a tribute to the bad movies i've slept through

Yes, I did dress up my cat three weeks before Halloween

In a dog outfit nonetheless. That glows in the dark.

posted by Dora @ 2:25 PM 2 comments

TV Dinners

I ate my Monday dinner at Perilla, the restaurant recently opened by Harold Dieterle, who won the first season of Bravo’s Top Chef. I had been looking forward to going to his restaurant ever since there was a rumor that he might be opening one, so this was a big night for me: straighten my hair and wear high heels all day long big, which means about as big as New Year’s. A huge television-minus-the-TV-set night altogether, I should say, because before dinner Steve and I went to a taping of The Late Show.

First thing to note about Perilla is, save your porno store shopping for when you expect to dine there because about half of the businesses in the area are sex shops. Charming. Second thing to note is that Harold will likely not cook your food; he spent most of the time sitting at the bar, a convenient spot to later sneak out before the real dinner rush.

As for the food, the best part of the meal must have been the complementary amuse-bouche that we were served, and I know it was delicious because Steve, for whom seafood is a big no (unless he is kill-his-taste-buds drunk at a Japanese restaurant and I convince him that raw tuna tastes exactly like Chicken of the Sea), was pleased to gulp down his scallop. The rest of dinner was interesting, quite delicious, and bear in mind that if you order the wild boar dish, you are pretty much served the whole wild boar. For a real food review, read something like this, or find something more affirmative.

Halfway through dinner I tried pointing out to Steve that, while nobody has been counting, this might as well count for a three year anniversary dinner; he laughed at me for all of a sudden attempting to be over-romantic (sappy?); I laughed at his table manners and we happily kept eating and drinking our wine.

posted by Dora @ 11:36 AM 0 comments

While You Were on the Couch

Sometimes, not always, when I get home and empty my pockets or my purse, I throw any tickets I find in a small pile that dates back to a couple of years ago. This is what the pile consisted of when I last looked:

-Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers concert
-Inside Deep Throat
-Superman Returns
-A fancy jazz concert
-Yale vs. Colgate football game
-Ben and Jerry’s Factory Tour
-Miss Julie (a horrible play that I politely endured)
-A Yale Symphony Orchestra concert I remember nothing about
-Weezer and Foo Fighters concert (won the tickets from a radio station by being the 10th caller)
-An aquarium
-Yale vs. Colgate hockey game
-Orioles vs. Royals baseball game
-An off-Broadway showing of the Broadway production of Twelve Angry Men. Starring Norm from Cheers.
-The Dave Brubeck Quartet
-A subway ticket from somewhere
-Lulu (a “racy” play?)
-Deep Sea 3D IMAX Theater show (What! I was on vacation.)
-Yale vs. Colgate hockey game
-Front Page (Steve’s cousin was in the play, so he got us tickets)
-All’s Well That Ends Well. I swear this was the last ticket in the pile; I wasn’t going for the dramatic finish (this time).

posted by Dora @ 2:54 PM 0 comments

Diary of a Mad Housewife

is what I am reading now. Somewhat depressing, more mature, a better written 1960’s analogue to Sex and the City, it is a small letdown that this book has already been written.

posted by Dora @ 2:56 PM 0 comments

The Truth about Jellyfish

A perfect beach day, hot and cloudless, the water warm and smooth like a baby bottom. The kind of day when the only thing that can ruin an endless silly ball game in the water is seeing a jellyfish nearby. Then another one. And a couple more. Then starting to imagine them crawling all over your body, especially the parts covered by your bathing suit, and burning your feet pitilessly (funny thing, they never actually do any harm). So when she first joins you in the water and asks, “Are there any jellyfish today,” what is a best friend to do but look her straight in the face and lie, “No, not at all.”

posted by Dora @ 2:08 PM 3 comments

Of Smoked Cats, Figuratively

“Stir the flour, semolina, cornmeal, sugar, errs and almonds together. The mixture will be severely crumbly. Now use your fingers and work in the butter and the fish. Don’t despair: after five minutes or so it will confound you by taking on the correct fatty consistency. Add the sultanas, pepper and grated lemon. Still on the stodgy side? The optional yoghurt will cure that. Go on until the dough is uniform, with no individual flecks of mackerel. […] Transfer the dough to the tin and bake for forty minutes, or forty-four minutes if you become distracted by a drunken slut in a neighbouring cottage.”

Not my dinner, but the latest installment of British humor on my reading list. The novel is Cooking with Fernet Branca by James Hamilton-Paterson (bonus points if you tell me why the name sounded familiar when I was browsing through the bookstore) and I read it recently. I thought, I like cooking, I like drinks, and I like bizarre books, so how can I go wrong with this one? How can one go wrong with a smoked cat pie? Green bacon and a drop of household paraffin? Making up a comical character from a fictional Eastern European country? On a serious note, I like the idea of drawing an exaggerated distinction between fiction and reality through food because food has been used way too much to idealize reality. At the end of the day, eating is for making us full, and writing is for filling in the space between photographs of naked women in porno magazines, so why not make fun of snobbism when it comes to both? And as Cooking preaches, olive oil snobs are worse than even wine snobs, which, I don’t know if you will agree with me, is one of the most snobbish things you can fit in a sentence with only one verb.

posted by Dora @ 12:15 PM 2 comments

Fish Story

I love the taste of fish, from the disgusting fish sandwiches at McDonald’s, to a nice big serving of sushi. But in my experience, fishes that live in rivers or the sea are small: if you don’t know what I am talking about, take the size of your little finger and the size of both your palms joined lengthwise at the fingertips, and this is the range I have in mind. So when there is no ocean nearby, the fresh fish served everywhere abounds with tiny bones that I am insanely worried about choking on to the point where I have given up eating fish when back home – something my parents and brother, who were born and grew up by the Danube, have never identified with.
Turns out my friend V. feels the same way about fish, so while on our girls-only vacation by the sea we decided, as some sort of harmless dare, to order fish for dinner one night and, to make the endeavor more manageable, to eat it with our fingers. The delicious smell of fried or grilled fish coming from every shack around gave us a big push in that direction. Not knowing what most names on the menu meant, we picked a fish at random and ordered a big drink for our other friend Z., so she would be patient with us. We were each served four slim fish, maybe slightly more than five inches long, heads, tails and all else on. And so we dig in, ripping out fish heads with our fingers and tossing them aside, gently and methodically feeling each little piece of whitish meat for hidden bones, chewing slowly and carefully despite our immense hunger built up by an endless day of sand, sea and mouthwatering smells, taking gulps of cold beer holding the mugs with our greasy hands, stopping now and then to ward off an occasional mosquito or to make a joke about the absurdity of the situation, and most of all, with the persistent sensation that despite all efforts, a treacherous bone has slipped by and settled in our throats. In conclusion, victory was silently declared, not over a giant fish in the solitude of the ocean but two platefuls of tiny ones in a most crowded beach resort, and dinner ended up being delicious. On the walk back, I bought an ice cream, which I happily ate while chatting with my two girlfriends.

posted by Dora @ 1:57 PM 0 comments

Still here (sort of)

I have been trying to write somewhat regularly now, but tomorrow I am leaving for a week to go to the beach. I will try to do a little bit of old school (pen and paper) blogging while on the road or by the sea. We'll see what comes out of it.

posted by Dora @ 1:22 PM 0 comments

Of Olives

I recently learned of a curious new process for preparing foods called reverse spherification developed in France, practiced by culinary masterminds and adventurous home cooks around the world, and adopted by fancier catering companies. I saw this cutting edge technique, a feat of the collaboration between science and culinarism, performed with olives. They were pureed very finely to extract the juice, and the now juiceless hard matter was immediately discarded; then add specific calcium salts to the liquid and refrigerate the mixture for – I don’t know – 12 hours. At the same time, dissolve an extract from special algae in a large water bowl and let sit for a day or so as well, so that the mixture settles well. Add some xantan something in the process. Next, using a tiny elongated spoon designed particularly for spherification, take a little of the olive juice mixture and carefully drop it into the water solution. The algae react chemically with the calcium to form a surprisingly stable spherical shape and the result, normally served with a generous helping of sophistication, is a small dark oval ball that both in taste and appearance very closely resembles an olive.

posted by Dora @ 5:19 AM 3 comments

Revisited

I haven’t been here in a long time but now I am bored.
Not many things interest me, but I can come up with three: good writing, dismal movies with a hint of sophistication, and food. And though I am a skinny, slow reader lacking on attention span, I often have things to say about books, movies and food. And the only way to keep this blog going is to stick with these things.
Books. Lately I have been reading whatever catches my attention at the used bookstore. I used to go straight for the fiction section because hard to follow nonfiction upsets me more than bad fiction but this last time I found at a shelf labeled “Cult” (I don’t remember what it was labeled but “Cult” sounds close). One of the things I picked up there was The Onion Eaters by J. P. Donleavy – the title sounded familiar, and the book cost less than $2. When I first started reading, something in the way the language and the story sounded in my head made me think of Henry Miller. It must have been the intense sense of impulsivity and engrossment in the present (that I honestly find a little overwhelming in Miller). The Onion Eaters starts with an old deserted castle on the rocks of Ireland, and each character that arrives, human or animal, openly adds a large chunk of madness. And every character adamantly refuses to leave and thus take away some of the disorder. About a third into the story I found it to be the opposite of Henry Miller. Where he has pages loaded with sexuality and candidly turns chaos into passion, The Onion Eaters leaves things to chaos. I found something distinctly anti-sexual about this book. Whenever characters are sexually engaged (and this is no rare occurrence), they seem to be doing so either reluctantly, or with grossly exaggerated passion, so grotesque it becomes trivial. Do I recommend the book? Only if you think you can handle the turmoil.

“Bloodmourn waiting. Without crutches. In the early afternoon. At the mahogany bar. In this high ceilinged public house. Named Cosmos after the universe.”

“For
The circus
Continues
More crazy than cruel
One of us now
Will spin like a top
On the end
Of his tool”

As for food, last Sunday afternoon, while on my third beer, I thought I could most accurately pin down what Bulgaria smells like. Much of the country has the distinct and by no means unpleasant smell of cigarette smoke mixed with French fries swathed in grated cheese.

posted by Dora @ 7:53 AM 0 comments

Weekend reading update

From "The Return of the Prodigal" by Thomas Wolfe:

-- They flee us, who beforetime did us seek, with desolate pauses sounding between our chambers, in old chapters of the night that sag and creak and pass and stir and come again. They flee us who beforetime did us seek. And now, in an old house of life, forever in the dark mid-pause and watches of the night, we sit alone and wait.

What things are these, what shells and curios of outworn custom, what relics here of old, forgotten time? Festoons of gathered string and twines of thread, and boxes filled with many buttons, and bundles of old letters covered with scrawled and faded writings of the dead, and on a warped old cupboard, shelved with broken and mended crockery, an old wooden clock where Time his fatal, unperturbed measure keeps, while through the night the rats of time and silence gnaw the timbers of the old house of life.

Also, I have an obsession with beautiful prose.

posted by Dora @ 9:38 PM 0 comments

Nursing my paper cuts

and drinking flat Coke.

posted by Dora @ 12:10 PM 0 comments

You be the judge

Here is how one day I will save the planet.

First, I took my feeling of responsibility and stuffed it in a reusable shopping bag, so I can strut around my guilt over my shoulder.

I learned how to recycle.

This is my entire list for now, but only until either the farmers’ market starts this spring, or I convince myself of the uselessness of it all.

posted by Dora @ 10:09 PM 3 comments

Homer Simpson

There is me trying to focus on academic research, and there are things that distract me.

From Dickens et al. (1989). "Employee Crime and the Monitoring Puzzle," Journal of Labor Economics:
"An extreme example of inefficient employee 'time theft' comes from the Peach Bottom nuclear power plant, which was fined $1.35 million (New York Times, August 12, 1988) and is expected to be closed for over 20 months because of an inability to control widespread sleeping in the control room (Wald 1988)."


Peach Bottom??

posted by Dora @ 3:51 PM 0 comments

The Cat Ate My F8 Key

Which is my excuse for not having written much lately.

Also, what puzzles me is this: I have lived in this house for three years and there were never any mice. That is, until two days after the cats (who ignored the little rodent with a thoroughly feline attitude of superiority and indifference) moved in. You tell me how to interpret this – I have given up.

posted by Dora @ 8:53 PM 5 comments

Today

Two weeks of spring break and I was not looking forward to my 3:30 class. Anyway, I was almost ready to do it, fooling around at home – sweatpants and all – when, at 2:30 sharp, I remembered that class starts at 2:30. I spent the next fifteen minutes being Jack Bauer’s soul twin, counting the seconds and accomplishing what would normally take me three times as long. Briefly freaked out, swore out loud, got out of sweat pants and into jeans, put on shoes, grabbed house keys and completely empty backpack, grabbed bike that I hadn’t used since November but didn’t notice deflated tires, biked to office to pick up class materials, biked to class, barely avoided a few minor accidents, realized that my legs are too sore for biking from yesterday’s run, and finally made it into the room: hardly able to catch my breath. Normally I wouldn’t be in such a rush but I was teaching the class.

posted by Dora @ 9:40 PM 2 comments

Value Size

It has been almost three full years since I graduated from college and even my Colgate hoody (which I am incidentally wearing as I write this) is losing the battle with the washer and has what used to be its maroon fading away. But while most of my college memorabilia are similarly doomed, I do have one true companion still occupying a place of honor in my bedroom (because a makeup shelf is a place of honor): the box of Q-tips that I bought – I don’t even remember when – during my sophomore year? Do people realize how hard it is to finish a value pack of Q-tips? I travel with Q-tips and eagerly give them away and I am the queen of finding ingenious uses for the little fellows. But if there is one thing I know for sure, it is that tomorrow I am going to wake up to a more than sufficient supply of Q-tips. I think that, years from today, when that box that has literally been next to me on so many special and non-special days is at last depleted, I can finally say, now I am through with college.

posted by Dora @ 7:45 PM 0 comments

My 2006 in Movies

The Oscars are near, but for those too impatient to wait until the big night, I will provide a brief summary of the award recipients.

Babel – Hollywood meets the world and the result is quite good. My pick for best movie, and I have the Amores Perros (also directed by Alejandro González Iñárritu and written by Guillermo Arriaga) DVD from Netflix on my coffee table, which I am looking forward to seeing.
The Departed – I would personally not give this movie an award but I will give away the ending for you. The bad guy who works with the good guy, one of whom is a cop and the other one is a cop in disguise and both have the mafia on their speed dials, sends hit men to that other corrupt non-cop because he worked with the police while working for the mafia and then there is a close up of them blowing up his head. By the way, another very fine acting job from Leonardo DiCaprio.
Little Miss Sunshine – Of course I loved Little Miss Sunshine. I liked it so much that I have been looking for a way to make it exclusively mine, as in me being one of the special few who discovered this film. I realize it is somewhat late for that but nonetheless I am willing to be selfish and rule out any awards. To keep the secret.
Scoop – Best Film to Show on an Airplane
Tristan + Isolde – Best “It’s Okay If You’ve Never Heard of It” film. Not everyone is as cool/cultured as me.
Semen, una historia de amor – This movie is what every movie should be. It does not promise much and in that sense delivers everything you expected from it and more. I also agree that “cute” should be used sparingly when describing cinematography, but this is the adjective that works best in this case. A good non-Almodóvar Spanish film, has the word “semen” in the title and is not even R-rated. It was made in 2005 but I saw it in 2007, so the math comes out right.
Borat – Best bonus scenes that did not make it into the movie
On that note, out of Talladega Nights, Beerfest, The Break-Up, Superman Returns, Snakes on a Plane and Jackass 2, I must select Beerfest for Best bonus scenes that did not make it into the commercials. I didn’t even see the last two movies but I am confident about this one. For all of us short on attention span, the 2-minute total movie giveaway has arrived in the form of month-long excruciating television advertising (and Snakes on a Plane really took it to a new level by incorporating the whole story in the title).
Thank You for Smoking – Best documentary. Not a real documentary and a year too old, but funny and different, so I had to mention it.
Crank – The movie is quite unremarkable but Jason Statham finally has to win an Oscar for Best Actor on behalf of being badass.
The Devil Wears Prada, The Da Vinci Code and Running with Scissors – If I had to choose Best Movie Based on a Book, I would probably have to go with Running with Scissors, although I didn’t read the book for the first one and didn’t see the movie for the last one.
Deck the Halls – Don’t even want to talk about it
American Dreamz – Second-Best Film to Show on an Airplane

posted by Dora @ 7:30 PM 4 comments

Winter Rants

Truth is, I do not entirely mind winter. My father likes to tell, in an only slightly moralizing context, his joke about the guy carrying a railroad crossbar. “Why are you carrying this?” asks his friend. “Because it feels so good when I put it down.” For a long time I thought that the crossbar is the really long rail part of the railroad, which if anything, only made the story more striking. But this is how I sometimes feel about winter.

There is a conversation I have been having almost every day lately. Somebody who does not know me well would make a comment about the cold, to which I would eventually reply, mostly in my head, you think this is cold? – I went to Colgate. I have seen cold. I don’t want to brag about it, although I should because this is all part of a skill that most other people’s colleges did not teach them, but I am familiar with the feeling of my eyeballs hurting from the cold and I know what it is like when, after a short walk, the hair around my face is whiter than Santa’s beard because my breath has frozen on it. And you know what: I probably hated it at the time but now I find out that I managed to keep good memories from the whole experience. So do you still want to talk to me about the cold?

posted by Dora @ 4:02 PM 0 comments

Favorite Song

It is a funny thing, how global warming feels good, and trans fats can be so delicious, and how often you drive to the gym to run in place. I get restless at night, and my eyelids weigh a pound in the middle of the day. On the street I brush against the man who needs to jump off an airplane to feel alive. For an instantaneous vacation away from reality, I go to see my favorite movies – about the lives of people like me. One pill makes you larger, and one pill makes you small. Sometimes I wake up in the morning and it turns out I am still in a dream and I wake up again; I think of dinner at the breakfast table. And that is just how I like it.
And my favorite song? “Only Happy When It Rains.”

posted by Dora @ 10:07 AM 0 comments