Posts from — June 2008

So, I’m giving a presentation to our in-house marketing team yesterday, and it’s all about social media.

Presentations have always kind of been my bane. Once, during a lecture, I just kind of lost control of myself and ended up writing things like lexeme and “Jo Nah can only use one power at a time” and a stick figure Wolverine. I have no idea why I did any of those things in retrospect, but they happened. It scared me a bit. And looking out into the blank faces of my students, I could tell whatever just happened had scared them a bit, too.

But I digress. And I’m about to digress even further, but in a different direction.

I’ve never seen the real utility of MySpace and Facebook on a personal level. I know what they do, and I know that millions and millions of people use it, but I’ve never deemed it “for me.” And it’s not like I’m some kind of Luddite. I grasp technology like a hungry baby – but not that hungry, because I’m selective about it. I don’t grok the value that it adds to my daily life beyond ego-driven self-promotion, and my quota of that is pretty well full already.

Anyway, the upshot is this: during this meeting, it came out that I’m apparently the only person in the entire world that doesn’t have a Facebook account. So, I’m going to make one – and liveblog the process.

I’m quite delighted to discover that I don’t need to submit a jar of blood or sacrifice two doves or sell my soul in order to sign up, although I do need to decipher some obnoxious captcha text, which is the same thing, when you really think about it.

Upon logging in for the first time, I find that I already have a friend request waiting. From a real person that I know. How fucking weird is that? I think that’s pretty weird.

Moving past that initial shock, it looks like, yes, everybody I have ever sent an email to or received an email from is using this stupid site. Everybody except three people, one of whom is my mother. After picking the people I actually talk to regularly and weeding out the masses of videogame and comic book PR reps, I now get to decide whether or not I want to spam the three people in my address book who aren’t using Facebook (one of whom is my mother) and invite them to join in its wonderment. I pass.

Now Facebook wants to know where I went to school and where I work. It’s kind of exciting, actually, like Facebook and I are on a date. I wonder what movie we should go see? I wonder when we’ll start making out?

Next, I get a list of people who went to my alma mater, and while I know some of them, I feel a little awkward adding them as friends when I haven’t spoken to them in 8 years. And also friends of the friends I just picked. I find this stage creepy (again, just like a date).

This then takes me to my Facebook homepage, where I immediately discover that I have been bitten by a zombie. This is basically what I was afraid of. Zombies.

Because I’m having an awesome Facebook party right now, I choose a picture of myself in a festive party hat. No, Internet faithful, I don’t just wear sombreros.

I intuit that I have to edit my profile in order to appear like I give a damn, and it takes me an unconscionably long time to figure out where I need to click to do this, despite the word EDIT in plain view. That’s one strike against you, Facebook, and has nothing to do with my own idiocy.

I fill out my religious and political beliefs accurately:

And…now Facebook wants my address. And my phone number. And my IM screenname, and my bank password and my grandmother’s maiden name. Can I skip this part?

I’m tempted to leave my relationship status as “It’s Complicated” or “Single” just to mess with people. I don’t.

My favorite books? I take back my assessment that this is like a date. I’ve never dated a girl that’s cared that much about my interests. I think I like you, Facebook.

For the curious, this is what I have to say About Me:

There is very little appealing about me. I am a writer, which means I drink a lot. I wear several career hats, but one of them is marketer, which means I hate myself, which means I drink more. I read for pleasure, a bizarre practice only undertaken by the mad and socially ill. I like to cook, which means I like to eat, which is also socially unacceptable these days. I blog, which means I am self-absorbed on an incomprehensible level. Come along and be my awesome Internet friend.

Now everybody will want to be friends with me.

And…I don’t know what I do now. I mean, I have a wall. I could maybe write something offensive on it. Maybe I could become a zombie. Or a vampire. That might be cool.

I’ve been out for a few round, but can’t nobody count me out forever. Not even Bahlactus.

Okay, last update of the night. Feast or famine….

Best. Tagline. Ever.

—————-
Listening to: Agalloch - …And the Great Cold Death of the Earth

So, listen, I haven’t been posting a lot lately, and it’s not because I’ve been burned out by work or working on other, non Conditional Axe writings, it’s kind of just that I’ve been lazy. I haven’t been consuming my culture much, if at all, since WizardWorld (and I think I teased a more comprehensive post about those goings-on that has yet to manifest, too).

I mean, I’ve seen The Incredible Hulk, which you’ve already seen more than likely, and it was really good. One of my coworkers is well and truly obsessed with The Hulk now, which - as the long-suffering comic book geek - is pretty funny to watch. And I’ve seen The Happening, which was really, really bad. Inventing obscure subtext for the mood ring is my new summer pasttime. Truthfully, it was my review of The Happening that really did me in. I spent hours looking for a decent picture of a fucking larch - which was vital for the lame-ass Monty Python reference I thought was so awesome at the time I thought of it.

But last night, I did something other than simply play my 360 and try to make dialogue sound not as unbearably hip and cute as it sounded in the first draft. I cooked.

You’d think that living in the barren wilds of Northeastern PA would be death for a foodie, but there are some safe havens among the chain restaurants and mediocre mom and pop Italian places. Places like the River St. Ale House, which has one of the craziest and best chefs in the area.

Really, we just need a legitimate goddamn diner back, in the wake of some old haunts like The Hart or the Western Pancake House no longer being around.

My only requirement for legitimacy is that they make chicken croquettes that do not look or taste like they come out of a bag with the Swanson logo on them - Yes Eddie’s, I mean you. The Blakeslee Diner comes closest, but every time I go, it seems like they’re not as good as they were the last time, a sort of diner diminishing returns. A truly legit diner should be open 24 hours, too - and this is another criteria where Blakeslee falls short.

Anyway.

I had some pork chops I needed to do something with last night, and I just kind of threw a recipe together. I may have been drinking. At any rate, it turned out to be pretty good. The wife even liked it.

Here’s what I did:

1 Can Boddington’s
1 Can Coca-Cola
1/2 Tsp Chili Powder
1/2 Tsp Ground Mustard Seed
1 T Honey

1 Egg
1 Cup Flour
1 Cup Cap’n Crunch
1 Cup Breadcrumbs

I tossed the beer, soda, chili powder, mustard and honey into a bowl, mixed and marinated the chops for about 30 minutes. If I were doing it again, I’d probably marinate overnight. You might be able to cut the mustard down to 1/4 Tsp. because I think it tasted a bit too strong.

While the meat is marinating, set up bowls for flour and the egg, which you’ll want to beat, and a plastic container with a lid for the cereal and breadcrumbs.

PROTIP: If you don’t cut the Cap’n Crunch with something else, it’ll be way too sweet.

Oh, and smash the hell out of the Cap’n Crunch. A few big chunks are nice, but it should mostly be pretty fine. You probably know the drill from here - coat the meat egg, dredge through the flour, and then deposit in the plastic container. Apply the lid and shake it like the proverbial Polaroid picture.

In the meantime, heat your oil of choice until it shimmers in a pan or skillet. I opted for canola oil, since we had that or extra-virgin olive oil and that just burns too quickly.

Get a good golden brown on the breading, and then put the skillet in a 350 degree oven for about 20 minutes.

Something I wanted to do was make a cream sauce for the chops and the mashed potatoes I served it with. Probably use another can of Boddington’s, heavy cream, flour and the pan drippings.

It’s comfort food, and it’s not especially healthy, but damn was it good. It had a slight nutty flavor from the marinate and a bit of tang from the mustard, which was a nice balance for the sweet breading.

I should have taken pictures like Clinton Hill Foodie.

There’s been some debate over whether I, or rather bloggers (of which I am one), have a responsibility to journalistic ethics. And frankly, I am under no such compunctions.

I have one rule, and it’s this: I’m not a liar.

I am hyperbolic sometimes, and I won’t apologize for that. But I am not dishonest. I like what I like, and I will tell you that I like it. Things I don’t like, I often won’t talk about, but I am pretty open about them, too.

When someone sends me something to review, I will tell you. But I will also give something a bad review if it’s, you know, bad. I’ve done this plenty of times with video games. Hell - Ubisoft sent me that Far Cry game for the Wii gratis and, honestly, I’d have thought they’d know better, but I didn’t feel compelled to gladhand my assessment of it (it’s utter refuse). Helen Killer, on the other hand, I’d have crowed about for free. And did when Issue #1 came out.

I mean, I’d say fair and balanced, but the negative connotations are staggering.

M. Night Shyamalan has a formula.

Yes, yes, shocking twist endings. Bruce Willis is a ghost. Sam Jackson is a supervillain. Swing away, Merrill.

But, more than that, his movies are, invariably, about broken families. What makes The Sixth Sense good isn’t the plot twist, but that it’s a plot twist that makes sense within the context of the character’s relationships. Although Night’s subsequent films never captured that nuance as effectively, the element of broken people and groups healing is at the core of everything he does.

Unfortunately,

I kid.

The problem with The Happening goes deeper than its antagonists. The real problem is that all the strong, haunting visuals that populate the ad campaign and make for some of the movie’s best moments are completely disconnected from the story that’s supposed to be at the movie’s heart. Shyamalan is constantly dragging the audience away from wherever Mark Wahlberg and Zooey Deschanel are and showing us startling developments in New York or Princeton that have no bearing on the story.

Not that Wahlberg and Deschanel have any real chemistry or that the movie ever gives us a reason to care about the couple; the movie’s far too busy showing us a guy getting run over by a lawnmower and car crashes and the same basic cliche ugliness that clutches humanity in the wake of a disaster that we’ve seen before in countless iterations. And the ‘basic-human-ugliness’ scenes in The Happening are much less watchable than even that horrid, horrid Tim Robbins scene in War of the Worlds.

The Happening is the worst M. Night Shyamalan movie, hands down. And really, when the ad campaign turned into, “Oh shit guys, this is Rated R, seriously an R rating - you gotta check it out!!!!!” I really should have figured out the shocking twist - its lack of quality - a lot sooner.

I’m amused as all hell by the alcohol-and-cigarettes rider that got Warren Ellis to cross the Atlantic and attend WW Chicago. But that was only the second most amusing part of the WW Philadelphia’s Avatar Press panel, which I quixotically covered for Newsarama without realizing that I wasn’t assigned to cover the Avatar Press panel. Faux pas.

Anyway, Avatar’s William Christensen provided the most amusing moment: an Alan Moore impersonation to rival Warren Ellis’s.

Thanks to my liveblogging efforts, I have a transcript. Christensen’s talking about Moore’s Neonomicon, the venerable, snake-god-worshipping Moore’s take on H.P. Lovecraft’s mythology. Christensen, doing Moore’s slow, basso rumble, asks:

“Right, so there are no editorial restrictions at all, right?”
“Right.”
“You’re sure?”
“Well, there are things that will get me thrown in jail.”
“Right. What are those?”

“It’s a very fucked up book,” he says with a shudder.

I’ve been feeling kind of blog-averse lately, maybe due to work or the oppressive heat. I hurt my back last week (as seen on Twitter!) and there’s a story in there that can probably be tagged ‘Matrimonial Ruminations’ and am only now really getting back to normal.

Plus, the oppressive heat.

To make matters worse, I haven’t really read or watched anything worth talking about in the past week or so, and my consumption of media is the MacGuffin which this enterprise revolves around. Maybe a movie-laden weekend will help me out, as the plan (and loyal readers know how plans work out for me) is to see Hulk, The Happening and The Strangers. Hearing from a friend that the press screening for The Happening doesn’t happen until next Thursday paradoxically makes me want to see the film more. After all, I like Lady in the Water and Unbreakable a lot more than I do Signs or The Sixth Sense. However, I really do think that M. Night Shyamalan needs to just start calling his movies Twilight Zone VI, for instance. Which reminds that (also drawn from the Twitter vaults) I want to open a pretzel shop in Bucks County named “What A Twist!”

So, just like The Hearty Boys and Amy Finley before them*, ten mysterious cooks (and chefs) again descend on the Food Network kitchen as if they were carrion birds angling to strip the last bits of meat from the previous winner’s short-lived Gourmet Next Door.

I’m normally not one for reality television, but I’m such a Food Network junkie that the latter overrides the former whenever Star is on. If nothing else, it’s an entertaining glimpse into just why consensus is rarely** an effective decision-making tool, what with its 2/3 crash and burn rate. ‘Crash and Burn’ is a harsh term to apply to Finley, who filmed six episodes and then decided she didn’t want to be quasi-famous any longer, but season one winners Steve and Dan weren’t exactly…well, okay, sorry, the show sucked, guys.

And it was a predictable first week. The contestants had to pitch themselves under Alton Brown’s scrutinizing gaze, leading to a confrontation between Brown and Lisa Garza, the star-in-potentia I am most likely to complain ceaselessly about until she gets thrown off of the show (which should be soon!) See, Lisa’s culinary point of view involves “the 3 Cs,” and I only remember one of them - Community Outreach. Like Alton Brown and about nine other Food Network luminaries, I have no idea how community outreach applies to a cooking show. Maybe, I theorized to my wife, the show would be set in a soup kitchen.

And while Lisa grates on me the most, she made the cut in week one. The two on the chopping block were Nipa, the arrogant Indian cook who resorted to using store-bought curry powder in place of turmeric - which she couldn’t find at the store*** - and Cory, a stand-up comic who consistently froze under pressure and refused to crack a joke even once. When taken to task for her wisecrack lack, Cory defensively countered that she is “dark and acerbic” and that her show would feature those aspects of her personality.

Not surprisingly, Cory went home. The lesson appears to be that dark and acerbic stammering is not something Food Network viewers would want to see. However, frequent occurrences of Sandra Lee’s Semi-Homemade Meals on their programming schedule indicate that they have a vested interest in making me dark and acerbic.

Speaking of Lee, she joined Alton Brown, Giada DeLaurentiis, Bobby Flay, the Neelys, Masaharu Morimoto and network suits Bob Tuschman and Susie Fogelson to sample the contestants’ offerings and wisely refrained from comment unless it was solicited from her, at which point she gave Nipa’s dish a backhanded compliment by noting that she enjoyed it because she doesn’t like curry. Upon seeing Lee sitting shoulder to shoulder with actual chefs, my wife declared that she was going to enter the competition next season with the culinary point of view of “cooking meals from a can.”

Looking forward to next week, when Nipa apparently cracks under the pressure of being constantly perfect****.

* Technically, Guy Fieri is on this list and has had a bewildering level of success on Food Network since his victory, making him the Carrie Underwood of cooking shows.

** Jason Todd is the exception proving this particular rule.

*** I had a hard time believing that turmeric doesn’t exist in an NYC grocery store when I can walk to Gerrity’s and buy some.

**** Remember sarcastalics? They’re back!