C is for Cookie

Looks about right. Could maybe use some Kermit.

Your Brain on Porn

This has been mostly videos lately.
What, you wanted words? Enh, even I get tired of my own words sometimes. Shocking, I know.

Think Critically

You can find your own way to the rebuttal if you care.

These kinds of 'debates' are sort of like 'debating' the theory of evolution. There is no point. That's the great thing about science: it's true whether you believe it or not. A man in the sky that wants to give you sex advice? Puh-leeze.

Cute

Luis Suarez is a fantastic footballer. He's done enough awful, stupid things on a football pitch (biting people, making racist remarks) to be accurately described as an awful person. He's a hero in the Kop though, so you get this video. I had no idea his English was so poor. Doesn't seem to be affecting his play.

For more goodness, here's Finn interviewing Liverpool legend Steven Gerrard. Not sure why these softball questions to superstars are more entertaining than boilerplate bullshit from a talking head but here we are. Maybe it's his scrawny little kid legs sticking out of his full kit contrasted with Gerrard's, uhh, tree trunks? What are those? It looks like he could squat a dump truck. Jesus.

Feel All the Feels

I wish I could see for miles, miles, miles.

Thought this song had been featured on the blog already but I can't find it. It's been in heavy rotation around here lately.

Vernon himself says:

"Holocene is a bar in Portland, Ore., but it's also the name of a geologic era, an epoch if you will. It's a good example of how all the songs are all meant to come together as this idea that places are times and people are places and times are... people? [Laughs.] They can all be different and the same at the same time. Most of our lives feel like these epochs. That's kind of what that song's about. "Once I knew I was not magnificent." Our lives feel like these epochs, but really we are dust in the wind. But I think there's a significance in that insignificance that I was trying to look at in that song."

Studio Pets

Says what it does, does what it says.

A surprising number of cats. It makes sense because if you're at work you prefer something that doesn't require much attention and can look after itself. That includes your pets and co-workers.

Hat tip to slobscot for the link.

Level 40

This was on Alligator Sunglasses. I am reposting it here for posterity. And laughs. Apparently this is part II. I need to get caught up with part I.

Sleeping looks exactly right. FIST PUMP.

Takes One to Know One

The blogspace is a big fan of redheads.
Full Disclosure: My hair is brown now but my beard is auburn, and my hair was much more red when I was younger. I also have the accompanying fair skin and freckles; my English buddy calls me a 'closet ginger'.

Favorite ginger joke from the internet:
Person A: I always thought the Harry Potter books were unrealistic.
Person B: Why?
Person A: Because the ginger had more than one friend.

Slate explores the anomaly of redheaded women being portrayed as sexy, and men as freakish. Weird but true: a woman can be more attractive because she's got red hair, a man is attractive in spite of it. I don't know that I've ever met a girl that preferred redheads. (If you're out there, get in touch with me.) "Tall, dark and handsome" is more typical.

A photographer is out to change that. I'm unconvinced. The models are undeniably handsome, but is it the hair? The same photos taken in black and white would almost certainly be more compelling. It doesn't make a convincing case.

Tom Robbins (also a ginger) should have the last word (from a 1998 GQ essay):

************************
Ode To Redheads


How are we to explain the power these daughters of ancient Henna have over us bemused sons of Eros?

Red hair is a woman's game. The harsh truth is, most red-haired men look like blonds who've spoiled from lack of refrigeration. They look like brown-haired men who've been composted. Yet that same pigmentation that on a man can resemble leaf mold or junk yard rust, a woman wears like a tiara of rubies.

Not only are female redheads frequently lovely but theirs is a loveliness that suggests both lust and danger, pleasure and violence, and is, therefore, to the male of the species virtually irresistible. Red O red were the tresses of the original femme fatale. Of course, much of the "fatale" associated with redheads is illusory, a stereotypical projection on the part of sexually neurotic men. Plenty of redheads are as demure as rosebuds and as sweet as strawberry pie. However, the mere fact that they are perceived to be stormy, if not malicious, grants them a certain license and a certain power. It's as if bitchiness is their birthright. By virtue of their coloration, they possess an innate permit to be terrible and lascivious, which, even if never exercised, sets them apart from the remainder of womankind, who have traditionally been expected to be mild and pure.

Now that women are demolishing those old misogynistic expectations, will redheads lose their special magic, will Pippi Longstocking come to be regarded as just one of the girls? Hardly. To believe that blondes and brunettes are simply redheads in repressive drag is to believe that UFOs are kiddie balloons. All redheads, you see, are mutants.

Whether they spring from genes disarranged by earthly forces or are "planted" here by overlords from outer space is a matter for scholarly debate. It's enough for us to recognize that redheads are abnormal beings, bioelectrically connected to realms of strange power, rage, risk and ecstasy.

What is your mission among us, you daughters of ancient Henna, you agents of the harvest moon? Are those star maps that your freckles replicate? How do you explain the fact that you live longer than the average human? Where did you get such sensitive skin? And why are your curls the same shade as heartbreak?

 Alas, inquiry is futile: Either they don't know or they won't say -- and who has the nerve to pressure a redhead? We may never learn their origin or meaning, but it probably doesn't matter. We will go on leaping out of our frying pans into their fire, grateful for the opportunity to be titillated by their vengeful fury, real or imagined, and to occasionally test our erotic mettle in the legendary inferno of their passion.

Redheaded women! Those blood oranges! Those cherry bombs! Those celestial shrews and queens of copper! May they never cease to stain our white-bread lives with super-natural catsup.

Thanksgiving Foods, Ranked

This isn't late. I wanted to give the People an opportunity to move past their Thxgiving experience and reflect.

Delicious items on your thanksgiving table, ranked:

1. Pumpkin pie, FIRST ABOVE ALL, FOREVER
2. Dressing with sausage and turkey giblets, cooked outside of the bird (hence: 'dressing' and not 'stuffing'). If you omit the giblets and sausage it will lack savory and body. Don't do that.
3. (tie) Sweet Potatoes in any form, but especially baked spicy with cream OR baked with butter. There must be butter.

3. (tie) Cranberry sauce, homemade
5. Gravy
6. Turkey, dark meat
7. Homemade corn bread
8.  Green bean casserole
9. Rolls
10. Salad
11. Boring ass mashed potatoes
12. Cranberry sauce from a can
13. Any type of seasonal roasted vegetable
14. A generous serving of disappointment and rejection
11. Turkey, white meat

Play Them In Order

If you have a soundcloud account (it's free!) you can collect / organize whatever sounds you're into - provided they're on soundcloud. Or you can pay for an account and post your own sounds.

I listen to it pretty much all my waking hours, so I'm getting my money's worth. This list is the slow jams I have downloaded / worn out on repeat in the past 3-ish months, all aggregated (favorite word alert!) into one playlist. Enjoy. Or not. Whatever.

Hot Jam: Spirit Bird by Xavier Rudd (Lexer Remix)

I can't explain why I like this song as much as I do but here we are.

I can't explain a lot of things. Like why I ate so much orange chicken for dinner. Big plate of deep fried chicken bits with sweet sauce? Why not? More accurately, why not aside from the fact that it's a big plate of deep fried chicken bits with sweet sauce on top? It would have been better if they served it between two Belgian waffles like a sandwich. Aww yeah that would be gooood. I'll try and make that happen next time. (Burp.) 

Great song, free download.

Science Ruins Everything

This was on Alligator Sunglasses. It's funny because it's true, although I'd say that Science has been ruining everything since way before 1543. One man's opinion.

Never Not Funny: The Short Tie (Revisited)

This photo was on the blog already. Just over two years ago now, if memory serves.

This is me doing Big Cheese's tie for his wedding ceremony, and I'm asking him how short it should be. It's one of my favorite jokes. Oh you want it here? No probs, got you covered.

The too-short tie always kills, and I love the picture because it was great to share a laugh during a busy moment.

These Go to Eleven

Friend of the blog got a new Gibson SG. I guess next year's model is robotic-tuning only or some such and he wanted to get one before that was mandatory. Whatever. Point is, fantastic guitar. Fortunately his amps go to 11.

Space and Time

//Ed. This is an old post I wrote on 11 July 2013. Found it in the archives, decided to run it now instead of spike it. //

Lately I've been thinking a lot about space. Physical space, as when you physically move stuff around to make room in your house / car / yacht / dirigible / whatever. Temporal space, as when you make time for someone or something. And emotional space, as when I carve out room in my cold, dead heart to make an investment in someone or something.

We lost Reese six months ago today. My relationship officially ended at the same time, but really it disintegrated in conjunction with Reese's health. It's hard to feel love when your heart is broken, and my then-girlfriends heart was (and probably is) broken.

So what about space? I did what I could to fill the physical space that Reese and her mom used to take in my life. I made an effort to do the same with my time, and that has been moderately successful. The emotional space is something else.

When you make room for someone in your emotional life it's not so easy to fill it up when they leave. Any efforts to quickly replace the joy you once felt will surely fail. Instead the rest of your emotional life fills in slowly from the edges, bit by bit. The new normal is you, but with some emotional holes to fill. Not like potholes, more like open pit mines.

I gather that eventually it doesn't hurt as much, and you don't feel the absence so severely. I will revisit the topic again in January and let you know. For now I'll say I still miss them, every day. 

Photo Retrospective: Montmartre

Bumped into the old blog photo archive quite by accident (great googly-moogly stores them conveniently in one place) and browsed some pics that I hadn't seen in a while. No idea why I published this one but it was taken in a Paris restaurant 10 or 12 years ago. That was an eventful evening, which ended up with me and Jeffy spending the night out with some friends of friends in Paris, mainly in Montmartre.

Thierry (pictured at right, in the background, tan track jacket) smoked hand-rolled cigarettes. I don't, as a rule, smoke anything. Nor drink wine. Nor spend my free evenings in Parisian restaurants eating the most French thing on the menu* (duck, in this case). When in Rome, etc and so forth.

Tourists take an infinite number of pictures of the Louvre and Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame and that's great, if that's what Paris looks like to you. To me it looks like a snapshot of a long, late, hilarious night out with some lovely people.

See you out there.




* Unfortunately, not a euphemism.

Tis the Season: Baseball is Lame but the BBWAAAAAA are the Lamest

It's that time of year again. No, not the one where you exchange gifts and get a day or two off work. The one where I get bent out of shape about the hypocritical Basebal Hall of 'Fame' voting. 'Fame' in air quotes since they didn't bother to elect anyone alive last year, even though there were plenty of worthy candidates.

Here's a link to this year's list. 

I don't have the energy to rehash the merits of the candidates and their reasons for inclusion or exclusion. It's right there for you to read.

If you want to delude yourself that some players don't belong because they 'used drugs', because you live in a world where there's a meaningful distinction between taking, say, amphetamines to play better (Hi Willie Mays!) or painkillers to play (Hi, everyone who ever played organized sports at any level, anywhere!) and taking drugs such as steroids to enhance your recovery/performance then by all means: don't vote for them. Related: you are stupid.

Pi Chart - Roll Your Own

Cribbed this from Deadspin.

Seasonal pies, and when you should make them, all in one not-very-handy infographic. With recipes!

Here at GJAW we highly recommend you use your own recipe, preferably from a cookbook or website that doesn't have the words 'Light' or 'Paleo' or some similar bullshit. If you're not sure just ask me and I'll hook you up with something from one of my books or the recipe box.*

Pro tip: start your search at Cooks Illustrated. They don't compromise flavor for expediency, but they do make an effort to streamline or simplify the process where possible. It's an excellent benchmark for good to great, depending on how well you execute. If their recipes seem like a lot of work (and some are, admittedly, a pain in the ass), then try something that suits your commitment level. You will not be disappointed.

Use large washers (washed and dried) for pie weights, and for the love of all that is holy make the crust with butter like a proper American. I don't believe in Jesus Christ but I will invoke his name if I see pie crust made with shortening.

Thanks for reading.
 

* An actual thing, which my grandfather made in the 1960s(?). My mom gave it to me.

Life Goals

This was on Alligator Sunglasses and flagged as a third-grader's To Do list.
Pure truth to power.

I Forget the Things I Should Remember and Remember the Things I Should Forget

Awesome? Not really.



Special big shout out and thanks to Anonymous, Sweet Katie and Big Cheese for your kind comments on the Thursday post. Sometimes the content here is just a spur of the moment spitball of whatever catches my attention, like when I eat an entire bag of Mint Milano cookies in one sitting and then feel vaguely unsettled in my guts. And sometimes the content kicks around for a while and I feel strongly about it. That post was the latter so I was touched by your responses.

Thanks for visiting.