ooo racy! a racist post! ...not quite.
tonight i had one of those magical moments in which you're flicking through channels, come across a movie, and get completely, utterly, and transcendentally sucked in. it was called 'gentleman's agreement.' as much as it sounds like a porn about two southern gentlemen swapping wives, it's a really amazing film. it's about a journalist in the 1940's who pretends he's a jew to write a series about antisemitism. i laughed, i fell in love with the always amazing gregory peck, and i bawled my eyes out. there are some truly cheesy and unbelievable scenes, but the gist of the story is remarkable, and many of the people involved in the film were later blacklisted, even before mccarthy took the reins. (it has a rather tragic story all around, actually. a book in the making.) if you ever get a chance, watch it. and feel proud of your country, and look at how damn attractive gregory peck can be.
it should be noted that while i was watching this film, i was drinking african wine. which may have something to do with my affection for it. this wine, though... first of all, being an ignorant ass, i had no idea that they made wine in south africa. second... i think they make schizophrenic wine. when you open the bottle, your nose is assaulted with smoke and vanilla and banana. i mean... i'm used to cheap californian and australian wines by now, so... wtf mate? and you can feel each sip in your toes, it's that strong. the first glass is rough, but man that second one is AMAZING. but... over-ripe banana? in wine? really?
haven't decided if it's worth buying again. i can't decide, because the damn wine can't decide what kind of wine it wants to be. sweet? no. bitter? no. mellow? fuck no. it's dancing all over the place. and i give up. wine shouldn't be this much work. wine should work for YOU, making YOU feel happy, following you around like a big red balloon to bring a smile. this wine... well it might as well be french. it says, 'fuck you, you stupid american, you're too bland to experience my full soulfull nature of the savannah! you have never seen a lion in the wild, or even a fucking balboa tree! you aren't from the earth, you're made of plastic, you've never eaten stomach of gazelle, you swine, you cannot understand!'
maybe not. what the hell happened to that nice bland yellow tail shiraz blend i had? it was awfully nonthreatening and very generous with the buzz... maybe i should stick to that. and then continue to eat all-white food. that's what we do here in minnesota, right? it fits into my preconceived notions of white supremacy and american entitlement... (excuse me while i sip my aquafina. that's spanish, right?)
hmm. i must have some pent-up rage somewhere. better post this on TWO! blogs instead of one, maybe it'll be like venting to two people.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
kettle drums and lawn ornaments.
oh thank god. you can stream hawaiian radio. aaaahhh.... i can almost feel the sand between my toes. i can see it all now, the blinding sun, the pounding waves scaring off all the families with children, and my private waiter. why yes, i would love another drink served in a coconut. no, i don't think it's silly at all, but i don't think it'll fit in the cupholder of my plastic floaty thing. sunscreen? nooo, it's for sissies and that man over there who should be wearing a shirt. actually, could you have him removed, please? thanks. he was doing nothing for the overall look of the beach.
and, waiter, could you get rid of the reggae band for me too? there's a franklin in it for you if you can make it happen in the next three minutes...
why does everyone love reggae so much? come to think of it, why does anyone love reggae at all? between the repeating vowels and the electronic beat.... which sounds oddly like a plastic electronic keyboard i remember from the late 80's... i feel like i'm trapped in some horrific carnival. the music will slow, turn to a minor key, and blood-covered clowns will pop out of market stands wielding fire sticks as everyone runs shrieking to the beach.
maybe it's not that bad. maybe i just live in the wrong climate for reggae. about 4,000 miles from the wrong climate. hey, maybe if i wasn't shivering violently, cursing every cheerful and encouraging snowboarder for a hundred miles to an icy and horrific death, while wondering just how far south you can get on a half a tank of gas, just maybe it would appeal to me a little more.
i often express my dislike for winter, usually in a long groan about how nice it is in hawaii today. i'm usually greeted by sentences like, "oh, you don't hate winter that much, you just need to get outside more! want to borror my skis?" oh sure! i'd love to borrow your skis! i'd love nothing better than to learn a new sport while my nostrils freeze together. or, "look, the sun is shining today, it's beautiful out!" sure, it's beautiful. it might be -17, but in minnesota they call that beautiful. oh look! a little bunny's gone and got himself frozen to our lawn! we'll have an adorable statue to look at all winter! the one response i do enjoy is, "well, it's blizzarding out, want to come over and watch the dumb fucks try to drive up the hill?" (that was in duluth. topher had a great view, apparently.) mostly, i just try and wait it out till spring. which happens in june. and that's a loooong ways off.
i'm hoping to make mai tais this week. shortly after i reach the point of inability to walk under my own power due the combined effects of three kinds of rum, i plan to curl up in a snowbank, fade into blissful hypothermia, and become a lawn ornament.
and, waiter, could you get rid of the reggae band for me too? there's a franklin in it for you if you can make it happen in the next three minutes...
why does everyone love reggae so much? come to think of it, why does anyone love reggae at all? between the repeating vowels and the electronic beat.... which sounds oddly like a plastic electronic keyboard i remember from the late 80's... i feel like i'm trapped in some horrific carnival. the music will slow, turn to a minor key, and blood-covered clowns will pop out of market stands wielding fire sticks as everyone runs shrieking to the beach.
maybe it's not that bad. maybe i just live in the wrong climate for reggae. about 4,000 miles from the wrong climate. hey, maybe if i wasn't shivering violently, cursing every cheerful and encouraging snowboarder for a hundred miles to an icy and horrific death, while wondering just how far south you can get on a half a tank of gas, just maybe it would appeal to me a little more.
i often express my dislike for winter, usually in a long groan about how nice it is in hawaii today. i'm usually greeted by sentences like, "oh, you don't hate winter that much, you just need to get outside more! want to borror my skis?" oh sure! i'd love to borrow your skis! i'd love nothing better than to learn a new sport while my nostrils freeze together. or, "look, the sun is shining today, it's beautiful out!" sure, it's beautiful. it might be -17, but in minnesota they call that beautiful. oh look! a little bunny's gone and got himself frozen to our lawn! we'll have an adorable statue to look at all winter! the one response i do enjoy is, "well, it's blizzarding out, want to come over and watch the dumb fucks try to drive up the hill?" (that was in duluth. topher had a great view, apparently.) mostly, i just try and wait it out till spring. which happens in june. and that's a loooong ways off.
i'm hoping to make mai tais this week. shortly after i reach the point of inability to walk under my own power due the combined effects of three kinds of rum, i plan to curl up in a snowbank, fade into blissful hypothermia, and become a lawn ornament.
Friday, January 16, 2009
ah, technology.
so i have a new flickr account here. it's all full of fancy. actually, it's currently full of shamefully awkward compositions from my photo 1 class. but i'm just pleased as punch i finally got something up. i also have a nearly ancient deviantart account here. these galleries will display photos that will soon be for sale.
viral marketing plan: bombard the internet with my intellectual property until someone buys something. pay bills. eat. make more things.
yep, wish me luck. and let me know if you're interested.
viral marketing plan: bombard the internet with my intellectual property until someone buys something. pay bills. eat. make more things.
yep, wish me luck. and let me know if you're interested.
cookery? or kitchen fuckery? you decide.
my brother and i often urge a certain family-member-who-shall-not-be-named to eat well and exercise more. this is often followed by: we love you!
today she responded, 'well, i love donuts.'
tomorrow i'm going to make an amazing beef stew with red wine in it. i'm so excited that my mouth is actually watering. between my obsession with anthony bourdain and my newfound love of wine, i think i'm turning into a foodie. not a very good one perhaps, especially since i'm going to the ubiquitous and often mediocre olive garden for lunch tomorrow, but i do love to cook. i've gotten to the point where i try to figure out which wine would be best with which meal. i have a list of things i want to try making. i consider it a point of shame that i have yet to roast a whole chicken. risotto no longer scares me. i know what an endive is, and i have a recipe i would like to try that uses one. or four. i consider my mom's chicken fajitas (which were once a big ordeal to make) simple enough that i now think of them as an easy weekday meal. (they're still my favorite thing ever.)
after i conquer beef stew (which is so simple i don't even know why i'm blogging about it. maybe it's the red meat obsession. nom.) ...i plan to make dumplings. yes, dumplings. i love dumplings. but not the stupid ones in those pre-packaged dumpling soups, REAL dumplings. the kind that are delightfully pasta-like, the kind that you don't eat just to get to the meat inside, the glorious kind that we've probably NEVER HAD at the local chinese/asian-american-conglomeration joint. maybe i'll even attempt to make the holy grail of all dumplings, the SOUP dumpling. (yes. soup. in a dumpling. amazing.) now, these things are tricky to make. i have yet to find a recipe for a real soup dumpling, and i don't think there is a restaurant in the midwest that serves them. but god DAMN do they look delicious! unfortunately, they also look delightfully out of range of both my talent and resources. alas!
today she responded, 'well, i love donuts.'
tomorrow i'm going to make an amazing beef stew with red wine in it. i'm so excited that my mouth is actually watering. between my obsession with anthony bourdain and my newfound love of wine, i think i'm turning into a foodie. not a very good one perhaps, especially since i'm going to the ubiquitous and often mediocre olive garden for lunch tomorrow, but i do love to cook. i've gotten to the point where i try to figure out which wine would be best with which meal. i have a list of things i want to try making. i consider it a point of shame that i have yet to roast a whole chicken. risotto no longer scares me. i know what an endive is, and i have a recipe i would like to try that uses one. or four. i consider my mom's chicken fajitas (which were once a big ordeal to make) simple enough that i now think of them as an easy weekday meal. (they're still my favorite thing ever.)
after i conquer beef stew (which is so simple i don't even know why i'm blogging about it. maybe it's the red meat obsession. nom.) ...i plan to make dumplings. yes, dumplings. i love dumplings. but not the stupid ones in those pre-packaged dumpling soups, REAL dumplings. the kind that are delightfully pasta-like, the kind that you don't eat just to get to the meat inside, the glorious kind that we've probably NEVER HAD at the local chinese/asian-american-conglomeration joint. maybe i'll even attempt to make the holy grail of all dumplings, the SOUP dumpling. (yes. soup. in a dumpling. amazing.) now, these things are tricky to make. i have yet to find a recipe for a real soup dumpling, and i don't think there is a restaurant in the midwest that serves them. but god DAMN do they look delicious! unfortunately, they also look delightfully out of range of both my talent and resources. alas!
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
everyone's a poet.
The other day I was knitting my new beautiful black sweater, and I dropped six stitches because I got distracted by Rambo.
Such clashes of temperament seem common in life lately.
There is a new (?) kind of poetry floating around in which people (usually teenage girls) go through old books and underline or circle random words and phrases to form poetry. This could be worthy of praise, were they not stealing entire phrases of another writer's work. And ruining my reading experience in the process.
I picked up a copy of Seven Pillars of Wisdom at a used bookstore the other day. It was written by T. E. Lawrence (of Arabia) and details his adventures during the Arab revolt against the Turks in WWI. It is filled with panoramas of crushing heat and thirst, and the personalities that the sun's anvil creates. Filled with wonders and terrors, a testament to the very nature of mankind, its beauty and its barbarity.
And, in black ink, on every other page, you will find "poems" like this:
"convert!
the difficulty
of being
Arab."
Out of all the words and all the messages you could have found, this is what you chose? Really? In this book, about Arabs, about their complexity and humanity, all you can think to do is convert them? Call me a snob, but I think I need to buy a new copy.
Such clashes of temperament seem common in life lately.
There is a new (?) kind of poetry floating around in which people (usually teenage girls) go through old books and underline or circle random words and phrases to form poetry. This could be worthy of praise, were they not stealing entire phrases of another writer's work. And ruining my reading experience in the process.
I picked up a copy of Seven Pillars of Wisdom at a used bookstore the other day. It was written by T. E. Lawrence (of Arabia) and details his adventures during the Arab revolt against the Turks in WWI. It is filled with panoramas of crushing heat and thirst, and the personalities that the sun's anvil creates. Filled with wonders and terrors, a testament to the very nature of mankind, its beauty and its barbarity.
And, in black ink, on every other page, you will find "poems" like this:
"convert!
the difficulty
of being
Arab."
Out of all the words and all the messages you could have found, this is what you chose? Really? In this book, about Arabs, about their complexity and humanity, all you can think to do is convert them? Call me a snob, but I think I need to buy a new copy.
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