burgkakke (n) – the act of eating a burger so messy that you end up with grease and condiments dripping down your face, chin, neck, chest and hands.  (syn: burgerkakke)

filed under: totally lewd

Attention: This is the best blog.  Everyone else, just stop.  There’s no point.

My pals over at Resonator Magazine have lost a member of their extended family and I’ve lost an internet acquaintance.  Dr. Shlomo Zelig, someone with whom I’ve always shared similar taste in music and culture, passed away — the apparent victim of poisoning — while live-tweeting (yergh) the live show for Salem, a band Dr. Zelig mentioned to me a while back.  His twitter feed on the subject (linked on the Resonator page) is amateurish, rank with doe-eyed fanboy cliches and a sort of starry optimism for his never-to-be-realized music journo potential, but nevertheless remains a tragic monument to a man who died doing what he loved.   It’s also, in my opinion, an interesting example of how new and social media can be used to capture the mood and feel of something like a live show of an ultimately obscure, underexposed band like Salem.

It’s hard to become truly emotionally affected by the death of a “friend” I’ve only known on the internet; the cessation of what he might have said is merely an artifact in all the noise.  Still, pour out a glass of whatever you drink and turn up the bass for Shlomo.

Life is complex.  It’s too painful and too beautiful to comprehend as gestalt.  It can help — help me anyways — to step back and look at my life as a series of moments linked together on a strand.  Everyone has a unique strand like this, with a beginning and an end.  Moments pack together seamlessly along its length, but the same moments can be seen by one person to be pleasure and another to be pain.

Some see their moments as sweet jewels which link together to form a joyful whole.  Some see their moments as brittle disappointments which leave a sour taste in the mouth and cause nothing but decay and ache.

As you’ve no doubt guessed, I’m talking about Nerds Rope.

When I set out to write about Nerds Rope, I had an inkling that it would be a topic upon which opinions differed.  What I learned was that the Nerds Rope Question is a dilemma which is truly divisive, like abortion, the War on Terrorism and Kanye West’s “808s and Heartbreaks.”  In fact, had Nerds Rope been around in the 1800s, the Civil War would have been fought, but the question of slavery would have been set aside for future generations.

In the fever swamps of one side, we have those who do not consider it food, or consider it disgusting.    On the other extreme, we have those who seem to embrace its unnaturalness, craving it above many other more nutritious options. Most of those I interviewed fell somewhere in the middle of this great debate.

Jon K., an engineer, takes a Bauhausian, form-follows-function view:

“[Nerds Rope is] the fucking greatest invention ever! I always hated the Nerds boxes.  There’s always that last few that are impossible to get out without tearing apart the whole box.  Nerds rope fixes this issue and adds a chewiness that is a welcome addition.  Nom!”

Vicki S. alleges that Nerds Rope is “gross, tastes like corn syrup, [and is] bad for youuuuu!”

I could list the opinions of many a responder (I hope by now you’ve noticed the anagram), but suffice it to say that they run the gamut, neither side being truly equipped to understand the other’s views. Also, most of the comments were really boring.

There’s only so much you can do with Nerds Rope, and there’s only so much you can control about the moments that make up your life.  See them as you will.

(Yes, that’s me wearing a Nerds Rope tie.  Just be glad the Nerds Rope bondage photos didn’t come out.  In conclusion, I hate all of you that voted for Nerds Rope.)

(talking to the ever-amazing Alana Post about her ridiculously amazing new lady) :

me: you sure you didn’t make her up?

me: she sounds amazing

I have been pretty low lately. That’s the excuse I’m using for not yet blogging about Nerds Rope. (Oh, but believe you me, it’s coming. Hard.)

Last night I had what probably was my first real nervous breakdown / panic attack / panic in the disco since my awful experience at Georgia Tech.  It’s impossible to peg any one thing as the cause of it, but there was a lot of fire and ice, anger and doubt, all of it focused inward.   The regret clung deep in my chest, hammering like angina, for past mistakes (financial problems leading to bankruptcy, not being able to provide for Duncan, the great nearly-six-year detour of a bad relationship) and present ones (wasting my life in a career that bores me to tears, the uncanny knack for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time to my girlfriend,  burdening her with my shit when she is busy swimming through her own, and generally not being the strong, supportive force I should be.)

Stoicism runs in my family.  Case in point: it wasn’t until my  grandmother died that my father and I began to really use (and mean) the words, “I love you.”  It’s been hard to shed this lifelong carapace, and I’m sure I overcompensate a lot.   I’m probably doing so right now!  Weakness and pain was always something that I buried deep, but the problem is that joy, laughter and love get buried alongside.  Starting in Q4 2008, I decided to become more of an open book, one which I also took the time to try and read myself.

So, here’s the thing about my life in detours.  I may have taken a nine-year (and counting) detour professionally, and I may have taken a six-year detour down the path to marriage to someone that, frankly, I settled for and never really felt passion for.  In some sense, I may have even taken an eight-year detour to obesity.  I laugh about it now, but I definitely took a detour to the Land of Boring and Infrequent Sex.  However, they’re just detours.  Like Vicki told me on the phone last night, when she called to pull me out of the morass, I still have the choice to get where I want to go.

I have been harassed constantly by my (lovely, brilliant, sometimes grumpernickel) girlfriend to blog more often.  I have been starting posts but not finishing them.  So, in tribute to Obamanation 2009 and the new optimism we all share regarding democracy, I will leave it up to you, my constituency of sorts, to look upon the titles of the unfinished entries and decide which I finish next.   Voting ends when I feel like it (more specifically when I feel like there have been enough votes.  Let’s try for at least a minyan.)

NOTE: If you are sharing an IP with someone else who votes, you won’t be able to vote for your own choice.  So, comment it!

Lately, I’ve been a real lemonjerk.

By this, I mean three things, and here they are in order of general to more specific: I’ve been withdrawn and antisocial (more on that later), I haven’t been blogging (more of that later), and I have neglected to give my beautiful and amazing Vicki the Thomas Keller Vegetable Stock recipe I promised her (all of that, now).

My friends know how carnivorous I can be. Like some sort of hybrid goat-velociraptor (rarrr) I eat pretty much any sort of living thing, including Icelandic sheep faces. Still, this vegetarian stock is remarkable, and does especially well in soups like onion and vichysoisse.

So, sweetness, this is for you, reproduced in its entirety from Thomas Keller’s cookbook Bouchon — come and get me, Tommy boy. (Not that Tommy Boy.)

Vegetable stock is versatile, but it loses its flavor quickly, so it’s best to make it as close to the time of use as possible. Make it in small quantities or freeze it immediately. We chop the vegetables finely or grind them for maximum extraction of flavor in the shortest time.

1.5# (1 large bunch) leeks, white part only, well washed and coarsely chopped (~ 4.5c)

1# carrots, peeled and coarsely chopped (~ 3c)

1.5# (~2 large) Spanish onions, coarsely chopped (~4.5c)

1 small fennel bulb, trimmed and coarsely chopped

.25c canola oil

2 bay leaves

2 thyme sprigs

~2 ounces (1 large bunch) Italian parsley sprigs

Finely chop all the vegetables in a food processor.

Cook the vegetables in the canola oil in a medium stockpot over low heat for 5 to 8 minutes, or until softened.  Add the bay leaves, thyme, parsley, and enough water to cover (~3-4 quarts).  Bring to a gentle simmer, skimming frequently, and cook for 45 minutes.

Prepare an ice bath.  Strain the stock through a chinois or fine-mesh sieve into a container and submerge the container in the ice bath.  (Refrigerate the stock for 1 to 2 days, or freeze in several containers for longer storage.

(Here’s a link to a blogger who took photos of the process: Vegetable Stock — The Best).
Enjoy, darlin’.

so i was at kroger
looking at the gourmet mustards
and this guy
walks up to me
not your average looking crazy dude
caucasian (caucasian caucasian)
and says
as i am looking at the creole mustard
“i am sure glad santa has come and gone! you’re a youngster so you can’t understand! but you will!”
real talk

oh tora tora
your wit is a torpedo
to my ample guts

(link)