While listening to Johnny Cash this morning on my iPod, "Walk the Line" happened to stick in my head all morning, even after I had stopped listening. No problem, it's a great song, an American classic if you will. However, as the song kept replaying in the noggin, it was meshed with another classic tune, "You are My Sunshine."
The two are quite similar. While Johnny Cash is clearly a brilliant American musical master, and "Walk the Line" a fantastic classic song, it closely resembles "You are My Sunshine" in it's simplicity. I'm just sayin....
Friday, July 21, 2006
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Bacon for president!
I stumbled across this website www.readexpress.com for actual work, and i saw on the home page that it linked to this blog.
Kismet, indeed!
Kismet, indeed!
Monday, July 17, 2006
Since I'm a reader and all...
It's been requested of me to start writing about good books. Me and books go together like peanut butter and jelly, hence my career in publishing. I am always in the middle of at least two, possibly more (generally, a hardcover for home and a paperback for the train). I also am always giving suggestions, but I think because I just give so darn many, people forget. And let's face it, it often goes in one ear and out the other unless it's in writing.
So, now begins a new feature where I will discuss good books. I'll start with one I just finished, because it's been far too long since I finished a really good one. I'll go back and discuss some of my old favorites as well, but right now I'd like to discuss Heat by Bill Buford.
I was lucky enough to snag a copy of this book at the New Yorker Magazine's Spring Books Party at Housing Works here in Manhattan. I therefore got the book for half-price, and the proceeds went to a good cause (Housing Works).
Heat was the book I was excited to crack on my beyond-wonderful vacation in Northern Michigan, because I remembered reading a profile in the New Yorker Mag, years ago, about Mario Batali, and found it fascinating. The best part of this profile was that the writer, Buford (the former fiction editor at the mag) had apprenticed in Batali's famous kitchen at Babbo (his famous restaurant) and it just stuck in my head.
I was thrilled to find Buford had written a book about his extensive time interning (or externing in culinary lingo) in Batali's kitchen (hitting every station, from lowly prep to pasta and grill). But not only was I rewarded with an interesting behind-the-scenes narrative of what goes on in a three-star kitchen, but also the insight into Batali, such a fascinating guy with an interesting background, and a culinary master and innovator.
Buford also went to Italy (a country I adore and would kill to spend any extensive amount of time in) to learn the ancient art of pasta making, and butchery from a Dante-quoting infamous butcher in Tuscany.
If you are an avid Food Network watcher as I am, or just enjoy reading about food because you can learn so damn much, you should pick up this book. I learned a lot, and felt myself lusting after Buford's ability to spend so much time in Italy over the course of this book, but also for deconstructing the myth of a mythic man and his kitchen.
The next food book on my plate is The Ominvore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan, but I need a little palate cleanse, excuse the pun. I'm going to read The Memory Keeper's Daughter by Kim Edwards first, which is shaping up to be this year's Kite Runner or The Secret Life of Bees.
Enjoy!
So, now begins a new feature where I will discuss good books. I'll start with one I just finished, because it's been far too long since I finished a really good one. I'll go back and discuss some of my old favorites as well, but right now I'd like to discuss Heat by Bill Buford.
I was lucky enough to snag a copy of this book at the New Yorker Magazine's Spring Books Party at Housing Works here in Manhattan. I therefore got the book for half-price, and the proceeds went to a good cause (Housing Works).
Heat was the book I was excited to crack on my beyond-wonderful vacation in Northern Michigan, because I remembered reading a profile in the New Yorker Mag, years ago, about Mario Batali, and found it fascinating. The best part of this profile was that the writer, Buford (the former fiction editor at the mag) had apprenticed in Batali's famous kitchen at Babbo (his famous restaurant) and it just stuck in my head.
I was thrilled to find Buford had written a book about his extensive time interning (or externing in culinary lingo) in Batali's kitchen (hitting every station, from lowly prep to pasta and grill). But not only was I rewarded with an interesting behind-the-scenes narrative of what goes on in a three-star kitchen, but also the insight into Batali, such a fascinating guy with an interesting background, and a culinary master and innovator.
Buford also went to Italy (a country I adore and would kill to spend any extensive amount of time in) to learn the ancient art of pasta making, and butchery from a Dante-quoting infamous butcher in Tuscany.
If you are an avid Food Network watcher as I am, or just enjoy reading about food because you can learn so damn much, you should pick up this book. I learned a lot, and felt myself lusting after Buford's ability to spend so much time in Italy over the course of this book, but also for deconstructing the myth of a mythic man and his kitchen.
The next food book on my plate is The Ominvore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan, but I need a little palate cleanse, excuse the pun. I'm going to read The Memory Keeper's Daughter by Kim Edwards first, which is shaping up to be this year's Kite Runner or The Secret Life of Bees.
Enjoy!
Bring on the triple digits
Oh dear, it's going to be 100 degrees tomorrow. Do you know what happened the last time it was 100 in NYC? The blackout of 2004. Thus insued one of the most enjoyable nights of my life in New York, drinking in the middle of 47th st., hot, sweaty, and so like the other millions of hot stranded New Yorkers that day. To see Billy Joel's "Miami 2017" come to life (" I see the lights go out on Broadway") for a non-scary (ie: 9/11-type reason) was unlike anything I could ever experience again, in the best way possible.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Cool gadget if you don't have access to a campfire
Granted it's still early (and hot and humid again today, although coupled with a decent breeze, unlike the soupy air yesterday) but I'm still wrapping my head around this super-cool gadget. It is totally awesome or totally irrelevant? Must let the coffee sink in and rethink in an hour.
Who needs fire, or even the mess of a microwave, when you can stick a marshmallow in the tines and roast away!
Who needs fire, or even the mess of a microwave, when you can stick a marshmallow in the tines and roast away!
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Ken Lay, Good Christian
Whoever the reverand is who did the ceremony, you'd think God would have already struck him down for comparing Ken Lay to Jesus. What an insult to Jesus!
Wowza
This hot, sticky, hazy morning, just as I got off the train at Bleecker St., my usual stop, an interesting sight took my mind off my mile-long walk to my office, in which I would sweat profusely, thanks to the 90% humidity and 80 degree weather.
At the corner of Houston and Broadway, the major intersection of Soho, on a nasty, dirty corner was a man cleaning up around the trashcan that he had just emptied. This was a city worker and not the purpose of my observation, but a key note to it: he was cleaning up the spillage from this nasty overflowing garbage can in the heart of one of the busiest intersections in Manhattan.
Not 2 feet away from him was this dude: He was wearing yellow rubber wading pants (wtf?), and was shirtless and shoeless. He looked blissful to be standing watching the cleaning guy sweep nasty bits of crud and lord knows what into his sweepy can, with liquid dribbling everywhere (coffee, water, juice, bodily fluids, etc.), a mere 2 feet from his bare soles.
No wonder I had a nightmare the other night about being barefoot with my feet encased in crud. I would have to take acid to the soles of my feet to ever feel clean enough after standing on that corner barefoot.
So my question: What do you think he was on?
At the corner of Houston and Broadway, the major intersection of Soho, on a nasty, dirty corner was a man cleaning up around the trashcan that he had just emptied. This was a city worker and not the purpose of my observation, but a key note to it: he was cleaning up the spillage from this nasty overflowing garbage can in the heart of one of the busiest intersections in Manhattan.
Not 2 feet away from him was this dude: He was wearing yellow rubber wading pants (wtf?), and was shirtless and shoeless. He looked blissful to be standing watching the cleaning guy sweep nasty bits of crud and lord knows what into his sweepy can, with liquid dribbling everywhere (coffee, water, juice, bodily fluids, etc.), a mere 2 feet from his bare soles.
No wonder I had a nightmare the other night about being barefoot with my feet encased in crud. I would have to take acid to the soles of my feet to ever feel clean enough after standing on that corner barefoot.
So my question: What do you think he was on?
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