How to: Teach a Man-Child to Cook

The second installment of the How-To series promises to help the helpless, talent the talentless, and gift the giftless.

Since Christian’s apartment does not happen to have a refridgerator or a stove or an oven or a microondule, my days as a chef are finished. In memory of my incomparable swarthiness in the kitchen, I offer these important lessons which even I managed to learn:

It’s okay to…

• It’s okay to cook things separately
• It’s okay not to add all the ingredients at the same time
• It’s okay not to cook on the highest heat
• It’s okay not to use the whole onion

It’s not okay to…

• It’s not okay to add Worchestershire sauce to everything
• It’s not okay to add Chili Powder to everything
• It’s not okay to crack an egg on top of everything
• It’s not okay to make a pasta sauce that is mostly mustard

A further note upon the text: Le Cordon Bleu has expressed interest in publishing a brochure-form of this information, but there have been some slight delays. It has proven rather difficult to locate a frenchman capable of capturing the delightful grace that is my prose style. But even beyond that trivial boast, three teams of typographic scientists have already abandoned the project declaring ‘no font yet invented matches the class of this text.’ A young slav savant has come down from his poor mountain village to try his hand at the task, but he has so far only managed to singe his hair on a candle while working late into the night. The local priests have denied the existence of my pamphlet in fear that their illuminated manuscripts will begin to appear rather dim. Yet I persevere.

Beribboned Hats

So, I am living with a Norseman named Christian. We spend a lot of time drinking wine and listening to Prince.

Can’t wait to hear about FTBS’06.

Facts Upon Facts Upon Facts…but, alas, to what end?

This is the most depressing list of facts so far:

• Number of scarves I’ve lost: 1
• Number of scarves I brought: 1
• Number of arguments I’ve had in French: 2
• Number of those arguments which ended with me saying “I’m not cleaning up your sperm ever again” (in French): 1
• Number of days until I move out from this dump: 2
• Number of days since I was told that I should move out: 1
• Number of days until grad school applications are due: 22

Three bonus facts to cheer us all up:

• Number of weeks until the Wind comes: 5-6
• Number of weeks until my birthday: 1
• Packages I received yesterday (just in time): 1

And then one more sad fact:

• Number of addresses where you can send birthday presents to me: 0

Walt Whitman’s Younger Brother Was Not, Despite All Powers That Be, Named Jeff. He Was, In Fact, Christened George.

Dear Residents of Austin,

My friend Jeff Daily will be playing a show this weekend. For those who don’t know, this is my friend from high school, who, probably more than anyone else, got me interested in playing music and probably listening to music as well. Since there is no way I can make it, please go in my place and have a good time. Here is the flier.

Here are some helpful song uploads as well. Jeff is the oldest of three brothers, all of whom are excellent musicians, and I fondly remember the days of going over to the Daily house on Saturday afternoons and ‘jamming out’ for a while. I have uploaded two songs. The first is my personal favorite song by Plastic UNO Band, the home-recording project of Jeff and his youngest brother, Chris, from 2004, I believe. The song is about Peter Bogdonovich, it’s called “I have huge glasses.” The second song, “Weather Patters (X-Cite Bike Mix)” is one of my favorite old tape recordings of us playing. It eventually turned into a song for our short-lived band “Birth vs. Birth,” but I like this rockin’ freakout a ton better. This was probably about 4 years ago.

Go to the show.

The Big Let Down

As you may have already noticed, none of my pre-2,000 promises have come true. Don’t expect them to. Ever. Shut up, or I will give you the world’s meanest c-section.

The Long Days of Winter

I’ve been out of the office all week. To cheer you up, here are some very unimpressive videos of Larry King farting on air. Also, I’m super pumped about finding the online edition of The Senior Times. Unfortunately this seems to be the Canadian version and it lacks the section about funny things grandkids say, which is arguably my favorite part. I would also criticize it for focusing on “issues” and not reminiscing enough. Alas, tis all I have for now. For those unfamiliar with this periodical, here is a poetic ode in its honor which was submitted in last month’s letters section.

Congratulations on your 20th birthday
May you all be blessed in every way
What can I say about The Senior Times?
A quality publication that won’t set you back a dime
Informative articles and reviews with insight
Reading your paper is a real delight
Interesting to seniors or any generation
About different communities of different persuasions
Competent editorials and political critique
The Senior Times is really unique
About upcoming events you do apprise
Art exhibits, bazaars and lectures you advertise
Assisting the aged with medical advice
Your columns are to the point and concise
Current events to keep us up-to-date
You have earned much praise, there can be no debate
You remind us that we seniors are always learning
For knowledge we have a life-long yearning
So, kudos to you Barbara, and your entire staff
Your paper is the best senior paper we could have
Enjoy yourselves at the Dawson Scene
May you be the most festive you’ve ever been
Congratulations on a job well done
Please keep The Senior Times exciting and fun
As you party and celebrate in October
Hope you can all manage to stay sober!

— Sharon Miller, Montreal

Of similar interest, here is Parade Magazine’s letter section, which it turns out is actually called Personality Parade. The way they have organized the online version is pretty terrible, so I can only link to the current week’s edition. The last week’s full text won’t be out until Tuesday, but you can read previous weeks’ as well. Last week has some pretty good questions, but I don’t know why I’m telling you guys, you probably read them all already. I wish they made a Euro-Parade Magazine. The only good thing about the online edition is that you get to read comments, but really I’d rather have the glossy, full-page spread.

Multi-Spleen Challenge

This is one of the absolute best things I’ve seen in a long time, and to think I just stumbled upon it. I had never heard of this Nicholas Moore fellow before (wikipedia entry here), but apparantly he was an acclaimed up-and-coming British poet back in the 40’s and 50’s and was as well known as Dylan Thomas. Then something happened–the biographical information gets a little vague here–and he became very reclusive and people forgot about him. A decade later, in 1968 the London Times was holding a translation contest for Baudelaire’s poetry. Under various pseudonyms and postmarking the entries from all over England, Moore mailed in 39 translations of the same poem: Je suis comme le roi… from Baudelaire’s collection Spleen of Paris.

Ubuweb has made a freely-available pdf version (see link at beginning or click on picture) of Moore’s translations. This guy has a great sense of humour and plays all sorts of tricks with the peom, and in doing so he reveals the impossibility of translation (blah, blah – to me this proves translation is as potent as any other creative act). With no more information than the pseudonym and return-address, he manages to create a different character for each translation, sometimes mocking the personalities of famous poets. Each one is dedicated to a different person (sometimes they are dedicated to Moore himself) and they have one or more epigraphs culled from various sources. The whole thing is ingenious and exquisitely executed. I wish I had done this, but this guy does it too well for me to really be mad about it.

Here is a sample of some of my favorites of Moore’s first lines, which in dry translation of the French original just mean “I am like the king of a rainy country”:

• Beau Roi of Serpentines in thunderous mish-mash!
• I’m like the Father Christmas of a wet
• I am like a Chieftain of the Isle of Skye
• I’m like the king of rain-douched Scorpios
  
• I am like the T. S. Eliot of new wastelands

And of course, this one:

• I’m like The Winner of The Competition

I guess not all British people have to be dicks (p.s. I don’t care if he’s really Scottish).

This guy is my new hero.

Update: I must also make mention of a lot of his excellent made up extraneous info:

• Thomson’s Thoughtomobiles
• (for the attention of the MacBeth-Blood-Hand-Bimpany Consortium)
• The last line to be repeated to the way-off accompaniment of the Abrordio Skeelectric Organ, played by L. P. Charity-Daywizz of the Which-Izz Console: the tune Eine Steine Klassmusik composed by The Mo’s Art Bisky-Wisky Skintet (sherry by request—but absinthe makes the Art green ponder)
• Rosine MaCoolh (“Ginny” Rose Lee of the Go-Karts and Strip Arts Council)
• (President Elect of the Society for Multiple Injuries)
• W. H. Laudanum

Update 2: Genius!

Big News, Guys

Did you know that you can be myspace friends with the Official Miss Chiquita (Banana)?

http://www.myspace.com/officialmisschiquita

Anybody who has ever failed at eating a banana, should also listen to her song “I’m a Chiquita Banana,” which is not only filled with helpful tips for eating bananas but scientific information about bananas as well.

Neccessary Delegation

I know I’ve been overblogging about the ways people have found my site through search engines, but who in god’s name searched for this:

“DH Lawrence Snake wikipedia”

I’m too tired to look up what exactly a DH Lawrence Snake is, but if anybody has an idea, please keep me from having nightmares about this.

Kangaroo Came Through

Pat Rawlings is the talented artist who designs calendars for NASA employees to get them pumped about space (at least, that’s how I understand it). The Space Sports gallery is the one that makes me really want to start shooting champion beach volleyball players into outerspace. I propose that when Rawlings passes away his tombstone should be engraved with “What an imagination!” But let’s hope for the sake of space that such a dark day is as far away as a sandtrap in the LPGA Uranus Open.