Stock art

Sometimes when I’m searching for an image for an ad, I come across photos like these that make me stare in awe and wonder, “what in the ever loving hell is going on here?” This is one of those photos.

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Gun safety

I’m reading a British newspaper online, and here’s a photo of a little girl saying goodbye to her soldier dad that would be really touching and sweet . . . if it didn’t look like he was about to shoot her. Gun safety, Brits, gun safety. Don’t point your machine gun at your 5-year-old.

You’d think some things would go without saying.

 

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What is the internet, anyway?

Looking up security cameras, and came across this wireless one. I dig the illustration of how the cameras communicate with the wireless router, but I really love it that the Internet is a puffy blue cloud. I thought it was a system of pipes or tubes or something?

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NJ/NYC Pizza Tour

Pizza is probably my favorite food, but that statement should not be misconstrued to imply that I'm some kind of gourmet snob. I will order Chanello's or Papa John's and I will love it. Pizza is just so versatile: it's like an edible plate. You can put pretty much any other food in the world on top of it, call it a "topping" rather than just some other random food, and the whole messy thing is still pizza.

When Aaron and I were going to hit up NJ and NYC to visit his relatives, I couldn't let the opportunity pass me by to catch some of what is supposedly the best pizza in the whole wide world. There are a LOT of opinions out there about who has the best pizza in the area (really, Google "best pizza in NJ" and see how many hits you get), so we went with a few of Aaron & family's favorite spots rather than try to get to every pizza joint that every foodie in Jersey declared the best. I was not disappointed. Blurry camera phone pix abound.

First stop was Pete & Elda's (which I kept calling Pete & Edna's) in Neptune.

I'm not a thin-crust fan, but Aaron swore this was the best, and I have to agree. It's almost cracker-crispy, and with a good crust-cheese-sauce ratio. They have a promotion where if you can eat an entire XX-Large pizza all by yourself, you get a free T-Shirt. Aaron has one such T-shirt. I elected not to try it. I did eat too much, though - eating too much became a real trend for me on this trip.

Contrary to what you might assume, thin-crust pizza will not make you thin.

Day 2, after a stroll on the Point Pleasant boardwalk, we hit Aaron's childhood fave: J&G. They opened the year he was born, and the original owner passed away last year. Now his son runs the place.

Fairly thin crust, though nowhere near as thin as Pete & Elda's (a.k.a. Edna's). Still, it was nice and crispy and yum. See, here's where I kinda wish I were a foodie, because I could describe to you the subtle nuances to the sauce and fresh mozzarella, like how much oregano or basil or whatever is in it. But I can't; all I can tell you is that it was good. God, I'm getting hungry writing this. We had plain slices wherever we went. Usually, I'd load down a pizza with some pepperoni, mushrooms, basil, artichokes, garlic, or whatever else struck me, but Aaron claims that to really taste-test pizza, you have to try their plain slice so it's an even comparison. Okay.

We made it into the city for a bit, and had a "snack" at a bakery called Bruno's. Bruno's made a cake for the Pope when he was in the city in '08. That's like making a cake for God. Judging by their creme brulee and pear caramel, they were up to the task.

On the night of day 2, we took a quick break from pizza to try out a place in Jersey City called Skinner's. It's actually Skinner's . . . something; I can't remember the second word. Loft, maybe? Whatever, it was delish. They had these sweet potato chips with a melted blue cheese dip that were so mind-bendingly good I'd drive back to Jersey City, through all the Turnpike tolls without an EZ Pass to have them again. Seriously, the Shangri-la of chips. Unfortunately, I have no picture of that because the lighting was too low in the place. But I did have to at least try to photograph dessert: mini-ice cream cones! They were so cute, that no picture could have done them justice, let alone this grainy, dark camera phone pic:

But I digress; we're here for pizza. Day 3 was in NYC, and we went to Lombardi's, which claims to be America's first pizzeria. I trust them. Their "plain" slice actually had tomato and basil, which added an extra special little kick. Ate too much again. Walked it off wandering around looking for a Path station.

If you'll permit me one more non-pizza entry, breakfast at some little Greek place in Astoria was incredible. Check this out:

It's a caramel and oreo cookie crepe. I swear. I gorged myself as though I'd been on a desert island and this was the first food I'd seen for months. I paid for it with a stomach ache from hell, but that's the price of caramel and oreos melted together, wrapped in a skinny pancake and topped off with whipped cream, powdered sugar and chocolate syrup, and it's worth it.

Back to the pizza. Sadly, we had to say goodbye to NY/NJ and make our way home, so pizza stop #4 was in Salisbury, MD at a place Aaron used to frequent when he was in college there: Cafe Milano. Interestingly, this Italian haven appears to be run by all Mexican people. Nothing wrong with that; I'm just saying.

Notice anything missing? Yeah, there's no plates. You get a high school cafeteria tray and a sheet of wax paper and you will LIKE IT. Actually, it was pretty good.

Thus ends the iron stomach marathon. There are more pix from the trip (some even feature subject matter other than food) on my facebook profile. Hopefully, you can see it if you click here. If not, uh, I don't know how else to link you to it. Frankly, Facebook confuses me.

Hope you enjoyed,

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Oh, forks

I'm finishing up some leftover fried seafood and pondering something. By and large, and there are exceptions to this rule, fried food is eaten with your hands, while the rest of the food groups are deemed utensil-worthy. Why? Think about it - you wouldn't just pick up a marinated, grilled chicken breast with your hands and chow down, right? (I'm assuming here.) But batter and deep-fry that thing and you can eat it with your hands out of a bucket. Not to mention you can get chicken in "finger" or "nugget" form.

Likewise, I'd like to think that you'd pick up a fork when dealing with a grilled fillet of salmon, but in fried stick form, fish is a perfectly acceptable finger food. Baked potato = fork; French fries or chips = dig in with dos manos. Does the deep-fried-ness somehow constitute a wrapper or carrying case of some kind?

You know what I'm surprised we don't see more of? Deep fried beef. Yes, there's chicken fried steak (which warrants a fork, but only, I presume, because there's gravy involved), but that's about it as far as I know. Where are the French fry-style beef strips? Beef nuggets? I guess "cow fingers" doesn't have quite the same ring to it as "chicken fingers," does it? Still, we're a nation that deep-fries Twinkies, for God's sake. How are we lagging so far behind in the fried beef category?

Unrelatedly, how much of a difference is there between "air-tight" and "water-tight"?
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I don't see no lettuce!

Man.

I really didn't think it was possible to make a taco salad less healthy than it inherently is, but our work cafeteria has found a way. Generally speaking, the work cafeteria taco salad is more like nachos on steroids - they don't use the little edible taco shell bowls; they use tortilla chips and pile on beef (or chicken, for the health nuts), lettuce, cheese, olives, peppers, onions, salsa, sometimes refried beans, and a huge dollop of sour cream. And I'm talking serious sour cream - they use an ice cream scoop to dish it out.

Today they ran out of tortilla chips, so instead they used (drumroll, please) Doritos. Seriously, there's an entire snack-size bag of Doritos in my "salad" right now. They mingle pretty nicely with the ice cream scoop-size mounds of sour cream and ground beef. I think I'll go have a heart attack now. Good thing I did some yoga this morning. Yeah, I'm sure 20 minutes of bending and stretching was more than enough to offset a Dorito-and-beef-based monstrosity of this magnitude.

Oh, and if you didn't get the title "I don't see no lettuce!" then feast your eyes and ears upon this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zu3Ls4guf-s

Happy (belated) snow day

This little guy awaited me when I walked into work yesterday:



Someone took the time during the crap weather to make a little snow dude on top of a trash can beside the VeeP building. That's a little soda bottle cap for a hat he's got there and berries from a nearby tree for eyes. That warmed my heart a bit, even if the weather sucked and I was sick enough that I didn't even make it through the whole work day before I had to go home and crash on my futon. Still, the little snow dude made it all worthwhile. It's the little things.
Incidentally - on a cold, crap day, Trader Joes "Organic" Ruby Red Chai tea is magically delicious, even though it involves my new pet peeve word - "organic". Dunno why, but that word just gets on my nerves lately. Like it so effin matters that your teabag is organic.
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Ceiling critter(s) poison traps: round 2

I'm probably going to wind up regretting this.

The pest control guy was just here to address my ceiling critter(s) issue, which he has identified as rats and squirrels, so apparently there wasn't just one ceiling critter, there has been a full-on rodent house party going on in my attic all this time. He put poison up there again. I had poison in the attic once before, and (as those who have been reading along for a while know), the critter died in the attic, the pest control company wouldn't come get it, and my house smelled like dead critter for a week. I told the guy I was not anxious to have that happen again, and he said it was pretty much the only option: snap traps are dangerous, plus the critter still dies in the ceiling, and sticky traps don't work, so unless I want to put Tyler up in the attic and let him have at it, poison is really the only option.

He swears that my prior experience was an annomally, and usually the animals really do go outside to die. We shall see. I'm thinking the real answer might be to get one of these:



It's an Ashera - a blend of a house cat, some African wildcat, and some Asian wildcat, and it's the size of a dog. Don't get me wrong, Tyler has brought home his share of dead rats and squirrels, but I think the attic infestation might call for something a little bigger and meaner. Actually, with a little genetic engineering, this could maybe be Tyler's alter-ego. You wouldn't like him when he's angry . . .

Anyway, so now I wait. Wait to see if the poison does its job and I no longer hear scratching and scurrying at night, and wait to see if I come home one day to the smell of "damn, something in here is dead." Wish me luck.

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You can hit the snooze button, but you're just postponing the inevitable

How hard should it be to purchase an alarm clock?

Ponder that, because it's deeper than it sounds. Take into account all the things that take up time and space in your life: work, family, friends, whatever, and ask yourself how much of that time and space should be devoted to buying a piece of plastic that wakes you up.

I wanted an alarm clock that would wake me to my ipod. I went to Amazon and searched "ipod alarm clock". I got 161 results, which seems a bit excessive. But I didn't have to go through all 161 - I had a price range in mind, so I sorted by price and set about weeding through the options.

About three hours later, I had not decided on a clock, and panic was beginning to set in. I compared features, prices, design, size, and - here's where I really went off the rails - I read the customer reviews. And, if the reviews are to be believed, there are a lot of alarm clocks that are just utter pieces of crap.

I finally bought one - it's a total piece of crap. I'm returning it, and I never return anything. The alarm has one volume: wall-shaking deafening. Truly, I'm sure my neighbors sat bolt upright and said "what the hell was that?" Have you ever seen a cat get really startled? They go from perfectly still to about 4 feet off the ground in less than half a second. That was me at 6:45 a.m. In addition to this, the numbers on the display are bright enough to read by - how on earth can anyone sleep next to something that bright? I can't. I won't.

I ordered a different clock today, so we'll hope for the best on that one, but my point here is two-fold: (1) we are nothing but consumers, and most of what we consume is cheap, poorly made crap that just winds up annoying us, and (2) we are surrounded by such a sea of this crap that it's swallowing us. The consumers have become the consumed.

There shouldn't be 161 ipod clock radios - the crap with obvious, glaring design flaws shouldn't make it to market. The ones that do make it out there shouldn't be so damn expensive (I'm sorry, but it should not cost $100+ to wake up at a certain time each day). And the people who buy these things shouldn't be taking time out of their lives to write long, ranting product reviews and giving the product one or two stars on Amazon.

So now I've spent way too much of my life researching and comparing alarm clocks, buying one, figuring out how to use it, packing it back up to be returned, buying a different one, writing a scathing review of the first one, and writing a rambling blog about the entire experience. Someone save me from myself and the stuff-filled world I've allowed myself to be sucked into. Someone save us all.

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I fought the law (again). This time the law towed my car.

So I'm fighting the man again, over a parking ticket again. A couple years ago, I went to DC for a concert and wound up with a bs $100 parking ticket for parking in an "emergency zone". I wrote a pissy letter, backed up with photographic proof of my innocence, and actually got the thing dismissed. I still have the dismissal letter from the DC DMV posted on my fridge, I'm so damn proud of it.

Well, here I go again: Wednesday night I went to the Norva, parked on Granby a block up from Baxters (where it's all torn up with construction), went to the show, came back and had a total "Dude, where's my car?" moment. I saw the handicapped sign earlier, but it was attached to the sign that says that 2 hour parking is from 9am - 6pm, so I thought that time frame applied to the handicapped zone too. It does not. So whatever minion Satan put in charge of Norfolk parking decided to not only ticket me, but also have me immediately towed (seriously, the times on the ticket and the towing sheet are like 20 minutes apart). Cuz, you know, it's 10pm and some crippled person must have been desperately trying to get to the federal court house.
Fast forward to the impound lot near Janaf - now that place is a treat. First off, I drive a newer model Toyota convertible. The guard who escorted me to my car took me all the way through the lot and up to this, like 1970s Oldsmobile hoopdie. Apparently oblivious to the look of incredulity on my face, he asked me "is this it?" Um, no.

So we eventually found it. Bonus fun: my registration was expired, so technically I didn't have a current registration to prove I own the damn thing. Fortunately, the lady at the counter accepted my expired registration, probably because she didn't feel like dealing with this shit at midnight on a Wednesday any more than I did.

So I have my car back, but it cost me $135 to get it out of impound, PLUS I have a $250 - yes, you read that right, $250 - parking ticket that the city of Norfolk apparently thinks I'm actually going to pay. Ha! Even if I had $250, I wouldn't be sending it to the city of Norfolk. So I've written another pissy letter, with photographic evidence, detailing why not only am I not sending them $250, but I would also like them to give back the $135 I've already paid. Oh yeah, I'm going for all of it.

Because here's the kicker: the guard at the impound lot mentioned, as we were searching for my car, that people get towed from that spot all the time because no one realizes it's a handicapped zone. This is a total sham! The city knows the sign is confusing and they don't care; it's just a money making racket. When I mentioned I worked for The Pilot, he asked if we were going to do a story on it. I was going to make this just a personal vendetta, but perhaps I will suggest it as a story. Because apparently it's my purpose in life to overhaul the parking system in the DC and Norfolk area. Wish me luck.

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The deep sadness of the swastika octopus

I have an art dilemma and I need input. Back in October, I went to the Look Alive project at Granby Theater - awesome time had by all, btw. One of the artists with work on display there had all these pictures that featured swastikas really, really heavily. Now, I took a world religions class; I know that in several eastern religions (most notably Hinduism, Buddhism and Jainism), the swastika is a symbol of everything from good luck to eternity to the balance of opposites, but it's always a good thing. Obviously, that's not what most people on this side of the globe think of when they see one.
So I said to the artist, "Those are symbol-of-life swastikas, not Nazi swastikas, right?" He was totally thrilled - "You're like the first person who's actually gotten that!" he said. So long story short, he wound up giving me a little 5x7 painting:



That part on the bottom is what's painted around the edges of the canvas. So, you know, it's not exactly subtle.
So here's my dilemma: should I hang this in my house? Since October, I've had it sitting around, but haven't actually hung it. See, I know it's not a hate symbol in this context, but I'm worried that other people (all 3 or 4 people who come into my house in a year's time) will think I'm some kind of Neo-Nazi, plus it has become a symbol of so much pain and sorrow for so many people. Then again, I feel like I should display it because (1) it was a gift from the artist and he seemed genuinely happy that someone understood what he was going for, (2) apart from the swastika, I think the painting is cute, and (3) I don't think a group of hateful, murderous bigots should be able to own a millennia-old symbol of good. Which makes me wonder: can we take back the swastika? Or is it too marred by decades of evil from the third reich to the Aryan brotherhood? Oh art, you're so controversial.
By the way - if anyone knows the name of the artist, would you please post it in the comments? I can't remember, and the piece isn't signed, but I'd like to give the guy credit for his work.
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Who drinks a beer and thinks, "hmm, needs clam"?

WTF moment last night at the Harris Teeter:



It's beer with Clamato in it. Why? What marketing genius at Budweiser said "hey, our product already pretty much tastes like piss; let's make it taste like clam-y, tomato-y piss"?
Or am I missing out on something? Is this some sort of beverage trend that's sweeping the nation? Has anyone tried this? Would anyone be willing to try it and let us know how it is?
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Snack time for NASCAR

According to the bag, Cheddar Pretzel Combos are "The cheese filled snack of NASCAR". I'm a little confused - I would've expected them to be the official cheese filled snack. Is it not official? Why don't they make it official? Or maybe it is, but there wasn't room for the word "official" and they figured anyone who took the time to read that note would just assume it was official.

Not to knock Combos or anything, but what exactly is the competition for the title of "cheese filled snack of NASCAR" anyway? I can't immediately think of another snack food that is cheese-filled, so is the title sort of a de facto thing? That's like declaring fish sticks to be your "official stick-shaped fried fish product" - there's really not much else that fits that description.

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Ceiling Critter is watching me

I have a Ceiling Critter. I can hear it scratch and scurry around overhead. A lot of times, the scratching catches me off guard and makes me think there’s someone in the house. Then I realize it’s just Ceiling Critter. I don’t know what specific kind of critter it is, since I cannot differentiate the scratching of a mouse from a rat or squirrel or marmoset, and I’m sure as hell not checking in the ceiling to see.

I had a ceiling critter once before, and I called the exterminator to come deal with it, which turned out to be a huge mistake, so I’m not going that route again. Basically, he set a poison trap in the ceiling. A few days later (mid-sweltering-summer), I came home to the unmistakable “something died” smell. Ugh. I called the exterminators to tell them the critter was dead and they could come get it now, and they said “Well, we don’t come get it once it’s dead.” Huh? Turns out, the poison is supposed to make the critter thirsty, and when it leaves the house to look for water, it dies outside the house and becomes the problem of whoever’s yard it dies in. There is no backup plan for critters that fail to leave the house looking for water.

I had decided to live in peace with the current Ceiling Critter, since he stayed in the ceiling and I stayed out of it, but last night I came to a horrifying realization: there is a hole in the ceiling of the closet in my bedroom! There has been nothing stopping Ceiling Critter from coming down into my room while I sleep! Who knows if he already has! Ick! I have that closet locked up for now, which means I can’t get to half my shoes or my laundry hamper, but I have got to get that hole boarded up. Ceiling Critter must not be allowed to become "Omigod, There's A Critter In My Room!" Critter.

Of course, if anyone has Ceiling Critter removal suggestions, I’m open.

Ceiling Critter and Ceiling Cat are probably not one and the same.

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By the seats of their pantsuits

Since all the serious political topics have either been talked to death or are too boring to talk to death, let's look at the great party divide as it applies to fashion, shall we?
At dinner last night, my mom, while agreeing that $150,000 (in 2 months!) for Sarah Palin's wardrobe was a bit much, also said that Michelle Obama could stand to step it up a bit on the fashion. Basically, she says, Michelle needs a stylist. Apparently my mom does not think J.Crew is suitable first-lady attire. What do you think? Here are some examples, both hits and misses in my view, of the possible first lady-elect:

This one kind of started the conversation -- this is the infamous J. Crew getup (which J. Crew is now advertising heavily as what M.O. wore on Leno). It's not necessarily something I would wear, but I don't think it's bad by any stretch. Of course, someone at the show might have helped her put together that ensemble; let's see how she does when left to her own devices:

It's worth noting that last black and white dress also sparked the maker (White House Black Market) to market it as the "Michelle Obama" dress. So girl does alright for herself, fashion-wise. It's no $150,000 Bloomingdales wardrobe perhaps, but since the Obamas are (ironically) the ones being accused of being elitist and out of touch with Main Street, maybe that's a really, really good thing.

Any thoughts / critiques / suggestions for M.O.?

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It's. Just. The. Glasses.

Whoa

Thanks to Brian for the link - should I do this?

It's tempting, since I've been getting "You look like Sarah Palin" for weeks now (except for one lone soul who told me I look like Tina Fey; same thing I think), but I really don't want to go as her for Halloween. I've got a weird, reverse Clark Kent thing going on -- as long as I don't wear my glasses, no one notices me. The second I put on those glasses, everyone thinks I'm a dead ringer for the possible VeeP-to-be. So should I try to capitalize on that and enter this contest? Any ideas for what a "Sexy Sarah" photo would look like?

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It's the pirate shirt all over again!

I just saw an ad for this sweater:

It's called the "Boyfriend Cardigan". If my boyfriend was wearing a purple cardigan with flouncy, ruffled sleeves, I'd question the solidity of our relationship.

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Who do you love?

Or what do you love, really. I got this from Rachel (Ladypug) - 10 things you love that start with an assigned letter. My letter: H.

1. Halloween - totally my favorite, ever! I love everything about it, especially the costumes! I'm going as Amy Winehouse this year, so I have props for my costume: a microphone and an empty vodka bottle.

2. Hair - fake hair, mostly. I wear wigs, extensions, etc like they're going out of style (like they were ever in style?).

3. Home - mine, specifically. I love my house - I saw it in a dream before the real estate agent showed it to me, so I think that God wanted me to buy it. There can be no other explanation for why I would buy it - it was falling in on itself at the time and it's still a wreck. But it's my wreck.

4. Health - I'm very blessed to have this. Every now and then I get a reminder of how easily it can slip away.

5. Heels - I'm known by friends and co-workers for sporting the highest, most torturous stilettos I can find. I can work them, though. I actually walk better in heels than flats. If you see me wearing flats, it is probably not a good day.

6. Honeysuckle - I love the smell. I keep meaning to plant some around my house, but I'm not sure I've ever seen honeysuckle at a garden shop - I think I've only seen it growing wild.

7. Holidays - In the British sense, that is - vacations. I think I need one right now.

8. Humor - I love to laugh, so anything funny makes the list. Comedy Central is a gift from God.

9. Habitrol - It's a brand of nicotine gum, which I am addicted to despite having never, EVER smoked a cigarette. It's a long story. A long and stupid story.

10. Highways - I'm reaching here. I don't like all highways, just the ones where I'm driving with the top down, good music blaring, gorgeous weather and no traffic to hold me up. Those are the good ones. After all, life is a highway.

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Bail!

I’m more than vaguely annoyed that taxpayers like myself (and probably yourself) have to bail out companies that made stupid decisions and gave housing loans to people you shouldn’t lend lunch money to if you ever want to see it again. I realize something probably had to be done to keep the whole country from being dragged under, but I’m still annoyed.
I'm less annoyed (but still annoyed) with the people who bought houses they could in no way afford because a little flash ad on MySpace said they could get a $500,000 mortgage for $500 a month. Not everyone can be good with money; it's just not everyone's gift in life (it's certainly not mine), but can't a person be reasonably expected to know that these loans were too good to be true? Like I said, less annoyed but still annoyed.
But I was reading some news just now, and I'm seriously annoyed, to a pissed-off level, even. Check this out:

I have helpfully highlighted in green what should be blowing your mind about now - an epic bailout was just passed, and there on the side of that very story is one of those ads that got us here in the first place! They didn't even change up the format of the ad to try and make it look like it's not the same shady people as before; it's the same nonsensical dancing people with a link to get your spanking new payment on the house you couldn't pay for the first time you bought it. I can't believe they're using the exact same format for the ad - have people genuinely not caught on to the fact that if the ad involves little dancing people, really low mortgage prices and more than one exclamation point, it's not for a reputable institution?

Granted, it's a little more realistic this time; $133,000 mortgages for $679 is a little more believable than the half million dollar, adjustable rate credit destroyers the pushers were pushing last time. But it still seems to me like it's the same companies getting away with it all again. It's as if crashing the stock market and causing thousands to lose their homes was just a move in an overall strategy to keep bleeding money out of people who don't have any. We're not bailing you out so you can keep scamming people, making bad investments and destroying the economy, jackasses!

PS - did you happen to catch the macabre reminder of how this financial "game" can end? It's down in the corner under "Most Popular": "Woman in foreclosure shoots self."

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Everything?

Somewhere, angels are singing:


It's salt. Salt that tastes like bacon. Slogan: "Everything should taste like bacon." Upon further contemplation, that's pretty gross. Still, at first glance, it totally seems like something I would buy, if not invent. It also comes in "Hickory" and "Peppered" in case you cared.

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