I have no idea if I'm doing this back asswards, but after following a link on Mister Jalopy's Hooptyrides blog (which I've been reading for years) to MOO.com (which I've been meaning to patronize for years, and finally did) I realized I can sell ad space on my little blog. Duh.
And thus I enter 2002.
Because I do this for the ART, I'm being choosy for now. I've invited MOO and Fabric.com to tattoo their names on my virtual ass, because I have been customers of theirs in the past, and I trust their products. Let's see how this rolls...
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
I think the Elves are up to no good
As we enter the holiday season, Dexter has been getting us prepared by inserting the novelization of the Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer cartoon into the bedtime book rotation. Early October is never too early to be thinking about Santa when you are four.
This book sucks for a variety of reasons, the most heinous to me is that the pictures are cartoon illustrations inspired by the Rankin Bass animation, but not actual STILLS of the cartoon itself. Also, they play a little fast and loose with the dialogue as if it's not licensed, and they are staying just on the right side of the law which makes the whole thing a little stilted to read aloud.
None of this matters to the child, who clearly has no taste or standards.
So after repeated readings, what has become very apparent to me is there is a gigantic corrupt coverup going on at the North Pole.
One of the plot points is Rudolph floats off and ends up at the Isle of Misfit Toys, who request that Rudolph put in a good word with Santa if he ever makes it back alive.
From the beginning of the story, we are to understand that Elves Make All The Toys. Therefore, they must have made the misfit toys and secretly dumped them on this remote island to cover up their ineptitude. Is Santa even aware this is going on? And why was the dolly even there? She looks fine!! And why is Aslan in charge? And why can't they leave? Is it the Hotel California of Toys? Steve suggested the Island of Dr. Morrow.
This book sucks for a variety of reasons, the most heinous to me is that the pictures are cartoon illustrations inspired by the Rankin Bass animation, but not actual STILLS of the cartoon itself. Also, they play a little fast and loose with the dialogue as if it's not licensed, and they are staying just on the right side of the law which makes the whole thing a little stilted to read aloud.
None of this matters to the child, who clearly has no taste or standards.
So after repeated readings, what has become very apparent to me is there is a gigantic corrupt coverup going on at the North Pole.
One of the plot points is Rudolph floats off and ends up at the Isle of Misfit Toys, who request that Rudolph put in a good word with Santa if he ever makes it back alive.
From the beginning of the story, we are to understand that Elves Make All The Toys. Therefore, they must have made the misfit toys and secretly dumped them on this remote island to cover up their ineptitude. Is Santa even aware this is going on? And why was the dolly even there? She looks fine!! And why is Aslan in charge? And why can't they leave? Is it the Hotel California of Toys? Steve suggested the Island of Dr. Morrow.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
The Gift That Keeps On Giving...
...is a giant bag of Kirkland chicken breast tenders!!
As I go to the bag AGAIN for what seems like the 3rd or 4th time to thaw out 8 pieces of chicken I marvel that there is still MORE. This is a good thing. I have not had to buy chicken in a month. Whatever it cost, it was worth it, it was cheaper than buying it all by the pound, one small pack at a time. It goes on my permanent "oh alright, I'm gonna make a trip to Costco" list of things I can no longer live without.
I'm sure the meat is filled with hormones and the chickens lived in horrible conditions and died miserable deaths.
But having that bag satisfies me in so many ways- I feel like a frugal, efficient modern woman cooking tasty, healthy meals for my family, even when I am working. It gives me that Enjoli feeling, like I'm kicking ass and taking names. All wrapped up in some frozen, packaged chicken breast tenders.
Somewhere, a Kirkland marketing exec just jizzed all over his desk after I typed that.
(edit-when I went to steal the photo of the bag off the Costco website, it turns out that the chicken is hormone free, and I don't have to thaw it. The jury is still out on if they were in good moods or not when they were slaughtered.)
As I go to the bag AGAIN for what seems like the 3rd or 4th time to thaw out 8 pieces of chicken I marvel that there is still MORE. This is a good thing. I have not had to buy chicken in a month. Whatever it cost, it was worth it, it was cheaper than buying it all by the pound, one small pack at a time. It goes on my permanent "oh alright, I'm gonna make a trip to Costco" list of things I can no longer live without.
I'm sure the meat is filled with hormones and the chickens lived in horrible conditions and died miserable deaths.
But having that bag satisfies me in so many ways- I feel like a frugal, efficient modern woman cooking tasty, healthy meals for my family, even when I am working. It gives me that Enjoli feeling, like I'm kicking ass and taking names. All wrapped up in some frozen, packaged chicken breast tenders.
Somewhere, a Kirkland marketing exec just jizzed all over his desk after I typed that.
(edit-when I went to steal the photo of the bag off the Costco website, it turns out that the chicken is hormone free, and I don't have to thaw it. The jury is still out on if they were in good moods or not when they were slaughtered.)
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
what dreams are made of...
I'm having a stolen day today and I'm using it for the forces of Good. Work got cancelled, but I'm still on the clock for machinations beyond my control that for once rule in my favor. I realized as I'm walking out the door to do some long overdue errands that the theme of my day is Dreams.
Errand one is dropping my 5 year old niece's Halloween costume in the mail. I made her a bunny suit that looks exactly like her pet rabbit. She has been asking for it longer than they've even owned the rabbit and this Halloween is shall be hers.
Errand two is getting my Ringling Brothers Clown College diploma framed. The piece of paper is old enough to vote and buy it's own porn. We found a framer that does great work inexpensively, and have been slowly working our way through things that need framing.
Errand three is driving all the way to Santa Monica to Truetone, a guitar store that specializes in repairing electric guitars. Steve's has been busted for 5 years. The guy who busted it had just moved to town when he broke it, has now already lived his arc of Los Angeles life and departed for somewhere else and the guitar is still sadly not repaired. Today is the day it becomes whole again.
Many small drops into the good karma bucket!
Errand one is dropping my 5 year old niece's Halloween costume in the mail. I made her a bunny suit that looks exactly like her pet rabbit. She has been asking for it longer than they've even owned the rabbit and this Halloween is shall be hers.
Errand two is getting my Ringling Brothers Clown College diploma framed. The piece of paper is old enough to vote and buy it's own porn. We found a framer that does great work inexpensively, and have been slowly working our way through things that need framing.
Errand three is driving all the way to Santa Monica to Truetone, a guitar store that specializes in repairing electric guitars. Steve's has been busted for 5 years. The guy who busted it had just moved to town when he broke it, has now already lived his arc of Los Angeles life and departed for somewhere else and the guitar is still sadly not repaired. Today is the day it becomes whole again.
Many small drops into the good karma bucket!
Friday, October 7, 2011
Scooby Doo, where are you?
I think I know what happened to Fred...he grew up to be a "confirmed bachelor of a certain age" living in Silverlake. I spotted his van at the Trader Joe's on Hyperion the other night.
 |
| The Mystery Machine! (BTW, this TJ's has a particularly notorious parking lot. Please admire the fantastic parking job of the disabled guy on the phone in the foreground.) |
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Lunchbags and Lunchboxes or How To Be A Preschool Rockstar
Sometimes Dexter's lunchbox does not make it home from school, but gets left behind on the shelf or in Daddy's car. When this happens, Mom rolls old school, packing his lunch in a paper sack. As laid back as his preschool is, I have never seen any kid's lunch in a bag, so I do like to step it up with illustrating the bag. Dexter always requests I draw all of our faces on one side, with our neighbors who live next door on the other side of the bag.
At the beginning of the summer he started requesting the faces get decorated as well, the two themes being the members of KISS and various Star Wars characters. Requested by character name, and assigned to each person specifically.
As summer progressed, he decided it was time for a new lunchbox. His old one was getting really beat up and worn, and was looking very babyish. We started looking together right after July 4th. He wanted Lego Star Wars, but the only ones were Clone Wars. He wanted Mario Bros, but we didn't see that. Then he realized what he really wanted was a Lego Star Wars/Pokemon/KISS/Spiderman/Green Lantern/Super Mario/Captain America lunch box.
This was a tall order, but I thought it could be made. I found a bunch of images on the internet and enlisted our neighbor Ben Lewis (seen above in lunchbag cartoon form) to use his Propmaster Photoshop skills and hook up with a vinyl label guy to make some new lunchbox art. I bought the most basic lunchbox I could find, peeled off whatever stickers were on it, removed the rest of the adhesive with Goo Be Gone, and passed the blank to Ben.
Behold, the most amazing lunchbox you have ever seen, and the dream of every four year old boy.
When Dexter walks into school, a swarm of little boys crowd around to gaze upon it. They hold up various action figures in their grubby hands to find its picture on it. So far, the lunchbox has made it home just about every night.
 |
| our family |
 |
| the next door neighbors |
 |
| Darth Vader, Young Obi Wan, Yoda, and R2D2 |
 |
| Gene Simmons, Ace Freely, and Peter Kriss |
This was a tall order, but I thought it could be made. I found a bunch of images on the internet and enlisted our neighbor Ben Lewis (seen above in lunchbag cartoon form) to use his Propmaster Photoshop skills and hook up with a vinyl label guy to make some new lunchbox art. I bought the most basic lunchbox I could find, peeled off whatever stickers were on it, removed the rest of the adhesive with Goo Be Gone, and passed the blank to Ben.
Behold, the most amazing lunchbox you have ever seen, and the dream of every four year old boy.
When Dexter walks into school, a swarm of little boys crowd around to gaze upon it. They hold up various action figures in their grubby hands to find its picture on it. So far, the lunchbox has made it home just about every night.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Langer's Deli
I like sandwiches. And today, I had the best one I've ever had. The #19 from Langer's Deli in Los Angeles. I am loathe to admit this, but this pastrami sandwich blows away any NYC deli's version.
Steve and I had a discussion the other day sparked by our delicious pork sandwiches from Forage. Steve maintained that the #19 was the winner across the entire spectrum of sandwiches he's ever eaten in his entire life, including Sack O'Subs. I said it was not fair to put deli sandwiches in the same category of regular sandwiches. Perhaps they could compete in the "hot meat on a bread" category (Phillipe's etc) but cold sandwiches are their own category. Grilled cheese, hot dogs and hamburgers would have to have categories of their own as well.
So today was the day I tried it.
I now believe that if there was a Westminster Sandwich Show, that this #19 from Langer's Deli would be Best in Show. If you can compare a tea cup poodle to a sheepdog and pick a winner, then you can compare pastrami to grilled cheese.
The first indicator that I was dealing with a world class sandwich was that though this deli is located at the intersection of El Shitto (Alvarado) and Filth (6th) across from MacArthur Park (where someone left the cake out in the rain and it is now full of used needles and bum poo) it has been at this location for 60 years with no signs of stopping. There were 4 cashiers poised and at the ready for the lunch rush that was just starting. They have no parking on site, requiring patrons to walk a block through the crappy neighborhood, but yet the place was already filling up. As I glanced around for the few moments I had to wait while they bagged up my order, you could see how the place was just about to be absolutely swamped, but they were ready. The phone was already ringing constantly with orders. They have curb service.
We took the sandwiches home. After the first bite, I knew.
It starts with the bread. This was the best rye bread I've ever had. Soft and tender on the inside, with a hard, crunchy irregular crust on the outside. The bread alone was worth the trip, and I would have gotten a whole loaf if I'd known. The pastrami itself was so tender and perfectly cooked and seasoned. It was not sliced, but sort of flaked or chunked, and not too much. This was not one of those monstrosities piled with two pounds of meat. You could fit the sandwich in your mouth. The other layers were some kind of coleslaw, russian dressing and according to Steve, cheese. I did not detect cheese. I also did not stop to pull it apart, because I was having a transcendental sandwich experience at the time. There are times where you just savor, living in the flavor moment and not question the how or the why.
The sandwich was so perfect, that I ate only half (plus one bite) and have saved the other half for a few hours from now.
Edit-it is now a few hours later, and I have finished the sandwich. I feel a loss, a deep sadness, now that my sandwich is gone. How will I ever eat another sandwich anywhere else?
Steve and I had a discussion the other day sparked by our delicious pork sandwiches from Forage. Steve maintained that the #19 was the winner across the entire spectrum of sandwiches he's ever eaten in his entire life, including Sack O'Subs. I said it was not fair to put deli sandwiches in the same category of regular sandwiches. Perhaps they could compete in the "hot meat on a bread" category (Phillipe's etc) but cold sandwiches are their own category. Grilled cheese, hot dogs and hamburgers would have to have categories of their own as well.
So today was the day I tried it.
I now believe that if there was a Westminster Sandwich Show, that this #19 from Langer's Deli would be Best in Show. If you can compare a tea cup poodle to a sheepdog and pick a winner, then you can compare pastrami to grilled cheese.
The first indicator that I was dealing with a world class sandwich was that though this deli is located at the intersection of El Shitto (Alvarado) and Filth (6th) across from MacArthur Park (where someone left the cake out in the rain and it is now full of used needles and bum poo) it has been at this location for 60 years with no signs of stopping. There were 4 cashiers poised and at the ready for the lunch rush that was just starting. They have no parking on site, requiring patrons to walk a block through the crappy neighborhood, but yet the place was already filling up. As I glanced around for the few moments I had to wait while they bagged up my order, you could see how the place was just about to be absolutely swamped, but they were ready. The phone was already ringing constantly with orders. They have curb service.
We took the sandwiches home. After the first bite, I knew.
It starts with the bread. This was the best rye bread I've ever had. Soft and tender on the inside, with a hard, crunchy irregular crust on the outside. The bread alone was worth the trip, and I would have gotten a whole loaf if I'd known. The pastrami itself was so tender and perfectly cooked and seasoned. It was not sliced, but sort of flaked or chunked, and not too much. This was not one of those monstrosities piled with two pounds of meat. You could fit the sandwich in your mouth. The other layers were some kind of coleslaw, russian dressing and according to Steve, cheese. I did not detect cheese. I also did not stop to pull it apart, because I was having a transcendental sandwich experience at the time. There are times where you just savor, living in the flavor moment and not question the how or the why.
The sandwich was so perfect, that I ate only half (plus one bite) and have saved the other half for a few hours from now.
Edit-it is now a few hours later, and I have finished the sandwich. I feel a loss, a deep sadness, now that my sandwich is gone. How will I ever eat another sandwich anywhere else?
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