July 30, 2004
Why we should...
Unrelated post:
good selection of RealAudio stuff (FULL file, not clips) Here.
July 29, 2004
Simpsons Go Gay
This totally violates the sanctity of cartoon marriages everywhere!
Yet, the parlor game rolls onward. I tend to agree that outing Smithers is too easy. Also worth adding that it would be an easy comic diversion to depict a Smithers nervous of being outted, as has been his case for years.
Easy money is on Lenny & Carl, with an outside chance of Frink & Comic Book Guy. Nevermind that we've established CBG's interest in older women. Nevermind that we've had Frink with children in previous episodes ... I think even a wife, or significant other. Call your shot. This has some easy makings of a classic episode.
Oh, also this ... "Homer becomes a minister by going on the Internet and filling out a form." Who does this remind us of, folks? Anyone? Anyone?
July 28, 2004
You MIGHT be an incompetent IT consultant IF...
Here's a story about a snafu with the computer voting concept now in place in several jurisdictions. Recall that the system is a proprietary scheme from respected safe company Diebold (or other vendors in places) and this no-backup foolishness STILL happened.
How long before some moron suggests "upgrading" to Microsoft?
(I realize that court house fires can play havoc with paper systems as well, but having a paper trail at least raises the bar for the bad guys.)
July 27, 2004
Jacko Macking on Nicole?
"There was a call from his people to mine asking if he could take me to the Awards."I had never even met him, it was a little strange.
Kidman, whose romance with rocker Lenny Kravitz ended earlier this year, admits she doesn't feel tempted to start a relationship with Jackson.
She adds: "I did decline but, hey, the way my love life is I took it as a great compliment.
"I keep thinking of those photographs of Michael in a shocking wig at Disneyland looking ridiculous.
"So call me crazy but it just didn't tempt me to want to accept."
Note to self: divest oneself of any large wig inventories. And just a shout-out to Nicole: I'm still available. Hey, my mom says I'm cool and she wouldn't lie, would she? OK, so my mom never really said that. Still ... what's a guy gotta do to land the ultimate, hottest single mom on earth?
ADD-ON: Nicole shouts back: "Bring it on!" Oh, it is SO on!!!
Movie Review: Soul Plane
In short, this was a soul-sucking experience to undergo. Word to the wise: when you see Tom Arnold lead off the credits ... RUN! No redeeming quality to this movie whatsoever. Do yourself a favor and track down CDVs of After-MASH on eBay, instead.
Uber vs Texas
Now that's just funny. Especially when you consider reports like this. If you're too lazy to click again, the report claims that one out of 10 girls aged 15-19 in Texas get pregnant. Yes, the pregnancy rate is going down, but that's still a high number. Now, one fact that got left out of this article is what age group these books were intended for. That would be a very important detail.
Stated: Teenagers who want to have sex will, regardless of what is taught in health class. Teaching them safe sex techniques on an equal footing with abstinance helps to reduce the teenage pregnancy and STD transmittal rates.
Argue!
July 26, 2004
On the Record
Is the New York Times a liberal newspaper? Of course it is.
These are the social issues: gay rights, gun control, abortion and environmental regulation, among others. And if you think The Times plays it down the middle on any of them, you've been reading the paper with your eyes closed.
In the Sunday magazine, the culture-wars applause-o-meter chronically points left. On the Arts & Leisure front page every week, columnist Frank Rich slices up President Bush, Mel Gibson, John Ashcroft and other paladins of the right in prose as uncompromising as Paul Krugman's or Maureen Dowd's.
But it's one thing to make the paper's pages a congenial home for editorial polemicists, conceptual artists, the fashion-forward or other like-minded souls (European papers, aligned with specific political parties, have been doing it for centuries), and quite another to tell only the side of the story your co-religionists wish to hear. I don't think it's intentional when The Times does this. But negligence doesn't have to be intentional.
[F]or those who also believe the news pages cannot retain their credibility unless all aspects of an issue are subject to robust examination, it's disappointing to see The Times present the social and cultural aspects of same-sex marriage in a tone that approaches cheerleading.
Every one of these articles was perfectly legitimate. Cumulatively, though, they would make a very effective ad campaign for the gay marriage cause.
On a topic that has produced one of the defining debates of our time, Times editors have failed to provide the three-dimensional perspective balanced journalism requires. This has not occurred because of management fiat, but because getting outside one's own value system takes a great deal of self-questioning.
Discuss....
July 23, 2004
A frog...
... or what we thought was a big-ass bloated, seemingly crippled frog was "hopping" in front of Jr. and me as we were leaving the apt. It looked very ungainly, and as we moved closer, it became apparent why: the frog split into two as one frog leaped off the other and they hopped off in different directions. Bufo interruptus!
I asked Jr. what they were doing and she replied, "I don't want to say it." Now, I'm not going to push her to say things she doesn't want to say, and I fully understand the embarrassment of even uttering "that word" in front of your parents, but I wanted to make sure she understood that the concept itself is not dirty and can be referred to directly without fear.
This launched what is sure to be the first in a series of catastrophic attempts on my part to discuss S-E-X with the kid. At first, I just wanted to make clear to her that, though she needn't tell me the lurid details of her future encounters as an adult, I did want to make sure that she wasn't afraid to come to me if there were something affecting her health, safety or well-being in re this issue. She understood, but then started asking why specifically a dog and a cat could not produce offspring?
Here's where you would expect all the voluminous reading I've done on this topic to really pay off. I should be able to launch into a sophisticated and eloquent treatise on the sublime and beautiful universe in its living manifestation and do so in a way that makes the situation clearer. Instead, I was flummoxed at the suddenness of this conversation and could not rely on the technique I'd planned to use for such instruction: McGraw-Hill educational shorts from the 40s and 50s. See, we were in the car. Damn it.
I fumble through my first take, which had something to do with clumps of plastic, which then became model airplanes and model cars, and how you can't make a car with plane parts, and... and then I began sweating a little bit: mess this up now and you'll get the sexual equivalent of Rain Man for a daughter and no hope of grandchildren who will change your diaper 40 years hence.
Sensing I was floundering, I shifted to an analogy that involved zippers and Velcro and buckles(?!!) Where in God's name was I going with this? I see already that her eyes were starting to glaze over and her head was making the ever-so-slow turn toward the car window and away from this conversation. Wait! Wait! I can do this!!!
"You see, evolution is not a ladder; it's more like a bush. Animals have common ancestors that split for various reasons and the differences in design become so great that eventually the animals are differentiated by their DNA code and..."
It's OK, dad. The zipper explanation was good enough. I got it.
"No! No, please! Look, if th-"
Can we go to the bookstore tomorrow finally? I really want to check out that American Girl school planner.
* sigh *
Brilliant. Just friggin' brilliant. That was your shot and what did you come up with? Model airplanes? Velcro? Oy vey!! When it comes to this, I am Henery Hawk: "Nice boy, but about as sharp as a sack of wet mice." Oh, well.
Does Amazon give refunds?
Hot or Not?
Something only the political dorks (Thrillhouse and Ulysses) can appreciate:
The 50 Most Beautiful People on Capitol Hill
July 22, 2004
Daily Funnies
Cheney vs Leahy: How it Really Went Down
OK, I get Andy Warhol, I get Jackson Pollack, but I most certainly do not understand this sh*t.
Game Faces
He Can Play Guitar, but Can He Grimace?
A fascinating expose in today's NY Times on the hunt for the next big thing in terms of Guitar God O-faces. Its long been a point of contention as to whether such facial expressions by rock guitarists were staged or genuine. I'm not sure how anyone can watch B.B. King or Stevie Ray Vaughn perform and consider them universally fake. But obviously, the 80s brought this fashion to the forefront, with Eddie Van Halen ringing in a large population of wannabes and pretenders.
Now, in this modern era, we have the ultimate authority to determine the next generation of guitar faces: Twisted Sister guitarist, JJ French. Also on the judges panel is legendary heavy metal photog Mark Weiss, just in case. Dick Dale and Roger McGuinn serve as judges for reasons yet to be determined.
To the extent it helps, I offer the proper points of comparison ....
Somewhat related on this note is the inspiration that this Houston Press article brings forth. Unbeknownst to me, the cost of booking Cardi's Nightclub has come down considerably since those halcyon days of seeing heavy metal acts on the way up and down (Mr. Big on the way up, Quiet Riot on the way down, local legends Midnight Circus on the way to nowhere.) Here's the gambit: If I plan a midlife crisis right around my birthday in November, I think I can swing it such that:
a) I dust off my old guitar skills well enough to play a few songs
b) I con enough people into rounding out the band and/or loaning some equipment (I'm down to a practice amp myself)
c) We put on the baddest show in the land for one night.
Early ruminations on this thought are such that Ulysses has ID'ed a great female vocalist. I'm favorable to a mix of Bonnie Tyler (70s version), forgotten rocker Saraya, an obligatory Pat Benatar tune, as well as one from Joan Jett, and some other tunes that might translate from the original male recordings. There's some time to put this idea together (or to rest), so we'll see what comes of it.
July 21, 2004
Uber vs Kirby Vacuum
My commentary in parenthesis:
*ding dong* I scurry to put pants on to open the door...
[random guy in tie] Hi, we're here to clean your carpets
[me] Like hell you are
[r] Are you the homeowner?
[m] I am until the nylon rope wears out.
[r] Well, I'm from Kirby Carpet Cleaning, and we'd like to clean one room of your house. It's free of charge, in fact we get paid to do this.
[m] No thanks. Just bought a carpet cleaner.
[r] Please? I promise if we don't get dirt out of your carpet in 5 minutes we'll leave. (insert commets about Scotchgard, random stuff about some guy named Carlos who would be cleaning the carpets)
[m] No way. I had to run to put on pants just to answer the door. And you can tell by the looks of me that I don't enjoy running. I'm looking forward to removing these pants shortly after closing the door.
[r] That's ok. Carlos wouldn't mind.
[m] Did I mention I'm not wearing underwear (ok, this was a lie)
[r] Oh. Well, I get paid to do this, and I get college credit for doing this. I just need to get one more house done and I get to go home.
[m] Oh really? What college? The college of bullshit?
[r] No, A&M (anyone know if this guy was really full of crap or no?). But come on man, I really just want to get this done and go home. Won't you let me go home? Don't make me beg! (he gets on his knees at this point)
[m] Well I want to go home to!
[r] Oh that's ok, you can go home! (He was feeling like I'd let him in)
[m] Why thanks for your permission. *slam...lock...laugh really loud*
Thanks Kirby Vacuum. I really needed a laugh after today at work
Our Little Alamo Is Growing Up
Alamo Drafthouse founders sell franchise operation
I guess we all knew this day would come. Still, it is at once a sad yet enjoyable moment when we see our little precious gem go nationwide. I wish them well and look forward to following the screenings of Garbage Pail Kids: The Movie and Street Trash across the nation.
Alamo Drafthouse founders sell franchise operation
Tim and Karrie League will keep three Austin theaters
By Doug Wong
AMERICAN-STATESMAN STAFF
Wednesday, July 21, 2004In the tradition of the campy films it shows, Alamo Drafthouse has spawned.
Tim and Karrie League have sold the franchise and marketing operations of Alamo Drafthouse to Terrell Braly, the company's CEO; John Martin, the company's principal partner; and a silent partner. The new company is known as Alamo Drafthouse Cinemas Ltd.
Tim League said he sold the franchise operation because he wanted to spend more time planning what the theaters will show rather than expanding operations.
"Personally, Karrie and I have not had enough time to focus on the programming that we have become known for. We were drawn in too many directions," League said.
The couple, who founded the chain of movie theater restaurants in 1996, will retain control of the Alamo's original location in downtown Austin, along with the theater on Anderson Lane and another in the former Fiesta Mart on South Lamar Boulevard. The Leagues also will have a minority interest in the new company.
The chain's theater at the Lake Creek shopping center will be owned by the new company and serve as the prototype for the franchise operations.
Neither side would disclose the amount of the sale.
Because League will be chief creative officer of the new company, the franchises will continue to have the Austin feel of the original Alamo Drafthouse, which features art house films along with B-grade movies such as "Night of the Bloody Apes."
Based on a report by business research firm D&B, Alamo Drafthouse has gross sales of about $900,000 per screen annually, nearly double the industry standard, even though Alamo theaters generally have smaller auditoriums than those found in megaplexes. The reason for the difference: Alamo patrons are willing to plunk down, on average, $15 for a burger and a couple of beers in addition to the $7.50 ticket price.
Braly said the sale came after a year of discussions between him and the Leagues. Braly said he had wanted to buy a "significant equity position" in the company when he joined Alamo Drafthouse in April 2002 as the venue rental manager, but a year ago discussions began on buying the franchise opera- tions.
It was Braly who pushed the Leagues toward franchising the concept.
The first franchise was awarded two years ago to Travis Doss, a University of Texas graduate, who opened the first first theater outside of Austin in a refitted movie house in West Houston.
Doss' Neighborhood Theater Group is working on adding four more theaters in the Houston area, three of which will be built from the ground up.
Another group, Real Dinner Partners, was awarded a franchise last year. It is opening its first theater in San Antonio next month and building another in San Marcos early next year. Real Dinner Partners is planning a second San Antonio location as well as theaters in Waco, Midland, Tyler, San Angelo and Corpus Christi.
Braly said the success and quick expansion of current franchisees prove the Alamo Drafthouse is no longer just a concept but a "real company."
The franchisees each paid $50,000 for the franchise and send 5 percent of their weekly gross revenue to the company as a franchise fee.
Ultimately, the company plans to have 20 franchises and 200 theaters nationwide.
Braly said he and Martin are talking with two other possible franchisees who want to open stores in Colorado and Florida.
"We've had people fly into Austin to see the theaters. That's when we know they are serious," Martin said.
Braly said the goal was to have the 200 theaters in five years. Now, he said, that "may be done in three."
July 20, 2004
OK, PETA's not being consistent here
That organization picked up on the chicken-throwing video here, but what's the deal with John Waters not getting any play from them (see Pink Flamingoes)?
And what about the GOATS??
July 19, 2004
New release
In an era where one sees releases like U-571 (which change the nationalities of historical figures), it's refreshing to see DVD rereleases of better submariner yarns. One such classic now available for the rediscovering is "The Enemy Below", available here. Starring Robert Mitchum and Kurt Jurgens, it's from a novel that does a great job at describing the cat-and-mouse situation of a destroyer trying to defeat a submarine, WW2-context. Not only are the naval commands accurate, but so is the strategy employed, akin to a chess game. Whereas in other films (like "Run Silent, Run Deep") a single point of strategy is expected to carry half the story, in this tale one sees strategy decisions coming fast and furious, just like when the buffalo chips hit the windmill for real.
4 stars out of 5.
A Day At The Movies: a story in four parts
I'm back!!!
Preface: the plan ....
On the agenda for Saturday was an attempt to break the record held by Uber for most movies taken in on one ticket purchase at a local megaplex theater compound. The logistics, it would seem, are simple. Get one ticket early on & never leave.
If only it were that easy ... Uber's record stands.
Coupla pitfalls to the plan ... first being the selection of days. Saturday is your typical big movie day, with a more cozy Sunday being a bit more low-traffic. The meaning for this being that if you run a major movie theater chain, the two days you're going to ramp up personnel and security are Friday and Saturday. Not entirely sure how much of an improvement Sunday might have brought me, but its hard to see it as being much worse. There was foot traffic aplenty as I, Robot drew in the masses. By the evening hours, we had minimum security checks at the two wings of the theater, with more professional security on hand roaming the walkways. By the time it was apparent that my plan might still be doable, albeit challenging and anxiety-ridden, my biggest fear was not that I'd be caught, but that I'd be caught while in the midst of pilfering a viewing of White Chicks. With that, here's the tale ....
Interesting sidenote here being that I cannot stand to be stranded somewhere for long without something ensured to captivate my interest. Whether its riding the bus or going somewhere for an extended period of time, I cling to some ounce of reading material sure to captivate my attention and rescue me from boredom before it sets in. In the case of this movie day, I take my weeks-old issue of Harvard Business Review and a new issue of Atomic Scientist. Brilliant strategy for making sure not to stand out in a crowd, huh? In my defense, Atomic Scientist had a great series of articles on nuclear nonploriferation, however.
On with the show ...
I. Stepford Wives
First thing first on this one ... all those out there that told me this was a waste of a movie, shame on you. Nicole Kidman does not deliver an award-winning performance in this movie, but she does show a side of her ability that is impressive. Typical crank on the movie is that since Nicole isn't all hottied-up, and the focus seems a bit chick-centric, there's not much of a draw for those of us males who might otherwise like to sneak a peek at Nicole. Shame, shame, shame. Yes, Nicole has undergone a haircut for 90% of this movie ... but she's still hot. As for the character, she's more of an assertive, professional, bossy, .... bitch (for lack of a thesaurus). Now, correct me if I'm wrong (and I'm most certainly not!), but that just makes Nicole Kidman all the hotter, if you ask me (as I'm certain you were about to).
Plotline on this one is not unfamiliar ... couple in need of a change of scenery make their way to Stepford, CT. There, they meet a gaggle of the nerdliest men with the trophiest of wives. Coincidence? Not quite. As we learn when Stepford greets its first gay couple, the same process kicks in when the ... well, the girliest of the duo ... is made over into a Log Cabin Republican. The point being that the men of the town (or at least the manliest of men in a two-male tandem) put their wives through brain surgery that makes them into subservient domestic godesses, complete with gratifying sex drives, suitable to making the biggest geek in the world feel like the king of the world (that we learn Faith Hill is the woman behind this voice-only experience is worth a repeat watch, however). Bette Midler plays the cynical hippy writer who is sent to Stepford by court order (don't ask). Her pre-Stepford character is done magnificently, and I'm not merely saying that due to her initiation to the viewing audience while adorned in a Deep Purple concert t-shirt. The gay guy serves as comedic relief ... suitably so: "What's going on down there? Do they have hookers, booze, or what? Oh please, they barely have throw pillows." It's not quite Jack from Will & Grace, but it suits the movie nicely. Matthew Broderick is cast as the enviable role of Kidman's wife in the movie. When confronted as to why he would wish to put Nicole Kidman through what could only charitably referred to as an "improvement process" (as if!), Broderick gives a tale of self-pity that involves him always losing out to Kidman, who he had worked for/under at her network TV gig. Since the movie is best classified as a dark comedy (that means its supposed to be funny, but you don't laugh ... kinda like Caddyshack 2). But in Broderick's tale, when he states his distaste for being second fiddle, we get the delicious quote "I'm tired of being the wind beneath your wings." Ha! Take THAT Bette Midler!!! I offer no excuses for busting out over that line. I know damn well is wasn't put there unintentionally. Anyways, the movie ends with Nicole Kidman saving the world and leaving Stepford with an ironic, comedic twist. Oh, and Jon Lovits still sucks goats. The end.
II. Dodgeball
... or, as I like to call it: Zoolander 3. Ben Stiller might want to try an experiment, and SOON! Try using what is an admittedly sharp wit as a writer and producer or director ... but cut out the crappy acting. Ben Stiller does one character with any degree of success. Unfortunately, the name of that character is ... Ben Stiller. If he ever films with Adam Sandler, I'd like to recommend a pre-emptive nuclear strike be launched on location. The idea of a movie being made about dodgeball as a sport has its appeal, hence my attendance. Many of the lesser characters were entertaining. Rip Torn absolutely rocked this movie. Hank Azaria as the younger version of Rip Torn's not-as-young version is worth a diversionary outbreak of mass laughter. That Hank Azaria, with more range than most actors outside of Meryl Streep gets a two minute comedic relief role and Ben Stiller slaughters the movie for far more ought to have any theater showing the film a disaster area. Even though I paid nothing to see this movie, I was still contemplating asking for a refund. You want a plot? ... highlights? Well, then, catch another movie.
III. Spiderman 2
Far more impressive than I expected. Kirsten Dunst in red hair is to die for. On that topic, I think the appeal that I use to explain my own appreciation for this series of flicks is its "Next Door" quality. Meaning, so many of the characters are portrayed as "Boys/Girls Next Door." Toby Maguire exudes his own "boy next door" appeal, making him the perfect Peter Parker (and in full agreement with Ulysses, the worst Spiderman). With this movie exploring more of Spiderman giving up his identity, I think Maquire's shortcomings as the webbed crusader are forgivable. If it offends your good taste that he's not, then wait a minute for another Kirsten Dunst scene to roll around. Ah yes, Kirsten Dunst. Absolutely nothing spectacular going on with this chick. Sure, she's attractive. No arguments. But what qualities does she possess that other 17 year olds desire to imitate? If there's anything, I'm not sure what it is. But it works for her appeal to 30-something males (and others, I suspect). I mean, sure, she's the prototypical "girl next door," but she's an incredibly hot girl next door. The kind you dream about asking out to the prom, or whatever silly little underaged activities one dreams about when underaged. It's like Molly Ringwald times 10, for those in my age bracket. Slimmer, sexier, less awkward, just possessing a modest yet graceful beauty. Oh, and the hair dye does wonders, too.
Oh, the movie? ... yeah, it was good, too. Action scenes were about on par with the last, just turn up the burner that defies the occassional laws of physics. When the train is hurtling to the end of the line at top speed, you know the train won't go into the ocean. You know Spiderman is going to save the day. But do all the people on the train have to stand up front as the train is fast forwarding ... not to mention as it dangles precipitously over the end of the line? Furthermore, even with Spiderman's superpowers defined, several of his vertical manuevers still cannot be explained, not to mention several of the 100+ foot falls which do no more damage than a bad back for one scene. C'mon. Toby Maquire is young and fit, but he's not the most bulletproof of bodies, if you know what I mean. I'll recommend a viewing of this one without divulging too much of the storyline. Its worth it, and the action scenes warrant a viewing on the big screen.
IV. White Chicks
Lemme cut to the chase on this one: After watching this and Dodge Ball, my IQ barely had me over the legal definition of retardation. I had to spend Sunday doing the NYTimes crossword puzzle to make up the difference. Now, backtracking, I had a decision to make before this movie given my expressed fear in the preface. So I chickened out and headed over to ticket stand, picking up a ticket. I sit down in the theater, having cleared the security checks, only to learn that the theater I was in was next door to where I had taken in Spiderman 2. If only I hadn't had to run to the men's room. Damn the luck.
Oh, the movie? ... skip it.
Afterword
So was Saturday well spent when it was all said and done? I'm gonna go with no. The day was not as cheap as had been anticipated. Breakdown was as follows:
6.50 - Matinee ticket for Stepford Wives
3.75 - Large Icee (breakfast)
5.75 - Hot Dog/soda combo (lunch)
8.50 - ticket for White Chick (*ugh*)
----------------
24.50 - total for about 10 hours of entertainment
I headed out to a late night taqueria and dropped $11 on dinner, so the day was a bit more expensive than one envisions while thinking of a 5-for-the-price-of-one movie day. To top it all off, the one movie I was most anticipating: Anchorman, I didn't get to see due to weariness of the day and fear of dropping another $8.50 on a ticket. I'll take it in as a matiness next week. Also missed were the Sunday movies, as Saturday's experience had soured me a bit. I wanted to catch Napoleon Dynamite for no more reason than to boost its weekly box total, but lacking that, I did manage to talk one other soul into catching the movie. He didn't like it much. I find that to be a black stain on his soul.
The weekend, however, wasn't a total bust. The best movie I caught all week was the last of the DVDs I was loaned by a friend: In America. I cannot recommend this movie enough to stress the need for every devoted fan of movies to a) see the movie and b) purchase the DVD. It was absolutely masterful and there were numerous levels to appreciate the acting, direction, and storytelling contained in the film.
The story revolves around an immigrant family that arrives in America from Ireland after losing one child to cancer. The death of this child still haunts the parents throughout the movie, but the moment you realize how it haunts the two daughters is the moment the movie really hits you. Separate review forthcoming, however. This movie does not deserve to be lumped in with the rest of the lesser movies retold above. More on this tomorrow.
July 16, 2004
Movie Weekend
Here's the plan ... we'll see how well I accomplish it:
Saturday .....
Stepford Wives
Dodgeball
Spiderman 2
White Chicks
Anchorman
Sunday .....
Napoleon Dynamite
Extra credit if I can sack it up to add Control Room to the bunch on Sunday.
Wish me luck. If I pull off Saturday's feat, I could beat the Uber record of most films taken in on one solitary ticket.
Restaurant Review: Pang Tai
Rare is the day when one gets to be among the first on the block with a restaurant review. Such is the case today with one of Houston's newest digs in the Westchase area. Pang Tai's exists in a brand-spanking new building in the Westchase shopping center. The newness shows and is worth soaking in (that is, before one locates the bar ... and soaks in THAT!). Right in the middle of the joint is a reflecting pool that exudes calmness. I'm greeted at the door by two young lovely hostesses, locate my compatriot for this adventure ... skulking in the background no less. The overall sense of the place is that of too-new-to-be-new. Everything ... literally everything ... is new. Its eerily weird (as opposed to just plain vanilla weird). We set a time for an early dinner and at the start of the night, the place has a predictably low population density. By the time we left, this place was packed at around 75% and I expected the waitress to direct us to the bar in order to free up a table. Not bad for a place that only opened up at the first of this month.
As for myself, I ordered the do-it-yourself stir fry deal. The place is a Thai stir-fry setup, but the food is perhaps better defined as a fusion of various asian models of food. There's something for every degree of pain tolerance of spiciness. Ralphie ordered the Lemon Chicken stir fry thing, and I'll let him tackle that one if he chooses. I sampled the chicken alone and thought it to be a tad too drab for the tangier sweet & sour chicken combo I had ordered. I found the D.I.Y. stir fry adventure to be pretty interesting. Deal is, you get this funky looking two-bowl setup, you walk up to the veggie bar, load up on veggies for the big bowl and dump a sauce into the smaller one. Couple of oddities: they say pick only six veggies. But why and where are the enforcement on this? There's only about a dozen or so veggies to choose from, the bowl establishes the size limit, so what gives? Secondly, you're encouraged to pick out the sauce beforehand. But you later provide your own sauce for the smaller bowl. Why bother picking this out with my waitress when I can rather view the assortment and spot any that don't have a fly in them? (Point of fairness, the place was pristine clean, no flies abound ... I jest). Anyways, after one is done picking and choosing, you hand this bounty off to a middleman who deposits it with a chef who adds whatever dead animal you've selected and mixes everything together for you behind the magic wall. A few minutes later, voila! The sweet & sour sauce was great for my choosing, an all-the-better fit with the chicken. The chicken itself was portioned a tad stingily, I thought. Also stingy was the portion of rice, which is served separately, allowing the dining patron to mix everything at his or her whim. I mixed mine up like my fork was a frappe blender, picking out every last veggie I had added. I prefer the ambience of vegetables, but not vegetables themself ... same with burgers - I'll get it with everything on, and scrape off anything that doesn't go "Moo!" Ralphie sampled his chicken with not a trace of rice, which I thought to be odd. But since Ralphie is odd to begin with, this merely adds a small wrinkle to the storyline of his life. I used up all my rice and was left wanting more. If you're a rice addict like me, try asking for a second bowl.
Portion size were the only drawback here. It wasn't bad, but it just wasn't great. Recommendation, perhaps ... get an appetizer. We did: popcorn shrimp with ginger sauce. Not bad stuff. Not great, but not bad. In the end, I didn't leave feeling like I'd eaten too much, which is probably for the best. I debated topping everything off with my preferred Starbucks drink of choice later on, but after a hard night of shopping after dinner, I was set to call it a night. I'll give this joint 7 thumbs up (out of 10). Not a bad place to spoil yourself without feeling indulgent, if that makes any sense. Total tab for two dinners, one soda, and an appetizer: about $26. Way less than I thought I'd be spending, and perhaps a pleasant enough surprise to make me forget about the relatively minor shortcomings. Be sure to check it out. Definitely worth a stop if your in the neighborhood.
And with that, I'm now taking recommendations for future "spoil yourself silly" dining ideas.
SIDENOTE: For those vegans among us, the D.I.Y. stir fry option does allow for a Vegetarian version.
July 14, 2004
Impending Matter
Inner Sanctum Initiates: there is a plan afoot to honor K. with a birthday observance of some sort upon the night of Friday. Follow her LJ for details; review lawyer contacts to mitigate possible arrest issues Sat. morn.
July 13, 2004
Catching Up with 38 Special
Ever wonder what became of the band .38 Special? Sure you have ... admit it. Turns out the former guitarist of the band has started his very own Rock School!
COLUMN ONE Smash the Guitar for Mommy With its motto, 'No Canoes -- Lots of Rock,' Camp Jam in Georgia puts a parent-approved heavy metal riff on kids' summer enrichment. By Ellen Barry Times Staff Writer July 13, 2004ATLANTA ? A small hand appeared at the door, followed by a small boy, his black T-shirt falling almost to his knees. He looked around at the other children and asked, in the bell-clear voice that precedes puberty: "Is this the punk class?"
It was. The teacher, the 20-year-old guitarist for a band called Genghis Tron, was introducing a roomful of students to the throbbing power chords that form the backbone of punk and heavy metal.
A few doors away, a professional voice coach was helping 14-year-old Cory Blanchette rehearse a song he had never heard: "Should I Stay or Should I Go," which was recorded by The Clash eight years before he was born.
And in every direction, along the halls of a Jewish day school outside Atlanta, children of the suburbs were being instructed in speed-metal, death-metal, ripping, shredding, maniacally insane guitar solos, and jumping onto the bass drum for dramatic effect without hurting yourself.
It is a sign of the times that parents in the Atlanta area are lining up this summer to send their children to Camp Jam, a $495 weeklong day camp under the direction of Jeff Carlisi, former guitarist for the arena rock band 38 Special, which had major hits in "Hold on Loosely" and "Rockin' Into the Night."
In his weaker moments, Carlisi wondered whether his concept (the camp's motto is "No Canoes ? Lots of Rock") would find the right audience in a culture that has moved away from high-voltage rock 'n' roll.
But the 9- to 17-year-old campers who showed up here recently wore their hair over their eyes and spoke with reverence of Jimmy Page. Their taste for hard rock had been nurtured by baby boomers ? parents able to see heavy metal as a wholesome, enriching after-school activity.
"Ten or 20 years ago, you wouldn't have been able to do this," Carlisi said. "Now I have parents coming up to me and saying, 'I just want to thank you for what you've done for my child. You've changed them.' "
Carlisi, 51, can well remember the age of the guitar hero, when Duane Allman and Eric Clapton were worshiped as gods. Through the 1970s and into the 1980s, Carlisi and his bandmates in 38 Special wore their hair long and their shirts half-buttoned. Like Lynyrd Skynyrd, a band they often played with, their solos were so intense that, as one ardent reviewer wrote in 1984, "Double-Barreled Howitzer might be a more accurate moniker for this six-man musical assault team." Intensity, Carlisi said, "was a kind of doctrine for us."
Throughout the 1990s ? a period of baleful melodies and grunge chic ? Carlisi watched and waited. His band was playing motorcycle rallies and county fairs; young people, eyes shining in recognition, approached him and said, "My mom loved your band."
A hypothesis was forming. If the band's fans had become parents, then maybe they would encourage their children to learn hard rock.
Carlisi and his business partner, Dan Lipson, rented space and tested their theory this summer in the heart of Atlanta's wealthy northern suburbs. Applicants were required to have six months' experience playing or singing "in a semi-structured environment," but were not expected to have played in a band.
On the first day of camp ? one of four weeklong sessions that will continue through July ? Carlisi waited outside while station wagons and minivans dropped off 70 campers. They came with instruments in cases, their T-shirts declaring allegiance to the East Village underground club CBGB and the bands that played there.
The truth was, many of these campers looked like they would be more comfortable in Little League. The first time they were asked to stand onstage, said one instructor, some trembled.
That day, the counselors sat together and, in a single, intense hour, grouped them into bands. The rest of the week proceeded like a particularly loud psychology experiment.
"These kids, they want to rip, they want to shred," Carlisi said. "They're hungry for all of it."
Lesson 1: Make it a little more dirty.
Josh Bell, 11, stood in front of vocal coach Felicia Sorensen, singing, in the voice he had cultivated in a church choir, "Smells Like Teen Spirit," Kurt Cobain's grunge anthem. He sang in the sweet tenor you might expect from a young Harry Potter."A mulatto," he sang. "An albino/ A mosquito/ My libido."
Sorensen, who has sung backup for Usher and Amy Grant, watched critically from across the room. When she works with young vocalists, she trains them to "bring up emotion" from their lives. She and Josh were working on anger.
"Remember," she told him, "You're a rock star."
The students at Camp Jam pose a considerable rock 'n' roll problem in that many of them are, frankly, adorable. For a set of black-clad, metal-friendly counselors, the challenge was to instill them with enough confidence to not perform perfectly.
By Wednesday, 13-year-old Jennifer Wright and her band had practiced "Should I Stay or Should I Go" so often that it began to sound polished.
It was all wrong. Instructor Alan Yates, a singer-songwriter in a black T-shirt and silver hoop earrings, took them aside. "Make it more rocking. A little more dirty, and not so pretty," he told the band. "It's not a pretty song."
They disappeared into a practice room, where they figured out something important: If they learned the song well enough, they could start "messing around and making weird noises," as Jennifer put it. The next time the band got onstage, the sound was ragged and a little distorted. Yates approved.
Their inhibitions fell away. Jennifer ? at 13, darkly pretty and taller than any of the boys in her band ? played so hard she broke guitar strings.
Lesson 2: Have creative differences.
Here, as in all great rock ventures, egos collide. Drummers deliver ultimatums. Artists complain to their parents. On the second day, a camper came up to Carlisi and said, "I think my mom called yesterday. She said she wants me to be in another band.""I said, 'Does your mom want you to be in a band because you're better than your bandmates?' "
"He said, 'Uh-huh.' "
Carlisi sat the boy down with Liberty DeVitto, Billy Joel's longtime drummer, who was on hand to teach a class: As the best musician in a band, DeVitto explained, you pull the rest of the band up to your level. The boy walked away, thinking hard, and did not repeat his request.
There's nothing more important to teach campers than the combustible emotional environment of a band, said Carlisi, who likened these relationships to a "very difficult marriage of five or six people." He split from 38 Special in 1996, at a time when conflicts simmering for two decades began to seem insurmountable.
"In the beginning, it's all for one and one for all, you're not making a dime," he said. "The money gets into it, and greed gets into it, and it really ruins everything."
By midweek, some of the campers' bands had developed internal strains of their own. Jessi Lail, a 14-year-old with thick red hair, was crushed to learn that another girl was to sing the Evanescence song "Bring Me to Life."
"That was my solo," she said with a dark look from a seat in the bleachers. "Solo. My song. As in, not sharing it with other people."
Lesson 3: Act cool onstage.
It was the eleventh hour and Cory was still hanging back. In rehearsals of "Should I Stay or Should I Go," he sang with the physical enthusiasm of a man waiting for a bus. A velvet-voiced singer, he looked at his feet. He smiled as if in apology.By Thursday afternoon, his bandmates had become so concerned about his stage persona that they discussed giving him an unplugged guitar to hold.
Performance anxiety is particularly acute for lead singers, who stand before the audience with nothing but personality and a microphone stand to protect them, said Lee Adkins, the camp's staff director. Adkins, a bass player who toured for years with an Atlanta band called Soup, offered a tutorial in lead-singer antics.
In a practice room, he jumped onto a chair, pretending to play a guitar solo. A student copied the move. When jumping onto the drum set in a moment of musical ecstasy, it's essential to jump with both feet, Adkins explained.
"It's a passion thing, but you can't just do it, because something bad will happen," he said. "You will fall down."
Others consulted with Maryn Vance, a rock musician and choreographer who advises Atlanta hip-hop artists on posture, microphone technique and eye contact.
She tries to discourage them from using hokey gestures such as holding an imaginary telephone to their ears when singing about a phone call. She teaches singers to step away from the microphone, ceding the audience's focus, when other musicians are playing solos.
"Get into it, so we know this is about you," she said. "If you're going to be introverted and be this deep, dark soul over the bass guitar ? then get into that."
Mainly, though, she watched and marveled. "I think about the fact that when I was the same age my parents sent me to cotillion," she said.
Lesson 4: Smile for mom and dad.
At 6 p.m. on Friday, the parents filed into the auditorium to see their children perform. The mothers wore pearl earrings and hair bands; the fathers wore golf shirts and khaki pants. They set their umbrellas down beside their feet. On the walls of the auditorium, banners commemorated soccer championships.The parents had their own reasons for sending their kids to rock 'n' roll camp. Julie Iarossi, 43, gave a dreamy smile when she recalled her 10th-grade boyfriend, who played the drums.
John Kennedy described his 13-year-old son, Drake, as "an extremely fine conversationalist," but worried about his tendency to shyness.
Many were remembering their own adolescence, when parents stood at a distance from the turmoil of youth culture. That's not the kind of father he wants to be, said John Boydston, 45, father of Max, 9.
Back then, high school musicians bagged groceries to save for guitars and congregated in garages, where they played songs that sounded bad. Their parents reminded them of this.
It would be different for the campers. With their parents surrounding them, they were stepping onto a sound set worth $20,000: 8,000-watt amplifiers and a sound system that a touring band could use. A professional sound engineer was on hand for mixing.
After some last-minute adjustments to accommodate Orthodox Jewish campers who needed to get home before the Sabbath, a semicircle of preteens with electric guitars, one dressed as a schoolboy in homage to Angus Young, took the stage for AC/DC's "For Those About to Rock (We Salute You.)" Even 11-year-old Hannah Greenberg, the youngest girl at the camp, gave little rock-star hops at strategic moments.
As Cory Blanchette finished singing "Should I Stay or Should I Go," his mother, Gail, felt her eyes well up with tears. Kennedy beamed as his son Drake bounced back and forth over his guitar, long hair flying.
"I was just so proud," Kennedy said. "There was a transformation. A total transformation."
As for Josh Bell, it was clear that he had managed to dredge up anger from somewhere. He got onstage, a blond boy with wire-rimmed glasses. Then, fronting the band Sheep, he sang "Smells Like Teen Spirit" ? "I feel stupid, and contagious/Here we are now, entertain us" ? with such an aggressive roar that the crowd came to life, hooting and clapping. From her seat on the bleachers, his mother, Mary, wondered aloud if he might be possessed.
Before the performance, he had warned her she might be shocked by what she would see in him that night.
"He said, 'Don't worry, Mom, I've learned a new song,' " Mary said. "And he asked, 'What's a libido?' "
Clowns Invade Houston!!!
Clowns bring joy to many, fear to some
Fear of clowns may get a lot of attention, but it's rare, said Dr. Peter J. Norton, assistant professor of psychology at the University of Houston. He's not even sure how to pronounce "coulrophobia.""The best guess why people do develop a fear of clowns is that people are designed to recognize faces. So when you get suddenly this really overexaggerated, painted face, it can be distressing. It can be scary for a young child. Then if it's scary enough, it can lead to an ongoing fear," Norton said.
"In a treatment context, I personally haven't seen it," Norton said. Most common phobias are animal phobias among women and height phobias among men, he said, quoting a recent study at the University of Michigan Medical Center.
Circus clown Nock said fear of clowns is just one of those inexplicable things.
"Some people are afraid of doctors, and doctors are only there to help you. Some people are afraid of police officers, and police officers are there to assist and serve and protect. And some people are afraid of clowns. Clowns are there simply to make you laugh," Nock said.
But if you were frightened by a clown as a child, your parents passed along their coulrophobia to you or your fear was triggered by a more recent event, help is out there.
"Fortunately, making the distinction between the phobias, whether they are fear of dogs, flying, heights or fear of clowns is somewhat irrelevant because the treatments really are the same," Norton said. "We've got treatments with incredibly high success rates. Phobias are probably the most treatable of all emotional or psychological conditions."
A good place to call for help: University of Houston Anxiety and Depression Clinics, 713-743-8600.
In light of circus season hitting Houston, I say we need to adopt a clown for each day that it's here. For day one, I think we need to go with everyone's favorite clown: Ouchy the Clown.
July 11, 2004
Musings on Sonic
A short time ago I was feeling lazy and decided to take a trip to the local Sonic. I believe it was a Tuesday, and they had a half-price burger promotion. So after ordering, the carhop comes to my car with the food, and I pay him. Nothing unusual up to this point, right? Except that the guy kept a dollar. So I asked him about the dollar, and he said "weren't you going to leave a tip?" It was all I could do to not get out of the car and beat him with his own serving tray. After a couple deep breaths, I told him I'd like my dollar back. He got disgusted, and gave me back the dollar. So now, I would like to leave him a tip:
Look, you greasy little burger monkey, if you want extra money, then go work in a place that doesn't require people to sit in their own cars to eat.
End of line
July 08, 2004
Bad Taste, Part 8
Yes folks, we're looking at the eighth Police Academy film here. I think it's time for Guttenberg to return and helm this masterpiece. Goodness knows he's not doing anything else.
Infrequent Movie Update
With the backlog of movies I need to take in now leading me to eye the dollar cinemas and DVD shelves, I'm gonna take another stab at this with a weekend or so of spoiling myself coming up soon:
July 16: Napoleon Dynamite opens at Landmark. This is not to be missed, folks. I, Robot is also out in the major chains. Still debating that one. Not my normal cup of tea, but Isaac Asimov has a uniqueness to his work that is either to be appreciated or despised, with little gray area inbetween.
Hopefully, the dollar cinemas will have something better than Soul Plane playing. I'm pretty sure I can still catch a few in the major chains. Dodgeball and Saved among them. Might have to plan a long day at the theaters by then.
One movie worth watching out for further down the road: August 20th gives us Exorcist: The Beginning. Dunno about the scary quotient it may have, but it ought to be a nice prequel to fill out the story some.
On the topic of movies, some brief reviews of DVDs offered on loan to me:
Others on the backlog list: (just for my own purposes)
*ugh*
July 07, 2004
Janet Jackson's Boob Was The Tip of the Iceberg!
Well, we all knew it would happen sooner or later, but someone has finally taken it to the next level.
(Not entirely work-safe)
July 06, 2004
The Rules of Attraction
It seems I've now sunken to the level of blogging by request. In the course of normal (and not-so-normal) emailing, I attempt to describe a complex topic as briefly as I can and I'm told that this is a wealth of blogging material that I'd be a fool to pass up. Also helps that the person doing the suggesting is an attractive blonde. So here we are ....
The topic has to do with a certain dirtly little male secret. Its been the subject of a Seinfeld episode and other television fare, so I know I'm not alone on this matter. In short, I have a ready list at all times of three well known celebrity females that, were they to phone me up at any odd hour of the day, I'd do what I'm told ... be it make a run to the grocery store, pick up dry cleaning, or marry them. No questions asked, that which is requested gets done. Want someone killed ... this is the way to go about it, I believe. If you're married, these people are the exception list you have that allows for an extramarital affair.
My own list has been pretty set for some time now:
Davis was the most recent addition after some haggling with another friend who clearly had her on his list and felt that I could not dip into his ... well, whatever this is. Since she's clearly my #3 on this list and the fact that even the top two are rather remote possibilities, I think we just agreed to accept that both of our lives sucked enough that this was all pointless anyway. Wish I hadn't flattened his tires before we got to that point, but stuff happens.
The grand lesson here is that we males are rather silly and pointless from time to time. But also worth illuminating are the rules that go into this very silly and pointless exercise. I stumbled onto this notion when replacing Drew Barrymore with Kristin Davis.
First thing first ... this list of mine contains actresses, nothing written in stone about this one, though. I've recently contemplated moving one of the listees to make room for songstress Liz Phair. Anyone that can make me contemplate going to an estrogen-rich all-chick concert must have something going for her. The Donnas did the same thing to me a while back, but there's four of them. Sure, the drummer is still hot, but with the point they're at in their career, I feel I need to see a good followup album by them to warrant future interest. I don't want to be a subservient lackey for just anyone, ya know.
Continuing ... the rules for such lists, as I see it are not mere beauty. Sure, that's the starting point. But there has to be some other basis that this is attached to. I opt for having witnessed a work of art that I can appreciate by these women. Nicole Kidman has done a number of great movies, for instance. Any male who sat through To Die For, however, likely has her as highly ranked as I do. The mostly nude scene in Human Stain ought to get more current moviegoers to updating their own lists. Nudity isn't required, but in the case of Kidman, partial nudity is a clincher for the top spot. Lauren Graham depicts the world's hottest mom and any woman that can get me to watch a teenybopper show in which the central focus is around the relationship about a mom and daughter has to have something at work. Oh, the lingerie scene in Sweet November is another strong selling point in the skin category. That she's also eight months older than me and has the looks of a woman (correction ... the hottest woman) at least a decade younger, is utterly amazing. Kristin Davis is an oddity for me, as I am the only weirdo in the world to have not seen on episode of Sex and the City. I have, however, seen Davis on numerous talk shows in which I've instantly swooned over her mere presence, humor, and charm. That's good enough for making the list it seems.
Another criteria ... attainability. This is where the wheels of logic come off. But bear with me as I make my case for the three women on my list. Nicole Kidman is widely reported to be something of a psycho emotional basketcase or an eerie ice princess that would normally frighten off lesser men. I've dealt with this sort, occassionally on a successful note. Knowing that you've lived through the challenge is rather rewarding. Knowing that the payoff can occassionally land you a hottie that's a zillion times out of your league makes you want to do this for a living. Lauren Graham? Well, popular though she may be, she plays a mom (and on the WB, for crissakes!). She's 37, so that's gonna run off a few more (I still look over my shoulder for Ashton Kutchar, though). I mean, she's not exactly the second-coming of MaryAnn from Gilligan's Island, but there's a slight enough case to make for attainability. Kristin Davis? She was on cable and her show's not even on the air anymore. Eventually, those royalty checks dry up and she'll need a good man just to pay the bills. When Kristin is willing to settle, I will be there ... mark my words.
In the course of the leadup to this post, I'm bouncing around ideas on attractive women with a female friend who might otherwise be on the list save for the fact that a) there's no clear rules on having friends on this list and b) she's proximate enough that I would fear an actual call at some point to do some silly pointless errand. Sure, I'd run the errand, but I'd feel violated afterwards. I'm such a fragile soul that I'm not willing to endure that just yet. Of course, I'm sure she's also running pictures of gorgeous women by me just to throw me off the trail a little.
Of the names trotted out, one that might otherwise be on the list: Naomi Watts, is offered as an example. Naomi Watts is by no means unattractive, but there's not an identifiable movie role of hers that I can appreciate along with the pictures both on the internet and in my mind. I never got Mulholland Drive and haven't really viewed her voice work on Babe: Pig in the City with enough devoted attention to appreciate. If she's attainable, I haven't seen a case to explain how just yet.
I've always been drawn to Cameron Diaz, also. But she's dating Justin Timberlake. And she's not as mentally unstable as to end up leaving him after they adopt three kids like Nicole Kidman. In fact, Cameron has a great wit about her. But everyone wants Cameron Diaz. The line for that ride is too long and I'm too impatient.
Enter Liz Phair. Here's where this gets tricky. I have no clue why the list is limited at three. I mean, can I not just make a list as long as I damn well feel like it? Liz is a musician and that intimidates some guys. I, on the other hand, totally dig the creative types (even if I think I could play the guitar a dozen times better). She's recently divorced, with child ... again, the playing field is thinned out and there's just enough of a whiff of attainability to appreciate that my .00000001% chance of success has just been doubled.
Now, the moralist might note that Kristin Davis is married. Lecture on. Given that we're dealing with Hollywood, I think its safe to presume that wedded bliss can be as fleeting as the belief that a cameo appearance on "The Parkers" will help your career. Besides, I'm not lusting yet. I'll save that for when the phone rings. Then, and only then, will I repent.
I still don't know what to do with that third spot. I mean, I feel bad for Kristin if I dump her. But I also don't want to go to the Liz Phair concert without knowing there's a greater cause at work. Drew Barrymore broke up with her husband, didn't she? Then again, maybe I ought to chuck the list out alltogether and pick up the trail of that Starbucks chick again.
(Double bonus if you spot the precise sentence in this post where I lose my mind.)
July 03, 2004
Friday Night At The Movies
So half of the Posse (U&T) took in the Michael Moore movie for some inexplicable reason. I'd just gotten through most of that filmmaker's earlier "Columbine" movie (a forthcoming rebuttal will be pretty easy). We gathered just before midnight for THE LOLLIPOP GIRLS in HARD CANDY from 1976, a 'vintage' porno.
Here's the really insane part: not only was that '76 groaner shown in head-hurting 3D but a few of the females who were invited by various parties actually showed up. I'm recovering from an illness and barely made it myself, but never would have considered asking anyone to such a questionably-titled 'art' film. I still cannot believe that C. and A., two off-the-scale major hotties, would bother with this. However, their interests were properly addressed as we discovered that all you've heard about John Holmes is true.
Nice to know somebody got theirs. And now back to our feature, 'Ralphie waits for his prescription while studying for a test, instead of surfing the cast site for revealing pics of C. and A. like he OUGHT to be'.
July 02, 2004
Those Wacky Indonesians
Colin Powell To Star In Can't Stop The Music 2?
Move over, David Hodo. There's a new construction worker in town. And he's got a jackhammer of foreign policy ready to split you right down to the core.
Seriously though, am I the only one who really wants to see video footage of the drunken Russians?
July 01, 2004
Wining And Dining One's Self
Yesterday was Spoil Myself Silly Day. Not sure if its a designated federal holiday, but it damn well should be. Convinced myself (or conned myself ... to be determined later, I suppose) that if I stuck to a little bit of excercise and watching my food intake, that I'd go nuts by the next payday. So with two solid weeks of eating like a parakeet and exposing myself to the hot & humid Houston weather that has singlehandedly been known to cause weight loss, I put one check in the bank and headed off to the fanciest restaurant I could think to spoil myself.
Plans involved dropping myself into Houston's Carillion Shopping Center and taking my pick of dining options. I wasn't sure exactly what I was hungry for, so I did what any illogical person might do ... I asked others to think for me. Uber was of no help ... bastard that he is. Lacking input from him, I turned to a bright legal eagle hottie from points elsewhere who was more than accomodating. Granted, some of these places were local, so she wasn't overly familiar with the non-chain restaurants. But the warm & fuzzy feeling I got from pondering the Italian joint on the map was seconded well enough to warrant it as the front runner. I had a hankering for an Outback steak & onion, but given that I was flying solo and had an accompaniment of reading material, I was looking for something typically quieter. On that front, I was not disappointed.
Forno's of Italy is, perhaps, an overrated restaurant ... at least by my singular experience. The atmosphere is nice. The waitstaff professional, and the setting very relaxed and cozy. So what was lacking? Sadly, the food. It wasn't bad ... it just wasn't as top notch as one might be excused for thinking.
Today being a pig-out reward day, I splurged a little. The obligatory salad was ok, not great, but ok. Dressing was better than average, but the actual green stuff was done so-so. Portioning was good enough. Nothing wrong with average on this front, typically. There's only so much you can do with a starter salad, I suppose.
In full pig-out mode, I opted for an appetizer of cheese bread. I was a little nervous due to the complimentary rolls being the type that one can play hockey or baseball with, technically softball might be the best example due to size. Good bread, I just hate working through a protective shell that would have made Darth Vader's Death Star safer had it been encompassed with the same bread crust. That said, the appetizer was a nice guilty pleasure. Poor planning on my part that it was a filling appetizer, but I was throwing caution to the wind on this night. The dipping sauce (italian) was literally addictive.
So then we get to the main course for the night ... veal parmegian. I wanted to veer a little away from the standard spaghetti, lasagna, and such ... although I'm tempted by manicotti at every turn into an Italian restaurant. I needed more of a dead animal on my plate this evening, however, and veal was close enough to the animal kingdom.
Sadly, though ... I've had better veal parmegian. Hate to say that, but I have. I've also had better pasta. The sauce, again ... addictive. I had little problem finishing the plate off. I noticed right about the time I stuffed the last bite into my gourd that my stomach was telling me the night was over. Perfect timing when it comes to killing a diet. On the whole, the veal was a little thin, a little plain, and nothing really to write home about (unless, of course, I send a link to this blog post to home, which really obscures the point). It wasn't bad, it just wasn't something I pat myself on the back for spoiling myself over. Mind you, I can be picky when it comes to things of this nature. Make of it what you will.
After paying my tab ($25 after a generous tip for excellent and attentive service), I was off to contemplate whether I should dare fit either a chocolate shake or another one of Starbucks' Double Chocolate Chip Blended Creme concoctions into myself. I opted for safety and headed home to do laundry. Perhaps a move for the wiser. I still need a chocolate fix like a junkie needs that last shot of heroin, but I at least smell mountain fresh.