Archive for January, 2006

Cuddles likes playing in fields, so it all makes sense

We went to see Field Music on Saturday night. Since music reviews are better left to people who know what they are talking about, my review will be purely an aesthetic one. These boys are C.U.T.E. and adorably adorable. But if you want to have a listen be my guest. (Is that legal of me? No idea. I never write about music shows. Mostly because, as it has been discovered to my embarassment, I haven’t been to many shows lately and what shows I have been to are not cool.)

Field Music

On the Cuteness-O-Meter I give Field Music three and three-quarters Cuddles The Seeing Eye Mini Horses.
cuddlescuddlescuddlescuddlesthreequarters

JetBlue now full of beans

JetBlue Airways, parent of the low-cost airline, said Tuesday it will begin serving 10-ounce cups of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee on all its flights by the end of the month. The deal is the airline’s latest attempt to bring brand names on board its planes. JetBlue currently offers satellite television and radio with DirecTV and XM Radio and, for a $5 fee, FOX movies.

First JetBlue started flying between New York and Boston for under $100, and now this news breaks. What’s next? Cuddles the Seeing Eye-Mini Horse will be available for petting and general in-flight adorability and JetBlue will exclusively offer Cadbury Creme Eggs year-round? This company can do no wrong.
dunk cuddles creme eggs

Girlfriend in a (food) coma

It’s not that serious.

Yesterday, sweet and delicious yesterday, marked a fusion of quality food and television the likes of which have not been seen in this lifetime. It’s Restaurant Week in New York City and as a result, casual diners on a budget throughout the five boroughs have are sleeping heavily while remnants of a $35 price fixed meal dance in their bellies, tax and tip not included. My Dining Companion and I went to Artisanal to engage in a deluge of fromage, and if it’s possible to be both comatose and euphoric, that would describe us after overindulging.

I like going to places where you can get a cheese plate and the server knows the who what where of every cheese on the menu. Call me creepy, but I get chills when I hear about cheese. Ripeness, buttery notes, triple cremes and pungent rinds? Bring it, and don’t stop. Last night I did consider training to become an affineuse or fromager because Artisanal offers classes, but if I do that I might never stop talking about cheese and I would alienate my loved ones and mostly likely suffer a lonely “death from(old)age”.
fromager

The special fondue of the day, Montasio, was complimented by caramelized chestnuts and it was heavenly. A hard Italian Cow’s milk cheese, Montasio is marked with an aromatic grassiness offset by its sweet finish (and makes a hell of a steak and cheese on a stick when you drown steak tips and bread cubes in it and jam it in your mouth all at once).
fondue mont

Also found in heaven, stashed in God’s sofa-with-a-secret so no one else can find them, were the gougeres. Little puff pastries made with gruyere, indescribably good. The onion soup, garlic and fennel sausage, and creamed parmesan spinach were good, not as divine as the first few items but definitely not lingering in any circles of hell. Since we didn’t finish those petit plats, we still had room for the most phenomenal pecan praline cheesecake in existence.

Ask anyone in the general public and they could probably tell you that cheese is quite binding. Ask anyone in General Public where is the tenderness and they could probably point you to my belly right now. But it was soooo worth it. How was that for a dinner epi-log? Ew.

Our reservation was for the un-hip hour of 6:30pm, leaving plenty of time to get home and make an ass-print in the new Jennifer Convertible in order to achieve ultimate comfort while watching PROJECT RUNWAY at 10pm (and again at 11pm, not that I would watch the same show two times in a row. Or would I?!?!). The show that’s got the world talking and for good reason, it has it all. Last night, I finally got to give my hands a rest since they have been wringing with anticipation for 167 hours, since last week’s “Scenes from the next…”.

Last night! Nick’s Stitch-Bitchery! Zulema digging her own poorly executed grave! A model walk-off won by Tarah-with-an-H! Chloe making possibly the cutest dress ever! Santino’s Tim Gunn impression that makes me hate him a little less! An orchid-inspired top by Daniel that would not flatter anyone but he’s so cute when he pulls his hair back that I don’t care! And have I mentioned I could be lulled into a peaceful, dreamy sleep by listening to Heidi Klum say the name “Nina Garcia” over and over? If we are using the transitive property, Project Runway equals Artisanal Montasio Fondue equals bliss, therefore my nimble fingered darlings of the overlock machine, yes all of you, even yucky old Catherine-Keener-if-she-was-run-over-by-a-truck Marla, are bliss to me.

Extreme Makeover: Rubin Edition

“‘I am,’ I said, to no one there, and no one heard at all, not even the chair,” is a typically opaque lyric. [Neil] Diamond’s new album, “12 Songs,” which was produced by Rick Rubin, exhibits both his chivalrous approach to romance and his awkwardly phrased enthusiasms, qualities that have been evident since the start of his forty-five-year career. Happily, Rubin reins in Diamond’s floridity more than any other producer he has worked with since the sixties, highlighting the weird mixture of guilelessness and gravitas at the center of his work.”
Neil
This week’s New Yorker music feature, excerpted above, focuses on Neil Diamond and the renaissance of cool that he is sure to experience as a result of his collaboration with producer Rick Rubin. The effect of the Rubin touch is nothing new. Rubin has managed to polish dull, timeworn careers like those of Diamond, Johnny Cash and Tom Petty to reveal a surface of previously unknown potential that also manages to repel dust and gleams like nobody’s business.

Rubin’s producing is akin to having a life coach who recognizes the skills you have and the skills you didn’t even know you had and has you apply them in the perfect way for optimum living potential. Which is why I smell a tv show…ummmmm…Extreme Makeover: Rick Rubin Edition?! Are you old and unsatisfied with the output of your life? Rick will work to find you a collaborator, friend and life partner you never would have considered in the past to create a fusion the world has never known the likes of. The Run DMC to your Aerosmith, perhaps. Walk this way, toward a new you.

Young and popular but looking for a way to become even more young and popular? The Justin Timberlake (new album dropping in ’06) approach could be considered. Sure you’ll be able to showcase your natural talent and charm, but Rick will undoubtedly sprinkle his MSG Magic on you and enhance your flava, too.

Side note, I didn’t realize that RR was the music supervisor for Less Than Zero, but I will no longer feel embarrassed for loving the Bangles’ version of “Hazy Shade of Winter”. It all makes so much sense now and I will no longer just think of that song as an anthem for Andrew McCarthy’s miscreant cocaine use. It has levels, people.

If only we all had our own pocket sized Rick Rubin to guide us through life, we would be so much more complex and lushly orchestrated. Or stripped naked, beating an upside down garbage can in our living room. But Rick Rubin is able to tell which method is right for you, and that’s something maybe we can’t determine for ourselves.
Rick Rubin

Comma Chameleon

The lede I was going to use for this entry was “I am obsessed!” but of course, since it’s me who is talking it would actually be more like “I am obsessed, you guys!”. But actually since I am not 100% honest-to-goodness obsessed I’m not going to start with that. So:

I am mildly fascinated, you guys! With GRAMMAR! Let me first begin to say that when I was younger and had a stickerbook, which you may remember me talking about in a previous post, I had a page of school-related stickers with sayings like “Is it 3:30 yet?!” and “My Favorite Class is Recess” and the most relevant “I Love Grammar…Grampar’s Great Too”. Come on! To a third grader thats comedy! Well, really, to a third grader who re-enacted Church of Latter Day Saints’ commercials in front of an attentive audience of Boglins and Pillow People , that was comedy.

But it’s true. I do love grammar. I have always tried at the very least to be an accurate speller, which hopefully acts as a Band-Aid to cover my rampant, over, use of, commas. I took no steps to correct that comma thing because I was lazy and the sloppiness never bothered me. I assumed that to be diligent about whether you place your apostrophe before or after an “s” was enough. But then I was introduced to Bill Walsh. After reading Bill’s book , I feel that it is my duty to perform some side-of-the-information-superhighway community service and clean shit up in the blogosphere. Give me one of those little stabby poles and a mess of split infinitives and call me Rory Gilmore after she stole that boat with Logan and her fancy-pants lawyer couldn’t get her off so she had to perform 300 hours of this stuff. My blog is going to be spotless, with nary an extraneous ellipse or capitalization.

Someday.

See, I’m not very good at editing yet. There is a lot I have to learn. But the simple fact is that I think I am dorking out on it. That happens to me sometimes, mainly on things I learned in sixth through twelfth grade, which is why I patiently waited over a year after starting this blog to find the absolute right place to put in a Fibonacci sequence joke. I embroidered a pair of socks with Avogadro’s Number on them in high school because we were celebrating Mole Day in chemistry (October 23rd, for you keeping track, since a mole is 6 x 10 to the 23rd power). I love anything having to do with pangea and I bought the Kaiser Chief’s album because of the line “drifting apart like a plate tectonic”. But I have favored math and science jokes for far too long and now I am plan to re-learn English.

It’s fun in a weird way and I think this means Bill is like the new Mr. Wizard to me, making learning easy to digest. And of course this is all well AND good (I think? let me see what Bill says about those modifiers) and language is most def my new BFF, but recess will always be my favorite subject.

Gothamisting Over

Almost Famous. Kinda.

Tennis Anyone?

I saw Match Point this weekend which means that I need to give it to you all straight up, haiku review style. Let it be known that I didn’t like it so much, although Jeff II did. I have a problem articulating why I don’t like tales of moral debauchery, other than to just say they make me feel icky. That’s why I didn’t like The Apartment, and apparently if you dont like The Apartment there is something wrong with you. So either I have major emotional problems or an unshakeable moral code that even celluloid must adhere to. Which sort of sounds like the same thing when you type it out like this.

Oh, and this is a minor spoiler alert. I guess. But maybe not if you watch enough Access Hollywood and stuff.

Tennis and murder!
We should call it Love/and Death!
HA! Advantage me.

matchpt