I Heart Huckabee's Name

Hehe. From today's paper:

DES MOINES — In an act of political jujitsu, Mike Huckabee has halted a negative ad that he was about to broadcast on television Monday against his Republican rival, Mitt Romney. But while claiming the moral high ground, he proceeded to show the ad to a roomful of reporters, photographers and television cameras who are repeating his anti-Romney message for free while Mr. Huckabee declares that his hands are clean.

This is sooooooo season 3 West Wing.

Annnnnd We're Back

T'was the night before Christmas and Meghan was bored...
Dan had left, Schmindsey'd gone, hunger galore,
When out on the table I spied such a bump,
A gift all wrapped prettily--a big orange lump!


I squealed with delight and decided right then
To cook myself dinner, but what where or when?
Practicality = stupid, thought myself to me.
Let's make fried rice balls! Arancini!



Mmmmmmm. Deep-fried leftover risotto.

Hope you all had a nice Christmas. Lindsey got me a sweet new teapot, and the rents got me a vegetable slicer, just like I asked for!

Next up will have to be a meat slicer, so I can make myself pastrami.

For now, we'll just have to go to Katz's.



(Before)


(After)

Bhutto

Benazir Bhutto, whoa.

I started writing a post about Bhutto a few months ago when the host of the show I work on announced over headset that Benazir had been voted the Hottie of Eliot House in 1972, or something like that (other famous Eliot House dwellers: T.S. Eliot, Leonard Bernstein). Unable to confirm that fact, I never finished it.

I've found her very interesting over the past year. I guess we'll have to see what happens next.

Ho ho ho!

Merry Christmas!

Oh, Fugs

So it's fairly common knowledge that I really adore the Fug Girls, Heather and Jessica. I send their links to people all the time, even though they hit their peak around the time I left Los Angeles. It doesn't matter, because their denouement has turned out to be more like a plateau of hilarity. I've even sent them fan mail, people.

However, they have one sub-par feature. It's called "Ask Aunt Fugly," and is some kind of mock advice column, and it usually sucks. It pains me to say that, kind of the way it pains Jessica to fug Wallace Shawn. But this week's kind of perfectly capsulates my feelings towards this whole media circus surrounding Spears the Younger. Check it out.

Ew

I'm sick. It's gross.

I feel like the alter ego of Ferris Bueller, who moans and acts woozy and leans over and licks his palms, as "cold, clammy hands" is a good nonspecific symptom. I'm sure you recall. Except that MY palms are cold and clammy with no spit,* and I feel woozy, my mouth has a coating of invisible fuzz, and I'm at work. It's like Ferris Bueller's lie took on a parasitic life and floated about through the 90s until it settled in my sinuses.

I need to go gargle.



*The other night we went to Congee Village with B., who is from China. We wondered why "Bird's Nest Soup" is $40 a bowl. She explained that the nests are very special and expensive. Because they are made from bird saliva.

I No Longer Trust Oprah

My mother suggested, as a Christmas gift, that I might like a new pair of Uggs. At first I sighed no.

"I have those knockoffs I got for $35US in Australia in 2003," I said. "They're fine. Don't worry about it."

But then I started thinking about it, and also started wearing these Ugg slippers I got for my birthday and going into dreamlike trances every time I took a step forward because they coddle the feet so, and reconsidered.

"Maybe black ones," I thought, because that's what Rashida Jones would do. "Maybe short ones, so they can fit over my pants without making me look like Janet O' Stumpsforlegs, or under my pants without straining the fabric into weird bulges."

THEN I talked to my friend Jammy, who is a little fashion plate, and she suggested the crochet Uggs, which are just as snuggly but actually borderline attractive (let's be honest, with these things you generally shoot for not-hideous), AND they come in several styles, one of which is downright cute.

Of course, you cannot get the cute kind. Oprah featured it on her Favorite Things episode, and they are sold out until Biz graduates college.

This would be fine; I can live without them. But in my search for black-market crochet Uggs, I happened upon Oprah's Favorite Things website, and saw what else she'd recommended this season.


Am I to believe that this shit is sold out, too?

Aimee is The Mann

Went to Aimee Mann's Christmas Show last night at the Grand Ballroom. If you've never been to the Grand Ballroom, it's a large, half-heartedly ornate (as in the designers were like, "let's make this look the the Grand Ballrooms of yesteryore" and ran out money 1/5 of the way through) room with temporary seating. It says, as Aimee puts it, "seminar."

Who cares?! Not I! The show was one of the best things I've seen in a while. First off, it was a Christmas show. "I hate saying 'Happy Holidays,'" said Aimee. "It makes me feel so PC. But I guess I want to be PC, so... happy holidays." There was a rapping Hanukkah fairy to make up for it.

"I'm the motherfuckin' Hanukkah Fairy!" she would cry.

"She's the motherfuckin' Hanukkah Fairyyyyyyyy..." crooned the backup.




(That's the Hanukkah Fairy. Also, when she came onstage, she said, "I say Loehman's, you say Ishopthere." YEAH).

Nellie McKay did a bit with a Rudolph puppet, who no longer wants to pull Santa's sleigh (Nellie McKay, who I am documented as loving, is very into animal rights). Ben Lee did some songs, as did Josh Ritter. Mrs. Mann's emcee helped her out on a truly sick version of "The Grinch" (why is that not a Christmas standard? So good!).

Plus, she did all her best songs. It was a best of breed kind of thing.

But wait, you're thinking. Aimee Mann was in The Big Lebowski. She wrote all the music for Magnolia. Clearly, she has a lot of insanely cool and famous friends. Where were they for this alleged Christmas show?

In the video! There was a rather hilarious three-part movie about Aimee Mann trying to get famous friends to do her Christmas show, featuring John Krasinski, Fred Armisen, Ben Stiller ("You know what song you should do at your kid's show? That soung about being depressed. Do that one!") (come to think of it, this is the third time I've seen Ben Stiller parody himself as a giant jerkwad... I'm thinking he might be kind of a dick), Patton Oswalt, Weird Al, Will Ferrell ("your music is so inspiring, Jewel"), and others.

Basically, 15 minutes into the show I was really excited to go again next year. You should, too.

I Hang Out With Prepubescents

It's my fault. Dan and I were loafing around, being our general useless selves, and he jokingly asked if they made Heelys in adult sizes and I, (stupid! stupid!) mentioned reading somewhere that they do. He and J.Lo were completing their Zappos order about six minutes later.






They came last night.It also seems that "heeling" is a lot harder than 8-year-olds make it look. Don't let Justin's grin of delight fool you. He'd gone three inches. Awwww I can't keep go on hating. I'm sure they'll get the hang of it. Hopefully before someone breaks a femur. Those things bleed.

Fattitude at Fette Sau

Helloooooooooooo barbecue. The delicious smoked meats below were consumed this past weekend at Fette Sau, a Williamsburg eatery meaning, from the German, "FAT PIG."



I guess the delicious spice rub does make it look kind of carcinogenic and, you know... burned. Let me assure you it was NOT. Except for the baked beans, which included "burnt ends" and were "fucking awesome." Bottom middle? Smoked pork butt. Butt! We ate butt! Ribs to the right, shanks to the left, pastrami up top.

Ohhhhh I should not have come here. I sense an impending short-term addiction and fatness coming soon.

Rupert Was Good

Ho Boy: UPDATE

So after posting about the deliciously public Jakob and Julia trainwreck, I did a little Internet stalking and stumbled upon Mr. Lodwick's blog (I don't know why I'm acting like this is all a big discovery. The folks at Gawker Media have been all over this for eons. Also, I don't really like Gawker anymore. Sad). And what do I find?

Friday, Dec 7th, 2007
Flashforward, Part II

themarkpike, after reading my earlier post on property, said,

(blah blah blah blah whatever, text isn't the point)

Mark's a friend of mine from college. Weird!

Also, I really don't get this whole "Tumblr" thing. Is it different from Blogger? I am old and square. Oh, and go outside sometimes.

Ho Boy

So... as many of you know, about a year and a half ago I went from a daily/almost-daily blogger to a more sporadic schedule, and a lot of that was because now I spend most of my time working, and isn't very bloggable... I mean, I still do cool stuff, but I don't want to get fired. The other thing is that I got a boyfriend, and unless your name is "Isabelle," relationship blogs are boring. Dan is wonderful, but do you really want to read about how we ordered some Thai food and it was just all right? Oh. Really? Ummmm... okay, I'll fill you in next time. Point is, I am all about quality over quantity, and my old life as a partycrasher was way more thrilling online than any BS relationship blog could hope to be.

Or so I thought.

Jakob and Julia. Go quick, because they're going to break up in about 15 minutes. Julia Allison is a dating columnist (I know. Memo that Carrie Bradshaw is NOW OVER 40 never went into wide release, I guess) for Time Out who--fascinating!-- was apparently the white girl featured in that racist miscegenation attack ad on Henry Ford. She also works for Star and "reports" on Fox Business a lot. Jakob Lodwick is one of the founders of CollegeHumor and is involved in Vimeo? maybe?, so they are very new media darling. They started dating and decided to "experiment" by posting about it on a collective blog.

This is them.

And they hate each other.

It's awesome.

SantaLand

Part of my job involves giving tours in a blue uniform. I know.

It reminds me, rather sadly, of The SantaLand Diaries, an essay by David Sedaris, detailing his seasonal stint as an elf at Macy's SantaLand in Herald Square. You can listen to him read it here. I thought I was so brilliant the last like, three years, giving the printed version to everyone as a Christmas present. And I was, except now everyone I know has one, and I have to think of something else.

Tonight

I know you guys are clawing at each other to find out how the Rupert-poaching went, but my camera battery died, so that'll have to wait. But TONIGHT:

Rock 'n' Roll.

Oh, God I am so excited. Thank you, Local 1, for ending your stupid stagehand strike and allowing me, for the third (!) time, to see the first American run of a soon-to-be classic Tom Stoppard play. Here's what it's about:

The play is concerned with the significance of rock and roll in the emergence of the democratic movement in Eastern Bloc Czechoslovakia between the Prague Spring of 1968 and the Velvet Revolution of 1989. Taking place at Cambridge University, England, and in Prague, the play contrasts the attitudes of a young Czech Ph.D student and rock music fan who becomes appalled by the repressive regime in his home country with those of his British Marxist professor who unrepentantly continues to believe in the Soviet ideal.

It's his most autobiographical work yet! (Which isn't hard. Most of his work isn't autobiographical in the least. That makes it even cooler, I think). How do I deserve such riches? Also, I don't think Dan's ever seen a Stoppard play before, so that makes it a double treat.

Dial L For Murder

Ever killed a lobster? I have. Dan's birthday is today and I am cooking him an epic feast. So that I do not serve him this magnificence with a glazed scowl, I made most of it last night. Thank you, Ina Garten, for teaching me to plan ahead.

The centerpiece: Lobster Poached in Butter. Yes. The sweetest, tenderest, most cholesterol-laden fruit of the sea will get even sweeter, more tender, and increase its lipid count by a brief boil in dairy fat. The method, developed by Thomas Keller of The French Laundry, involves a brief hot-water bath to kill the lobster and cook it just enough to get the delicious innards out of its shell before the final butter poach, and you can do the first part the night before! So here's how you do that.

First, you boil up a Pot of Death.





The steam adds a sinister touch.

Then you take your extremely expensive sea roach out of the freezer, where it has been "desensitizing" for 30 minutes, and put it in a different pot.




Then you see that it is still kind of moving and freak out. But if I am going to eat it, I should be able to kill it. That is what Thomas Keller says, as does the meth-head from Friday Night Lights, and they know their stuff. You contemplate leaving it in the freezer for another like, day, change your mind, pour the Pot of Death over the crustacean, cover it with a very heavy cast-iron lid, and run away to your computer to gchat your nerves and compromised morality away.

Although dear Rupert (yeah, I named it) still had some movement when I removed him from the freezer, the deep-freeze thing seemed to work, because the pot didn't clatter and there was no horrible screaming sound. After 3 minutes I pulled him out and used my hands, kitchen shears, a Leatherman, AND a hammer to dismember the delicious fucker.

At this point I was pretty much over the whole killing conflict. I don't know. I must be hardened.

Mmmmmmmmmmmm.

I'll let you know how the rest goes tomorrow.

Happy Birthday, Dan!

I killed for you!