Super Bowl Party Checklist
Michael Smith: Meatless chili (some ground meat substitute, beer, espresso, broth, spices, peppers, tofu, onion, and garlic).
Deron Bauman: Gluten-free vegan nachos.
Sheila Ryan: Refreshing lemon dessert.
Or: New England vs. Manhattan clam chowder.
dear clusterflock
How do I feel about this SOTU?
tweet of the day
I’d be less likely to think “isn’t it ironic?” than “why the fuck did I buy 10,000 spoons?”
— Matthew Baldwin (@matthewbaldwin) January 18, 2012
from the comments
They could freeze dry sperm when Jesus was alive?
quote out of context
Break into his house when he’s not home. Put truth serum in all of the liquids in his fridge. Make sure you’re around when he drinks something from his fridge. And, uh, don’t drink from there yourself, or you’ll end up telling him that he’s consumed truth serum and the gig’s up.
Something I’m Working On…
I’ll say no more for the moment.
I Thought All Was Lost…
Danny and I were watching a movie this afternoon. I jumped over the back of the couch to retrieve my pillow, turned around and toppled my cocktail over the laptop. The glass broke on the floor, ice cubes laying over my keyboard sitting next to the arm of the couch. Danny rushed the laptop up to the hair-dryer as I mopped up the floor. A few hours ago, after, the laptop would not start up. I was trying to use his netbook and feeling really unhappy about it, it not having all my stuff on it. At worst, I pictured the laptop at the spa the next few days. But just now I thought, “I’ll try it once more.” Here I am! I guess a few more hours drying time made the difference.
TG! TG, almighty!
Shroud of Turin replica coming to Galena
During Holy Week, St. Matthew Lutheran Church will present a full-size replica of the Shroud of Turin, accurate to the smallest detail. Measuring 14.5 feet by four feet, and printed on fabric from the most accurate color photographs of the Shroud ever taken.
The Coffee Achievers
Okay, all day Alison and I have been laughing about this 1984 ad from the National Coffee Association, so it is only right to share.
As she noted, “Enjoy some coffee this morning, then slap a laughing dude, ’cause you are the American Society, the movers, the shakers!
“Slap happy!”
quote of the day
114. During this important meeting, Harvey Weinstein proceeded to fall asleep.
115. In fact, at this same meeting, and with his children present, Harvey Weinstein attempted to consume an entire bowl of M&M candies despite being diabetic. When a TWC executive sought to retrieve the bowl of candy out of obvious concern for Harvey Weinstein’s health, he fought to keep it, and in the tumult the M&Ms ended up scattered all over the floor. Then, instead of watching the reel, Harvey Weinstein got down on his hands and knees and began eating M&Ms off the floor.
via Cabel Sasser
Metro Diner Closing
DALLAS — Metro Diner, a 24-hour greasy spoon that’d been on Gaston Avenue for 47 years, will close at the end of March, confirmed an employee at the restaurant.
“Yes, we’re closing, but we’ll be here until the end of March,” she said, before recommending that fans visit the branch in Oak Cliff, also open 24 hours.
This is a great place, right across the street from Cindy’s library. I’m sorry to see it go. The waitresses there used to raise an eyebrow when I would ask for a Pattymelt without the meat (Swiss cheese and grilled onions), but they never said no. Great hash browns, too; they know how to burn them there like you are supposed to.
Dear Clusterflock…
How’s your weather?
I’m coming off of 14 hours of manning the phones during snow removal. We don’t have nothing like points east in the last week or so. Still I’ve been up since 3:45 this morning. Phones ringing and answering with calls coming in as I talked. I’d like to think it’s under control. Phones are quiet now, but who can say? We might have another 2.5″ by 6:00 in the morning. I imagine the phones will start again about 2:00 am. I’m off to bed now, I’ll let you know how it goes.
Amazing how things that happened this morning seem like two days ago.
Oooo! And windchills here tomorrow are expected to be -25. It will be a bitter day for our workers. But we’ll be in final clean-up. I don’t know what to expect.
A Ghost From Christmas Past
I was boxing up Danny’s home-made presents for his family to get in the mail this afternoon. I was visited….
A Jensen household Christmas. The holiday went something like this. (If there have ever been Christmas traditions, these Jensens held the rights to them.) Risengrød late Christmas eve morning, then preparations for dinner. Danny and his mom in the kitchen. Off to church at 5:00 for the Christmas Eve service. Back home for dinner, then cleaning up. Then pulling the Christmas tree to the middle of the living room floor and holding hands and circling the tree, Danish Carols. Then opening presents. (This is a big family, y’all.)
After opening presents, Danny left the room. I don’t remember the rest exactly so I’ll make up what happened next. I found him leaning over, his hands spaced out on the rails of the pool table downstairs at his parents’ house, sobbing. “Oh honey, what is it?” “The box wasn’t there,” he said. I said, “What box?”
Mister W.
Genius concept and brilliant execution.
‘Cause my daddy taught me good
from the comments
Last week I bought a pound of French Roast at a Starbucks inside a grocery store and the very young lady who did the grinding apparently didn’t know what the instruction “for a paper cone filter, please” meant. She dumped it in and the machine ran, with her looking at it, for about ten minutes. Finally she closed the bag and gave it to me. When I opened it at home is was ground so fine as to be shaped into clods and and other shapes. I’m using it but it sort of tastes like a speed freak’s idea of a slow elevator ride.
Bit Off a Bit More Than We Could Chew…
the dining room, as it stands tonight. With a dinner party on tap tomorrow evening.
Father’s Day
Another perspective? From the archives of elimae.
For the record, I mulled a long time, whether to pull out this old saw today. Still, as with Josh, certain days remind me of things. Some days call strongly such reminders. For those of you who have seen this before, please forgive my indulgence in calling it up again.
Eat Me: I ate a Jewboy at Shopsin’s.
I would like to share with you peeps one of my favorite blogs: The Tipsy Baker. She discusses food, family, and cooking (and drinking) in a hilarious, neurotic, obsessive, honest, and casual way and makes most other food writing seem tedious and f’in boring. She raises animals (often illegally), drives hours out of her way for random and annoying ingredients, and gives serious consideration to the psychological torture she inflicts on her family by cooking everything and anything (including pig ears). She is also a fantastic writer, and it’s a pleasure to read her posts not just for the food but for the witty shit she regularly crafts:
I hope you’re reading this, Kenny Shopsin. Do you have a Google Alert set up with your name? Awesome. Your coleslaw recipe sucks. A full tablespoon of salt for half a head of cabbage? Are you fucking with us?
I’m not generally a profane person, but
a. Kenny Shopsin is, and I spent three hours last night rereading his fantastically entertaining book.
b. He ruined my coleslaw.But here’s the kicker. I had a few big glasses of red wine last night and what with the wine and the supersalty coleslaw, I woke up at midnight with a bit of a thirst. So, I made one of Shopsin’s egg creams. Drank it down. Made another. Worth the price of the book.
Her photos are at times unappetizing and often horrifying, but I make no effort to hide my deep desire to make this cardamom cake.
p.s. posted by Ronya. I’m good with the first name.
Ask Clusterflock
Hypothetical: Say you’re in a cafe in Denver’s Washington Park neighborhood. Let’s call this cafe Wash Perk. Say the Velvet Underground is playing (“The Gift”, hypothetically). Say you are interested in some Sencha tea. You sidle up to the counter and your jaw drops.
The barista looks strikingly like your beautiful spouse. As in, they could be siblings. As in, if she were two inches taller, they could be twins.
So, in this scenario, would it be wrong to ogle the barista (discreetly), or would it be offensive to fail to do so?
This post needs no explanation
Joseph’s Dream
For one who teases and will not tell.
What you suggest, Joseph, is a noisy low-res subterranean dream. The Basement Tapes. It is 3:00 am, and flockers toss restlessly on improvised pallets, their bladders aching from an excess of pale ale. They are flockers and yet they are not flockers, as it is a dream, and a fourth-generation copy of a dream at that. You are assigned to empty the bucket into which they sleepily pee, and you must stand watch lest they miss the bucket or the bucket overflows. You spy a mop and seek to enchant it, to command it to do your bidding, to haul away the slop bucket and to mop up the spills and leave you to sleep. Over the mop you mutter mumbo-jumbo, pidgin Dutch, glossolalic utterances that give way to a Tourettic stammer as you realize you do not know what the fuck fuck fuck you are doing and now flockers commence to wet their pallets and soon the floor is awash in pee and you cannot stop it and the sea of pee rises and swirls and rises and swirls and recumbent flockers are submerged in an ocean of urine and you cannot stop it and the flood level rises it rises it rises and flockers are drowning and you stand waist-deep in pee, now shoulder-deep in pee, and it rises and rises and it reaches your chin and you struggle to buoy yourself up, to tread pee, to dog-paddle, but it is no good and now your head bumps the basement ceiling and the pee is rising . . .
and you wake.
Bacon. Maple syrup. And more pale ale.
Was it like that?
Whew!
Our lights are starting to flicker. So if I disappear, blame it on the atmosphere.
Blame it on God!
I blame everything on God.
He set himself up for it!
Fuck, yes.
Almighty la-di-dah.
Just bound to take a tumble.
I Should Kick Myself
The entry into the garage. We had new siding put on the house three…four? years ago. At the time, they also put in new garage doors with openers, new windows in the media room (a 10′x25′ room on the south side of the house). Why I didn’t include this door in the deal is a mystery to me. I remember thinking, “Ooo, this is too much money.” But, honestly, what would another three or four hundred dollars have done to the loan, lien on the house over the course of fifteen years?
Nevermind the decaying concrete ruined by ten years of throwing “snow-melt” on top of it, that now needs to be ripped out and replaced. “All in good time,” I keep thinking. “All in good time.” And then there’s the landscaping. Oh, fuck it. The shoemaker’s kids go without shoes.
Cast y’all’s votes, y’all.
Should I be the next Oprah?
