,
and while you're standing there, be duty-bound.
Learn to wait,
and while you're waiting, learn to concentrate.
Make amends!
All enemies I call potential friends,
Calm your fears,
and hope to cope at least a hundred years.
Make your mark!
If need be, even make it in the dark.
Mum's the word!
My sage advice, pretend you haven't heard.
08 October 2009
The Book People
Well it's that time again . . . time for the Frankfurt Book Fair. I can't wait to hang out with The Book People and be reminded that there are indeed a lot of people who still care about books, despite what the doomsayers would have us believe about the demise of the printed word.
So with that in mind, here's my tribute to book lovers everywhere--one of the most beautiful pieces of music ever written for film. It's the finale to Bernard Herrmann's score for Fahrenheit 451. The music accompanies the scene in which Montag has finally found his way to The Book People and begins the task of committing to memory Tales of Mystery and Imagination by Edgar Allan Poe. Oh and in case you're wondering, my book would be The Bone People by Keri Hulme . . . and if you don't know what I'm on about then read Bradbury or see Truffaut's adaptation.
Okay, if that doesn't grab you, try this one!
Blogging will resume in about two weeks . . .
So with that in mind, here's my tribute to book lovers everywhere--one of the most beautiful pieces of music ever written for film. It's the finale to Bernard Herrmann's score for Fahrenheit 451. The music accompanies the scene in which Montag has finally found his way to The Book People and begins the task of committing to memory Tales of Mystery and Imagination by Edgar Allan Poe. Oh and in case you're wondering, my book would be The Bone People by Keri Hulme . . . and if you don't know what I'm on about then read Bradbury or see Truffaut's adaptation.
Okay, if that doesn't grab you, try this one!
Blogging will resume in about two weeks . . .
03 October 2009
29 Settembre (Updated)
Thanks to my friend Dario, I now have an actual translation of the Lucio Battisti song, "29 Settembre." After reading the lyrics, I can only wonder why my dear friend in Florence misled me about the true nature of the song. Because yeah, the guy meets a beautiful girl in a cafe and has a wonderful time with her, but my friend neglected to mention that the guy already had a girlfriend. Ah well, perhaps the fact I consider this an issue just means that I am a little prude born and raised in the US . . .
Whatever.
It's still a beautiful song . . . see I am becoming Europeanized . . .
Many thanks Dario!! This was a lovely birthday gift.
Original Italian lyrics:
Dario's English translation:
Whatever.
It's still a beautiful song . . . see I am becoming Europeanized . . .
Many thanks Dario!! This was a lovely birthday gift.
Original Italian lyrics:
29 Settembre (Battisti, Mogol 67)
Seduto in quel caffe'
io non pensavo a te....
Guardavo il mondo che
girava intorno a me...
Poi d'improvviso lei
sorrise
e ancora prima di capire
mi trovai sottobraccio a lei
stretto come se
non ci fosse che lei.
Vedevo solo lei
e non pensavo a te...
E tutta la citta'
correva incontro a noi.
Il buio ci trovo'
vicini
un ristorante e poi
di corsa a ballar sottobraccio a lei
stretto verso casa abbracciato a lei
quasi come se non ci fosse che,
quasi come se non ci fosse che lei.
Mi son svegliato e
e sto pensando a te.
Ricordo solo che,
che ieri non eri con me...
Il sole ha cancellato tutto
di colpo volo giu' dal letto
e corro li' al telefono
parlo, rido e tu.. tu non sai perche'
t'amo, t'amo e tu, tu non sai perche'
parlo, rido e tu, tu non sai perche'
t'amo t'amo e tu, tu non sai perche'
parlo, rido e tu, tu non sai perche'
t'amo, t'amo tu, tu non sai perche'.
Dario's English translation:
29th of September
I was sitting down at that Cafè…
I wasn’t thinking of you
Only looking the world going
around me
Then she suddenly
smiled
and even before to understand
I was “with my arm under her arm”
walking close as she
was the only.
I saw her only
and I didn’t think of you…
And all the city around
ran to meet us.
The dark surprised us
so close
A restaurant and then
fast to dance “with my arm under her arm”
embraced going home
as she was the only
as she was the only one.
I woke up and
and now I think of you.
I only recall that
yesterday you weren’t with me…
The sun erased everything
and I suddenly jump out the bed
and I run there at the telephone
I speak, smile and you…you don’t know why
I love you, I love you and you…you don’t know why
I speak, smile and you…you don’t know why
I love you, I love you and you…you don’t know why
I speak, smile and you…you don’t know why
I love you, I love you and you…you don’t know why
[Literally: “be with my arm under her arm”, it means to have an intimate relation of friendship or love with a person in Italian.]
29 September 2009
29 Settembre, Daydreams, and Marty
In 1998, I was lucky enough to wake up in Florence, Italy on my birthday. The friends who hosted me during that trip gave me a CD, which was a collection of Lucio Battisti's greatest hits. They picked this gift because of "29 Settembre," a song Battisti recorded in 1969. As far as I understand it, the song is about a young man meeting a pretty girl in a cafe. It's a lovely song and I enjoyed the other tracks on the CD as well. Unfortunately, there are no videos on YouTube which feature live performances of this song, but there are some nice photos in this tribute.
Released by the Loving Spoonfuls in 1966, "Daydream" was my absolute favorite song when I was a little kid . . . well, at least until "I Want You Back" was released a few years later in 1969. In any case, I'll never forget sitting at the breakfast table one morning before school and hearing "Daydream" dedicated to me on the radio. The dedication came from my mom, who sent birthday greetings to me that the entire city could hear if they were listening. What an incredible feeling, what a great song, and a very nice video from Hullabaloo.
And to wrap up this little musical musing on birthdays past, I can't forget last year, when I woke up with the music in me. Unfortunately, the video is no longer available due to copyright claims, but what does remain from that post is my dear friend Marty, who found my blog after Googling the New Young Radicals, thus beginning a transatlantic, southern folk, meeting of the minds. Marty, thanks for all of your stories, comments, and advice. Keep fighting the good fight for justice and equality, which is so desperately needed in the world.
This one is for you my friend.
Released by the Loving Spoonfuls in 1966, "Daydream" was my absolute favorite song when I was a little kid . . . well, at least until "I Want You Back" was released a few years later in 1969. In any case, I'll never forget sitting at the breakfast table one morning before school and hearing "Daydream" dedicated to me on the radio. The dedication came from my mom, who sent birthday greetings to me that the entire city could hear if they were listening. What an incredible feeling, what a great song, and a very nice video from Hullabaloo.
And to wrap up this little musical musing on birthdays past, I can't forget last year, when I woke up with the music in me. Unfortunately, the video is no longer available due to copyright claims, but what does remain from that post is my dear friend Marty, who found my blog after Googling the New Young Radicals, thus beginning a transatlantic, southern folk, meeting of the minds. Marty, thanks for all of your stories, comments, and advice. Keep fighting the good fight for justice and equality, which is so desperately needed in the world.
This one is for you my friend.
26 August 2009
On the use of the word "Nazi"
For me, it began with Seinfeld and the Soup Nazi.
While I found the character hilarious, I never understood why the word "Nazi" was being used to describe the soup guy's psychotic behavior. Soon, however, it seemed that Nazi became an acceptable adjective to describe a range of ailments, and since the Seinfeld days I've heard or read the term Shoe Nazi, Food Nazi, Club Nazi, and the ubiquitous: "God, you're such a fucking Nazi," which when translated means, you have a different opinion.
Moreover, the term has been dusted off and used in a non-humorous (?) context to describe the President of the United States. And while that may be hilarious in what it reveals about the complete batshittiness of what's left of the Republican Party, it's still a disturbing misappropriation of a word whose referent should remain clear and undiluted.
Perhaps I'm sensitive because I live in Germany, but each time I hear or read the word Nazi to describe someone who doesn't have anything to do with real Nazis, I get a bit stabby.
To be clear, here are some Nazis:
Humiliation of an elderly Jew in Poland
(Courtesy of www.isurvived.org)
And here is some more of the shit they did:
I fail to see the humor here and so I'm calling bullshit on the use of that term in a humorous context. In fact, I'm calling bullshit on its use in a non-humorous context as well if it doesn't have anything to do with the fucking Fascists for whom the term was coined.
While I found the character hilarious, I never understood why the word "Nazi" was being used to describe the soup guy's psychotic behavior. Soon, however, it seemed that Nazi became an acceptable adjective to describe a range of ailments, and since the Seinfeld days I've heard or read the term Shoe Nazi, Food Nazi, Club Nazi, and the ubiquitous: "God, you're such a fucking Nazi," which when translated means, you have a different opinion.
Moreover, the term has been dusted off and used in a non-humorous (?) context to describe the President of the United States. And while that may be hilarious in what it reveals about the complete batshittiness of what's left of the Republican Party, it's still a disturbing misappropriation of a word whose referent should remain clear and undiluted.
Perhaps I'm sensitive because I live in Germany, but each time I hear or read the word Nazi to describe someone who doesn't have anything to do with real Nazis, I get a bit stabby.
To be clear, here are some Nazis:
Humiliation of an elderly Jew in Poland(Courtesy of www.isurvived.org)
And here is some more of the shit they did:
I fail to see the humor here and so I'm calling bullshit on the use of that term in a humorous context. In fact, I'm calling bullshit on its use in a non-humorous context as well if it doesn't have anything to do with the fucking Fascists for whom the term was coined.
22 August 2009
Für Dich
Was man so braucht . . .
Man braucht nur eine Insel
allein im weiten Meer.
Man braucht nur einen Menschen,
den aber braucht man sehr.
Mascha Kaléko
Man braucht nur eine Insel
allein im weiten Meer.
Man braucht nur einen Menschen,
den aber braucht man sehr.
Mascha Kaléko
14 August 2009
The Green Party Posters . . .
The way to the heart
I've been living like a princess the past few weeks, having been fortunate enough to meet someone special who loves to cook. Alas, it was eventually my turn to rock the pots and so I returned to an old favorite, which I hoped would do just a little bit to impress a food "snob."
Herb, Garlic, and Lemon Roast Chicken
4 Tbsp unsalted butter, softened
Minced zest of two lemons
5 or 6 garlic cloves, minced or pressed
3 Tbsp minced fresh thyme, or 1 Tbsp dried thyme, finely crumbled
2 Tbsp minced fresh rosemary, or 2 Tsp dried rosemary, finely crumbled
2 Tbsp minced fresh sage, or 2 Tsp dried sage, finely crumbled
5 to 6 pound roaster or capon
About 2 Tbsp soy sauce
salt
freshly ground black pepper
garnish
Preheat oven to 375º F.
In a small bowl combine the butter, lemon zest, garlic, thyme, rosemary, and sage; blend well. Reserve.
Wash the chicken and dry thoroughly, inside and out, with paper toweling. Beginning with neck opening, slip your fingers between the chicken skin on one side of the breast, leaving the skin attached at the cavity opening, Using your fingers in the same way, work under the skin of the thigh and leg, leaving the skin attached at the end of the leg. Loosen the skin on the other side of the chicken in the same way.
Insert most of the lemon-and-herb butter under the skin with one hand, using the other hand to distribute the butter evenly from the outside. Rub the remaining flavored butter inside the cavity. Pull the skin at the neck over the opening and skewer it or sew it with heavy kitchen thread to the back of the chicken. Tie the legs together with cotton string.
Rub the entire outside surface of the chicken with soy sauce, then sprinkle with salt and pepper. Place on a rack in a roasting pan and roast, uncovered, for 10 minutes. Reduce the heat to 350º and cook, basting with pan drippings every 15 minutes, until the juices run clear when the thickest part of the thigh is pierced, about 1 hour and 20 minutes to 1 hour and 40 minutes (or 20 minutes per pound) total cooking time. Remove the string, stuff the cavity with fresh herbs, and serve hot or at room temperature.
With this I served garlic mashed potatoes and steamed broccoli tossed with lemon juice and butter.
I was a bit disappointed with my wacky oven, which has a very uneven heating pattern. This meant that I had to adjust the cooking time and temperature and pay closer attention to the process than I usually do.
Whatever, HE seemed to enjoy the finished results . . . and I did, too, for that matter.
Okay, so now I can go back to being a princess for the next week or so. Hmmmm . . . I wonder what's for dinner on Sunday.
Darling??
Herb, Garlic, and Lemon Roast Chicken
4 Tbsp unsalted butter, softened
Minced zest of two lemons
5 or 6 garlic cloves, minced or pressed
3 Tbsp minced fresh thyme, or 1 Tbsp dried thyme, finely crumbled
2 Tbsp minced fresh rosemary, or 2 Tsp dried rosemary, finely crumbled
2 Tbsp minced fresh sage, or 2 Tsp dried sage, finely crumbled
5 to 6 pound roaster or capon
About 2 Tbsp soy sauce
salt
freshly ground black pepper
garnish
Preheat oven to 375º F.
In a small bowl combine the butter, lemon zest, garlic, thyme, rosemary, and sage; blend well. Reserve.
Wash the chicken and dry thoroughly, inside and out, with paper toweling. Beginning with neck opening, slip your fingers between the chicken skin on one side of the breast, leaving the skin attached at the cavity opening, Using your fingers in the same way, work under the skin of the thigh and leg, leaving the skin attached at the end of the leg. Loosen the skin on the other side of the chicken in the same way.
Insert most of the lemon-and-herb butter under the skin with one hand, using the other hand to distribute the butter evenly from the outside. Rub the remaining flavored butter inside the cavity. Pull the skin at the neck over the opening and skewer it or sew it with heavy kitchen thread to the back of the chicken. Tie the legs together with cotton string.
Rub the entire outside surface of the chicken with soy sauce, then sprinkle with salt and pepper. Place on a rack in a roasting pan and roast, uncovered, for 10 minutes. Reduce the heat to 350º and cook, basting with pan drippings every 15 minutes, until the juices run clear when the thickest part of the thigh is pierced, about 1 hour and 20 minutes to 1 hour and 40 minutes (or 20 minutes per pound) total cooking time. Remove the string, stuff the cavity with fresh herbs, and serve hot or at room temperature.
With this I served garlic mashed potatoes and steamed broccoli tossed with lemon juice and butter.
I was a bit disappointed with my wacky oven, which has a very uneven heating pattern. This meant that I had to adjust the cooking time and temperature and pay closer attention to the process than I usually do.
Whatever, HE seemed to enjoy the finished results . . . and I did, too, for that matter.
Okay, so now I can go back to being a princess for the next week or so. Hmmmm . . . I wonder what's for dinner on Sunday.
Darling??
13 August 2009
Dr. DJ
My dear friend Pedro recently had the opportunity to act out his John Peel radio fantasies, and the results were fantastic. Pedro is from Portugal, so unless you can understand Portuguese the lovely DJ banter will be lost on you. That said, Portuguese is a beautiful language so it doesn't matter really whether you understand it or not.
Okay, it doesn't matter to me.
Pedro, if that academic career doesn't pan out the way you'd like, I see a future for you in radio . . .
In any case, the set can be downloaded here. Enjoy!
Playlist
The National: "All the Wine"
Why?: "Good Friday"
Sufjan Stevens: "Decatur"... Read More
Sleater-Kinney: "You're No Rock 'N Roll Fun"
The Chameleons: "Swamp Thing"
Triffids: "Blinded By The Hour"
João Coração: "Muda Que Muda"
Gilberto Gil: "Domingo No Parque"
Animal Collective: "Summertime Clothes"
XTC: "Greenman"
cLOUDDEAD: "Dead Dogs Two"
Guided By Voices: "Tractor Rape Chain"
Thin White Rope: "Ahr Skidar"
Yo La Tengo: "Pablo And Andrea"
Sérgio Godinho: "Horas Extraordinárias"
Okay, it doesn't matter to me.
Pedro, if that academic career doesn't pan out the way you'd like, I see a future for you in radio . . .
In any case, the set can be downloaded here. Enjoy!
Playlist
The National: "All the Wine"
Why?: "Good Friday"
Sufjan Stevens: "Decatur"... Read More
Sleater-Kinney: "You're No Rock 'N Roll Fun"
The Chameleons: "Swamp Thing"
Triffids: "Blinded By The Hour"
João Coração: "Muda Que Muda"
Gilberto Gil: "Domingo No Parque"
Animal Collective: "Summertime Clothes"
XTC: "Greenman"
cLOUDDEAD: "Dead Dogs Two"
Guided By Voices: "Tractor Rape Chain"
Thin White Rope: "Ahr Skidar"
Yo La Tengo: "Pablo And Andrea"
Sérgio Godinho: "Horas Extraordinárias"
11 August 2009
Operation Optimism!
Well the day began nicely enough. I read an article on the BBC website that claims women who are optimistic live longer. According to the article,
I already have high blood pressure, but the last time I had my cholesterol checked it was fine. Okay, that was two years ago, so who knows what state it's currently in. Details aside, however, after reading this article, I thought seriously about my Weltanschauung and what I could do to improve it and increase my chances of living past my next birthday.
Then I went to the Huffington Post.
While there, I came to the conclusion that the only thing that can improve both my outlook on life and increase my longevity is to stop using the Internet. I guess it had something to do with that piece on health care reform and the sign I saw calling President Obama "The Anus of America."
But then I had a nice lunch with my dear friend Silke and all was well with me and the world . . . until I returned home, logged into Facebook, and read a message from my friend Marc about the assification of Germany's Green Party.
Image courtesy of www.gruene-kaarst.de
*sigh*
For my non-German-speaking readers, it says "The only reason to vote Black." Here black refers to Chancellor Angela Merkel's Christian Democrats . . . and the woman of course.
*sigh*
*sigh*
And then I went back to the Huffington Post and saw this, too.
Image courtesy of www.huffingtonpost.com
I guess he was working in the corn fields the week his history class covered World War II.
*sigh*
But then Susanna sent me this and I laughed out loud and felt instantly better. So all of this negative shit notwithstanding, I think I'll be okay. Unlike the women who harbor hostile thoughts and feelings, which eventually kill them, I release mine through the wonder of Web 2.0.*
So, to those of you who do not want to live in a country that provides basic health coverage to all of its citizens,
Fuck you.
To Green Party members who are either too naive or too stupid to understand why some people find this campaign poster offensive,
Fuck you, too.
And now I will get ready to meet my dear friend Lars for a drink and enjoy the end of what has been a wonderful day.
So don't worry Stefan, I'm fine!
*yeah, the same Web 2.0 that's making me crazy in the first place. Whatever.
The research on nearly 100,000 women, published in the journal Circulation, found pessimists had higher blood pressure and cholesterol.
Even taking these risk factors into account, attitude alone altered risks.
Optimistic women had a 9% lower risk of developing heart disease and a 14% lower risk of dying from any cause after more than eight years of follow-up.
I already have high blood pressure, but the last time I had my cholesterol checked it was fine. Okay, that was two years ago, so who knows what state it's currently in. Details aside, however, after reading this article, I thought seriously about my Weltanschauung and what I could do to improve it and increase my chances of living past my next birthday.
Then I went to the Huffington Post.
While there, I came to the conclusion that the only thing that can improve both my outlook on life and increase my longevity is to stop using the Internet. I guess it had something to do with that piece on health care reform and the sign I saw calling President Obama "The Anus of America."
But then I had a nice lunch with my dear friend Silke and all was well with me and the world . . . until I returned home, logged into Facebook, and read a message from my friend Marc about the assification of Germany's Green Party.
Image courtesy of www.gruene-kaarst.de *sigh*
For my non-German-speaking readers, it says "The only reason to vote Black." Here black refers to Chancellor Angela Merkel's Christian Democrats . . . and the woman of course.
*sigh*
*sigh*
And then I went back to the Huffington Post and saw this, too.
Image courtesy of www.huffingtonpost.comI guess he was working in the corn fields the week his history class covered World War II.
*sigh*
But then Susanna sent me this and I laughed out loud and felt instantly better. So all of this negative shit notwithstanding, I think I'll be okay. Unlike the women who harbor hostile thoughts and feelings, which eventually kill them, I release mine through the wonder of Web 2.0.*
So, to those of you who do not want to live in a country that provides basic health coverage to all of its citizens,
Fuck you.
To Green Party members who are either too naive or too stupid to understand why some people find this campaign poster offensive,
Fuck you, too.
And now I will get ready to meet my dear friend Lars for a drink and enjoy the end of what has been a wonderful day.
So don't worry Stefan, I'm fine!
*yeah, the same Web 2.0 that's making me crazy in the first place. Whatever.
04 August 2009
In which our heroine discovers
that life often imitates urban myth
When I was an undergraduate (early 1980s) there was a rumor* going around about some guy whose wife or girlfriend had superglued his penis to his thigh because he had been cheating on her. One of my roommates even swore that she knew somebody who knew the couple. When I challenged her on the story, she became quite angry, as folks do when you call them on being witnesses to bullshit stories.
In any case, there seemed to be an epidemic of penis gluing back then, but none of these stories was ever confirmed to my satisfaction. See, this is what we did before the internet. We just screamed back and forth at each other:
And now I'm left wondering if people just go to the Snopes.com in search of myths they can turn into fact. At this point, I'm willing to believe anything.
*sigh*
*The term urban myth had not yet been coined.
In any case, there seemed to be an epidemic of penis gluing back then, but none of these stories was ever confirmed to my satisfaction. See, this is what we did before the internet. We just screamed back and forth at each other:
Bullshit!Alas, now friends of Therese Ziemann, Michelle Belliveau, Wendy Sewell, Tracy Hood-Davis, and Donessa Davis will be able to scream, "I know some women who glued this guy's penis!!" or "I know a guy who got his penis glued!" and their silly stories will be instantly verifiable. I'll save you the trouble of the Google search, though. You can find the story and pics of the women in the Independent.
No it's not, I know them personally!!
Liar! You are so full of shit!!
And now I'm left wondering if people just go to the Snopes.com in search of myths they can turn into fact. At this point, I'm willing to believe anything.
*sigh*
*The term urban myth had not yet been coined.
28 July 2009
You can have Mr. Darcy . . .
I'll take Captain Wentworth from Persuasion. I'm all set to read it again after finding the 1995 film version (the best in my opinion) on YouTube recently.
And yeah, this is the final scene, so here's your warning: spoiler alert. But seriously, if you've neither read or seen it, shame on you.
And yeah, this is the final scene, so here's your warning: spoiler alert. But seriously, if you've neither read or seen it, shame on you.
19 July 2009
Who knew . . .
. . . that Buzz Aldrin was so cool??
Update: Broken link to YouTube video replaced with the link to Funny or Die.
Update: Broken link to YouTube video replaced with the link to Funny or Die.
Buttermilk Blueberry Pancakes
There are some things that are just wrong.
Pre-cooked, shrink-wrapped pancakes are an excellent example. If you don't have time to make some batter (10 minutes?) and drop it in the pan, eat something else. No, seriously, eat something else. In German, pancakes are called Pfannkuchen and when they're freshly prepared they're wonderful. The pre-cooked version that you heat in the skillet? An unlimited residency/work permit couldn't persuade me to eat them again.
Okay, that's probably a lie, but you get the point.
In any case, I spotted what appeared to be nice blueberries yesterday when I went shopping, and so I bought them along with some vanilla yogurt for Sunday breakfast.
. . . and so good for you, too!
As fate would have it, my flatmate also spotted blueberries when she went shopping and having heard me go on and on about how my pancakes were much better than those pre-cooked Pfannkuchen things--especially my blueberry pancakes--she bought a tub of blueberries, too. When I got home from the market, she suggested that I make blueberry pancakes for Sunday breakfast.
Now it's time for a small confession.
Previously, I had only ever used Bisquick to make my pancakes. I'm not referring to the shake and pour stuff I just saw on the Betty Crocker website, but the pancake and baking mix. Okay, not a huge difference, but still! In any case, I recently had another experience with forgoing stuff out of a box I had grown up with and learning to make that stuff from scratch, and now I can truly say goodbye forever to Jiffy's Cornbread mix, because my own cornbread is superb. With that experience behind me, I was definitely ready for the no-Bisquick pancake challenge.
So, after scouring the web for a Buttermilk Blueberry Pancake recipe that made sense and didn't involve beating egg whites, I ended up with this one from Elise at her Simply Recipes blog. The only tweak I had to make was to add a bit more milk. A good tip I got from Elise was to drop the blueberries in the skillet on top of the batter, rather than mixing them into the batter itself. This prevents the blueberries bleeding and turning the batter completely purple. No big deal, but I liked the way they turned out. It also certainly helps that one of the few things I always insist on bringing with me when I move back and forth from the US to Europe is a standard set of measuring equipment for US recipes. A half a teaspoon of baking powder? A cup of milk? No problem.*
Nick, my flatmate's nine-year-old son, was all the proof I needed that the pre-cooked Pfannkuchen debate had been positively decided in my favor. After the first bite, he gave me the look every cook wants to see after trying something new, and then exclaimed how delicious they were.
*sigh*
Before they were drenched in maple syrup
With all of that leftover buttermilk, perhaps it's time to try some homemade ranch dressing. Who needs you Hidden Valley?
*And yeah, I learned this the hard way.
Pre-cooked, shrink-wrapped pancakes are an excellent example. If you don't have time to make some batter (10 minutes?) and drop it in the pan, eat something else. No, seriously, eat something else. In German, pancakes are called Pfannkuchen and when they're freshly prepared they're wonderful. The pre-cooked version that you heat in the skillet? An unlimited residency/work permit couldn't persuade me to eat them again.
Okay, that's probably a lie, but you get the point.
In any case, I spotted what appeared to be nice blueberries yesterday when I went shopping, and so I bought them along with some vanilla yogurt for Sunday breakfast.
. . . and so good for you, too!As fate would have it, my flatmate also spotted blueberries when she went shopping and having heard me go on and on about how my pancakes were much better than those pre-cooked Pfannkuchen things--especially my blueberry pancakes--she bought a tub of blueberries, too. When I got home from the market, she suggested that I make blueberry pancakes for Sunday breakfast.
Now it's time for a small confession.
Previously, I had only ever used Bisquick to make my pancakes. I'm not referring to the shake and pour stuff I just saw on the Betty Crocker website, but the pancake and baking mix. Okay, not a huge difference, but still! In any case, I recently had another experience with forgoing stuff out of a box I had grown up with and learning to make that stuff from scratch, and now I can truly say goodbye forever to Jiffy's Cornbread mix, because my own cornbread is superb. With that experience behind me, I was definitely ready for the no-Bisquick pancake challenge.
So, after scouring the web for a Buttermilk Blueberry Pancake recipe that made sense and didn't involve beating egg whites, I ended up with this one from Elise at her Simply Recipes blog. The only tweak I had to make was to add a bit more milk. A good tip I got from Elise was to drop the blueberries in the skillet on top of the batter, rather than mixing them into the batter itself. This prevents the blueberries bleeding and turning the batter completely purple. No big deal, but I liked the way they turned out. It also certainly helps that one of the few things I always insist on bringing with me when I move back and forth from the US to Europe is a standard set of measuring equipment for US recipes. A half a teaspoon of baking powder? A cup of milk? No problem.*
Nick, my flatmate's nine-year-old son, was all the proof I needed that the pre-cooked Pfannkuchen debate had been positively decided in my favor. After the first bite, he gave me the look every cook wants to see after trying something new, and then exclaimed how delicious they were.
*sigh*
Before they were drenched in maple syrupWith all of that leftover buttermilk, perhaps it's time to try some homemade ranch dressing. Who needs you Hidden Valley?
*And yeah, I learned this the hard way.
11 July 2009
Supermarket Assclown
Okay, you know how it is:
You're waiting patiently in a long line in the grocery store. You're in the middle of the line just behind the barrier that separates one line from the next. You're chilling and thinking about how grocery stores are practically the same all over the place, since the line immediately to the right is empty and with that many people waiting why don't they open it up. Suddenly it does open up and the cashier beckons for people in your line to move over to her.
Joy!
But before you can take a step, some assclown from the very back of the line runs up and starts putting his stuff down on the belt.
What to do, what to do?
Well, in the little story that just unfolded in my neighborhood supermarket, the guy in front of me calmly walked over and put his stuff down on the belt in front of the assclown's stuff . . . To which the assclown graciously replied, "Sure, go ahead."
I was already behind the guy in front of me (and way the hell in front of the guy from the back of the line), so I placed my things on the belt behind the guy who was in front of me and in front of the assclown . . . To which the assclown not-so graciously replied, "I didn't mean you, but go ahead."
Ah Berliners, famous throughout Germany for their politeness . . .
What to do, what to do?
Well, first I gave him "The Smile." Then I replied, "But since I was already ahead of you I don't actually need your permission, do I?"
Flawless delivery . . . Goethe Institute style, baby . . . yeah!
Stunned, he could only nod and utter a weak, "Ach so . . ."
"Ach so" my ass . . .
You clown.
You're waiting patiently in a long line in the grocery store. You're in the middle of the line just behind the barrier that separates one line from the next. You're chilling and thinking about how grocery stores are practically the same all over the place, since the line immediately to the right is empty and with that many people waiting why don't they open it up. Suddenly it does open up and the cashier beckons for people in your line to move over to her.
Joy!
But before you can take a step, some assclown from the very back of the line runs up and starts putting his stuff down on the belt.
What to do, what to do?
Well, in the little story that just unfolded in my neighborhood supermarket, the guy in front of me calmly walked over and put his stuff down on the belt in front of the assclown's stuff . . . To which the assclown graciously replied, "Sure, go ahead."
I was already behind the guy in front of me (and way the hell in front of the guy from the back of the line), so I placed my things on the belt behind the guy who was in front of me and in front of the assclown . . . To which the assclown not-so graciously replied, "I didn't mean you, but go ahead."
Ah Berliners, famous throughout Germany for their politeness . . .
What to do, what to do?
Well, first I gave him "The Smile." Then I replied, "But since I was already ahead of you I don't actually need your permission, do I?"
Flawless delivery . . . Goethe Institute style, baby . . . yeah!
Stunned, he could only nod and utter a weak, "Ach so . . ."
"Ach so" my ass . . .
You clown.
03 July 2009
Midlife Crisis on a Budget
After jokingly using the term "midlife crisis" yesterday on Facebook (I was wondering if rearranging the furniture was the extent to mine) an interesting discussion ensued about hot convertibles and steaming twenty-three-year-old toy boys. And as I pondered the madness of middle-aged people losing themselves in conspicuous consumption and meaningless sex in order to escape the inevitable decline that comes with aging, I decided that I'm just not having it.
According to that fount of all human knowledge, Wikipedia, I am not alone.
There is a fair amount of skepticism associated with the idea of a midlife crisis. As typically defined, however, it is a period of transition, let's call it, for people who are between thirty and sixty and experiencing "self-doubt . . . as a result of sensing the passing of youth and the imminence of old age." Okay, the lower figure strikes me as a bit silly . . . as does the upper one, but I'm not going to judge anybody. Hey, if you're thirty and experiencing the imminence of old age, my condolences. And if you're sixty and just catching on that your youth is passing, my respect. More interesting though, is that according to Wikipedia, only 10 percent of middle-aged adults actually go through midlife crises.
Really?
As I considered how it's possible that only 10 percent go through it, but EVERYBODY accepts it as a normal passage, it occurred to me that its relative "fame" is related to the segment of the population that has overwhelmingly come to define the 10 percent. In other words, if the general association with midlife crisis is fancy cars and much younger sex partners then clearly a bunch of affluent men have convinced us that midlife crisis-ing is as much a part of our experience as human beings as puberty.
Right.
Interestingly, the Wikipedia piece also acknowledges the extent to which midlife crises are cultural constructs, offering that this phenomenon is not apparent all over the world:
Now I don't mean to suggest that there aren't serious issues involved with aging. My own head is full of questions, doubts, and fears . . . mostly related to menopause and when the hell will it finally get here. So it's important to point out that midlife crises in women are generally different than those in men. Whether or not there are also differences based on race was not discussed, nor was the issue of social class, but I am inclined to think that a broke black woman is going to have a different midlife crisis than an affluent white male.
Is that even fair?
Yes and hallelujah!
It is probably a good thing that I don't have money or else I might be rolling through Berlin in something like this:
With something like this in the passenger seat:
So yeah, I'm like totally happy that my midlife crisis will consist primarily in reading up on hot flashes and screaming at people for no apparent reason.
*sigh*
And to the affluent guys out there, I just stopped judging you.
According to that fount of all human knowledge, Wikipedia, I am not alone.
There is a fair amount of skepticism associated with the idea of a midlife crisis. As typically defined, however, it is a period of transition, let's call it, for people who are between thirty and sixty and experiencing "self-doubt . . . as a result of sensing the passing of youth and the imminence of old age." Okay, the lower figure strikes me as a bit silly . . . as does the upper one, but I'm not going to judge anybody. Hey, if you're thirty and experiencing the imminence of old age, my condolences. And if you're sixty and just catching on that your youth is passing, my respect. More interesting though, is that according to Wikipedia, only 10 percent of middle-aged adults actually go through midlife crises.
Really?
As I considered how it's possible that only 10 percent go through it, but EVERYBODY accepts it as a normal passage, it occurred to me that its relative "fame" is related to the segment of the population that has overwhelmingly come to define the 10 percent. In other words, if the general association with midlife crisis is fancy cars and much younger sex partners then clearly a bunch of affluent men have convinced us that midlife crisis-ing is as much a part of our experience as human beings as puberty.
Right.
Interestingly, the Wikipedia piece also acknowledges the extent to which midlife crises are cultural constructs, offering that this phenomenon is not apparent all over the world:
Some studies indicate that some cultures may be more sensitive to this phenomenon than others. One study found that there is little evidence that people undergo midlife crises in Japanese and Indian cultures, raising the question of whether a midlife crises is mainly a cultural construct. The authors hypothesized that the "culture of youth" in Western societies accounts for the popularity of the midlife crisis concept there.
Now I don't mean to suggest that there aren't serious issues involved with aging. My own head is full of questions, doubts, and fears . . . mostly related to menopause and when the hell will it finally get here. So it's important to point out that midlife crises in women are generally different than those in men. Whether or not there are also differences based on race was not discussed, nor was the issue of social class, but I am inclined to think that a broke black woman is going to have a different midlife crisis than an affluent white male.
Is that even fair?
Yes and hallelujah!
It is probably a good thing that I don't have money or else I might be rolling through Berlin in something like this:
With something like this in the passenger seat:
So yeah, I'm like totally happy that my midlife crisis will consist primarily in reading up on hot flashes and screaming at people for no apparent reason.
*sigh*
And to the affluent guys out there, I just stopped judging you.
01 July 2009
Happy 20th Birthday DTRT!!
It's hard to believe that twenty have passed since Do the Right Thing slammed into movie theaters across the United States. Whether you loved it or hated it, you damn sure couldn't ignore it.
For the crazy-ass dialogue about race it forced on an unwilling public, I salute Spike Lee for his masterpiece.
And no, this post would not be complete without Public Enemy's contribution to the film. "Fight the Power" came to define both the film and the summer of 1989.
Word.
For the crazy-ass dialogue about race it forced on an unwilling public, I salute Spike Lee for his masterpiece.
The infamous race rant
And no, this post would not be complete without Public Enemy's contribution to the film. "Fight the Power" came to define both the film and the summer of 1989.
Word.
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