I have no intention of writing a novel in one month, so I’m co-opting that NaNoWriMo thing and re-purposing it: one blog post a day for the month of November. Just to get the bloggy juices flowing again.

It’s already November 5th, but that’s okay.

boogie pasta

Bring it on.

Fairmount snow

  • Milk? Check.
  • Stack of books and magazines? Check.
  • Blanket? Check.
  • Christopher Elbow spiced drinking chocolate? Check.
  • Leftover tortilla pie and shoo fly pie? Check.
  • Lawnchair to stake out parking spot? Tomorrow’s problem.

Bring it on.

UPDATE: Karl over at Philly Future is compiling a fun list of weblogger storm coverage. Sure beats Hurricane Schwartz.

snow at 22nd and green

22nd and Green

women's way snow

Women's Way

Lost in Translation

Not since I almost got busted by the German train police for traveling on a phony Eurorail pass have I visited a place where English is not the primary language. It might be cheating to count Montreal, since the city is English-friendly, but that didn’t stop my inner dorky tourist from getting excited about all things French.

Arrêt signs! And how about watching Fahrenheit 9/11 with French subtitles* and trying to figure out which words correspond to burn motherfucker burn? And check out this French computer:

french error
* Either the Canadians are a grave bunch or some of the humor in this movie did not translate well. Is it not funny that the theme from Greatest American Hero accompanied Bush’s stint on the aircraft carrier? And what about the part where the citizens of Tappahannock, Virginia speculate about possible terrorist targets in their small town?

Unless French is an unusually succinct language, I doubt that shady, mind-numbingly homogeneous superstore translates to supermarché.

West Coast adventure

malibu gumby

Clair, resident Good Grief! heckler, asks about last week’s Gumby posts and wonders was I really out of town? Well, yeah, unless you know of a Philly In-N-Out Burger with palm trees in the parking lot.

I was lucky enough to attend a Macromedia convention in Anaheim with about a dozen of my new, super-secret coworkers (a few of them actually blogged about the business part of this business trip).

On the Sunday prior to the convention, seven of us piled into a hideously obnoxious Yukon for a day of touring organized by super-secret coworker Dan, who clawed his way out of a Los Angeles ghetto to attend school here in Philly. The agenda was action-packed:

  1. Venice Beach. Like Philadelphia’s South Street, except with an ocean view.
  2. Malibu tidal pools. The best part of the tour, despite Gumby’s narrow escape from the clutches of a nefarious sea anemone.
  3. Lunch at Gladstones, a seafood restaurant. The mashed potatoes are highly recommended.
  4. Sunset Boulevard all the way into downtown Los Angeles. Sprawl, big houses, and the club where River Phoenix died.
  5. Beverly Hills and Rodeo Drive. I got sort-of kicked out of a store. Big Mistake!
  6. Hollywood Boulevard. Freaks, freaks, and more freaks.
  7. Delicious margaritas and guacamole at a downtown Mexican restaurant where parts of Wag the Dog were shot.

    Jukebox the Ghost: Perfect Pop

    As the years go by, I see less and less live music.  I wasn’t always such a curmudgeon, but  lately I get more out of listening to music at home than I do from braving the cold, cramming into a club, and listening to a few hours of opening bands only to be shoved aside by latecomers who didn’t want to listen to a few hours of opening bands.

    This attitude is disappointing to Type E, who thinks I’m remiss in my wifely duty to attend shows with him.  He’s been nagging me to see Jukebox the Ghost since they released their first record in 2008, and when he learned that the band was making a Fishtown appearance at Johnny Brenda’s, subtle hints arrived in the form of catchy JTG mp3s mysteriously appearing in our shared Dropbox.

    One of these catchy mp3s convinced me to make the oh-so-long walk to Johnny Brenda’s for the show.  Hold It In just might be the perfect pop song.

    So much fun.  Jukebox the Ghost is a trio: guitar player, drummer, and keyboard player–the incredibly talented Ben Thornewill.  Luckily, we were in the balcony and could watch as he played the bass lines, played the leads, and sang, all while having fun with the audience.

    Highlights of the show:  Hold It In (of course) and Temptation, a New Order cover performed with a joy that infected the entire audience.

    Jukebox the Ghost is everything that’s good about Ben Folds, synthesizers, Europop, and The Beatles.  And, I’m sure, many other things I lack the musical background to identify.  But most importantly, they’re entertaining.  And isn’t that why you go out on a Saturday night?

    Freedom press

    broken French press
    Behold, yet another reason to boycott all things French. French fries and French toast? Dangerous, artery-clogging cuisine. French wine? Too confusing, what with the labels written in French. But this. This so-called coffee making device is an appalling example of a country in decline. Observe the shoddy workmanship and lack of precision. Not only is this product defective, it is a consumer hazard.

    And consider the larger picture. Perhaps this broken apparatus is not merely a simple defect. Perhaps it is part of a larger French plot to eliminate the enemy via glass shards and a lack of caffeine. So be vigilant: check your coffee, chuck your wine, and comb through your camembert.

    Poconos, somewhere near New York

    Wow, so this is nature. Specifically, this is the Upper Delaware river, near Lackawaxen, PA (New York is over on the left). The water was so warm and inviting that I didn’t mind falling off the dock onto swarms of tadpoles.

    Duchamp homage

    An astute reader added some commentary to Tuesday’s water fountain art review:

    …considering it is a signed receptacle of water with a drain, it may be a homage to Marcel Duchamp’s urinal (Oh knowledgeable blog mistress, please find a photo of the infamous urinal, 1917, and paste it in).

    She’s right–I overlooked the Duchamp connection! Probably not a good idea to paste in someone else’s photo, though. Plus, we have such crazy copyright laws–is a urinal from 1917 in the public domain? Will the Duchamp estate sue me? If you really want to see the urinal, go here.

    Calling Viggo Mortensen

    Curses. I came home after a fabulous book club meeting at Sassy J’s place and accidentally erased several messages. Viggo, were you trying to call me? I hate it when that happens.

    By the way, Sassy J is an excellent cook*. She served mojitos, endives stuffed with goat cheese and walnuts, some kind of eggplant spread, pesto and bread, gazpacho, spinach and chickpea pasta salad, fruit, and oatmeal cookies–all homemade. Guests at my book club meetings are lucky if they get some boiled ravioli from the Italian Market.

    Curses again. I just wrote one of those annoying weblog entries that is all about what I had for dinner. Sorry–I’m tired.

    * Technically, Sassy J is single, but she kinda likes this guy she’s been dating. Men, better make your move before it’s too late (except for you, Viggo).