bad metaphor

The insomnia gnomes reared their ugly little bestockinged heads again, so this morning I got to an early start. While I don’t love not sleeping, I do love observing this little town in the wee hours, just as it’s waking up. Especially on the empty downtown strip. There’s such an air of expectancy, of waiting; it’s as if the pavement has absorbed the energy from the thousands of people who walk it during the day, and stores it up carefully to warm itself during the evening hours. It’s a far cry from walking about in, say, a dead urban area, in which not even the ghosts of past pedestrians linger.

So I was walking along, generally of cheerful disposition (despite the lack of sleep and the slight headache from last night’s bourbon), when I came across the most terrifying tree I have ever yet encountered in my travels.

A pale rendition of the subject in question. The actual thing can be seen at the corner of 9th and Kentucky, in front of the old Lawrence Arts Center.

I noticed the bird first, and faded fears of avian flu quickly revived. The flu fears dissipated, however, when I looked up at the sprawling gorgon of a tree crouching eagerly over its fresh kill. Clearly, the bird had not died of natural causes (and I shall not count murder by tree as something that generally occurs in nature).

Now, as I have discussed previously at great length, I am no fan of birds. I generally cheer their demise. Still, I found I could not quite root for the tree on this battle.

Ah, the towing notice: the Scarlet Letter of cardom. Sealed indelibly to the glassy surface, it screams of VIOLATION, in angry black capitals, as if the car in question has been implicated in some manner of terrible sex crime, of which there is damning evidence. Oil stains on the abused parking space, eyewitness reports, etc. Clearly, taking advantage of innocent asphalt is a most egregious crime, which demands prompt reparation via the Hook and Chain of Justice.

But what then, swift Justice, if the accused is innocent?

As many of you may already know, the reliability of eyewitness testimony has come into serious question these days. Now, I would not want to malign the good reputations of my neighbors, who engage in charmingly wholesome pastimes including “decorating the stairwells with half-filled cans of Natural Lite and piss,” “egging / strawberry yogurt-ing my roommate’s car” (no doubt during the previous activity), and “grunting male choral practice from 11:00p.m. – 4:00 a.m. on Tuesday nights.” Also, to be fair, it is rather difficult to see the pale, diminutive identification permit, obscured by the aggressive tint on the upper curve of Bertha’s windshield. Pristine, ice-mountain-free parking spots are hard to come by, even without brazen misuse by strange vehicles.

But does not Bertha’s stalwart presence in the parking lot community, since the beginning of August, mean anything to these people? Over winter break, when the lot was an empty desert of ice and frozen Miller Lite cans, nary a vehicle was to be found, except for Bertha. She has always been considerate, staying well within the demarcated white lines, something that cannot be said for some cars. Never have her doors scratched or marred the surface of her neighbors. Should her reputation be maligned thus? Must she face the dire threat of ill treatment at the rough claws of the unfeeling Tow Truck of Justice, all because of faulty eyewitness testimony, combined with a singular lack of empathy on the part of the apartment management and tow truck company employees?

Does my Bertha really deserve that inextricable Orange Sticker of Shame?

I would argue most decidedly not, but admittedly I have a bias in the matter. So far the petition to free Bertha has one signature. Please, if you value justice, innocence, and all that is right with the world, show your support by commenting on this post. It’s not too late; time remains to evade the grasp of the (c)law. Bertha is innocent! Viva la Bertha!

I have a love / hate relationship with television, with perhaps a touch of the Stockholm syndrome. No, more like rubbernecking. I won’t go out of my way to get cable or procure a television or anything, but if it’s there, I watch it, whether it be something genuinely entertaining and witty, like a “Six Feet Under”, or something that induces cerebral tumors, along the lines of “I Love New York”. As a last resort, I will flip over to the Food Network to irritate myself out of boredom.

Why the Food Network, you say? Well, in the last few years or so, during my intermittent spans of television watching, I’ve noticed a bit of a transformation: everybody on the Food Network is damn annoying, insane, or an unholy concoction of both. Has this always been this way? Was there ever a period when the Food Network didn’t show ridiculous bobbleheads with more goofy catchphrases than cooking sense? I remember the halcyon days of Julia Child, but she was on PBS, as well as the fabulous folks from Cooks Illustrated. Maybe the Food Network people have always been kind of shallow and borderline demented, but lately, it seems especially bad.

Here’s a line up of who’s on these days:

1) Princess Shark Face:

Hey, you’re that clever shark, aren’t you?

Personality Quirks: Exaggerating basic Italian words (“par-mi-ZHIA-no REG-i-AH-no” – hey, ya think she might be Italian?); soft-core porn lighting techniques; owner of roughly 10,000 teeth, 73% of which appear to be incisors; head distractingly out of proportion to the rest of her body.

Recipe Quality: Actually, her recipes don’t seem all that bad. Except for the time I saw her make a cheesecake of terror, which features roasted red bell peppers and goat cheese, drizzled in apricot jam. AHHH! My only consolation is that Giada obviously does not eat the food she makes.

Drinking game ideas: Drink when she says something in “I-tahl-YAH-noe”, or when the camera angle closes in on her gently lit bosoms.

2) The Poison Lady:

Butter and lard makes the world go round.

Personality quirks: “Oh MY GAWD, Y’ALL. I simply LOVE taters, with EXTRA BUTTER.” When asked what sort of tea she would take in England, she said, “Luzianne.” Also, has two sons with a combined IQ of 70, and a perpetually inebriated garden gnome for a husband. My mother once pointed at the TV when Paula Deen was on and said, “that’s the Poison Lady.”

Recipe quality: Butterlicious.

Drinking game ideas: Drink every time Paula Deen adds butter or lard. Your liver will cry, but overall, you will still be healthier than if you actually ate any of her food.

3) The Essence of BAM!:

BAM! Kick it up a notch! I just turned on the oven! (audience applause)

This is an odd confession to make in the midst of a Food Network rant, but really, I don’t mind Emeril that much. Yes, he is very gimmicky, more than a little cheesy, and he did more or less start the abominable trend of “food celebrities” that brought us the rest of the yokels on FN. I certainly wouldn’t go out of my way to watch his show or anything, but neither does the presence of his face and accompanying personality quirks on my television screen make me want to throw things. Much.

Recipes: Not bad. Fairly dependable, achievable fare for the average FN audience. His red beans and rice recipe is actually quite tasty.

Drinking game ideas: Obviously, take a shot any time he says “BAM!” or “Kick it up a notch!”, or whenever the audience cheers at something mundane, like the addition of garlic.

4) Nerd nerd neeeeeerd:

Hey I’m a nerd! Nerd nerd nerd! Get it?

Here’s where I’m probably going to catch a lot of flak. I used to like him, back in the days when he simply gave good advice, like using a plastic bag with a corner cut off instead of purchasing a piping bag (for the times you need a piping bag, I guess). His whole McGyver schtick was mildly amusing, and he seemed to know what he was doing, so I cut him some slack.

Nowadays, I can’t watch him for more than 10 seconds before wanting to change the channel out of embarrassment. I guess the FN people told him to nerd it up (a notch, ha ha), and I guess that entails cheesy, painfully long skits interspersed throughout the show. I like nerds and all, being one myself, but come on.

Recipe Quality: Reliable. He gives good advice, mostly.
Drinking game ideas: Take a shot any time he makes reference to “hardware,” “software,” or other unnecessarily geekified jargon.

5) Muffin Hips:

Mmm. Uh, what food?

Personality quirks: BOOBS. Seriously. As a mostly heterosexual female, I can’t stop staring at them. Does she actually cook? She could be mashing cat food in a blender and most of her audience wouldn’t notice. Back in the day, I probably would have been annoyed that her presence on the FN seems to be wholly irrelevant to her actual culinary abilities. But in a day when Little Miss Toothpick Bobbleheads have hijacked the television, it’s kind of nice to see a purely T & A figure who, you know, actually has T and A.

Recipe Quality: According to my sister, rather poor. Eh, she’s British.

Drinking game ideas: Take a shot whenever she eats something seductively.

6) Animitronic Bobble Head Zombie Queen:

Ahh, the eyes. Ahh!

Recipe Quality: Jesus Christ, does she really get paid to show us how to slather frosting and glitter on storebought Nascar-themed cookies? Also, her tablescapes make me

Drinking game ideas: Take a shot any time she complements her own cooking. “I am going to make some FABULOUS vanilla wafer crumbles, topped with an EXCELLENT Cool Whip and Bourbon sauce.”

7) Rachael Death Ray:

Now taking over Aisle 4 of your local grocery store.

Personality quirks: Again, I actually didn’t mind her at first. Even when my friends would complain about her supernatural chipperness, and her penchant for using stupid catch phrases, I figured they were just being their usual misanthropic selves. Like with her cohort Lagasse, I didn’t care much either way whenever she was on the TV.

But then, she seemed to be on the TV more. And more. About four different shows on the FN, as well as a new talk show. And, as mentioned, about half an entire aisle at the grocery store. The day I went to a Barnes and Noble and found myself facing an entire wall of shining copies of her mad-eyed, vacuously grinning face, was the day I decided enough was enough. This reign of terror simply must be stopped, or she’ll kill us all with E.V.O.O. That’s short for extra virgin olive oil!

Recipe quality: Ranging from the mundane and carb-free diet friendly, to atrocious state-fair-abominations. Hot Dog salad..

Drinking game ideas: Really, there are so many, I suspect that Rachael Ray is always drinking along during the show to her own annoying habits. I keep watching her in the hope that I will witness the day she’ll snap and lunge at the camera man, punching and thrashing her way to freedom.

Ahh. So much annoyance concentrated in one network, I have to flip a few channels over to counteract it. Let’s go to the Travel Channel:

Our savior, in the flesh as a crass, hostile, chain-smoking New Yorker. Oh, l’amour.

Personality quirks: Being awesome. Once, during an episode of No Reservations on location in Vietnam, he ate the still beating heart of a cobra. And he ate a durian! Also, note that he is actually a chef.

Recipe quality: I haven’t checked out any of his cookbooks yet, and he doesn’t have a cooking show, but I’ll trust he knows what he’s doing.

Drinking game ideas: Drink whenever he insults a Food Network personality. Also, whenever he drinks.

Maybe one of these days Giada will forget that she’s anorexic and devour the tasty human flesh surrounding her, or perhaps Rachael Ray’s inevitable meltdown will result in the destruction of the entire network. In the meantime, if you ever feel the need to indulge your personality schadenfreude, you’ll know where to go.

* UPDATE: Signs of fracture. The meltdown is imminent!

Also, check out Gallery of the Absurd’s take on Rachael Ray. Demented food chipmunk, indeed.

Internet, say hello to Hildegard:

If I knew how to embed an angelic chorus into this post, I’d do it.

So shiny, so powerful! (The photo quality is crappy, possibly because Hildegard blinded the lens with its bright beacon of light). This is probably the best computer I’ve owned, and paid with my hard-earned money (hey, it’s pretty tough to keep up with all the celebrity gossip that comes out every day! But somebody’s gotta do it). And I got an extra hundred dollars off by simply doing a Google search for ‘Dell Coupons.’ Life, at least in the technology sector, is good.

Unfortunately, I haven’t had much time to fiddle around with it yet, as I’ve been occupied helping friends move / entertaining house guests. I’ve now had experience moving during the hottest part of the year and the coldest, and I must say that I rather prefer moving during the blasting heat. Yes, it can get awfully sweaty and icky in the scorching August, but then again, you won’t find yourself having to move a futon down a rickety staircase encased in ice. Unless you live on some godforsaken tundra.

In which case, you won’t go far without these:

The author of this post is unaffiliated with the Yak Trax company and has not been paid to endorse this product. Though, she wouldn’t refuse a sponsor on principle or anything.

They were introduced to me by Nina, who demonstrated their workings for us after dinner a week ago. They transform your shoes from treadless skates of doom, into furious ice-crushing snow plows. One pair of yak trax is the equivalent of a team of rescue huskies, or possibly a helicopter. After Louise and I tried ours out the first time, we remarked: “this must be what people feel like when they test-drive their new Hummer.”

King of the world, overlord of the ice. No more shall I fall ignominiously on my buttocks, engage in unintentional pratfalls, or execute quadruple axels with sub-Olympic quality landings. Armed with the gripply, serrated feet of the mighty yak, grace and balance shall prevail!