Wow.
I can't with this.
Just in time for Thanksgiving, via The Friendly Atheist. I'll give thanks when my country shrugs off its dependance on that old sky beard, Jeebus. Happy holidays, nobody.
I have always wanted there to be an upscale restaurant inside of a cave, where live bats swoop over your head as you eat.
This chocolate Santa I've been eating makes me feel uncomfortable.
I am the worst cook alive. If it weren't for The Boyfriend, an avid foodie and cook, I would just eat out every meal. As it is, I'm totally spoiled to delicious home cooked meals all the time. When I do cook, which is seldom, it is an event marked with much hand wringing and a strict attention to a recipe on my part. Even when The Boyfriend gets the night off from cooking, he's harassed by constant stupid questions like "is this water boiling enough?" or "What does simmer mean, really?"
A couple of years ago I had a great idea for a cooking show. I'd have to make dinner for a guest while getting drunker and drunker as viewers called in from home to give me tips and/or advice to help me along the way. It would have been a great show, I'm certain of it.
Anyway, I've decided to teach myself how to cook. Casseroles. I've decided to teach myself how to cook casseroles, because... um... that's all I want to cook. I just feel like that's all I can handle, you know? Anyway, so far I've made a Shephard's Pie (delicious, even if The Boyfriend disagrees) and a Green Bean Casserole for Thanksgiving, which was my only contributiton to dinner even though we had ten people over and there was lots of cooking to be done.
Anyway, last night I made this Chicken Orzo Casserole. It looked like this:
It tasted about as good as it looks. CASSEROLE FAIL.
That said, I won't let it discourage me. I'm going to be a master (casserole) chef if it kills me. Or The Boyfriend.
If you have any good casserole recipes for me to destroy, please send them along.
Thanksgiving was beautiful and I'm back to work and feeling renewed. The Boyfriend and I had ten people over and managed to throw together a lovely Thanksgiving meal. Now, here are four things I'd like to bring your attention to:
1. I watched the beautiful french musical, Love Songs, or Les chansons d'amour if you're so inclined. It made miss miss Paris so hard. It's still my fantasy to live there somehow. Too bad it's near impossible. Anyhow, it's a beautiful film with hot boy-on-boy action and it stars this hot piece:
The music is stunning and at a lot of moments it really reminded me of one of my favorite films of all time, The Umbrellas of Cherbourg.
Here is the trailer:
2. I'm so in love with this San Francisco band, Girls, and their single "Lust for Life."
"The Girls" was always one of my band names on reserve, in case I ever had one. I won't, so I'm glad to gift it to them, sans "the."
The video is also adorable. The dude with the short hair who mouths the lyric "maybe if I really try with all of my heart..." is super cute.
I love New York a lot, but I'm a West Coast boy at heart. I would love to live in San Francisco, but I'm afraid that I wouldn't be able to find a job there.
3. I wrote an episode of Hooray! Confidence. This is a web series that my friend Nikole and I want to make about two alcoholic, hateful, loser shut-ins who embark on a journey of self-improvement. It'll be kind of a ghetto Absolutely Fabulous. Or something? Anyway, fun stuff! details to come.
4. Episode One of my soap opera, Sinking Hearts, is finished. I don't want to say much about it yet, but inspirations include Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman and The Metamorphasis by Kafka.
Bone water sounds like bong water.
Bone water? No.
I have something to tell you.
I kind of, sort of stopped eating meat. I'm kind of, maybe, a vegetarian now. It's something that's been building since I saw a fucked up This American Life about pig farming and then solidified last week when The Boyfriend and I watched Fassbinder's In a Year with 13 Moons, which contains a graphic slaughterhouse scene. Add to this the fact that I've been researching chicken processing plants (as much as I can stand to) for my new play and voila... I'm off meat.
It's been kind of hard so far. I'm poor white trash from Kentucky, so meat has always been in every meal. In general, if a meal doesn't contain meat then I still feel empty when I finish eating. On top of that, I loathe any kind of fake meat, or at least the varieties I've tried.
So far all I can think of to eat is potatoes (French fries! tater tots!), salads, and various casseroles. Tonight I'm making tater tot casserole, which I'm certain will be delicious.
I'm just nervous: what will I do when I run out of vegetarian comfort food?
Also, vegetarian cooking? Seriously?
I'm so boring and old now. I can't really call this blog Tarhearted anymore. It's become so gentle. I quit smoking. I started jogging and doing yoga. I'm a vegetarian. Lame.
I should go back to writing about things that matter, like why women who don't dry their hair before they get on the subway are disgusting.
It is truly the end of an era. I'm really late on finding this out, but Miller Coors is going to stop making Sparks! This explains why I saw a hipster girl buying like five cans at my bodega and then ask the owner, "Don't you have anymore?"
Sparks was my favorite drink for the hobo on the go-go. My friend Keehnan and I drank it on the way to Sugarland. Admission #1: We didn't want to wait until we got there to have a drink even though my apartment is less than a five minute walk. Let me tell you, that evening was a hot mess. Admission #2: The Boyfriend was out of town.
The evening ended with Keehnan walking me home because he didn't rust me to get there on my own, which was partially his fault since he brought a sports bottle full of vodka to my house earlier that evening. Just steps form my stoop (nice alliteration)I totally bit it and fell face forward, scraping my hands into bloody shreds. Laughing, I looked up and there were about five sets of hands helping me up.
"Who the fuck are these guys?" I slurred to Keehnan.
"You invited them over from Sugarland," he told me.
I laughed and laughed and left those tricks blue balled on my stoop. I'm a classy lassy!
The next afternoon, after a full night and subsequent morning of blue vomit (!) I scraped myself out of bed and decided to check my e-mail.
Upon sitting at my desk I was alarmed to discover that my office chair was wet. It only took a moment to realize what had taken place the night before. I had pissed on the chair in my sleep.
R.I.P. Sparks. I hardly knew ye!
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