Coffee Rhetoric: Food and Life
Showing posts with label Food and Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Food and Life. Show all posts

October 24, 2011

These and Those: In Which My Hair Uncovers Dirty Truths


In these uncertain times where 9-to-5 jobs are difficult to come by due to asshole companies' discriminatory behavior and folks pushing forward to eke out an income working for themselves, money is tight and happy hour prices don't always put a smile on one's face once the bill comes. Fortunately Zula, located at 901 Main Street in downtown Hartford manages to keep it classy and sassy while providing a diverse crowd, good food, great music, and an outstanding happy hour from 4pm-7pm, so that folks don't side-eye their bill while angrily digging their wallet out of their purse or back pockets. $3 wines and drafts, $5 cocktails, and $4 plates. Why not? I was having a particularly good hair day this past Friday and ventured inside where I chatted up a personable and accommodating bartender named Jessica. 
Jessica kept me company and divulged interesting details about her life as a bartender before rapper, Keith Murray's sister found her way inside... apparently seduced by the halo of awesomeness that was my hair that day. She said she spied it through the plate glass window. My hair is touch and go whenever I wear un-bunned; some days it's just OK and other days it's particularly eye-catching. 

Now I'm familiar with this obviously cool woman (whose name always eludes me, unfortunately)- as I've run into her on numerous occasions downtown, where she resides. I had no idea until this past Friday that she was related to the Def Squad member, however. Keith's sister and I chatted about this and that... mostly regarding what her brother was currently up to and we pontificated a little about dating. Lately, I just choose not to do it. I'm really working on focusing getting to where I'd like to be professionally. Also, running into an unwanted nuisance I can't seem to escape a few days prior and then receiving a rambling voice mail this evening from another one, who once divulged an unfortunate story to me (on a FIRST quasi-DATE) about why his penis was virtually non-existent, has prompted me (an atheist type) to want to spend the remainder of my adult life in a convent for wayward dating souls. But I do enjoy hearing about what other people are up to in their love/sex lives. Keith Murray's sister spoke about a man she'd been dating for about a month, whose company she seemed to enjoy. He bought her gifts and he took her out to dine at fine restaurants. I happened to ask if they'd ever been to Zula. "This is too open for him. He likes more restrained, sort of fancier places. He probably wouldn't like this atmosphere." She suggested. We continued to make interesting conversation and shortly after, she excused herself to the bathroom. Suddenly a man and a young Black woman walked in. He pulled out Keith's sister's chair and  I alerted him, "Oh... someone's sitting there." He slid it back up to the bar sans incident... 
Keith's sister returned from the bathroom and surprised, hugged the man with familiarity. He and the young woman retreated to the opposite end of the bar. Considering our conversation just moments ago, Keith's sister alerted me that the man she hugged was the so-called charming fellow she'd been seeing, who bought her gifts, and who quite possibly would not take her out to dine at Zula... and it was obvious why. 

It gave me no pleasure whatsoever to see her obvious discomfort and dismay, especially when she said, "He told me he's here with someone else." I suggested that she "be cool" and finish enjoying her drink. A friend I spied and then a cool Hartfordite I recognized from and communicated with on Twitter, as well as an inebriated Afro-latina woman who mistakenly took and opened my purse to retrieve money to pay for her drinks would later distract me. So I never saw Keith's sister leave... The cad and his date were gone from the bar and slipped out into the cool, autumn night as well, and I wouldn't see how the awkward situation panned out in the end. My hope is that Keith's sister didn't go home too upset and put out. My hope is that I randomly run into her again. I'm not sure why this man felt compelled to try to put the wool over Keith Murray's sister's eyes and I won't speculate, as I've stopped trying to decipher the complicated adagio dance women and men, when courting one another. It's best to piss into the wind and just tread as steadily as one can in these matters. 

I'd like to think that if my hair hadn't been so awesome that day, Keith's sister would not have felt inspired to join me and stay long enough to see her paramour's dark-sided ways. And this is why I'll never bid my natural hair adieu. 

October 04, 2010

Coffee Buzz

 Local Happs ...

Connecticut Historical Society's Exhibit Opening- Connecticut Needlework: Women, Art & Family 1740 - 1840 Oct. 4 -follow-up One-day conference on Oct. 30
www.Hartford.com
Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art presents- Silk City Film Fest, Oct. 7-10
-Read more about the SCFF here
Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art info 
Greater Hartford Marathon, downtown Hartford, Saturday Oct. 
Hartford celebrates its annual Hooker Day Parade, Saturday, Oct. 23
Spirits at Stowe: An Otherworldly Tour, Fri's and Sat's this October only, Harriet Beecher Stowe Center
Happy Hour (downtown Hartford)
(c) Coffee Rhetoric


Salute Mon. 3:30 - close, Tues. - Fri. 3:30-6:30
Bin 2281/2 Priced on wine bottles every Monday

Bocca Rossa  (Mon, Wed, & Fri) 4:30 - 6:30  
  • $5 wines
  • $3 drafts
  • $4 house martinis
  • $3 appetizers
  • $10 flights of 3 wines of your choosing

For Your Own Good ...
www.lesnubians.com
Look out for Les Nubians' new album, Nu Revolution 
Watch: Gaspar Noe's, Enter The Void
 Guilty Pleasure read: Charlotte Carter's dark and twisted love story  'Walking Bones.' I re-read this about every other month.




(c) Coffee Rhetoric

Boutique De Bandeaux- Couture Hair Accessories  

September 20, 2010

Socialite Diaries: In Which Black Hartfordites Have Preferences






In-between frequenting my favorite haunts, interacting with people, people watching, collecting numbers on cocktail napkins and listening to a crass Bostonian explain the merits of buying a fancy, sparkling truck that's "big enough to fuck in," and then asking me "So you wanna fuck me?" in the same span of space and time, I often take advantage of quiet moments and mull over the activities and things that make me happy and excited. I mentally brush off the b.s. complaints that there isn't anything to do in Hartford, CT as visions of good times I've had, both solo and while in good company, dance around in my head.  

While not a sprawling metropolis like New York City, Hartford is a pleasant place full of surprises despite rumblings to the contrary, with enough offerings to sate someone open enough to enjoy themselves and not continuously compare the small New England city to New York... an argument as fruitless as comparing apples to grapes. Nay sayers who constantly cry and moan about how there isn't anything to would find that if they just DID IT and kill the pessimistic and negative attitudes, there would be more of it TO DO. The beauty of being a native of this city is that at the end of the day, Hartford residents could care less where other folks are from, so for those transplants who wax nostalgic about how much better their city is to ours... the argument is an empty effort, as we'll kindly suggest you make haste and move back there. Hartford is nicknamed The Hartbeat for a reason...The people who live, play, and raise their families here and want to see it continue to thrive and grow, are passionate about its offerings and make sure to nourish its growth as a cool place to be, by making positive contributions and participating. 
Moooving on, as an open-minded Black woman who enjoys the arts and most things wine related as well as the finer things in life I can't afford, I often wonder what other ones of mi gente who reside in Hartford are up to as I nurse my wine and look on earnestly at my surroundings. Are they sipping wine and listening to music like me? Are they laughing off a loud Boston traveler looking to rock the Casbah in his truck? or are they side-eying questionable outfits and behaviors ... laughing raucously over a snifter of Hennessy? 
A local woman and fellow writer who goes by the name Ruby Phoenix has taken the time and effort to get at the root of what some of the Things Black People Do In Hartford involves, via her aptly named blog of the same title. Fortunately for us, it's not a strategically documented log comprised of shootings, drug activity, petty thefts, and car jackings; besides, the Hartford Courant has already taken on the role of clocking that information, ensuring that those outside the perimeter stay far away... as they point and throw major shade our way from their suburban enclaves. No ma'am... Ruby Phoenix features a series of events and  urban hang spots where wonderfully smelling Black people like us aren't packing heat; Opting to take in some performance art, poetry, dancing, or simple chilling with cocktails while ogling an attractive assortment of patrons ... dressed in the trendiest, sexiest, or most bohemian chic fits. 
Jessie, Al, Angela and Barack would definitely approve her message. Get into it ... 

September 14, 2010

Progress

The core group of people who've followed this blog from the beginning and have read about me crying, laughing, brooding, grieving, fumbling towards ecstasy, waxing nostalgic, in addition to all of my dating disasters know that amidst all of this foolery lies a starving literary artist and social media personality. I put a lot of hard work into Coffee Rhetoric and would like to experience the recognition that comes with all of the effort... which includes me not having to work a string of thankless jobs, under the supervision of some miserable hag, and finding contentment freelancing and doing things for myself.  I also don't want to be the sole nutcase out on the ledge all by myself, and so would like to write about other interesting people, places and things, especially those who are/which are local. 
Bocca Rossa - 942 Main ST, Htfd, CT
This phase finds me at my most ambitious. The hunger has involved me stepping the ante up on networking and schmoozing... something I've always had an aversion to.  I've always likened schmoozing to flirting... I mean, it is a derivative, non? In any event, I'm reserved when it comes to both and am never one to approach a person first. Usually animated when prompted. I always felt that schmoozing involved acting in a disingenuous way, to get something from someone... and in essence it is. So imagine my surprise upon realizing I can be myself and still network with interesting people who're receptive to my creative endeavors.
I've been going out more and trying to develop contacts to help me along on my journey. I've basically become like the harried accordion player in The Wind Journeys
No people are better to network with than bartenders, because they hear everything and are essentially masters at being in the know. The past year and this current, I've met some truly outstanding and personable bartenders who've hipped me to some really interesting people, places, and things. The two cute bartendresses, Rachel and Sarah, at downtown lounge, Bocca Rossa, have truly been amazing. From buying me a glass of fruit infused grappa to making stellar recommendations... they're awesome. Rachel was instrumental in introducing me to a notable or two, supplying them with a brief synopsis about my creative endeavors as well as giving me insight on some interesting events I'm going to try to insinuate myself in at. 
cognac & amaretto 
I definitely see myself becoming a semi-regular there. On top of having a great wine and spirit list, good locally made sausage, a great chef, and playing outstanding music that had me feeling nostalgic - (Neo-Soul, down-tempo, acid house, acid jazz) - and made my delicates quake excitedly - (because the stuff is right up my alley and isn't played anyplace else I can think of in the area) - they offer up a wicked Tomaresca and Malbec.
blurry pic of sauteed clams in a spicy broth
Also, where else where I happen upon a patron who'll lecture me on the importance of having men eat out my hand and knowing my worth (Kanye shrug) or be able to knock over and break a glass of wine on the bar, after gesticulating wildly upon hearing a friend's disturbing stories about his dysfunctional relationship, without getting major shade thrown in my direction?
Bocca Rossa, I see you now... and I'll be back... til we meet again.
** Read my Yelp review 

March 14, 2010

Push. Kick.

 To be able to reach the heights of purity you have to suffer through deprivation and humiliations. And what could have been a descent into hell becomes liberation.
-Catherine Breillat

<- ("Inner Peace" by Monica Stewart )
Being wanton, needy, and susceptible to dubious dating advice from so-called "experts" does not equate to being comfortable in one's skin and with one's sexuality. It's the minutest of details that illustrate that feeling of true liberation from the trials and tribulations of man/woman relationships, sex, and dating in general. A certain level of genuine aloofness... where you take sour lemons and make yourself a stiff (generous with the vodka) Lemon Drop martini, and rejoice.  Suddenly, the dead cow being sold to you gets a one-way ticket to the abattoir, providing you with delicious steaks to grill (medium rare), masticate slowly, swallow and then shit out in the bog pan later... relief and then flush, thank you very much.
 ("Contemplation" by Lee Ransaw) ->
The wishy-washy personality, inconsistent explanations about his state-of-affairs, knack for wasting your time, seeming comfort in being mediocre, inability to stick to a plan and see it to fruition, and bizarre extracurricular activities... none of it matters. Suddenly, not feeling obligated to return phone calls and texts in response to foolishness feels nothing short of... well... good, for what's good for the goose is definitely (without question) good for the gander. Closure is not seeking ... closure. Giving as much as you're receiving... in the form of not giving a shit... it's second nature now. Being on hiatus... succumbing to the frenzy of intimacy when *you* see fit to do so at your discretion, and being OK with it... never lamenting over what you aren't experiencing at that moment in space and time, because you're preoccupied with more pressing issues ... True freedom. Truth! Some might cry "CYNICISM!" ... but I chalk it up to being there, having done that, learning how to give the side-eye and moving on, and not projecting... because bitterness only increases one's self-imposed prison sentence. 
It's all about not caring, and meaning it. Learn it. Live it. A supple skin to wear for sure. *sips Lemon Drop martini*




January 24, 2010

Slippery When Wet


I recently damned the complexities of dating and all its bullshit to hell. Cynicism aside; Upon further discussions with friends newly found and old, recent meet & greets, as well as random acts of thinking on a lazy Sunday afternoon, I've concluded that finding a decent person to spend quality time with on occasion, is akin to holding onto a slippery bar of soap, while trying to keep your shit together in prison. I've never been to prison and have no aspirations of landing my big break in that particular environment, but I would imagine that lathering up in a communal shower while deep in thought over how the hell you found yourself there... and then dropping the soap, only to bend over without thought or caution and get reamed within an inch of your life in an opportunistic sneak attack, is a traumatizing experience to say the least. You have to hold onto that bar of soap for dear life, and be methodical with every move you make as you lather your skin in a circular motion, shifty eyed and leery.

Dating requires patience, maintaining tough but supple skin, methodical movements, intellect, caution, and engaging in a carefully choreographed Adagio dance or angry Tango Ultimo with the opposite sex. As frustrating as trying to foster or nourish a certain level of intimacy or rapport with someone is; Being aloof, intuitive, and resolute is a must. Because if you let yourself slip up and get mired in the foolishness--- bam! You're doubled over, screwed out of nowhere. It's le marcher fou des sexes for sure. I'm constantly dancing over potholes and bird shit. I've even tripped over a crack or two... But all praises due to ỌṣunI always manage to regain my footing before going down, face-first like a cheap, ten dollar whore. Not sure what my score card would read like though. I shudder at the thought. And I bathe with shower gel most days, rather than soap sooo--- yeah.

April 04, 2009

Hormones and Obsessive Love

Friday was one of my worst, dark days. I haven't had one of those in a long time. Hormones. They were all over the place. Rampant mood swinging. I was extremely hot. Bloat, bloat, bloat. And on top of that, I had a horrible dry cough of meth head proportions My sinsuses were (and still are but not as much anymore) bothering me. Is this what happens when we (women) age? Do our hormones act ugly and randomly decide to shake us up for shits and giggles? A co-worker (after I expressed to him that I wasn't in the mood) leaned over and started singing Tomorrow, from Annie. That was the nail in the coffin for him. I went stone cold. My look sent in slinking away. I later sent an email apologizing, but reminding him that patronzing a woman while she is in the throes of hormonal shape shifting is a big no-no, especially after he'd been warned earlier. He realized his mistake and said he was only trying to make me laugh, but that he definitely understood that was NOT the time. Case closed.
I'm unapologetically human. I may seem otherworldly, but I'm not. I'm a human being whose emotions span a wide spectrum. Just so happened, I was caught off guard while a work, and not feeling well.
Been keeping a low profile this weekend. Relaxing, will probably luxuriate and have another Spa Day if I could peel myself off of this chaise lounger, and do something fun and exciting... like ummm... laundry. Oh goody gum drops! It's piling up. I hate doing laundry, but I need clean panties for tomorrow. Perhaps I'll make turkey bacon and eggs first though... as soon as I get up.
On a completely unrelated note, a few days ago while dusting, I came across a VHS tape of 9 1/2 Weeks which starred Mickey Rourke and Kim Basinger. It has been a while since I've seen that flick. Even longer since I popped a VHS tape in a VCR. A highly charged erotic drama about obsessive love. How one man meets one woman, and instead of courting her in the traditional sense, and getting to know her, and caressing her tenderly... completely pushes her to her limit by exerting control over her through emotional emotional abuse, coercing her to engage in a series sexy, and eventually dubious and at times dangerous, sexual situations, and then he caresses her gently. Kim's character finally reaches her breaking point and dips.

Mickey professes his love, only after she decides she has had enough of his psychological games and quits him. His character starts going into an abridged discourse about his life and where he grew up as Kim's character packs her things, but it's too late. Kim wanted to know that stuff in the beginning of the relationship... before the sadomasochism.

I'm reminded of the book, The Story of O by Paula Reage and published in 1954, which explores the very same themes... obsessive love, dominance and submission. Themes that have always piqued my curiosity (not in a way that makes me want to partake). I've always wondered what prompted someone to become so lost in another person, that it manifests itself in an unhealthy compulsion. More importantly, what makes a person to submit his or her will, or to engage someone who is so infatuated with them or who essentially hurts them, and breaks them down psychologically? Kim Basinger didn't really submit to being dominated, not in the traditional sense of S&M relationships where it's usually consensual, and both parties understand the rules of that type of courtship.

She was sort of, bullied into submitting to Mickey's whims. Unlike many other women, Kim's character finally found her derring-do and extricated herself from the situation, when things got unhealthy. Healthy Love vs Obsession. Why, if he loved her so, did Mickey's character manipulate and play games, instead of simply making love to her and taking her as she was? I suppose Kim's character, recently divorced, was feeling vulnerable, just getting back into the dating world, and was somewhat subsceptible. Why do people manipulate and hurt their paramour if they love them so? I know women, who seemingly have their act together, but who are wittingly, well, unwitting participants in this type of obsessive, sadomasochistic relationship. No amount of encouragement seems to make them leave. While they complain about how unhappy they are, they seem comfortable wallowing in that sort of misery, despite how much they say they want to move on. Co-dependency plays a large part, I'm sure. I'm just curious about obsessive love... the takers and the willing participants. What's going on here?
Thoughts?

May 31, 2008

Sucio

Yours truly was enjoying a delectable Chocolate Lava Cake, garnished with candied walnuts, a side of vanilla gelato, and a sprig of fresh mint- at one of my favorite eateries during my lunch hour, when a Caucasian Man of Slight Build and with dark hair, walked in and sat at the bar. Upon settling in ... about three chairs away from me, he ordered a "coffee with Bailey's," in a brusque, yet familiar voice. I was caught up in the rapture of my delicious dessert, the stresses of work and workplace rivalries forgotten in that moment of space and time, so I didn't notice Man of Slight Build's lunch companion. Suddenly, I heard the trendy and very blond restaurant hostess cooing. "Ohhhh, you're sooooo cute. You're such a gooood boooy." Then I looked up. ... There, on M.O.S.B. 's lap was a Yorkie, small enough to travel in a Louis Vuitton pet tote.... naked, exposed, and out in the open, in an eating establishment, no less. Suddenly my neuroses started to kick in. My mind raced!
"IS THAT EVEN LEGAL??? TO HAVE AN ANIMAL, IN AN EATING AND DRINKING ESTABLISHMENT???? THERE ARE TABLES SET UP OUTSIDE! WHY ISN'T HE OUT THERE ENJOYING HIS SPIKED COFFEE???!!! THE WEATHER IS WONDERFUL! GO OUTSIDE!" It screamed. Repulsed, I slowly and calmly put my dessert fork down. Just then, M.O.S.B.'s coffee with Bailey's arrived, topped off with a heaping mountain of whipped cream.
Another blond waitress came over and cooed some more. "Ohhh, you're sooo cuuuute! You loooove daddy, don't you???" she said, as she massaged the area behind its pert ears.
"I EFFING HOPE SHE WASHES HER HANDS THOROUGHLY, WITH SOAP AFTER THIS!!!"
My mind screamed. "He only likes filet mignon, steak, and chicken," M.O.S.B. opined, smugly. "I don't see the point in giving him regular dog food. It's all oats and grain and animals don't really live off of that," He continued. For I'm assuming he believes his little furry cretin only deserves the best. To punctuate his point, M.O.S.B. scooped up a dollop of whipped cream and fed it to his little beloved. The dog lapped and licked his master's finger greedily. "Yeah, daddy's not supposed to feed whipped cream to you, right?" The bar patron cooed to his lap dog. After a period of time, the man told his little pocket pooch that there was no more whipped cream to be lapped, because it was "aaaaaall gone." I eventually returned to my dessert, chocolate ecstasy triumphing and overwhelming my brief feelings of disgust.

December 03, 2007

Unusual

This afternoon around lunch hour, I stomped down the street. The weather was frigid and rather grey and wet. There were slushy patches of harmless ice in strategic spots, on the asphalt. As I walked, I came upon a cluster of people standing in the middle of the sidewalk, spectating. Getting ever so closer, I saw a huge hawk in the crowd's midst... perched on top of a pigeon's carcass. Feasting and watching the crowd warily. As if warning them not to get too close. Not due to any hallucinogens or illegal substances, I've been known (in the company of me, myself, and I) to hallucinate or think I've seen something, that turned out to be a figment of my sick and twisted imagination. So I continued on with my gait... thinking lunch hour traffic had simply stalled for some ridiculous reason. Closer, I discovered the hawk was indeed, very real. At once mesmerized and intimidated, I made sure to do a wiiiiide semi-circle around the bird, as I didn't want to get too close. The people oohed and ahhed. "Enjoy the rest of your lunch!" One man shouted at the bird, as he left the crowd of spectators. One woman in a beat looking fur coat lit a cigarette and sneered, "Ugh. That's disgusting." I felt like reminding her that the food chain worked in mysterious, natural, and necessary ways, and that the spectacle was no more disgusting than her dingy fur coat and the heavy, dark bags under her eyes. But instead I just shot her an annoying look. Finally tiring of being the center of attention and having its lunch break disturbed, the bird spread it's massive wings, flew through the crowd (which seemed like the equivalent of flipping a figurative bird), and then up and away, causing the onlookers to gasp, duck for cover, and then part like the Red Sea. I wanted to pull out my cell phone and snap a picture of the anomaly, but was too chicken-dookey to get that close and risk being attacked by the large, winged creature. So I stood a ways from the crowd, and looked on from a distance. Anyway, I snapped a pic of myself instead and stole image of the bird from the internets.

October 06, 2007

Please sir, Can I have some more?

I was reading Rupert Murdoch's newly acquired baby, The Wall Street Journal this afternoon and apparently bloggers are not only making waves in the realm of politics and celebrity gossip, but in food critiquing as well. The paper's Weekend Journal section and its featured article The Price of A Four Star Rating penned by Katy McLaughlin investigates the relationship between restaurateurs (many of whom have newly established eateries) and food bloggers/food forum commenters. It seems as if some popular food bloggers are heaping praise on certain restaurants, after having had their gastronomic experiences gratuitement. Restaurant owners seem to value the written opinions of the average joe restaurant patron just as much as an accredited food critic's, and so will champ at the bit to make sure their dining experience is superior. And if that means hosting a four course meal complete with free open bar privileges or a special invitation to dine gratis (the case with one restaurant patron and his family after he blogged a negative experience at Le Cirque)- so be it. One woman suggested that her free experience during an event at Chicago restaurant Dine (it spent $1,500 feeding members of one popular food site where people post reviews and ratings )-- wouldn't have been as enjoyable had she had to pick up the tab. I'm all for a free meal, a free drink, a free make-out session or a free anything for that matter. In fact, one of my favorite words is free. But can a blogger or a self-appointed online foodie offer an objective review, if their meals are being comped 80 percent of the time at the restaurant they're seeking to write about? Anybody can have an enjoyable dining experience if they don't have to pay for their Roasted halibut with walnut crust, dressed with a side of melon relish, non? Hell, if I got a bland chocolate torte at a fancy restaurant for FREE, I'd probably blog about how great the service was too. I've shared my sexy times experiences with certain products on this humble blog on numerous occasions. But these were products I purchased and thoroughly (and genuinely) enjoyed. No one offered them to me for free, in exchange for a 4-star review (hint-hint). I've also shared pictures and fun times I've had at different local eateries as well as ones I've enjoyed off-site. Because the food and service were excellent. I can understand why food critics (who are known for using discretion and a certain level of anonymity when patronizing new restaurants) -- and top chefs are put out by this sudden explosion of food blogs being the word on certain eateries. What if a popular food blogger hates Bobby Flay's guts for whatever reason (maybe he doesn't like his on-air wardrobe), and decides to post a bunch of garbage about Flay's restaurants and personal life? That can have a negative influence on other people's experience, because they may patronize any one of his establishments looking for trouble. According to the article, Celebrity chef Mario Batali posted a rant of his own, in response to a scathing blog entry, that detailed an alleged dispute he was having with one of his restaurant's landlords. He opined--
Many of the anonymous authors who vent on blogs rant their snarky vituperatives from behind the smoky curtain of the web. This allows them a peculiar and nasty vocabulary that seems to be taken as truth by virtue of the fact that it has been printed somewhere. Unfortunately, this also allows untruths, lies and malicious and personally driven dreck to be quoted as fact. Even a savvy blog like the one you are reading now has strangely superseded truly responsible journalism. It is much more immediate and can skip a lot of the ponderous setup necessary in a news article. It cuts right to the heart of a matter, often disputing it as though real research has taken place.
I tend to stay away from celebrity gossip (thousands of those blogs saturating the web already) and being a self-described expert on anything, other than my own personal tastes, likes and dislikes. I keep things self-involved and narcissistic. The internet, the blogosphere in particular, is a powerful forum that carries enough force to humiliate, defame, and hurt. People look to bloggers as authoritative voices on politics, celebrity, popular culture, movies, hot spots to be seen at, and most other types of fodder. While bloggers have gained some semblance of legitimacy, I think we are still looked at with some level of skepticism. At this juncture in BlogLand, I think we owe it to ourselves and the public to keep shit genuine, and to proceed with stealth by being thorough in researching what we say-- (unless it pertains to our own personal lives or opinions on such matters)- or to relay information as any real journalist or bastion of information would do. If you genuinely hate someplace or someone, then cite specific reasons why you do, detail your own personal and HONEST experiences, and leave it at that. When you write for shock value or to generate a high volume of readers, well the subpar sucky and fug of the writing shines through, like a rainbow does at a gay pride parade (I actually saw a real rainbow during Connecticut's Gay Pride parade this year, no lie), and peoples' bullshit-o-meter (with the fake cough, thank you very much) goes off. If a restaurant owner happens to read the ways in which you found his establishment deplorable and wants to invite you back, on the house, for a better dining experience so be it. As it should unfold... If a place sucks hard, like a prostitute on a john (free meal or not) go the route of legitimate food critics, and just be honest about it. It's the only way to authenticate your voice, your opinion, your writing in the blogosphere and beyond.

September 29, 2007

Chocolate Desire

I tout the splendiferous wonders of chocolate as often as I can. In all its various forms (except for white), its richness has the capacity to make knees buckle. It's comparable to sex, if not slightly better, depending on the season-- (but thats debatable). In any event, I always joke that if it weren't so messy, I'd bathe in chocolate. I actually would. Much to my enjoyment, I've recently found a way to indulge my weird fetish for the stuff. It comes in the form of a decadent bar of soap called: Ivorian Cocoa Butter Soap made by the black owned distributor, Nubian Heritage-- (they have a great line of naturally made products by the way, and can be picked up at most beauty supply stores). This soap has a lot of wonderful moisturizing properties, the more important ones or ONE however, are/is milk chocolate and shaved hazelnuts (for exfoliating purposes). I can't begin to describe how sexy it is to bathe with this bar. In the mornings, the warm steam emanating from the shower smells of hot chocolate or warm chocolate milk. I'll just let my chocolaty post-bath water illustrate a telling portrait. Gives new meaning to a man daring to drink some woman's bath water to prove his devotion, no? Has any man actually done that? Contact me if you have! ;-)

September 19, 2007

Lucky Days

As if it's even possible, I've found yet another way to be eccentric.
I'm finding that I wont wake up, unless the digital "hand", if you will, on the clock, strikes number thirteen after the hour. Sounds strange, I know. But, I sleep with a deck of Ryder-Waite tarot cards under my pillow (wrapped in cloth) so bear (left) with me. In any event, my theory is if I wake up on the 13th minute after every hour, I'll have a decent day or that some semblance of luck will strike. So instead of waking up at 6:00, I'll hit the Snooze button and lay there until 6:13. At times, I've taken to setting at least one of my alarm clocks (I set at least 3, one of which is fifteen minutes ahead), to go off at 5:10AM, and will proceed to lay there for 3 additional minutes. The key is to hop out of bed quickly, before the minute is up. Once the 14th minute strikes, I feel screwed and will accept the fact that my day will probably be a little bent. I must say, a couple of good things (sometimes in the midst of certain annoyances) have worked out in my favor within the past two weeks or so. I really think this method to improving my karma is fumbling it's way towards... well... working? ... I'll keep all interested parties hip to this newly discovered insanity.

June 23, 2007

Blasphemous!

I've been doing a few online searches after having read a bit about this magnetic glorified coaster called a Wine Enhancer. Apparently this device of sorts, has been around for a spell, although I'm just learning about it. Its intended purpose is to miraculously age young wines in a short period of time (some companies claim 30 minutes or less) and to (as cut and pasted from the Catania Wine Enchancer's official site):
  • Eliminate Red Wine Headaches (Based on numerous user testimonials)
  • Smoother and brighter flavor with longer finish
  • Releases fruit in both the bouquet and the taste
  • Lessens burn, astringency, and chalky feeling on tongue.
  • Makes young wines ready to drink in minutes rather then years of aging.
  • Releases all the flavor and complexities the wine maker crafted.
  • Smoothes the burn in all spirits.
Interesting. Never having tried this wine enhancer, I'm a little suspect. Apparently, it can be used with coffee and tea as well. My snobbery wont allow me to even be bothered with wanting to try such an accessory. Am I wrong for wanting the tannins in my red wine (and coffee) to have a bit of bite? It makes the wine (and coffee drinking) experience a bit more tactile and robust, non? I always thought the best way to enjoy red wine, is to simply sip it slowly, let breathe a bit, and to savor it (not exactly in that order). I know oenologists do the best they can to press their grapes accordingly, to reduce the harshness of tannins (mostly found in the grapes' skin, the seeds, and the oak wood that the wine is aged in), but I mean, tannins aren't that bad. Not to "geek out", but this compound is instrumental in a number of ways. Tannins help prevent oxidation (in red wine), and it is why red wine is reportedly good for our health (particularly red wines from France and Italy). Tannin condensed content is found in fruit (different types of edible berries and pomegranates) and tea as well. In any event, I've been reading a few comments on the internet from wine connoisseurs, oenologists, and sommliers, most of whom set up their own blind taste tests (discouraged by the creator(s) of the device ), to test the enhancer, and the reviews somewhat are mixed. The general consensus prevails however, and it seems as if there isn't that much of a difference at all. The verdict is (much to the creator's chagrin, based on posted email exchanges between he and the naysayers) that the wine enhancer is a waste of money and nothing more than a marketing ploy. As far as the wine related headaches and feelings of indigestion go, I think it's safe to assume that those of us who relish having a glass (or two) of red wine don't fall victim to such an affliction. It's also not a bad thing to suggest that those who don't drink red wine regularly, should stick to chardonnay, pinot grigio, white zinfandel, brandy or some other libation. I understand that there are certain beverages (and foods) that don't agree with people's digestive system, but this wine enhancer just seems like a form of cheating (and a way to make fast money) to me.

May 21, 2007

Food (Porn) Network

I spent a good part of this Sunday afternoon dusting and straightening up my apartment. Minimal and relatively low maintenance chores they were, but they took forever to finish due to the Food Network playing in the background. Let me explain... I began to remove all the sundry items and toiletries from the cabinet underneath my sink, hoping to organize everything. Suddenly I heard moaning sounds of pleasure playing in the next room... I quickly abandoned my toiletries on the bathroom floor and ran into the next room to see the source of the passionate sounds.
"Mmmmm, oh my god! The sweetness of the pear, combined with the sharpness of the gorgonzola cheese and the saltiness of the prosciutto is delicious. Mmmmmm so goo-ood"
Giada moaned in-between bites. I was enthralled and couldn't turn away, as I watched the camera close in on Giada's mouth, and then pan up to her closed eyes... she was in ecstacy, seemingly, as she moaned some more. A brief thank you for watching Everyday Italian followed, and this concluded the show. I snapped out of my reverie, shook my head, and returned to my project in the bathroom. I focused on lining everything up, neatly as I returned toiletries to the cabinet and discarded half empty containers. Suddenly I heard a robust British accent proclaim,
"... I like mine a little liquidy and gooey in the center..."
I dropped the items I held in my hands, on the floor and ran back in... yet again, to see who was talking dirty this time... It was Nigella Lawson, in all her voluptuous and pouty mouthed glory, whipping up some egg concoction with a whisk, in a stainless steel bowl. Her wrists were working at a feverish pace, as she expertly blended the ingredients together. I stood there, with a bad case of 'O' mouth as I watched her wrists work... and then I cursed myself for getting caught up in the rapture, yet again and returned to neatening up my bathroom cabinet.
"... That's why I like to order the medium size, so I can put the whole thing in my mouth! Mmmm *insert sucking sound here* Mmmm... sooo good, and meaty!"
What the eff??? There I went, running, once again to find Giada at some seafood hotspot on South Beach, sucking the meat off of a lobster's claw. My cell phone rang, but i ignored it, and watched Giada molest her lobster claw, and then dig into a freshly made keylime pie. Moaning over the tangy-ness of the fresh lime juice and the flakiness of the pie's crust. What a total exhibitionist! Giada sat there, pleasuring her palate in plain site of other restaurant patrons. The message tone beeped twice on my phone, I cursed myself again, and went back to my neglected toiletries strewn all over the bathroom floor.
Focus. Focused. I was almost done and then I heard a man's voice utter the following...

"... so shiny..." I refused to go see. I wont take the bait! "...sooo creamy..." Nope I wont do it. I'm not listening! La la la la laaaa! "...so waaarm..." Uh uh, nope. "We like to push the envelope..." Got. to. finish. "... it comes late, not right away..." Eff you Food Network!! "... can't wait to taste that spicy chocolate..." So?? and then... "Ohhh my god! Look at the tenderness of that shank! Mmmmm..." NO! "Ohhhhh... uhhhhh... look at how WET it is from that orange glaze..." I dropped the Dove deodorant on the floor, and ran like a weakling, to see! I found the creator of decadent southern cuisine, Paula Deen's two adult sons, and some restauranteur, pulling a train on a ginger cake... slowly dipping their forks into the moist dessert, and then methodically bringing it to their mouths and slowly pulling their forks back out... "Mmmm, oh my god, this is deeelicious..." they moaned in their southern accents. I gasped, clamped my hand over my mouth, and my face flushed hot. This was ridiculous. Either Food Network was teetering on teh brink of smut or I was in desperate need of a gourmet meal and a boyfriend!

April 01, 2007

Bwhahaha, Joke's on you!

*sigh* It's April Fools Day and I've nary a soul to play a cruel, unusual, and funnier than all hell, practical joke on. I used to be the QUEEN of practical jokes. My pranks were thoughtful, well contrived, methodical, and they cut to the bone and marrow like razor sharp teeth. I miss doing that. I miss the rush, of seeing someone's reaction... I remember the time, in high school, I believe it was senior year... I purchased a copy of The Joy of Sex at the bookstore, giggling and cackling all the way up to the counter, with the accessory to my crime nodding her approval, as the cashier looked from us to the book suspiciously, before ringing the purchase. Oh, that book. I packaged it and had it Fed Ex-ed to the intended's homeroom. I made one other person aware of my plan, for she was in that same homeroom, and I needed someone to report details back to me. I swore her to secrecy, threatening to beat her over the head with a shovel, if she spilled. She agreed, and so the plan was on. Oh, was that the talk of the day amongst the student body and the faculty! Who sent that book to... we'll call him... Charlton? According to my spy, once delivered, the parcel was received by his homeroom teacher, who handed it to him. Because Charlton thought it was from a prospective college, he thought nothing of ripping it open in front of his peers. Much to their shock and amusement it was a comprehensive guide to sexual pleasures, unimagined. Pure and unbridled sexing, explained, illustrated, and bound into a wondrous manual. People racked their brains, trying to figure out who sent Charlton that book! My art teacher opined that the sketches were very well done, and that he admired the painstaking artistry put forth on every page. People chattered about it on the bus... as I sat there, shaking my head... wondering and speculating right along with them... about who may've sent the book, shooting a warning look at the spy I confided in earlier that morning, to keep her mouth shut. Ahhhh, good times. While that was one of my favorite pranks I ever perpetrated, the funniest had to be in college. When Cat and I wallpapered the campus with fliers we made, drunk off wine, in the late hours of the evening, of a rather annoying and smug Italian exchange student, named Mauro. Complete with a paragraph... translated into Italian... about how he was lonely and needed some companionship... and that he was indeed the quintessential Italian Stallion... and then his phone number where he could be reached. Oh, I felt bad, when Mauro sat across from us at brunch, and lamented over the many prank calls he received all the week. And how he wanted to know who would do such a thing. It was all I could do, not to choke up my omelet, because the peels of laughter I successfully kept at bay kept trying to make their way up and out my throat. Oh, that was the day. Because we relished sitting across from him, watching him sweat. Or the time Cat and I trashed a hall director's (named Rumi) apartment, because he had been abusing his hall director's privileges and sneaking into our rooms, helping himself to CDs, food, utensils, and the like. Oh, we got him good. We booby trapped his door, and had New Kids on The Block's "Step by Step" (a classic), playing on repeat, as we watched from the shadows, him enter his apartment ... Man that was great. I came out of retirement to play that well-deserved joke. Anyway, Happy April Fools Day. Enjoy it!

March 30, 2007

Chocolate Jesus

I'm flummoxed, because I don't understand why Catholic organizations, churches, and the Vatican don't get this up and arms over pederasty and abuse against young children, perpetrated by some of their priests. Artist, Cosimo Cavallaro caused an uproar with his chocolate Jesus sculpture, which he christened, "My Sweet Lord." Art, birth control, women's bodies, women's issues, sex, gay marriage, ... Slowly and surely, the religious right and other fanatics are trying to desperately bring us back to our puritanical roots, and have a monopoly over the civil and constitutional rights of the masses. I feel it in my spirit.

February 19, 2007

Grease

After having consumed a late lunch of chicken fingers and french fries (to go) from the diner downstairs, I'm left feeling dissatisfied, nauseous, and disgusted. I had to wash down the nastiness with a Sangiovese/Merlot blend and a milk chocolate Symphony bar. It was the only way to rid my palate of the unpleasant taste. I feel like a mound of grease now. If I'm going to indulge in something fatty and disgusting, I want it to taste good. The next few days will definitely be salad and green apple filled. I like to feel sexy and sated after having consumed something. Fried chicken fingers and dubious tasting french fries definitely make me feel less than. I should have stuck to the chocolate and called it a day. Or perhaps bought a nice, soft block of cheese and smeared it on some crackers. Hindsight is 20/20. In addition to the chocolate and the wine, the only things consoling me are constant applications of Carmex all over my lips and the Spring '07 Sephora catalog. Apparently there'll be a huge emphasis on luscious lashes, metallic glosses, and glitter this upcoming spring season. Ugh, I feel like I have a heavy boulder sitting in my stomach now. Let me sip and read some more...

February 17, 2007

Piggish

I just baked a DiGiorno 4 Cheese pizza. The cheese was slightly blackened because I left it in the oven a few minutes too long due to several distractions, so I decided to peel half of the crispy cheese off and eat it ... I followed this tasty, burnt-cheesy, and unconventional dinner up with a few spicy Aloo Masala chips I bought at the East Indian run bodega, up the street from me (where I also purchased four more packs of HEM patchouli incense sticks). All that's left is the bready and sauce laden carcass of a frozen pizza... stripped of its cheesy (and slightly burnt) goodness ... I'm still trying to sort out my thoughts. I'm not sure how I feel after having consumed this meal... I know that right this moment, I feel sated and deliciously piggish and overindulged. I'm sure once the slightly burnt cheese and spicy Indian chips digest, I'll feel differently, however... and my guts will gurgle their disagreement. ...
P.S. Rent La Grande Bouffe immediately. It's an excellent study in gluttony and hedonism. Just watching it will make your stomach feel engorged.