"I remember the time I knew what happiness was ...
Let the memory live again" -- Cats
I've been doing some Googling on this quote from the musical Cats, trying to make sure I got it right -- Is it "I remember a time...", or "I remember the time..."? Every source online seems to say "the time".
There's a seemingly subtle but nevertheless substantial difference between the two. "A time" refers back to a pleasant moment past. "The time" refers to a pleasant moment past in the face of a less pleasant present. If I were to say, "I remember the time I was happy", it indicates that there is a part of my life that no longer exists today - a happy part.
Last night I watched the movie Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind for the first time. Despite its stoner-esque title, the concept behind the story is pretty intriguing -- What if we could delete someone from our memory ... completely?
Ultimately this boils down to erasing someone from our memory who has hurt us deeply. The ironic twist is that this person is probably the same one who has brought us a lot of happiness ... at one time.
I think there are two categories of "pain"; the kind that we would rather be without, and the kind that we tolerate because we have no choice. For example, it's painful losing your mother ... but you would never want to completely zap her from your memory, right? However you might consider zapping an ex-boy/girlfriend who gave you the pink slip in a harsh way?
One difference between the two kinds is mere accusation. My mom dying was not her decision, but a breakup or fight between friends carries "blame". Another difference is emotional "loitering" ... mom is gone, but ex's still cross paths.
The characters in Spotless Mind chose memory deletion as a way to endure, as if their lives weren't worth living with those memories in tow. I don't want to live like that.
I'd rather approach both kinds of pain in the same way- remember them both for what they have brought me, taught me, and ultimately how they have led me to where I am today. Which is to say, inevitably- very happy ...
So can I look back positively on ex-roommates-gone-psycho, ex-boyfriends-gone-stale, and ex-best-friends-gone-sour ... ? I guess that's what life is all about- wanting the sunshine, and putting up with the shadows that consequently stand out.
Occasional Cloudiness of the Polka-dotted Mind ... sounds like an absolute blockbuster :-)
Showing posts with label movie/restaurant. Show all posts
Showing posts with label movie/restaurant. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Monday, March 23, 2009
Bitten by Twilight?
Twilight. I've seen it. Now I understand what the hype is all about.
Or do I … ???
I'm not really sure how to classify this movie- definitely not a romantic comedy, or a dark romantic comedy. It's somewhere between a sci-fi/drama/wtf/oh-hell-I-
Vampire lovin', had me a blast. Vampire lovin', sucked me so fast …
For some reason Bella reminded me a lot of Neve Campbell in the Scream movies. She's somewhere between casually emo and curiously mysterious, leaning more towards the emo side only with a better sense of non-drab style. Her ability to stutter and then utter passionate phrases like “It's ok if you like to penetrate the jugular, I trust you'll be gentle with the hymen...” (swoons!) rivals that of Neve hands down.
And of course Edward (swoons again!), an oddly-named vampire who sacrifices flesh for tofu on a regular (shouldn't it be the other way around?), is the heartthrob of the film that sends girls and gays alike into a feverish frenzy. Those eyes, his chiseled jaw, and that electric-shock therapy hair … sigh …
In the movie Edward cannot go out in the sunlight for fear of melanin production, and the possibility that a human may see his shimmering skin. Whatever … if he walked around in broad daylight in the Castro or Dupont Circle everyone would just think he was a glitter-painted drag queen with an appetite for meat. Seems about as normal as you can get.
SO! The question on everyone's mind … If Bella and Edward get it on vampire-style, how can they ensure she won't get infected by his … well … (cough), his … venom? I mean, if a little hickey on the neck spells certain doom for humans, what happens when his fanged semen runs rabid on her lady insides?
And what about the children??? They come out of the womb teeth first, and the babies are fiercely disappointed every time mommy brings them up to the girls to nurse for milk. Bella would need to get a neck-pump to fill up baby bottles and keep her infants satiated. And their pacifiers would end up being little neck chew-toys … Bloody hell …
Back to the movie … So Bella starts getting chased by other hungry non-tofu vampires (who apparently can smell her miles away … reminds me of ... well, me after chickpeas and broccoli). Lots of screaming, running, biting, and lastly an impromptu dialysis session between the two love birds that would make anyone feel faint.
The story has appeal – two people from opposite ends of the tracks coming together to defy the world (like The Little Mermaid, Romeo and Juliet, and Will & Grace … wait …). It's definitely worth a look, and apparently the books are dynamite.
Fortunately, I know that if Edward were ever close enough to my neck he wouldn't be able to infect me. All the blood would have left my neck, and rushed elsewhere.
(giggle and swoon, repeat)
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
in a (540) New York minute(s)
*cue Rhapsody in Blue*
9 hours ... one city. Mission? Consume a despicable amount of calories, slow down traffic with asinine parking maneuvers, and pay an absurd amount of money to watch people sing and dance on stage.
Mission accomplished.
-Rice to Riches: Think Ben & Jerry's, only for rice pudding aficionados. Adorned with humorous signs like "Eat more, you're already fat!" and "Calories don't count in rice pudding", you hardly need the encouragement to stuff yourself silly with varied flavors such as- pecan pie, mango, almond and coconut, rocky road, raspberry ... the list goes on for about 20 different tastes. And for those of you who can't tolerate something milky and gooey in your mouth (down boy!), you can just have a banal cappuccino.
-GLBT Community Center: I know, I know. Why the hell wouldn't it be called the YMCA? Aside from a refreshing pause from the blistering heat, the community center is home to meetings, support groups, 12-step programs, social events, and more. Imagine, a gathering of gay people together in one happy place ... without alcohol ... *crickets chirping*
-Pommes Frites: Aside from its ability to never be recognized by automated-411 operators (What listing? Pommes Frites. You wanted *pause* 'library', is that correct?), this french fry joint is easy enough to find because of the long line of persons who risk heat stroke outside just to consume oily-hot potato wedges. There is an even longer list of dipping sauces in case your cholesterol just isn't quite high enough- I got the parmesan peppercorn.
-"Lesbian bar": I began doing a search to try and get the name of the actual bar we went to, but being a lesbian bar I figured- eh! Who the hell cares?!? (*dodges salmonella-laced tomatoes*) Two vodkas later, and having endured Barbara Streisand internet-jukeboxed in a bar (...lesbians! *throws hands up in the air*), the prospects of dessert drew us once again into the muggy streets.
-Magnolia Bakery: Famed "Sex and the City" bakery, and host to plenty of tourists acting like they've never seen a cupcake before ("oh my god! that one has frosting! FROSTING!!!" *snaps picture of friend smiling with V-handshape*), Magnolia is a happy host to 3 post-bar scavengers in desperate need of dinner. A chocolate wafer cake layered with whipped cream, a cupcake or two, a slice of carrot cake (somewhat disappointing...) -- and god knows what else, passersby in the street were not surprised to see us scarfing down sugar like Coney Island hotdog competitors. One girl even said to her friend, "You hit him on the head, I'll grab the cupcakes". But honestly, they aren't good enough to inspire violence.
-The Lion King: Barreling through Times Square in desperate search of street parking (along with unicorns, elves, and other fantastical creatures), we finally made it (on time!) to the theater. This is the part where words completely fail me -- in all truthfulness, you have to see it for yourself. While the audience clapped and cheered in between scenes, I found myself transfixed, gaping uncontrollably towards the stage- unsure if I had imagined it all, but convinced that even my musically-minded mind could not even begin to construct that perfect synthesis of music, dancing, and culture. Oh- and Simba was fucking hot!!!
Having conquered the Apple and dazzling all senses, we made our way back to DC along the dark, un-twinkling lit interstate. My only source of consolation was the bathroom at a New Jersey rest area, where I saw a "macho" man turbulently wrestle to get his (apparently) ginormous penis back into his pants -- it was like watching someone try to stuff an angry cat into a paper bag. Certainly nothing in this world should be that strenuous ... but if so, can I have your number?
And after the looming skyscrapers and uncountable march of humanity through the streets of New York, returning to DC was like a peaceful nightcap at the end of an exhausting day; slower, gentler, and a soft pillow that ate me up as if calories didn't count.
Phew. What a day ...
9 hours ... one city. Mission? Consume a despicable amount of calories, slow down traffic with asinine parking maneuvers, and pay an absurd amount of money to watch people sing and dance on stage.
Mission accomplished.
-Rice to Riches: Think Ben & Jerry's, only for rice pudding aficionados. Adorned with humorous signs like "Eat more, you're already fat!" and "Calories don't count in rice pudding", you hardly need the encouragement to stuff yourself silly with varied flavors such as- pecan pie, mango, almond and coconut, rocky road, raspberry ... the list goes on for about 20 different tastes. And for those of you who can't tolerate something milky and gooey in your mouth (down boy!), you can just have a banal cappuccino.
-GLBT Community Center: I know, I know. Why the hell wouldn't it be called the YMCA? Aside from a refreshing pause from the blistering heat, the community center is home to meetings, support groups, 12-step programs, social events, and more. Imagine, a gathering of gay people together in one happy place ... without alcohol ... *crickets chirping*
-Pommes Frites: Aside from its ability to never be recognized by automated-411 operators (What listing? Pommes Frites. You wanted *pause* 'library', is that correct?), this french fry joint is easy enough to find because of the long line of persons who risk heat stroke outside just to consume oily-hot potato wedges. There is an even longer list of dipping sauces in case your cholesterol just isn't quite high enough- I got the parmesan peppercorn.
-"Lesbian bar": I began doing a search to try and get the name of the actual bar we went to, but being a lesbian bar I figured- eh! Who the hell cares?!? (*dodges salmonella-laced tomatoes*) Two vodkas later, and having endured Barbara Streisand internet-jukeboxed in a bar (...lesbians! *throws hands up in the air*), the prospects of dessert drew us once again into the muggy streets.
-Magnolia Bakery: Famed "Sex and the City" bakery, and host to plenty of tourists acting like they've never seen a cupcake before ("oh my god! that one has frosting! FROSTING!!!" *snaps picture of friend smiling with V-handshape*), Magnolia is a happy host to 3 post-bar scavengers in desperate need of dinner. A chocolate wafer cake layered with whipped cream, a cupcake or two, a slice of carrot cake (somewhat disappointing...) -- and god knows what else, passersby in the street were not surprised to see us scarfing down sugar like Coney Island hotdog competitors. One girl even said to her friend, "You hit him on the head, I'll grab the cupcakes". But honestly, they aren't good enough to inspire violence.
-The Lion King: Barreling through Times Square in desperate search of street parking (along with unicorns, elves, and other fantastical creatures), we finally made it (on time!) to the theater. This is the part where words completely fail me -- in all truthfulness, you have to see it for yourself. While the audience clapped and cheered in between scenes, I found myself transfixed, gaping uncontrollably towards the stage- unsure if I had imagined it all, but convinced that even my musically-minded mind could not even begin to construct that perfect synthesis of music, dancing, and culture. Oh- and Simba was fucking hot!!!
Having conquered the Apple and dazzling all senses, we made our way back to DC along the dark, un-twinkling lit interstate. My only source of consolation was the bathroom at a New Jersey rest area, where I saw a "macho" man turbulently wrestle to get his (apparently) ginormous penis back into his pants -- it was like watching someone try to stuff an angry cat into a paper bag. Certainly nothing in this world should be that strenuous ... but if so, can I have your number?
And after the looming skyscrapers and uncountable march of humanity through the streets of New York, returning to DC was like a peaceful nightcap at the end of an exhausting day; slower, gentler, and a soft pillow that ate me up as if calories didn't count.
Phew. What a day ...
Friday, April 18, 2008
The Little Mermaid: A Critique
"If only you would notice
how I ache behind my smile..."
Ariel
The Little Mermaid sailed into Broadway last fall in Disney's attempt to make yet another animated classic come to life. The smash success of Beauty and the Beast, The Lion King, and Phil Collins' Tarzan .... ok strike that -- xxxx the smash success of just Beauty and the Beast and The Lion King have certainly upped the ante for stage productions to max out their visual effects, as well as enticing younger audiences to dip into the deep end of the theatrical world.
Does anyone find it interesting that The Little Mermaid highlights a young girl's struggle to obtain "true love" at the risk of losing everything she values- her friends, her family - her FINS, for cryin' out loud. Ariel is willing to sacrifice her entire life- even her body and voice- at the shot of being with a man she hasn't even met. What a gamble!! (heads or tails? ... I mean, legs or tails?). Is this the message we want to be sending young girls and gay boys?
Naturally I was thrilled when I heard the LM would be making a splash on the big stage, and I was on iTunes the day the album was released to hear the pumped up and boisterously-belted showtune version of a childhood fascination.
Alan Menken, who is largely responsible for the Disney renaissance beginning with the LM and declining with - damn, that Tarzan again - delivered (as usual) with clever and spunky songs that swim in circles around your head all day long. And then pair up the lyrical genius of Howard Ashman with that of Glenn Slater and you get .... a tsunami.
Honestly- how can you compare Ashman's
"each little clam here know how to jam here,
that's why it's hotter under de water,
yeah we in luck here down in the muck here
under the sea"
with Slater's
"If only you could know the things I want to say,
if only I could tell you what I wish I could convey" ???
Now let me try! ... "Roses are red, violets are blue ..."
Slater!!! You are dealing with a Walt Disney masterpiece ... be careful!!!!
Which is not to say the entire production is like a fish out of water. Despite its simplistic vocabulary and a rudimentary rhyme scheme, Menken pulls through the swishy-washy words and has me singing "She's in Love" to the rhythm of jackhammers during my morning commute.
And despite its message that abandoning your family and friends can ultimately bring you to true love, there is a lot to be said about a heroine who isn't comfortable in her own scales. I remember singing Part of Your World as a kid and wishing that I, too, could cast aside my gills and breathe easier in a world where I belonged ... i.e. a world where I was "normal".
But now I can walk (in Dupont Circle), now I can run (at the gym), now I can stay all day in the sun (at Rehoboth) ... no fear of drowning here *takes in a deep breath*
I still gotta find a pair of those purple shells, though ...
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Field of Clovers ...
Movies movies movies ... Hollywood never ceases to disappoint. Well ... except for Million Dollar Baby (I dare ANY of you to explain why that movie was popular, as I literally began plucking the hairs on my arm during the movie to entertain myself). But generally there is at least $10 worth of entertainment from anything that brightens the silver screen.
And so it goes with Cloverfield- the newest thriller that shows the buildings of New York City being tossed about like the Lego's of a temperamental 2-year-old on speed. First of all, why is it always NYC? Between The Day After Tomorrow and Artificial Intelligence there are hardly any buildings left to destroy! I guess it's more exciting to watch human beings running and screaming for their lives instead of cows going for a swim in a tsunami. But still, let's give NYC a rest and wipe out an area of little worth ... like, um ... Texas (minus Austin)?
Anyway, Cloverfield is effectively the combination of Godzilla, War of the Worlds, and The Blair Witch Project. Persons who are motion-sickness-challenged, please be advised- the blurred images and jostled scenery feel quite like Mel Gibson out for an evening drive. The lady behind me in the theater said "I'm gonna puke", and that is the kind of immersing movie experience that I would prefer to forgo (leave the surround sound to the speakers, sweetheart). Luckily she kept it together.
The characters of Cloverfield, however, had some trouble keeping it together. When I say "it", I'm really talking about their friggin' common sense and decision-making abilities. "Hmm ... my girlfriend is trapped in a region of Manhattan where an unidentified biting object is reeking havoc on the city, certain to result in death and unpleasant dismemberment of all appendages.... LET'S GO !!!!!" Sigh ...
It could be the love of my life trapped in the Trump Towers- I am out of there, bitch ... Well, now that I say that, I have to wonder... If it's the love of your life, is life worth living without him/her? Even if your exit to the afterlife involves a considerable amount of bleeding and tangled limbs?
Regardless, the characters were silly and had delusions of grandeur when they thought they could take on the UBO without losing a few friends along the way. But hey! Lady friend is stuck in the tower. Screw the dragon and rescue the princess!!!
I enjoyed the effects and the 1st person perspective of Cloverfield. Scenes of mass panic and the psychology of crowds has always been fascinating to me, and so I got my fill with this movie. I was also able to leave the theater without being afraid of the sunset, which I cannot say about I Am Legend.
As I stepped out into the (comparatively) quiet streets of Washington, DC, I had to wonder: what would happen if some ginormous monster started causing destruction all around me, ruining lives and crushing the world without a care for the consequences?
Hey wait ... how did I get started talking about the Republican party??? (oooooooh COLD .....) Sorry, that one just seemed too easy, and I'm not clever enough to REALLY insult the beast.
And so it goes with Cloverfield- the newest thriller that shows the buildings of New York City being tossed about like the Lego's of a temperamental 2-year-old on speed. First of all, why is it always NYC? Between The Day After Tomorrow and Artificial Intelligence there are hardly any buildings left to destroy! I guess it's more exciting to watch human beings running and screaming for their lives instead of cows going for a swim in a tsunami. But still, let's give NYC a rest and wipe out an area of little worth ... like, um ... Texas (minus Austin)?
Anyway, Cloverfield is effectively the combination of Godzilla, War of the Worlds, and The Blair Witch Project. Persons who are motion-sickness-challenged, please be advised- the blurred images and jostled scenery feel quite like Mel Gibson out for an evening drive. The lady behind me in the theater said "I'm gonna puke", and that is the kind of immersing movie experience that I would prefer to forgo (leave the surround sound to the speakers, sweetheart). Luckily she kept it together.
The characters of Cloverfield, however, had some trouble keeping it together. When I say "it", I'm really talking about their friggin' common sense and decision-making abilities. "Hmm ... my girlfriend is trapped in a region of Manhattan where an unidentified biting object is reeking havoc on the city, certain to result in death and unpleasant dismemberment of all appendages.... LET'S GO !!!!!" Sigh ...
It could be the love of my life trapped in the Trump Towers- I am out of there, bitch ... Well, now that I say that, I have to wonder... If it's the love of your life, is life worth living without him/her? Even if your exit to the afterlife involves a considerable amount of bleeding and tangled limbs?
Regardless, the characters were silly and had delusions of grandeur when they thought they could take on the UBO without losing a few friends along the way. But hey! Lady friend is stuck in the tower. Screw the dragon and rescue the princess!!!
I enjoyed the effects and the 1st person perspective of Cloverfield. Scenes of mass panic and the psychology of crowds has always been fascinating to me, and so I got my fill with this movie. I was also able to leave the theater without being afraid of the sunset, which I cannot say about I Am Legend.
As I stepped out into the (comparatively) quiet streets of Washington, DC, I had to wonder: what would happen if some ginormous monster started causing destruction all around me, ruining lives and crushing the world without a care for the consequences?
Hey wait ... how did I get started talking about the Republican party??? (oooooooh COLD .....) Sorry, that one just seemed too easy, and I'm not clever enough to REALLY insult the beast.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Franklin's in Hyattsville
The de-suburbanization of townships and the renewed interest in a "downtown" art's district with loft spaces and apartments for budding talent has taken hold even in Hyattsville, Maryland. At the center of this revitalization is a restaurant called Franklin's -- a general store turned microbrewery and ... well, a "general" store.
Do not be fooled by its title- "general" to "Franklin's" is like "black and male" to "Michael Jackson". The store is a large space jam-packed with colorful toys, games, and random oddities for the young and old. And I also found that the store was quite gay-friendly. Items of note included: a healthy selection of boas, Hallmark cards turned queer (something about a birthday gone wrong by the hands of some angered drag queen? I can't remember...), magnets (those kinds with old photographs, usually depicting some 1950's mother ladling martinis down her throat and all), and even gay gum (um ... always fresh?).
Our waitress was Shannon from the Midwest (oh my gash oh yeah you betcha), who's spunk was as addictive as their homemade bread pudding (however, there were just too many damned raisins, I must say). The dining area is very spacious, spread out over 2 floors with booths and tables decorated with colorful rainbow-checkered tablecloths. It still has the feeling of a large general store, or almost like an enormous modern loft, with enough hardwood and brick to deserve the label "quaint" and two thumbs up from this hungry bitch.
Speaking of food: the mixed bread basket was quite tasty, and my coconut curry chicken was certainly enough to fill this belly and consider not getting dessert *GASP*. They also have a great selection of beers- try the sampler (choose up to 9, I had 4 for $4.50) which comes on a round wooden board with numbered circular inserts for the glasses to identify which beer is which.
The cuteness just goes on and on, like watching Zac Efron scene-by-scene in Hairspray over, and over, and over, and over ... *ahem* - yeah just watching it once, that's all, and not more than once of course don't be silly what do you think I am a freak shutup.
Next visit to Franklin's I will try one of their famous pizzas and perhaps, if I'm daring, a slice of carrot cake (but I'll feel like the food critic in Ratatouille ... don't mess with my cake, bitches). Then I'd like to spend some more time in the general store, wading through pirate rubber duckies, candies that you cannot find at 7-Eleven, kitchen cutlery that is just damn cute, and a host of other items that scream gay, gay, GAY!
It's like Cracker Barrel- only more colorful and without the rockers and inbreeding.
Do not be fooled by its title- "general" to "Franklin's" is like "black and male" to "Michael Jackson". The store is a large space jam-packed with colorful toys, games, and random oddities for the young and old. And I also found that the store was quite gay-friendly. Items of note included: a healthy selection of boas, Hallmark cards turned queer (something about a birthday gone wrong by the hands of some angered drag queen? I can't remember...), magnets (those kinds with old photographs, usually depicting some 1950's mother ladling martinis down her throat and all), and even gay gum (um ... always fresh?).
Our waitress was Shannon from the Midwest (oh my gash oh yeah you betcha), who's spunk was as addictive as their homemade bread pudding (however, there were just too many damned raisins, I must say). The dining area is very spacious, spread out over 2 floors with booths and tables decorated with colorful rainbow-checkered tablecloths. It still has the feeling of a large general store, or almost like an enormous modern loft, with enough hardwood and brick to deserve the label "quaint" and two thumbs up from this hungry bitch.
Speaking of food: the mixed bread basket was quite tasty, and my coconut curry chicken was certainly enough to fill this belly and consider not getting dessert *GASP*. They also have a great selection of beers- try the sampler (choose up to 9, I had 4 for $4.50) which comes on a round wooden board with numbered circular inserts for the glasses to identify which beer is which.
The cuteness just goes on and on, like watching Zac Efron scene-by-scene in Hairspray over, and over, and over, and over ... *ahem* - yeah just watching it once, that's all, and not more than once of course don't be silly what do you think I am a freak shutup.
Next visit to Franklin's I will try one of their famous pizzas and perhaps, if I'm daring, a slice of carrot cake (but I'll feel like the food critic in Ratatouille ... don't mess with my cake, bitches). Then I'd like to spend some more time in the general store, wading through pirate rubber duckies, candies that you cannot find at 7-Eleven, kitchen cutlery that is just damn cute, and a host of other items that scream gay, gay, GAY!
It's like Cracker Barrel- only more colorful and without the rockers and inbreeding.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
The Golden Compass Points Straight ... TO HELL !!!
The Vatican has decided to use its influence and power to dictate where we should (or shouldn't, rather) spend our money this holiday season. In fact, the Christian community at large has called for a boycott of The Golden Compass.
Pastors and preachers alike have cautioned the general public not to support a film with obvious non-Christian themes. This tale of witches, talking creatures, and wrestling with the powers of evil marks a strikingly eerie comparison to the release of Harry Potter (hugely popular in England, and branded as evil in America). Is there something Britain knows that we don't?
The Vatican has called The Golden Compass "the most anti-Christian film possible" - obviously the Pope hasn't seen the South Park movie (yikes!). "The film portrays the church as an orthodox dictatorship, which conducts cruel experiments on children and tries to suppress free will".
Hmm ... "free will". Like the free will of choosing what films you will and will not see??? AH, the irony!!!
The anti-religious elements of The Golden Compass are obvious: there is a large, organized entity that controls what information is passed on to the public (in the movie this is called "dust", i.e. the truth), and calls whatever is against the messages of this entity "heresy".
But the ironic twist is that the reaction of the Christian community is precisely what the movie is about-- restricting the public's ability to make decisions for itself, dictating what information should and should not be passed around, and avoiding any kind of discussion that would actually challenge the views of the Church.
Fear of challenge? Seems this house might actually have been built on the sand, in the end.
And please don't bring back the Inquisition, because that was just plain rude.
Pastors and preachers alike have cautioned the general public not to support a film with obvious non-Christian themes. This tale of witches, talking creatures, and wrestling with the powers of evil marks a strikingly eerie comparison to the release of Harry Potter (hugely popular in England, and branded as evil in America). Is there something Britain knows that we don't?
The Vatican has called The Golden Compass "the most anti-Christian film possible" - obviously the Pope hasn't seen the South Park movie (yikes!). "The film portrays the church as an orthodox dictatorship, which conducts cruel experiments on children and tries to suppress free will".
Hmm ... "free will". Like the free will of choosing what films you will and will not see??? AH, the irony!!!
The anti-religious elements of The Golden Compass are obvious: there is a large, organized entity that controls what information is passed on to the public (in the movie this is called "dust", i.e. the truth), and calls whatever is against the messages of this entity "heresy".
But the ironic twist is that the reaction of the Christian community is precisely what the movie is about-- restricting the public's ability to make decisions for itself, dictating what information should and should not be passed around, and avoiding any kind of discussion that would actually challenge the views of the Church.
Fear of challenge? Seems this house might actually have been built on the sand, in the end.
And please don't bring back the Inquisition, because that was just plain rude.
Monday, April 9, 2007
All breads are not created Così (the same)
And the pressing duel between the oven-baked delights of the chain
restaurant conglomerates begins!
In one corner we have the tried-and-true baguette from Au Bon Pain(which, as the name suggests, should at least be "good"). In the othercorner is the multigrain flatbread by sandwich extraordinaire Cosi (Italians pronounce it /koh-ZEE/).
Strangely, the bread from Au Bon Pain sets up an unexpected cognatebetween "Pain" in the company name (French) and "pain" (American Englishfor "ouch" or "watching Keanu Reeves act") in the process of consumingthis seemingly innocent baguette. "Faux amis", indeed.
The manner in which one must eat a baguette from ABP is analogous toripping the uncooked chicken meat off of a thigh bone that's been leftin the freezer. You clamp down with all your might, squeezing andwiggling your dainty baguette until the seemingly welded pieces of flourfinally cave and send your head in a backward thrust that resembles thetrauma of whiplash victims (there is rumor that the CEO of ABP sits on the board of the American Chiropractor Association).
Così offers a non-violent approach to bread-consumption: soft, chewy,and wholesome goodness that massages your taste buds with every bite.
Perhaps the breads are symbolic of their native peoples: the Italianflatbread (pleasant, palatable, and memorable), and the French baguette (stale, rough, and painful).
Incidentally, while in France in 2005 I met a random guy who took me ona romantic stroll of the city. Towards the end of our Tour de Nowheresville (and after some kissing of the French sort), we came across a discarded baguette in the street. Frenchy-boy stomped feverishly on it and yelled "This.... this is the.... the SHIT of France!!!"
Merde!!! Even the French don't like their bread.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
have your cake and eat it too much
We are a fat country that likes to avoid responsibility. For example, we don't mind that we are physically unappealing as sexual partners to other human beings, but god forbid if this morbid obesity would negatively impact our health! All this was made very clear to me in a recent CNN report on "resveratrol".
The report was as such: "Are you fat? Are you concerned that your clogged arteries will eventually cease their unheard plea for relief and finally collapse under the pressure of a cardiovascular system that's working so exorbitantly hard it's a wonder that the heart hasn't burst through your rib cage from mere expenditure of energy? Well good news, America! There's a substance called resveratrol. But don't worry! You can still be fat, gross, and completely repulsive even in dim lighting! Resveratrol will keep you healthy, despite your obnoxiously obese state of being!" (please see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Resveratrol for more information)
This news brief inspired me to consume an immense amount of cake in the past few weeks (along with the psychological trauma of being kicked in the face by my faculty at school). Here is my account of my caloric rampage:
Chicken Out – chocolate cake, fudge frosting
I know, I know. No place that's named Chicken Out should actually be frequented by people who aren't from Alabama, but hold on friends- this chocolate rocked my friggin' world. For locations near you please visit: http://www.chickenout.com
Cheesecake Factory – Chris' Outrageous Chocolate Cake
From the menu: "Layers of Moist Chocolate Cake, Chewy Brownie, Toasted Coconut Pecan Filling and Creamy Chocolate Chip Coconut Cheesecake". Well … just reading that makes me moist, toasted, and creamy all at once. This Chris fellow can chew, layer, and fill my coconut cake anytime (good lord, does that even make sense? This is where attempts at seductive dirty talk fall flat like a frat boy after homecoming)
Starbucks – Carrot Cake and Cranberry Bliss Bar
I root for carrot cake above all other cakes (if you get the pun I'll give you $100), especially when it is given to you for free along with a cranberry bliss bar (slightly disappointed, to be honest). I think the barista was hoping for some carrot bliss action in exchange for the free cake …
Soho – Chocolate Cake
Orgasmic, if you can tolerate the barista who looks like he accidentally mistook a porcupine for a suppository.
Kramer's – Death by Chocolate
Again, orgasmic (note: the French word for orgasm is "la petite mort", or "the little death")
Bread and Chocolate – The Oprah
God only knows why they named a piece of cake "Oprah", but I have to chuckle every time I think about saying "I wanna piece-a Oprah!!!"
Buca di Beppo – Chocolate Vesuvio
It's a humungous slice of chocolate-caramel cake stood up on its end, with one scoop of vanilla ice cream on each side. If your imagination cooks at high enough a temperature, you may even melt the ice cream…
The report was as such: "Are you fat? Are you concerned that your clogged arteries will eventually cease their unheard plea for relief and finally collapse under the pressure of a cardiovascular system that's working so exorbitantly hard it's a wonder that the heart hasn't burst through your rib cage from mere expenditure of energy? Well good news, America! There's a substance called resveratrol. But don't worry! You can still be fat, gross, and completely repulsive even in dim lighting! Resveratrol will keep you healthy, despite your obnoxiously obese state of being!" (please see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Resveratrol for more information)
This news brief inspired me to consume an immense amount of cake in the past few weeks (along with the psychological trauma of being kicked in the face by my faculty at school). Here is my account of my caloric rampage:
Chicken Out – chocolate cake, fudge frosting
I know, I know. No place that's named Chicken Out should actually be frequented by people who aren't from Alabama, but hold on friends- this chocolate rocked my friggin' world. For locations near you please visit: http://www.chickenout.com
Cheesecake Factory – Chris' Outrageous Chocolate Cake
From the menu: "Layers of Moist Chocolate Cake, Chewy Brownie, Toasted Coconut Pecan Filling and Creamy Chocolate Chip Coconut Cheesecake". Well … just reading that makes me moist, toasted, and creamy all at once. This Chris fellow can chew, layer, and fill my coconut cake anytime (good lord, does that even make sense? This is where attempts at seductive dirty talk fall flat like a frat boy after homecoming)
Starbucks – Carrot Cake and Cranberry Bliss Bar
I root for carrot cake above all other cakes (if you get the pun I'll give you $100), especially when it is given to you for free along with a cranberry bliss bar (slightly disappointed, to be honest). I think the barista was hoping for some carrot bliss action in exchange for the free cake …
Soho – Chocolate Cake
Orgasmic, if you can tolerate the barista who looks like he accidentally mistook a porcupine for a suppository.
Kramer's – Death by Chocolate
Again, orgasmic (note: the French word for orgasm is "la petite mort", or "the little death")
Bread and Chocolate – The Oprah
God only knows why they named a piece of cake "Oprah", but I have to chuckle every time I think about saying "I wanna piece-a Oprah!!!"
Buca di Beppo – Chocolate Vesuvio
It's a humungous slice of chocolate-caramel cake stood up on its end, with one scoop of vanilla ice cream on each side. If your imagination cooks at high enough a temperature, you may even melt the ice cream…
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Eastern Market
Although I've lived less than a mile away from Eastern Market since last September, just in the past week I have discovered several new exciting reasons why I should hop the local bus down to this niche of the DC southeastern quadrant:
Remingtons: gay bar where the buff and beefy come to line dance, drink, and be merry with intent to woo, Tuesday night buy-one-get-one-free, assuming the bartender can count to two (some drama there last time). In the span of one week I've now been there 3 times, aiya ...
Bread and Chocolate: cute however slightly pretentious café, gorgeous desserts (cinnamon and ginger mousse in a chocolate teacup, divine).
6:45 a.m. : military boys out in packs of 4 on their morning jogs down Pennsylvania Avenue.
Therefore Eastern Market equals: men, food, more men. It's the perfect man-sandwich, fit to satisfy any appetite.
And the tastier, the better.
Remingtons: gay bar where the buff and beefy come to line dance, drink, and be merry with intent to woo, Tuesday night buy-one-get-one-free, assuming the bartender can count to two (some drama there last time). In the span of one week I've now been there 3 times, aiya ...
Bread and Chocolate: cute however slightly pretentious café, gorgeous desserts (cinnamon and ginger mousse in a chocolate teacup, divine).
6:45 a.m. : military boys out in packs of 4 on their morning jogs down Pennsylvania Avenue.
Therefore Eastern Market equals: men, food, more men. It's the perfect man-sandwich, fit to satisfy any appetite.
And the tastier, the better.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Starbucks Statistics and Charity
It's just like an annoying partner that dishes out really good sex; despite the irritation, you always end up coming back for more.
And so it goes with Starbucks.
There are a total of 127 Starbucks chains in the DC Metro area, and so the petulant partner peddles its addictive devices at every turn, corner, and fork in the road of the District.
Starbucks appeals to the American ideals of convenience and choice. Convenience because you can't take two steps without seeing the all-too-familiar rotund green sign, and choice because of the unending ways you can order a drink.
According to the Guide to Starbucks Beverages, "barista-speak" consists of 5 steps: the cup, the shots and size, syrup, milk and other modifiers (what) and the drink itself. There are 4 cup options, 5 types of espresso choices, 12 syrups, 6 types of milk, and 6 modifiers ... all of which can be ordered using the 36 vocabulary items printed in the front of the Guide.
In the "Giving Back" section of the brochure, Starbucks details how it goes to great lengths to help its local communities. "Each Starbucks store chooses a charity to receive its leftover pastries and past-date coffee". WHAT???
First of all, Starbucks is further contributing to the fattening of America with its butter-enriched pastries (another American ideal?) by donating high-fat and unhealthy foods to charities which probably serve an under-fed population. To add insult to injury, they are giving them stale coffee.
If it is past-date for the consumer, how is it still safe to give to charity? That's like donating expired condoms to a family-planning center.
Besides, I've seen the size of some Starbucks employees and I seriously doubt that many of the pastries make it to the "leftover" phase.
And so it goes with Starbucks.
There are a total of 127 Starbucks chains in the DC Metro area, and so the petulant partner peddles its addictive devices at every turn, corner, and fork in the road of the District.
Starbucks appeals to the American ideals of convenience and choice. Convenience because you can't take two steps without seeing the all-too-familiar rotund green sign, and choice because of the unending ways you can order a drink.
According to the Guide to Starbucks Beverages, "barista-speak" consists of 5 steps: the cup, the shots and size, syrup, milk and other modifiers (what) and the drink itself. There are 4 cup options, 5 types of espresso choices, 12 syrups, 6 types of milk, and 6 modifiers ... all of which can be ordered using the 36 vocabulary items printed in the front of the Guide.
In the "Giving Back" section of the brochure, Starbucks details how it goes to great lengths to help its local communities. "Each Starbucks store chooses a charity to receive its leftover pastries and past-date coffee". WHAT???
First of all, Starbucks is further contributing to the fattening of America with its butter-enriched pastries (another American ideal?) by donating high-fat and unhealthy foods to charities which probably serve an under-fed population. To add insult to injury, they are giving them stale coffee.
If it is past-date for the consumer, how is it still safe to give to charity? That's like donating expired condoms to a family-planning center.
Besides, I've seen the size of some Starbucks employees and I seriously doubt that many of the pastries make it to the "leftover" phase.
Saturday, July 1, 2006
Food review, DC
"I get full just watching you" -- my practicum supervisor, watching me dine.
FOOD REVIEW
Busboys and Poets, 14th between U and V, NW
Faaaabulous, just ignore the pain in your lower back while hunched over coffee tables (sitting on couches). Pizza with pesto sauce divine, prices surprisingly reasonable, bookstore in the restaurant to entertain in case your date induces narcolepsy.
Red Hot and Blue, Rosslyn
Charming chain, lovely iced margaritas, BBQ galore. Tasty fried okra and potato salad, drinks served in a mini-pitchers that makes gay boys squeal "that's soooo cute!!!"
Washington Hotel
Sensational view of White House, Monument, and a bunch of stuffy white people paying too much for mediocre food. Burgers start at $9, but worth it for the view.
Mamma Lucias, College Park
Like a psychotic mix of Olive Garden and Fazoli's (no kidding --white linen tablecloth while bread and olive oil is served in a red basket and wax paper). Strip mall restaurant shooting for high class prices with McDonald's-style layout and decor.
Cake Love, U Street
Cake, pie, and brownie heaven- at least visually. Loses appeal after first bite, including the bite it takes out of your wallet (cupcakes start at $3.50). Tastier after a few drinks, cute café-style place void of florescent lighting.
FOOD REVIEW
Busboys and Poets, 14th between U and V, NW
Faaaabulous, just ignore the pain in your lower back while hunched over coffee tables (sitting on couches). Pizza with pesto sauce divine, prices surprisingly reasonable, bookstore in the restaurant to entertain in case your date induces narcolepsy.
Red Hot and Blue, Rosslyn
Charming chain, lovely iced margaritas, BBQ galore. Tasty fried okra and potato salad, drinks served in a mini-pitchers that makes gay boys squeal "that's soooo cute!!!"
Washington Hotel
Sensational view of White House, Monument, and a bunch of stuffy white people paying too much for mediocre food. Burgers start at $9, but worth it for the view.
Mamma Lucias, College Park
Like a psychotic mix of Olive Garden and Fazoli's (no kidding --white linen tablecloth while bread and olive oil is served in a red basket and wax paper). Strip mall restaurant shooting for high class prices with McDonald's-style layout and decor.
Cake Love, U Street
Cake, pie, and brownie heaven- at least visually. Loses appeal after first bite, including the bite it takes out of your wallet (cupcakes start at $3.50). Tastier after a few drinks, cute café-style place void of florescent lighting.
Saturday, May 27, 2006
Cracker Barrel
There are two ways to get a southern boy's heart racing: one, tell him that Billy Bob has just bought a new mud-slinging truck to race around after cow-tipping has lost its appeal, and two, spotting the yellow and brown sign of the Cracker Barrel coming into view on the interstate.
When I say "Cracker Barrel", what typically comes to mind? Good southern cooking, aproned waiters and waitresses that can't wait to slop up a healthy serving of grease-fried lard, and of course, the fluffy biscuits served with the country straight-to-your-thighs gravy.
Accurate? Well, yes, in the golden age of the Cracker Barrel dynasty. Now, I am afraid to report, the legacy of this once great giant of the diabetes-inducing American chain restaurant industry has begun to lose its flourish, its fancy, and its general appeal.
Cracker Barrel has a new rule: the star-aproned waiters/waitresses are not allowed to bring out the plentiful buttery biscuit delights unless requested by the customer. My flittering fairy-boy server (probably the only gay in the village, poor lad) reported this shocking news to me (I'm sure in order to save his tip ... how else are the customers supposed to know that it's CB being cheap, not the laziness of the server?).
Moreover: the green beans were canned, the mashed potatoes were instant, and dammit- those biscuits were just not buttery enough !!!
The only positive news I have received about CB is that it has just recently added sexual orientation to its discrimination clause for employees, preventing those in Georgia and Alabama from ousting those damned queers (*sign of relief from my waiter boy*) and terminating them without due cause (WHAT?!? Being gay isnt reason enough? But just think of Sodom and Gomorrah!).
Makes you wonder where we'll be 50 from now? Gays might have equal rights, but the biscuits will totally suck.
When I say "Cracker Barrel", what typically comes to mind? Good southern cooking, aproned waiters and waitresses that can't wait to slop up a healthy serving of grease-fried lard, and of course, the fluffy biscuits served with the country straight-to-your-thighs gravy.
Accurate? Well, yes, in the golden age of the Cracker Barrel dynasty. Now, I am afraid to report, the legacy of this once great giant of the diabetes-inducing American chain restaurant industry has begun to lose its flourish, its fancy, and its general appeal.
Cracker Barrel has a new rule: the star-aproned waiters/waitresses are not allowed to bring out the plentiful buttery biscuit delights unless requested by the customer. My flittering fairy-boy server (probably the only gay in the village, poor lad) reported this shocking news to me (I'm sure in order to save his tip ... how else are the customers supposed to know that it's CB being cheap, not the laziness of the server?).
Moreover: the green beans were canned, the mashed potatoes were instant, and dammit- those biscuits were just not buttery enough !!!
The only positive news I have received about CB is that it has just recently added sexual orientation to its discrimination clause for employees, preventing those in Georgia and Alabama from ousting those damned queers (*sign of relief from my waiter boy*) and terminating them without due cause (WHAT?!? Being gay isnt reason enough? But just think of Sodom and Gomorrah!).
Makes you wonder where we'll be 50 from now? Gays might have equal rights, but the biscuits will totally suck.
Friday, April 21, 2006
grande macchiatotally BS
"Starbucks is committed to reducing our environmental impact through increased use of recycled post-consumer materials. Help us help the planet." - Starbucks cup
Let me offer you my personal adaptation and the true meaning behind this message:
"Starbucks is committed to trying to win our customer's sympathy by hypocritically proclaiming our compassion for Mother Earth by pretending to reduce our environmental impact by having drive-thru windows where exhaust fumes of impatient SUV-driving soccer moms further deplete our ozone layer and through increased but not complete use of recycled post-consumer materials (ew, this sounds gross). Help us help the planet by serving all iced drinks in plastic containers and not offering recycling bins at any of our locations." -- Starbucks cup.
But there's probably not enough room on the cup to print all of that. Plus, let's conserve the ink; who knows, future generations may be without.
Let me offer you my personal adaptation and the true meaning behind this message:
"Starbucks is committed to trying to win our customer's sympathy by hypocritically proclaiming our compassion for Mother Earth by pretending to reduce our environmental impact by having drive-thru windows where exhaust fumes of impatient SUV-driving soccer moms further deplete our ozone layer and through increased but not complete use of recycled post-consumer materials (ew, this sounds gross). Help us help the planet by serving all iced drinks in plastic containers and not offering recycling bins at any of our locations." -- Starbucks cup.
But there's probably not enough room on the cup to print all of that. Plus, let's conserve the ink; who knows, future generations may be without.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Matchbox $20
Matchbox is a pleasant restaurant in Chinatown that serves anything but Chinese food -- burgers and pizza are the main to-dos of the menu, which I think is a sort of slap in the face to the strict reverence to Eastern design, cuisine, and language that all of ChinaBlock (... er, Chinatown) adheres to.
Nevertheless, Matchbox churns out decent fare for a decent fare. Twenty greenbacks will get you 2 mini-hamburgers (dolled up wittingly as appetizers so the price raises 50%), paper-thin french-fries (or were they onions? ... I really don't know, but they were greasier than a sweaty construction worker so I dont mind ... the worker, that is), and a thin-crust Italian-style 9-inch delightful pizza.
Now, I like a good pizza better than my own mother (can I get a whoop whoop? ... guys ... guys ... where'd everyone go?). So, I've been around the block a couple of times whoring myself out to various Italian pizzerias and allowing them to be the Sirens to my Odysseus (and yes, I did have to check the spelling of Odysseus).
It's been almost one year since I got back from Italy, and Matchbox was the first place to challenge my thinking that America couldn't pull off a proper Roman-style pizza unless it ordered it FedEx (those interested in attending their own pizza-making course should check out: http://www.il-pizzaiolo.it/school.html).
And there I was, wine-less but content, folding my pizza instinctively and ramming it down my face to the sounds of laughter, the chatter of good company, and a temperate calm in the middle of a bustling non-stop city. For a moment, I wondered if I had ever left.
Has it only been a year?
Nevertheless, Matchbox churns out decent fare for a decent fare. Twenty greenbacks will get you 2 mini-hamburgers (dolled up wittingly as appetizers so the price raises 50%), paper-thin french-fries (or were they onions? ... I really don't know, but they were greasier than a sweaty construction worker so I dont mind ... the worker, that is), and a thin-crust Italian-style 9-inch delightful pizza.
Now, I like a good pizza better than my own mother (can I get a whoop whoop? ... guys ... guys ... where'd everyone go?). So, I've been around the block a couple of times whoring myself out to various Italian pizzerias and allowing them to be the Sirens to my Odysseus (and yes, I did have to check the spelling of Odysseus).
It's been almost one year since I got back from Italy, and Matchbox was the first place to challenge my thinking that America couldn't pull off a proper Roman-style pizza unless it ordered it FedEx (those interested in attending their own pizza-making course should check out: http://www.il-pizzaiolo.it/school.html).
And there I was, wine-less but content, folding my pizza instinctively and ramming it down my face to the sounds of laughter, the chatter of good company, and a temperate calm in the middle of a bustling non-stop city. For a moment, I wondered if I had ever left.
Has it only been a year?
Friday, March 31, 2006
Kramer's magical token
hate to add another bathroom story. I assure you I am not a coprophiliac (real term, check it out at: http://www.rr1.net/users/wrhardesty/webdoc1.html).
Kramer's is a lovely bookstore/coffee house/restaurant on Connecticut Ave. right off of the fantabulous Dupont Circle (memo to me: spellcheck has no objections to "fantabulous", however it does not like "spellcheck"). It's where the love of literature, fine food, tasty desserts, and snobbery go hand in hand at a (moderately) affordable price.
Atmosphere – lovely. Food – A-OK. Service – delightful. Bathroom situation – yeah, a bit militant.
I excused myself from the table and asked where the elusive bathroom hid itself. My server whipped out a dime-sized golden token that reminded me of my elementary days at the arcade ("but I don't wanna play Turtles, I like Rainbow Brite!" – how did my parents not know …).
I was told to follow the signs up to the bathroom where I would exchange my token for the illustrious opportunity to relieve myself in their facilities. Naturally, I was looking forward to a bathroom experience that merited a token, a golden one no less.
After climbing 4 flights of stairs, taking the third right and the following left, and finally a summersault, I came upon the only-those-tokened-shall-pass door to the men's room. A heavy Alcatraz-style bolt could only be undone by my magical token (why does this feel like The Secret Garden?).
The bathroom was skanknasty. The faucet dribbled enough water to wet a freckle, and the blowdryer panted weakly like a dying dog. I don't think I've been that disappointed since Crystal Pepsi.
But three glasses of water later, there I was requesting another golden token.
In attempting to close this blog, the following free association went through my head: golden token, golden ticket, Willy Wonka, Free Willy – and all related to the bathroom (you figure it out).
Kramer's is a lovely bookstore/coffee house/restaurant on Connecticut Ave. right off of the fantabulous Dupont Circle (memo to me: spellcheck has no objections to "fantabulous", however it does not like "spellcheck"). It's where the love of literature, fine food, tasty desserts, and snobbery go hand in hand at a (moderately) affordable price.
Atmosphere – lovely. Food – A-OK. Service – delightful. Bathroom situation – yeah, a bit militant.
I excused myself from the table and asked where the elusive bathroom hid itself. My server whipped out a dime-sized golden token that reminded me of my elementary days at the arcade ("but I don't wanna play Turtles, I like Rainbow Brite!" – how did my parents not know …).
I was told to follow the signs up to the bathroom where I would exchange my token for the illustrious opportunity to relieve myself in their facilities. Naturally, I was looking forward to a bathroom experience that merited a token, a golden one no less.
After climbing 4 flights of stairs, taking the third right and the following left, and finally a summersault, I came upon the only-those-tokened-shall-pass door to the men's room. A heavy Alcatraz-style bolt could only be undone by my magical token (why does this feel like The Secret Garden?).
The bathroom was skanknasty. The faucet dribbled enough water to wet a freckle, and the blowdryer panted weakly like a dying dog. I don't think I've been that disappointed since Crystal Pepsi.
But three glasses of water later, there I was requesting another golden token.
In attempting to close this blog, the following free association went through my head: golden token, golden ticket, Willy Wonka, Free Willy – and all related to the bathroom (you figure it out).
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Murky's Coffee
Murky's (7th and Pennsylvania SE) is the quiet alternative to Starbucks. It has all that you would expect from a coffee shop: well-dressed professional men who make it a point to lay out all of their technological gadgets, office-type ladies who insist on wearing skirts in 35 mph winds, and backpacking college students like me who are eager for their legal drug of choice.
Murky's has a simple sign on its patio: "Serving the people of Washington with the best damn cup of coffee possible". I was pleased to find that an expletive had found its way into their marketing campaign.
What was even more pleasing was ordering my cup of java. Instead of saying "tall" (and receiving something that is anything but tall), I could get by with an easy "small coffee, please".
If you're ever up for a good time, ask one of the employees at Starbucks what "venti" means. It's like handing them a Rubik's cube. I once suggested to my coffee artiste that venti might mean 20 ounces, especially since venti is Italian for twenty.
He scoffed and informed me that it actually meant extra-large.
So what the hell do I know?
Murky's has a simple sign on its patio: "Serving the people of Washington with the best damn cup of coffee possible". I was pleased to find that an expletive had found its way into their marketing campaign.
What was even more pleasing was ordering my cup of java. Instead of saying "tall" (and receiving something that is anything but tall), I could get by with an easy "small coffee, please".
If you're ever up for a good time, ask one of the employees at Starbucks what "venti" means. It's like handing them a Rubik's cube. I once suggested to my coffee artiste that venti might mean 20 ounces, especially since venti is Italian for twenty.
He scoffed and informed me that it actually meant extra-large.
So what the hell do I know?
Saturday, January 21, 2006
Chevy's
Chevys is a nice Mexican restaurant just across the street from the Pentagon City Mall (or Fashion Centre, whichever you prefer). Its fairly cheap, open, colorfully designed, and has what you would expect on the menu from a chips-and-salsa joint.
I do not consider myself a high-maintenance restaurant diner; however, if menu items are to come with so many fancy frills and decorations then I will exercise my right to make sure these options are to my liking. I was not trying to be difficult
I love cheese. The saturated fat content of cheese does not like me. Therefore, I ordered my Fresh Market Quesadillas without cheese, to counterbalance the enormous amount of fat I plugged into my thighs with an entire basket of canola-fried tortilla chips.
What I did not realize was that the queso of quesadilla is Spanish for cheese, and is basically the glue that holds the tortilla and et cetera together.
The waiter was puzzled but compliant.
Upon realizing my mistake (and enduring the ridicule of my friends who had not elected to take French in highschool), I asked my patient waiter if we could put the queso back in quesadilla.
Apparently I had caused some confusion in the kitchen and I was too late (I imagined the chef standing wide-eyed with two tortillas in his open hands while he wondered Just what the hell do I do now?!). My only option at this stage was to have a side of cheese, meaning a dilla with a side of queso. So, I made my cama and laid in it.
It would be like ordering a cheesecake without the cheese
I do not consider myself a high-maintenance restaurant diner; however, if menu items are to come with so many fancy frills and decorations then I will exercise my right to make sure these options are to my liking. I was not trying to be difficult
I love cheese. The saturated fat content of cheese does not like me. Therefore, I ordered my Fresh Market Quesadillas without cheese, to counterbalance the enormous amount of fat I plugged into my thighs with an entire basket of canola-fried tortilla chips.
What I did not realize was that the queso of quesadilla is Spanish for cheese, and is basically the glue that holds the tortilla and et cetera together.
The waiter was puzzled but compliant.
Upon realizing my mistake (and enduring the ridicule of my friends who had not elected to take French in highschool), I asked my patient waiter if we could put the queso back in quesadilla.
Apparently I had caused some confusion in the kitchen and I was too late (I imagined the chef standing wide-eyed with two tortillas in his open hands while he wondered Just what the hell do I do now?!). My only option at this stage was to have a side of cheese, meaning a dilla with a side of queso. So, I made my cama and laid in it.
It would be like ordering a cheesecake without the cheese
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Brickskellar's
Brickseller’s is a sweet little pub/bar on 22nd near Dupont Circle. What really sells this bag of bricks is its enormous offering of beer from all over the world.
I’m still not entirely sure how many they boast (anything over 5 is impressive to me), but the menu goes on for a good dozen pages with tasty brews from Algeria to Zulu. There’s also a decent list of pub foods, although I can only comment on the spinach-artichoke dip (their bread is de-lovely).
The atmosphere is perfect for either a quick burger or an after-dinner chat with friends (cozy, quiet music, not too much smoke yay!). Every crook and cranny is decorated with international beer cans and advertisements, a reassuring affirmation that the joys of beer have reached even the farthest corners of the globe.
Hooray beer !!!
I’m still not entirely sure how many they boast (anything over 5 is impressive to me), but the menu goes on for a good dozen pages with tasty brews from Algeria to Zulu. There’s also a decent list of pub foods, although I can only comment on the spinach-artichoke dip (their bread is de-lovely).
The atmosphere is perfect for either a quick burger or an after-dinner chat with friends (cozy, quiet music, not too much smoke yay!). Every crook and cranny is decorated with international beer cans and advertisements, a reassuring affirmation that the joys of beer have reached even the farthest corners of the globe.
Hooray beer !!!
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