Sunday, May 23, 2010

Silence of the Lambs

My cookbook arrived today and I eagerly ripped open the package and began flipping through it, my hand conveniently stopping on the page that contained the recipe for Julia’s Boeuf A La Bourguignonne, or in America otherwise known as Beef Stew in Red Wine with Bacon, Onions, and Mushrooms, although perhaps it could do without the latter. I’m having a bit of a hard time though. Let’s talk about this, I know, as I’ve stated previously, that it won’t be possible for me to complete all of Mrs. Child’s recipes mainly out of the fact that I don’t eat cute and fuzzy animals, namely lamb, the leg, shoulder or any other of its adorable but unsavory body parts, veal, deer…you get the picture. It hurt kind of, to read about Mrs. Child very nonchalantly tell her readers that if they didn't have the heart to steam a lobster alive then they could viciously murder it (okay, not her exact words) by stabbing a knife directly between their little lobster eyes to severe their little lobster spinal cord (again, not verbatim). Maybe it's just me but who the hell could even eat after that? Personally, I prefer this approach:



Aside from this, I was floored albeit specifically disgusted when I reached an entire section on cooking and eating brains. Yes, brains. Lamb brains. Calf brains. Cooked brains. Sauteed brains. No matter how you slice them, it’s pretty repulsive to even consider having any brains play any role in making a meal from scratch aside from my own brain resting safely behind my skull as it decides where to put the dash of salt or the pinch of pepper in my dish. Thinking about brain consumption reminds me of that stomach-turning scene in “Hannibal” where Anthony Hopkins, otherwise known as the infamous Hannibal Lector, has Ray Liotta (otherwise known as the detective who I cannot remember the name of) for dinner, literally, having sliced open the top portion of his skull and then feeding to him his very own, you guessed it, brains, fried in butter on a skillet under low heat. The French will apparently eat anything making me wonder if road kill might be an orthodox ingredient that Julia was required to omit from her book as solely mandated by her publishers due to sanitary reasons. Who am I to judge though, my own grandmother, a solid German girl with small remainders of her charming accent, has enjoyed cow tongue on several occasions and all I can really think about is the texture of my own tongue and how I couldn’t possibly attempt to eat anything even remotely as slippery or pocked with taste buds. Blech. This reminds me of a character I saw recently in “The Lovely Bones” who kept talking about getting the heebie-jeebies. This is the effect that these strange edible considerations have on me. Perhaps this French cookbook was a bad idea since I will only ever really even attempt a small portion of the recipes in this book. Pondering this, I quickly cast my eyes toward my Betty Crocker cookbook which surely has more humane contents and thought just maybe, I will work my way through that one instead...after I make the Boeuf A La Bourguignonne. Bon Appétit.

Onto a strikingly ironic topic transition from brains, the Grey’s Anatomy season finale delivered like I’ve never seen a finale deliver before. Oh, the previews were all the same, offering the slight taste that someone was going to get shot on the episode, though you never know who it is until you watch and I anticipated this to be like every other cliffhanger finale where you find out that it is a main character who gets the bullet only to reach the last seconds of the show where they are virtually dying right before your eyes and then the screen goes black, you’re left in a state of panic and must muster up the incredible patience to wait to see what happens come the Fall batch of new episodes in September, unless you are like me who will then proceed to run an internet search to decipher whether or not contracts have lapsed or are in limbo between the show and whichever apparent actor may or may not be killed off of the show. Wow, that was an incredibly fantastic run-on sentence. But really, I began the show with high hopes but also the expectation that I would be hanging from the proverbial cliff at the end offering myself no disappointments. The producers had a very different idea. In the first five minutes of the show, a frequent albeit unfavorable character on the show, one of the transfers from Mercy West from the merge episode was shot at point blank range right between the eyes, and Karev, a main character in the show was also shot. The shooter is the husband of a patient who had appeared on a previous show and received surgery leaving her brain dead, all of which both she and her husband were warned about prior to the surgery. She had signed a DNR without her husband knowing and he wasn’t aware that he needed to obtain any kind of power of attorney to make decisions on behalf his wife should she ever find herself in this state which left the decision of her fate legally in the hands of the hospital. Because she was brain dead and being held alive solely via breathing machines, Derek sought to respect her wishes and turn the machines off, to the adamant disagreement of her husband’s wishes. Said husband has returned to seek his revenge on three people, Derek, who made the decision to turn off the machines, Richard, the previous chief who also played a large role in the decision, and Lexi, who physically turned the machines off. Despite the fact that this man was out to kill these three people, he ended up shooting and injuring or killing pretty much anyone who got in his way, primarily surgeons in the hopes of just knocking off anyone who participated in the surgery that resulted in this situation in the first place. I spent this riveting two hours with my hand over my mouth and my heart beating so fast that I was on the verge of an all out panic attack for a full 120 minutes in what I have to say is by far, the best season finale I’ve ever seen. The only finale I’ve seen without a cliff hanger ending, but I don’t think my heart could even have handled it after the two hour roller coaster ride that it was taken on. Two words: simply brilliant.

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Byrd is the Word


Last night I was christened into Richmond's historic Byrd Theatre. I walked down the aisle soaking up its sheer beauty envisioning everyone clad in double-breasted suits and Victorian hula hoop dresses lined in ruffles and lace, some smoking french cigarettes with long plastic filters from the balcony overhead. I immediately missed my friend, who owns one of the most amazing digital camera's I've come in contact with (check out the zoo pics below), this place is not only living history but a heavily breathing architectural masterpiece.

Although my rear never quite molded to the lumpy cushioned seat quite reminiscent of a miniature trampoline that has been in use by a daycare for centuries, the theatre darkened, I lost all sight of my surroundings, my mind quieted, and finally I viewed "Shutter Island."


Overall, it was a pretty good film, and I promise not to drop spoilers here in my mini review. The film followed the book like a map and only one small scene was interjected that strayed from the original text. I wasn't impressed by the melodramatic music that sometimes seemed a bit misplaced nor by the forced special effects which I felt was amateur considering the film was directed by Martin Scorsese. A bit of humor was sprinkled throughout the film which I found to be a nice touch to the otherwise dark and disturbing tone. In addition, the ending of the book leaves the reader open to some interpretation about what actually happens, one of the most powerful elements of the story, whereas the film does not. I'm pleased that I read the book first on this particular story, and that isn't always the case. Lehane was able to effectively convey the macabre in his book which is fairly rare for authors outside of Stephen King, the primary reason why I favor this book.

Netflix is delivering a copy of "Extraordinary Measures" today. Bear with me while I take a momentary Google intermission to investigate whether or not this film was born of a book... The results are in, Google tells me that this film is based on a biography written by Greeta Anand titled Chasing Miracles: The Crowley Family Journey of Strength, Hope, and Joy. I'll let you know how this one goes.

Monday, May 17, 2010

Celebrate Good Times

I stared, paralyzed, as a co-worker showed me Sunday's obituaries, folded neatly in fourths with the one of interest open-faced on the counter. Every Saturday, the boss orders lunch for us because typically we’re running around like proverbial chickens with our heads cut off not able to stop and run to the back to re-heat last evening’s supper. Our choices are limited to whichever restaurant is delivering that day and many times we opt for the local deli. Ricky, our regular delivery man, was an outgoing, friendly, and sweet guy. He incessantly gushed about the many kids in his life ranging from his own to his grandkids, nieces, and nephews, the number of them reaching high into the double digits. From my own experience with Ricky, he seemed to bring a smile to everyone he encountered. I stood there, looking down at Ricky’s portrait, reading the names of all of the kids he spoke lovingly about, partially shocked that he passed at what I thought was such a young age, and also because the realization permeated my thoughts that one truly never knows when they will depart from this world. The very reality of this thought makes you evaluate your own life thinking of whether the people that you love know how much they mean to you, or if where you are in life was built on the foundation of what really matters in this life, or the superficial.

I turned 30 years old this week, and after scanning the rest of the obituaries among Ricky’s, I also noticed a 26 year old guy as well as a young child and wondered if my 30th birthday was the mark of the halfway point in my life, a scary notion, or if that I will be one of the lucky ones to live to see the 100th birthday that one could only hope for. So much of my life recently has revolved around death. Prior to learning of this news regarding Ricky, the love of my life lost two of his family members, a great-grandmother and his grandfather. I never met his great-grandmother, but I did meet his grandfather, and I’m humbly thankful that I got the opportunity. I also know his grandmother, a sweet and resilient woman who lost her mother and her own love of her life in a mere matter of weeks. Since the funeral most of the talk about them has been in celebration of their lives by way of funny anecdotes and bittersweet memories, as the old cliché goes, “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.”

Celebration is the theme of life in all that we do regardless of whether or not we recognize it, playing with our kids in celebration of youth, a home-cooked meal enjoyed around a table of loved ones in celebration of family, a newborn baby in celebration of love, a list of celebrations that could surpass any of our combined time here on earth. I say, it’s about time we all start to recognize, savor, and cherish celebrations, both big and small.



Celebrate Good Times by Kool and the Gang

Yahoo! This is your celebration
Yahoo! This is your celebration

Celebrate good times, come on! (Let's celebrate)
Celebrate good times, come on! (Let's celebrate)

There's a party goin' on right here
A celebration to last throughout the years
So bring your good times, and your laughter too
We gonna celebrate your party with you

Come on now

Celebration
Let's all celebrate and have a good time
Celebration
We gonna celebrate and have a good time

It's time to come together
It's up to you, what's your pleasure

Everyone around the world
Come on!

Yahoo! It's a celebration
Yahoo!

Celebrate good times, come on!
It's a celebration
Celebrate good times, come on!
Let's celebrate

We're gonna have a good time tonight
Let's celebrate, it's all right
We're gonna have a good time tonight
Let's celebrate, it's all right

Baby...

We're gonna have a good time tonight (Ce-le-bra-tion)
Let's celebrate, it's all right
We're gonna have a good time tonight (Ce-le-bra-tion)
Let's celebrate, it's all right

Yahoo!
Yahoo!

Celebrate good times, come on! (Let's celebrate)
Celebrate good times, come on!
It's a celebration!
Celebrate good times, come on! (Let's celebrate)

Come on and celebrate, good times, tonight (Celebrate good times, come on!)
'Cause everything's gonna be all right
Let's celebrate (Celebrate good times, come on)
(Let's celebrate)...

Sunday, May 16, 2010

Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday

I'm presently contemplating whether or not to feel sorry for my waiter last night. Poor thing, I caught him off guard by yelling "Hey" which was immediately followed by the random question of has he ever seen "The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift" to which he returned the shock by responding that he had, in fact, seen the movie (because let's face it, the total population of people who have seen this movie can only be half the number of bad actors that were recruited to make the film). After he answered I told him "You look like that guy." He said, "That guy?" I said, "Yes, that guy, the main actor." He said, "Did you ever see that movie he was in when he was about 5 years old about people in the woods?" Appalled at my own ignorance about this film he spoke of and never having seen the actor in anything other than "Tokyo Drift" I started naming off strange indie-trash films such as the remake of "The Hills Have Eyes" and "Wrong Turn." After suffering through the pain it generated to even name those titles, neither of us ever figured out what film he was referencing. Never fear, Google is here: The actor's name is Lucas Black and the film that he played in as a kid is, drumroll please, "Sling Blade." My only regret is that someone didn't kill me with a lawnmower blade before I made the unfortunate decision to see that Billy Bob disaster.

My reason for bringing up my Ruby Tuesday visit, aside from another obvious demonstration of how the media violently shoves itself into my random conversations is that the restaurant's "soundtrack" is something reminiscent of my beloved Starbucks.



Ah, Starbucks, in all of its beautiful glory is not merely a place to savor your favorite iced Frappuccino, which by the way is their registered trademark, it is a complete full body experience leaving no sense unsatisfied. You walk in and your nose immediately inhales that heavenly scent of brewing coffee and baked pastries while your ears are simultaneously filled to overflowing with the eclectic and unique musical wizardry of Adele, Ali Farka, or Ingrid Michaelson. Your eyes scan their surroundings, dancing in the reflection of whimsical framed paintings and richly painted walls in warm hues reminding you of Autumn foliage. Once you've placed your order, the barista smiles at you as she hands you a sweet, steaming coffee scented with the season's special flavor, which you sip as your tastebuds burst in your mouth. As you nestle into one of their huge, over-stuffed arm chairs, one hand dangles over the side lightly brushing the deep velvet and no matter what kind of day you just stepped out of, all is forgotten as you reach a state of pure unadulterated bliss.

Starbucks, you had me at hello.

Saturday, May 15, 2010

The Zoo Story

I am proud to announce that my mailbox is currently waiting to be graced with my delicious new copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

On another note, after my birthday visit to the zoo I was posting my photo's and while listing goofy captions to accompany these candid animal portraits, the realization slapped me in the face that they're all media-inspired. Given the nature of this blog, I'm simply flabber-gasted and kind of hurt that sarcasm cannot possibly be effectively conveyed through the written word for its lack of vocal tone. I welcomed myself back from my mini-tangent and figured a photo album would be a lovely addition to demonstrate just how subliminally the media washes over my life and intrudes on virtually every thought that crosses my mind. Enjoy.


"Bella Swan...er, I mean Jacob Black...ok, no, really, Black Swan."
**It will excruciatingly pain me if I have to reveal the source of this ridiculously overrated pop culture reference, speaking of which, a LONG blog is in the works on my experience with the stay-at-home mom turned female "literary" sensation, Stephenie Meyer. You'd be wise to prepare yourself for the impending brutality of it all.


"The Dingo who ate your baby."


"Morla: The Sneezy Tortoise"


"I only have eyes...for you. Shu-bop Shu-bop."


"Don't look now, there's a monkey on your back."


"Eye of the Tiger."


"When I was a young warthog..."



I really agonized over whether or not to reference Kevin, the rainbow-brite-wannabe-chocolate-loving-male-assumed-Mama bird from "Up" but let's face it, she's no peacock, despite their almost identical mating calls. Erego, I have no quote for this but it was really too cool to omit :)


"I shot the sheriff, but I didn't shoot no deputy." (The thumbnail might be a bit small to distinguish but this quote is purely cornrow-inspired.)


"Daniel-san, you all wet behind ear."


"I think you're really beautiful and I feel warm when I'm around you and my tongue swells up."

You catch my drift.

Shutter Island

So because this blog is new I am taking selfish liberties to reminisce on my recent experiences with literature and film. I’ve recently completed the novel Shutter Island by Dennis Lehane. Part of me began this novel only to pass it upon completion over to my future brother-in-law. We don’t have much in common but we stand on the loosely-packed and level ground of books and movies, and that makes for juicy conversations that only he and I truly understand. I gave him Child 44 by Tom Rob Smith for Christmas, one of my very favorite books and an absolutely brilliant debut novel from the author, and he had minimal hopes about the book after unwrapping it, so when he came to me positively bubbling once he had finished it, I was so excited, I loaned him my sleek hardback copy of the sequel, The Secret Speech. He loved that one even more. And though Cormac McCarthy's No Country For Old Men didn't have quite the same effect and wreaked absolute havoc on his literary tastebuds and I'm still planning on having him read McCarthy's The Road, which, by the way, finally releases on film at the end of this month. I was so thrilled to find someone else who got equally excited as me regarding books that I didn’t think twice about offering my brand new, not even cracked open once for the sole exception to flip the pages breathing in that heavenly new book smell, book, all despite my weird mental deformity about anyone reading any of my books before me. This deformity, I might add, also makes for quite the expensive hobby. Unlike other sensible readers who cherish their local library card, gaining new cracks in the plastic with every borrowed story, checking out book after book without cost, my deformity has me feverishly running to Barnes and Noble to sniff new copies of books that don’t even interest me all to settle on the ones that do. Tom Hanks said it best in "You’ve Got Mail," “We’ll get them…We’ll get them with our discounts, our deep arm chairs, and a cappuccino… we’re going to sell them cheap books and legal addictive stimulants.” By God, they were right and have I yet mentioned that "You’ve Got Mail" is my favorite movie of all time? I’ll get into that savory rationale some other time.



I initially had seen previews for the film that appealed to me and although I missed it on the big and expensive screen, we Virginians who live near the greater metro Richmond have the benefit of the ancient Byrd Theater. A theater in all of its vintage glory, if you can imagine, quite reminiscent of the theater where John Wilkes Booth decided that he had a pair of cowardly balls. Sorry, Abe. The Byrd Theater charges under $2.00 to see films that are on their way to soon become the newest DVD craze and makes my wallet do cartwheels in my purse since my new book fetish normally has it projectile vomiting money. So, I am planning on seeing the film in the next few days so stay tuned for the update. As far as the novel goes, I thoroughly enjoyed it. It had the perfect eclectic mix of an eerie setting, disturbing dreams, creepy characters, and a downright challenge to the very concept of reality in the ending pages that will have you pouncing through the final chapters of the book like Tigger in the Flowerdew Hundred. I won’t spoil it for you, but the end of the book will leave you guessing, unsatisfied, and savoring that feeling in the pit of your stomach that will have you wondering, what the hell just happened here? From what I understand, the film doesn’t provide the same feeling but rather answers all of your questions quite affirmatively, which is unfortunate. This makes me breathe a coffee-drenched sigh of relief that I read the book first, as for this particular title it would have been quite the disaster had I been subjected to these two forms of media in the reverse. The melting pot of emotion that the original text sifts through your insides, I assure you, is an absolute rarity, a true Shutter Island.

Friday, May 14, 2010

Julie and Julia




I’ve finally completed my run with "Julie and Julia," the film about the infamous Julia Child and Julie Powell, a regular gal and former telephone operator turned writer by avenue of cheeky cooking blog. I did some minor research following this charming adaptation of Powell’s book only to discover that it received some pretty harsh treatment in reviews. Readers voiced complaints ranging from her frequent use of profanity to her seemingly incessant daily whining sessions. These reviews offered a batch of complete sense in reference to the disgust that Julia Child apparently shows towards Powell once she discovers her blog. I will say, having not read the book nor will ever be inspired to thanks to the “fan” club I came across, the film never clarifies if Julia Child made this deduction as a result of personally reading the blog or simply hearing about it through the proverbial grapevine. I can only assume that she did, in fact, read even if only snippets of Powell’s blog to make her determination. From what I understand from reader reviews as well as my own investigation into Powell's original blog, every other word that appears in black and white contains four letters and begins with a capital “F.” While I’m confident that Julia Child can appreciate strategically implanted profanity in a novel of fiction, given that Mrs. Child was in her nineties when she was graced with this blog, chances are that her old fashion ways did not precede her and she was offended with the language alone in a blog that was supposed to have been inspired by herself. I can only imagine, and in that imagination, I digress.

Since I am unable to feed my usual craving, no pun intended, for the original text on this film, what I can say is that I have been truly inspired to attempt as many dishes from Child’s original cookbook, Mastering the Art of French Cooking, as absolutely possible. Let me be the first to announce that my attempts will not be quite as ambitious as the truck-driving sailor, Julie Powell, as I suffer from the inability to steam lobsters alive or to take even a short stroll down the memory lane of my high school biology class and dissect a duck on my coffee table, all in the name of dinner. Still, it should be quite the interesting endeavor.

I am a bit surprised that during my feverish search to locate the most recent yet inexpensive copy of Child’s cookbook that I stumbled upon various reviews of recent readers who were inspired to do the same, long before me. I read review after review of readers who snatched up this cookbook while still viewing the credits for Julie and Julia. I have yet to receive my copy, although I’ll certainly keep you posted regarding the outcome of my own experience. My first plan of action will be to attack that fabulous stew that I still can’t even pronounce but I can only presume, for my own sanity, that Amy Adams was forced to survive hundreds of takes on various scenes just to get the pronunciation right, afterall, she can't possibly be as perfect as she seems...right?, Beef Boyiongrsofurosu-eieio or something or another. Yep, and I'm an English major. Go ahead, you try. Ok, now five times fast.



Let’s just hope it tastes much better than it sounds. Bon Appétit!