The Rest of What's Around

Tumbling away from blogspot

2008-04-14T21:04:00.000-04:00

In the event that anyone is still checking this lone outpost for new updates, let it be known, while this site will remain up for archival purposes (it also provides a wicked crash pad on weekends!), all news will be reported on gregwhite.tumblr.com from this day forth.

Why Biblical Magi Should Not Be Allowed Access to Time Machines

2007-11-24T11:48:00.001-05:00

EXT. BETHLEHEM - NIGHT
Three magi, BALTHASAR, GASPAR, and MELCHIOR, make their way through the desert sand. Each carries a satchel.

BALTHASAR
Look, the star grows bright.

MELCHIOR
We are close.

They walk on in silence for a moment. Then:

GASPAR
Tell us, Melchior, what was the future like?

MELCHIOR
Not so different from the present, really.

BALTHASAR
What is to become of the Child?

MELCHIOR
Oh, forget it. People love the guy. And don’t get me started on us. They call us the Three Wise Men. We’re everywhere. There are even religious celebrations based on us. This? This is a big deal.

GASPAR
Then our suspicions are confirmed. The new Lord is born!

In the distance, a tiny barn glows under the Star of Bethlehem.

BALTHASAR
Come.

CUT TO:

INT. A BARN
Amidst the farm animals, JOSEPH and MARY cradle the BABY JESUS. The Magi enter.

GASPAR
Glory to the new born king!

The Magi kneel in worship.

JOSEPH
Welcome, friends. I am Joseph of the house of David. And this is my betrothed, Mary.

MARY
Hello.

Melchior approaches Baby Jesus’s crib and peers in.

MELCHIOR
A beautiful child. He has his mother’s face.

Mary blushes.

GASPAR
Although the child bares no resemblance to Joseph.

MELCHIOR
Oh, right. Joseph didn’t actually sire the child. She had him through, you know, divine means.

Gaspar and Melchior look to her for confirmation.

MARY
Exactly so! But, how ever did you know?

MELCHIOR
Oh, let’s just call it...an assumption.

Mary and Melchior share a laugh. The others look confused.

MELCHIOR (CONT’D)
No, but seriously, I know a guy who has a time machine. I knew that because I read about this in the future. No big deal.

JOSEPH
Neat.

A beat.

BALTHASAR
We come bearing gifts!

GASPAR
Yes, from exotic lands!

JOSEPH
We are but simple people. We are humbled.

Balthasar opens his satchel.

BALTHASAR
For our new lord, I have carried for him gold!

Balthasar places a hunk of gold in Jesus’s crib. Joseph quickly removes it.

JOSEPH
Sorry. Choking hazard.

BALTHASAR
Oh, right. Of--of course. How careless of me.

MARY
It is a lovely gift. Thank you.

Balthasar bows awkwardly. Next up is Gaspar.

GASPAR
Lord, accept my gift...of myrrh!

With a flourish Gaspar presents a thick ball of goo to Joseph.

JOSEPH
Oh. myrrh.

Mary nudges him.

JOSEPH (CONT’D)
I mean, oh, myrrh! Mary, did you see?

He quickly hands it off to her before she can answer. She accepts it unwillingly.

MARY
Oh, yes. Wow. It smells so...strong.

GASPAR
Used for both perfume and embalming.

Mary shoots him a look.

BALTHASAR
Don't say embalming.

GASPAR (CONT’D)
Uh, it’s also good for your lady parts. Embalming.

BALTHASAR
You said embalming again.

GASPAR
Did I? Gosh, it’s hot in here.

Melchior pats him on the back and Gaspar walks off dejected. Melchior clears his throat.

MELCHIOR
For this most blessed occasion I thought unto myself, what shall I bring the child of God, born unto the lovely Mary? Shall I bring shiny rocks? No. Shall I bring sticky residue? No. For this child, I have carried, all the way from the holiday season of the year 2007, a Nintendo Wii!
Melchior presents Joseph and Mary with a shiny new Wii.

MELCHIOR (CONT’D)
Merry Christmas, little one.

MARY
Christ Mass! Joseph, did you hear?

JOSEPH
Yes, it was very clever.

BALTHASAR
Melchior, what is this thing?

MELCHIOR
It is a Wii.

GASPAR
Yeah, a Wii.

BALTHASAR
Shut up, Gaspar.

MELCHIOR
It’s an interactive gaming system. Got tennis, bowling, anything you want. Back in the future, they’re friggin impossible to get a hold of.

BALTHASAR
But we agreed upon frankincense, gold, and myrrh. And you bring this...device?

MELCHIOR
You’re right, B. This device is useless.

GASPAR
Finally, some sense.

MELCHIOR
Which is why I also brought them an HDTV with converter cables!

He pulls a TV out of his satchel, along with various cables and wires. He dumps them in Joseph and Mary's arms.

BALTHASAR
Stop giving them gifts!

GASPAR
You’re ruining Christmas for Jesus!

MARY
Melchior, your generosity goes beyond our wildest dreams.

Joseph wipes a tear from his eye.

JOSEPH
Thank you, Saintly Magi, thank you.

Melchior beams. Suddenly there is a knock at the door and a MELCHIOR CLONE enters wearing a Santa costume.

MELCHIOR CLONE
Ho! Ho! Ho! Did I hear somebody say Saint Nicholas?

Melchior goes white.

GASPAR
Melchior!

JOSEPH
What is the meaning of this witchery?

GASPAR
Yeah, witchery!

MELCHIOR CLONE
Well, you see, when our pal Melchior here decided to break the space and time continuum, he created two of us in essence. One that existed in the future, him, and one that existed in the past, me.

MELCHIOR
Well you’re too late. I already gave him the Wii.

Joseph has opened the Wii and uses it to milk a nearby goat.

JOSEPH
We love it.

MARY
So does Jesus.

MELCHIOR
See?

MELCHIOR CLONE
Oh, that’s great. A Wii, huh? Wow. Well how about a Playstation Four?

MELCHIOR
Nice try. There’s no such thing.

MELCHIOR CLONE
There isn’t? Oh, then this must be a fake.
The clone pulls out a glowing, futuristic game console. Melchior goes pale.

MELCHIOR
But how--?

MELCHIOR CLONE
Every time you would do something in the future, I would learn from it. I would gain the memory of everything you did in the future without having done it.

MELCHIOR
So you saw...that thing in the motel?

MELCHIOR CLONE
Yeah. You might want to see the apothecary about that.

Mary hands Melchior the Myrrh and points to his groin.

MELCHIOR
Thanks.

MELCHIOR CLONE (CONT’D)
So when I learned you had bought the kid a Wii, all I had to do was go a little further into the future, wait for them to create a new Playstation, and then sneak one back here.

MELCHIOR
I never thought I'd say this about a clone, but I'm impressed.

They shake hands.

Suddenly a THIRD MELCHIOR CLONE comes rushing into the barn, clothes tattered, blood on his hands.

THIRD CLONE
Everyone! Hold everything! I’ve just come back from the year Five-thousand AD and it’s been scientifically proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that God doesn’t exist!

GASPAR
But if God doesn’t exist that means none of this is happening!

The Melchior pats Gaspar on the back.

MELCHIOR CLONE
Gaspar, my friend, you’ve got a lot to learn!

Tucked safely in his crib, Baby Jesus BURPS loudly. Everyone LAUGHS...and laughs...and laughs...

THE END

Scabs!

2007-11-24T09:46:00.000-05:00

Because I haven't updated this in a while, and because McSweeneys turned it down. Satire!

The Strike Goes On: Sweeps by Scabs

The strike has Hollywood in a state of suspended creativity (not the creativity!). Fortunately, the strike has opened the doors for a host of new writers, brave men and women who fearlessly cross picket lines in the name of quality programming. Below, synopses of their work.

LOST – “Everybody Dies”

Jack uncovers three seasons worth of island secrets and reveals them to the castaways all at once: the island, it turns out, IS pergatory after all, not to mention that Locke is actually an alien sent to monitor Jack et al., by his supreme intergalactic commander: God. As the credits roll, a bomb explodes, killing only the main characters, leaving behind a bunch of confused, underwritten periphery characters.

DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES – “Fool Me Twice”

The red-headed chick learns that the blonde one has been running an underground slave trading ring. She enlists the old one from Superman to catch her in the act. Using a wide range of spy gizmos, Superman girl tracks down blonde girl in Bolivia. A big gun/karate fight ensues and blonde chick is slain. It is ultimately revealed that she was actually black haired chick’s twin. This is the one with Ben Affleck's wife right?

FULL HOUSE – “The Party”

The gang reassembles after Joey has a near-death experience. Danny makes vulgar jokes about the Olsen twins and everyone talks about how awesome the 80s and its various by-products were. There’s even a flashback in which earlier episodes are featured. The whole thing stinks of forced irony.

ARE YOU SMARTER THAN A GUANTAMO BAY INMATE?

While primarily a live reality/game show, a few writers are needed to craft host Oscar de la Hoya’s banter with the contestants. Additionally, some pre-taped scripted segments are needed to enhance the homosexual tension between Jill, the single mother of two, and Salwa one of the show’s in-house inmates.

TWO AND A HALF MEN – “The Goof, the Bad and the Duvet”

[No noticeable change in writing.]

CSI: MIAMI - “We’re Gonna Need a Bigger Boat”

After a shark fisherman is found slain on his boat, the CSI team must round up every shark in the greater Miami area. Things get complicated when they are forced to consider one of their own, Sgt. Sharke, as a suspect. Friendships are tested, and a new romance is forged.

SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE – Host: Dennis Kucinich

Sketches range from a sassy time-traveling coat once belonging to Søren Kierkegaard, to “Don’t Vibrate for Me Garnagzoola” a musical number involving Kucinich, a UFO, and Andy Samburg as an operatic dildo. A viral sensation is born!

30 ROCK – “Mohammed Mia!”

Liz is confronted by the Arab-American community after a war-on-terror sketch goes hilariously awry. Rachel Dratch guest-stars as a malapropism-prone suicide bomber.

UGLY BETTY – “Ugly Barrista”

Finding corporate life stifling, Betty quits her job in order to write the screenplay she’s always wanted to write. After weeks of procrastinating, she begrudgingly signs up as a barista at Starbucks. While there, she begins attending a writers’ workshop taught by a handsome college professor. Her screenplay is ultimately accepted into a minor LA screenwriting competition, however she is unable to attend the awards ceremony due to a frothed-milk burn.

WGA and Studios Split on Net Distribution

2007-10-09T09:56:00.001-04:00

More like HollyWEIRD! LOL!

Lips.Fancy Lad/Frosting

2007-07-16T11:11:00.000-04:00

My Late Show colleague Matt Little has a monthly show around New York called Matt Little's Big Show. During his show he airs commercials like this one. Watch it many times.

Best of the Day

2007-07-12T09:00:00.000-04:00

Best Chris Sartinsky post of the day: Greg White on Yankee Pot Roast

Best New York Times headline of the day: China Prohibits Poisonous Industrial Solvent in Toothpaste

Best Baltic Canned Fish Product: Surstromming

Congratulations, everyone.

The Time Dave Said Hello to Me

2007-06-15T20:04:00.000-04:00

So the other day Dave said hello to me. Prior to that, the closest thing we had achieved to a conversation was this one time when he walked by me and gave me a "Who are you and why are you back here?" kind of look.

Well, with just one month left in my Late Show contract we have finally advanced to the next level of friendship! It was before the show and I was downstairs kicking it with Bill, the head of security, and my pal Terrence, the hired muscle, when Cathy, the line producer, walks out of the control room as she does everyday and said, "Here we go."

Now on a normal day, Cathy's "Here we go" means that it's about one minute until Dave comes running through this backstage hallway where I often find myself and everyone instinctually straightens their shirts, runs a hand through their hair, and remembers to put their lumbar region to good use.

So Cathy says, "Here we go" and shirts are tucked and hairs are arranged and we all wait for the thudding of footsteps to round the corner into the hallway, past us, and out of sight. However on this particular day, rather than bounding down the hallway, fists pumping, lower jaw squared, we hear normal human footsteps round the corner. I hear a familiar voice make casual office talk, "Cold down here today, isn't it?" and look up to see Dave in his shorts and t-shirt. Neat, I think. Then I think, Avert gaze!

So Dave strolls by and says "Hi, Bill" and then he looks at Terrence and says, "Hi, Terrence" and then he looks at me, in between Terrence and Bill and says, "Hello." Then he walks away. Bill grunts and trudges back upstairs, Terrence takes Bill's place, and I keep standing where I've been standing for the past twenty minutes.

Maybe it was the fact that Dave's broken nose was feeling better, or maybe it was the news that they caught the guy who had escaped from prison after being put there for threatening to kidnap Dave's son and Dave's son's nanny for $5 million dollars. Either way, everyone wins.

In an alternate reality, one where me and him have an established repoir (which is weird to both him and I since neither of us have ever spoken to this point), he walks by and says Hey to Bill and then Hey to Terrence and then Hello to me to which I respond, "Hey, sweet how they caught that guy, huh?" to which he would reply "Yeah!" (I know this is how he would respond because one of my friends was with Bill the day they caught the guy and Dave goes to Bill, "Bill, didja hear? They caught him, Bill! They caught him!") and so he says Yeah! and I go, oh by the way, I've written some jokes for you that you've read on air to which he replies, Oh, nice, how many? And I say, Three, but I think I'll get another one on sometime soon, so let's round up to a solid five and he goes, Yeah, but that's still pretty awesome. Then I tell him which ones they were and he goes, Al Roker did what? Man, that guy's always getting himself into trouble. Well, see ya.

However our repoir remains unestablished (although one step closer to establishment for sure), and so I wait until Dave rounds the next corner, and wait again for Bill to trudge back upstairs, and wait until I can wait no longer before punching Terrence in the arm and doing a karate kick. It was really impressive.

Just cranking 'em out...

2007-05-22T22:02:00.000-04:00

Two aphorisms in one night!

Aphorism #2: People who take artistic photographs of homeless people are awful.

Aphorisms

2007-05-22T22:01:00.001-04:00

Gawsh-darnit I'm a smart fella, so why shouldn't I start writing aphorisms just like Brillat-Savarin? Why not indeed.

Aphorism 1: People who talk about how poor they are usually aren't that poor.

Comic-Con

2007-05-20T20:19:00.000-04:00

Had a wonderful idea for a three panel comic strip wherein a thirty-something business guy shares an apartment with an infant. Catch is, the infant's lack of a developed nervous system creates some whacky situation comedy. Oh, by the way, it's called "Dumb Baby."

Observez:

Panel 1: Guy enters apartment carrying briefcase. Dumb Baby sits in front of a humongous stack of tunafish cans.

Guy: Hey--what a day, I'm beat. Did you open those cans of tuna I asked you to open?

Panel 2: Dumb Baby sucks on the can opener and poops his diaper.

Panel 3: Guy goes to slam his bedroom door spitefully.

Guy: Oh, that's right. I forgot you don't have the motor skills necessary to operate a can opener. Dumb baby.

So there's this guy at work...

2007-05-20T19:53:00.000-04:00

I recently came up with a great method of dealing with one's grievances towards a peer: write a sketch satirizing their worst and most noticeable qualities. Hurray satire!

It would take too long to explain all the references in this specific sketch (and there are many) not to mention my other intense dislike of libel suits, so I won't say anything beyond the man who inspired this sketch is one the saddest individuals I've ever had the pleasure to meet. Think David Brent, but with less going for him. But "More Meat" works as a stand-alone piece of weirdness.

"Bucky Toothbert in: More Meat!"

FADE IN:

INT. TOOTHBERT ESTATE - DAY.

MADAME TOOTHBERT and her husband SIR TOOTHBERT sit in their elaborately decorated parlor, half-asleep.

On a side table, a RADIO broadcast plays.

ANNOUNCER
(in German)
...To do so, combine one part butter in a warm pan with one part flour. Stir to make a roux. Add milk and nutmeg...

MADAME TOOTHBERT
(mumbling)
Hit him again, dear...carrot...

Suddenly like a burst of totally awesome fresh air, their son BUCKY TOOTHBERT flies in on a skateboard. His hair is done up in an elaborate pompadour.

BUCKY
Bucky in the house! YES! It's gettin' hot in here, so take off all your clothes!

Bucky rips off his shirt, revealing a doughy, hairy mass of middle aged flesh. He laughs maniacally apropos of nothing.

His mother awakes with a start.

MADAME TOOTHBERT
Oh, Bucky, how good to see you. Is it tea time yet?

BUCKY
I don't know what you're talkin' bout, old lady, but Bucky's starved! Whadya we got to eat around here?

Bucky begins knocking over expensive looking furniture in search of food. Sir Toothbert wakes up.

SIR TOOTHBERT
Bucky, those are lamps my dear boy. Food is kept in the pantry.

BUCKY
Oh, cool.

Bucky exits.

SIR TOOTHBERT
(to Madame)
Honestly, he's damned near forty, he should know better.

From off screen, a loud CRASH and a woman's SCREAM.

MADAME TOOTHBERT
Oh, dear.

Bucky re-enters the parlor. He now has an older black woman, TITUBA, in a fierce headlock.

BUCKY
Mommy! Look! An n-word!

Bucky laughs again as he threatens to become totally unhinged. Tituba struggles.

MADAME TOOTHBERT
Bucky! Bucky! That's Tituba!

BUCKY
A what?

SIR TOOTHBERT
Goddamnit, Bucky! That's the hired help!

BUCKY
Oh. Whatever. Slut.

Bucky throws her onto the floor. Tituba lies panting as Madame crosses over to her.

MADAME TOOTHBERT
Oh, Tituba, are you alright?

TITUBA
I--think so. He scared me so!

MADAME TOOTHBERT
I know. I know, dear.

Angered by the attention being heaped on the colored woman in his home, Bucky walks over to an heirloom armoir and begins urinating on it. His faces is awash with glee.

SIR TOOTHBERT
Bucky!

Sir produces a squirt bottle and begins spritzing Bucky. Bucky yelps and zips up.

BUCKY
(baby talk)
Sowwy, Daddy. I wuv woo. (A beat) Woo, woo! Hollah back youngin! Oh, fuck yeah, Jay-Z!

Bucky stops singing suddenly and advances on Tituba. She eyes him fearfully. He offers her his hand.

BUCKY (CONT’D)
Look, I just wanted to say I'm sorry. Do you like my hair?

TITUBA
I--uh--what?

BUCKY
No biggie. Here.

He extends his hand further. Tituba reaches for it. Bucky pulls his hand away and she falls down again. Bucky cracks up.

BUCKY (CONT’D)
Holy fucking shit! Can you believe she fell for that again? Fuckin' bitch!

Bucky laughs so hard he vomits. He grabs a fistful of candy from a nearby dish and shoves it in his mouth.

SIR TOOTHBERT
Jesus...

BUCKY
So, ma, pop, what's she do anyhow?

MADAME TOOTHBERT
Oh, you know, dear. She helps around the house, does chores, takes messages.

BUCKY
Does she like my hair?

TITUBA
I don't understand.

MADAME TOOTHBERT
(confidentially)
Ever since he started losing it, he's become very self-conscious about it. Just say yes.

TITUBA
Uh, yes. Your hair is nice.

Bucky runs a hand through it and acts casual, trying to hide his pleasure.

BUCKY
Whatever. You got any messages for me?

TITUBA
What? Oh, well, actually yes. Your boss rang. She said that you did such a good job cleaning the windows last week, she's promoting you to Key Window Cleaner.

BUCKY
It's like fuckin' Top Gun in here! Right, mommy? Hiiiiighway tooooo the DANGER ZONE!

SIR TOOTHBERT
Look, Tituba, why don't you--

Bucky side tackles his father off his recliner. His father hits his head and is knocked unconscious.

BUCKY
BUCKY WANT SING!

With effort, Bucky defecates in his pants.

MADAME TOOTHBERT
Sh, it's okay dear.

Madame crosses over to Bucky and hugs him tightly. Bucky begins kissing his mother's neck and bosom making chomping noises. Tituba looks on, horrified.

BUCKY
Numnumnum, Bucky hungry!

MADAME TOOTHBERT
Tituba, why don't you cook up some steaks, hm?

Tituba exits silently.

BUCKY
Steaks? YES!

Bucky begins violently slapping himself about the neck and face, pulling his hair.

MADAME TOOTHBERT
Oh, Bucky, I wish you wouldn't!

BUCKY
Meat! MEat! MEAT!

Tituba re-enters carrying a massive tray of grilled meats. She sets it down.

MADAME TOOTHBERT
Now, remember what you learned at etiquette class last week. Fork on the right and--

Bucky knocks his mother aside and begins attacking the steaks. Some he shoves in his mouth, others he just bites before throwing them on the floor.

MADAME TOOTHBERT (CONT’D)
Now, Bucky, save some for your father.

BUCKY
BUCKY NEEDS FIVE POUNDS OF MEAT! No! No! Mommy! No!

He pounds his fists on the steaks and continues eating. Tituba holds back tears.

Moments later, the frenzy ends just as suddenly as it began. The parlor has been turned into a mass grave of half-eaten protein.

Bucky licks his hands clean and stands.

BUCKY (CONT’D)
I'm late for Drama Class. Bucky OUT!

Bucky grabs his skateboard and skates clumsily out of the room. His lunatic shouts echo down the hallways.

Sir Toothbert comes to.

SIR TOOTHBERT
Wha--what happened?

MADAME TOOTHBERT
Oh, dear, don't move. I think he might have broken your neck this time.

TITUBA
I'll call the police.

MADAME TOOTHBERT
No! No police! Bucky's a good boy. He's a good boy. Isn't he dear?

SIR TOOTHBERT
Yes. Yes he is. The best.

FADE TO:

EXT. CITY STREET - CONTINUOUS

Bucky ineffectively skates in and out of traffic. He skates through a red light and a SCHOOL
BUS swerves to avoid him, crashing into a CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL. Flames engulf them both.

For a brief moment, Bucky gives pause, awe struck, achieving something nearing lucidity. A beat. Then:

BUCKY
AWESOME! Bucky rules!

He raises a triumphant fist and we FREEZE FRAME on this heroic image.

FADE TO:

TITLE CARD: 9/11: Never Forget. God Bless the USA.

FADE TO BLACK.

Tomato in a Box

2007-05-20T19:48:00.001-04:00

If college kids and trailer inhabitants can drink wine from a box, why can't an Italian food conglomerate put tomatoes in a box? Well, you're in luck, because Parmalat has.

When I'm not in the mood to drive to any of the specialty stores that carry La Fede (the Italian markets in my area, the fish monger, etc.), I go for Parmalat's Pomi brand chopped tomatoes. They come in a nifty little box and look super European in the package design. Granted, I'm not in love with the chopped texture (I prefer to buy whole canned tomatoes and hand crush them), but I must admit, they make for a fine sauce.

Tomato+olive oil+sliced garlic+minced onion+minced carrot=It's neat!

Bosstown Spring

2007-05-06T20:30:00.000-04:00

Had a lovely weekend up yonder. Highlights:

Saturday
Lunch
A nice walk to Coolidge Anna's: carnitas burrito with Jeff and Josh

Dinner
Table up front at America's greatest Indian restaurant, India Quality: Chicken tikka masala/madras, tandoori chicken, and nan (plus condiments for Turbo) with Grace, (J/K)illian, Jeff, Turbo, and Chris

Sunday
Brunch at the always fantastic Great Bay: Duxbury oysters and eggs benedict over smoked salmon, arugula, pickled red onion, and homemade English muffins

Added to all of the food and company was a new mind-teasing game wherein players attempt to punnily combine the names of famous people with parts of the human anatomy, and you've
got yourself (myself) one lolly of a weekend.

***

And now, Bruce Springsteen and Clarence Clemons in: Weekend at Bosstown, USA.

Bruce: Greg is neat! I like Greg!

Clarence: (saxophone)

Technically this counts as a new post

2007-04-30T22:28:00.000-04:00

Technically.

Mine

And because this one has a similar web address if slightly different point of view.

Cacao in a bottle

2007-04-17T11:44:00.000-04:00

The closest I've come to drinking cocoa from a wine bottle:

At $25 it's not an everyday bottle, but for a nice Sunday dinner, it's pretty spiffy. The bottle I had was 2002, not, as this picture shows, 1999. Speaking of years, today also brought along a 1996 Rondan Rioja Reserva and a 2001 Igneus Priorat which I expect will be pretty, pretty, pretty good.

Rules of Writing

2007-04-17T10:12:00.000-04:00

Found this on another blog. Kurt Vonnegut's eight rules for writing. My they're good. Not all of them apply to screen/TV writing (i.e. number eight), but the one about being a sadist is spot on.

1. Use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted.

2. Give the reader at least one character he or she can root for.

3. Every character should want something, even if it is only a glass of water.

4. Every sentence must do one of two things -- reveal character or advance the action.

5. Start as close to the end as possible.

6. Be a sadist. Now matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them -- in order that the reader may see what they are made of.

7. Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.

8. Give your readers as much information as possible as soon as possible. To heck with suspense. Readers should have such complete understanding of what is going on, where and why, that they could finish the story themselves, should cockroaches eat the last few pages.

Faster YouTube Super Democracy Kill! Kill!

2007-04-17T08:54:00.000-04:00

First off, is it me, or does John Edwards bear a striking resemblance to that luckiest man in 70s sitcom history, Jack Tripper?

Just picture him falling over an ottoman or something and you've got it.

This morning as I skimmed Drudge Report for monologue fodder, I came across an small piece about how John Edwards spends $400 to get his hair cut. In the article there was a link to yet another YouTube video that had run its course without my knowledge.

The video shows John Edward and a stylist primping and pruning his hair into a glossy helmet, accompanied by the delicate strains of "I Feel Pretty." If my watching it ten times in a row has anything to do with it, the video is pretty amusing. It's also kind of soothing in an admittedly creepy watching-people-get-their-hair-played-with kind of way.

Attached to this video was another video titled "John Edwards: YouTube is Good for Democracy." As you might have guessed, the clip features John Edwards during a radio interview in which he is asked whether or not he thinks YouTube is good for democracy. Edwards answers, of course it is, it allows for instant and uncensored expression, allowing for both fans and detractors to post their thoughts, regardless of merit or point of view because who are we to decide and blah blah blah. It's a fair answer to a somewhat asinine question, but what's interesting is that neither interviewer nor interviewee seems to really grasp the full meaning of the question.

My feeling is that YouTube and the super-saturated media environment that birthed it, are actually, in a way, bad for democracy. Or at least democracy as far as it relates to presidential elections. Yes, people get to voice concerns and opinions, and video sharing sites do a fantastic job of sorting through all the information out there to the point where nobody misses anything. This is good. And often very funny.

But I'm curious, does all this media saturation make politicians safer? More self-aware? This is not to say that before YouTube political candidates were free-wheeling, but it'd be very interesting to compare how Abe Lincoln campaigned versus any of the 08 candidates. How's that for cool? We'd need weapons grade plutonium to pull this off, but I swear I know a guy.

But let's be clear, it's not YouTube, it's us. Which I'll get to in a second and which brings us back to our earlier point, about YouTube possibly being bad for democracy. Democracy only works if people are well-informed and vaguely educated. Where trouble starts is when you have people being swayed by a clip of, say, John Edwards combing his hair, or more pointedly, Howard Dean's now infamous yell thing. It'd be one thing if we could take random C-SPAN clips or out-of-context sound bytes on the nightly news with a grain of salt, but we can't. Instead we watch it and email it to our friends and post it on our websites and by the time the candidate steps up to the mic, he knows we've seen the clip of him tripping over a mic wire, and worse, he knows we know he knows.

And this is why candidates act safe, play to expectations, spend two minutes combing their hair, because like the nerd who somehow gets a date with the cheerleader for prom, they're too afraid to get their retainer stuck in the girl's mouth and so they end up buying the corsage, not dancing, and dropping her off before returning to their neatly made bed sheets. And because you won't hop into bed with John Edwards' mussy hair, or let Howard Dean chop down a tree with his bare hands, political candidates have prom night blue balls. And that's not good for anything. Now about that weapons grade plutonium...

"CAPTAIN WHITE, THAT TREE IS WHERE TOMORROW, APRIL 10TH 1861, PRESIDENT LINCOLN WILL GIVE AN ARBOR DAY SPEECH! WE DID IT! WE! DID! IT!"

KAKOW!!!

Hopkinton-Ashland-Framingham-Natick-Wellesley-Newton-Brookline-Boston

2007-04-15T12:42:00.000-04:00

Forecast for tomorrow's Boston marathon: mid-40s, high winds with a 100% chance of rain.

One suggestion: wear lots of corduroy. The kind with the big cords.

4/4: We Shall Never Forget

2007-04-13T10:00:00.000-04:00

Once again too lazy-ish to type real analysis, so instead I present a series of excerpts with snide commentary.

From "Off the Air: The Light Goes Out for Don Imus"

"The CBS chief executive, Leslie Moonves met yesterday afternoon with the Rev. Al Sharpton and the Rev. Jesse Jackson leaders in what became a national movement to remove Mr. Imus from the air in the wake of his comments disparaging members of the Rutgers women’s basketball team. On April 4, Mr. Imus referred on the air to the Rutgers athletes as “nappy-headed hos.”

I like how the first time the phrase was uttered it was the end of all things, but the next four thousand times every pundit, journalist and newscaster says it, it's A-ok. That's neat. To borrow a phrase from Ms. Stringer, doesn't the constant repetition of "nappy-headed hoes" rob the initial incident of its own moment?

Or does context play a role in defining the word's potency? If we can mention it, so long as we aren't using it to offend, it's fine? But what about the dreaded n-word? Newscasters would never use it, even in the most intellectual of settings.

In a statement, Mr. Moonves said: “Those who have spoken with us the last few days represent people of good will from all segments of our society — all races, economic groups, men and women alike. In our meetings with concerned groups, there has been much discussion of the effect language like this has on our young people, particularly young women of color trying to make their way in this society.”

That's really dignified of Les. It's an articulate, humanitarian statement at a moment of national crisis and what's really nice is that for once, in this jaded business, this had nothing to do with commerce or anything. Well played, Les.

Both CBS and MSNBC had been under pressure from black leaders and women’s groups, then advertisers began abandoning the Imus program and its networks this week, pulling out the financial underpinnings from the show.

Oh.

“It was a very productive meeting,” she said. “Players, coaches, parents, administrators, the pastor, and Mr. Imus were able to really dialogue. I’m extremely proud of our 10 young basketball players.”

Isaiah Washington even made an appearance at the love-in and, just to show how cured he is, they strapped him down in a chair, gagged him, and had a homosexual gyrate in his face. When they removed the gag, Isaiah smiled and grunted, "You...friend..."

Asked if Mr. Imus apologized, Ms. Stringer declined to answer. “We’ve said as much as we can say tonight.”

But she did add with a wink, "I can tell you this though, he won't be sitting down anytime soon."

In a memo sent to CBS employees announcing Mr. Imus’s dismissal, Mr. Moonves said: “This is about a lot more than Imus. As has been widely pointed out, Imus has been visited by presidents, senators, important authors and journalists from across the political spectrum. He has flourished in a culture that permits a certain level of objectionable expression that hurts and demeans a wide range of people. In taking him off the air, I believe we take an important and necessary step not just in solving a unique problem, but in changing that culture, which extends far beyond the walls of our company.”

Wow, that's really gr--

Both CBS and MSNBC had been under pressure from black leaders and women’s groups, then advertisers began abandoning the Imus program and its networks this week, pulling out the financial underpinnings from the show.

Oh.

Even then, it seems unlikely that he would match his current salary in a fledgling medium with a fraction of the audience of conventional radio, particularly as the two main satellite companies --Sirius and XM — try to cut costs in pursuit of a merger. Moreover, with Congress and the Federal Communications Commission reviewing that proposed deal, they may be reluctant to take on a tainted figure like Mr. Imus, who would stir controversy among the regulators who must approve the merger.

Segue!

Speaking of bravery, how about those PBS stations that are planning to go ahead and show "Operation Homecoming" UNCENSORED? That's right, they're all, F the FCC, yo! Wartime T&A, Iraqi Freedom style! God forbid all those impressionable PBS viewers should hear a soldier with shrapnel in his leg utter something uncouth.

The decision to air it uncensored at 10PM is because it falls just outside of the FCC's carefully considered "safe zone" of 6AM to 10PM. The logic here is that during these times, it is less likely that a younger audience will be watching. Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't airing a show on PBS pretty much cancel out any chance of a young audience in the first place?

From today's NY Times article:

"A handful of stations [including NYC, Albany, DC, and Boston] have chosen not to bleep out eight words and not to obscure a few crude images, none of which the stations would normally put on the air."

Eight words? Crude images? Are these stations trying to let the terrorists win?

"The move comes at a time when many public television stations have chosen to be overly cautious to avoid tangling with the FCC on indecency issues, given ther hefty fines that have been imposted when viewers complain."

Just curious: who's complaining? I mean, I know people DO complain, but who exactly are they? Christian fundamentalists? Fly-over state shut-ins? Toddlers? Who are these people that are so set in their whacko code that they can extract any and everything from context without even blinking?

As a result of these offended callers, most stations are requesting the edited version from PBS. Says the eloquent VP of Washington DC's station WETA* (and Vietnam vet) Joseph Bruns: "We're not doing it to be provocative of the FCC; we're doing it because we believe in the merits of the film as it's been done... I think it's important that people do feel the raw emotions of people who were sent to war."

Important, so long as the image is tidy enough as to not upset Breakfast for Dinner Night at the Johnson home. Waffles instead of filet mignon? Mom's silly!

I bring these two stories up for a reason, but I'm not entirely sure what that reason is. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that they say different but similar things about the nature of media censorship and the role context plays in both. Who gets to decide what will fly? Are the opinions of the lunatic mid-West shut-ins as valid as the African-American community? I'm curious as to what it means from a cultural stand point when "eight words" from a war documentary have the same power to offend (and indict) as does a racial epithet?

No doubt there are bigger issues at play, and need to be dealt with, but, as the always enlightening Lionel said the other night, I hope to God we don't lose our edge.

*For a second there, I thought Peter Jackson had started a side venture in DC. My heart done leaped.

Notes from the Decaying Underbelly

2007-04-12T13:38:00.000-04:00

The Times' Arts section today provided both a sour note as well as a surprisingly welcome bright spot on this very rainy April day (how rainy? so rainy I'm typing this instead of playing golf). I've all but stopped reading the A section because the minute I see anything involving "car" or "bomb" or any combination of the two accompanied by a photo of a crying Arab man, my eyes glaze over and I pass out. The last time this happened I fell face first into a bowl of my Flaxplus and nearly drowned. How's that for desensitization?

In the tradition of Turbo, first we'll mention the negative. There was the annoyingly told you so-ish "This Time, the Shock Jock's Sidekick Couldn't Shield the Boss." It's actually a decent article, illustrating a producer's role on an occasionally controversial radio show and the fine line involved in a host's proximity to his material. The reason I list this as a negative is that I am so beyond sick of hearing about Imus and the latest melody in this on-going argument. We get it. Please, let's stop. I don't even have the energy to argue either side. I. Just. Want. It. To. Stop. Just draw and quarter Imus and whoever else and then we can finally celebrate the end of all racism or at least wait until someone else says something that someone else can sink their fangs into. I just want to say that my thoughts and prayers are with those brave women, and that I really hope this issue is the main platform during the next election.

Moving right along, our favorite gal pal, Virginia Heffernan made a major move towards paying off the debt she owes me for all the time and energy I've wasted hating her writing. She wrote a great (if blandly titled) article today on the new network shitcom Notes from the Underbelly that actually made me chuckle a bit. The article begins:

“Notes From the Underbelly” is a revolting sitcom about pregnancy. Watch and you’ll lose your appetite for life.

Virginia! Look at you! Perhaps it's my admiration of the word "revolting" and appreciation for how well the first sentence rolls into the next with all the foreboding and knowledge of a much warier, much more seasoned television reviewer.

Normally I'm used to seeing her review "American Idol" or YouTube videos with this odd, unsettling mixture of smarmy condescension and ironic appreciation. It's frustrating and, yes, revolting. Part of the problem is that it wastes valuable space in the shrinking arts section, because for every 500 word review of "Laguna Beach" that is one less valuable article we'll actually get to read. Besides, do the editors (or Ginny) really think the readers of the Arts section even know what most of these shows are? And why do we need reviews of it in the first place? It's like reviewing what happened in your office last week.

But most of all, her articles always seemed to lack a real point of view and a pair of balls. It's easy to write a cutesy pap smear about a video parody on YouTube, or on a harmless reality show that is gosh-darn-silly-but-it's-cute-and-I-can't-help-watching-it-because-it's-on-after-Grey's-
and-who-cares-if-it-signals-the-end-of-society-as-we-know-itidontcare, but what about the (admittedly few) shows that matter? Or their contextual relevancy?

Finally, finally, finally, with today's article, she steps out of the cutesy dorm-room viewing darkness (the one that always left me picturing her eating a frozen dinner, alone, in front of the TV wishing she was hit by a car and Dr. McDreamy/Steamy/Roofie fell in love with her while looking after her but then she dies and he kills himself and then they have tender angel sex) and into the territory of pissed off, not gonna take it anymore criticism that we get in glimpses from Manohla and even the milquetoast A.O. Scott.

She continues:

“Notes” has one of those pushy set-ups in which a noxious central couple is supposed to be normal, while their friends are wacky and desperate. Just turn it off and forget, for the evening, that you have ever heard of television. (It starts tonight on ABC. Forget that too.)

Ki-yah! I am so proud.

Granted, the rest of the article loses it's fangs as she ends up writing about how good the performances are, and even though I'd rather see her tear the show apart and decry the state of the television networks she loves so much, I have to say, I am very pleased with her today.

After today, I feel like I have a better-informed idea of who she is. She's just a sad little lady who likes to watch TV and keep up with celebrity trends and is really nice but lonesome. Also, I'm thinking that she's just so happy to be on the "inside," receiving screeners, getting the scoop before anyone else, that she fears being critical without asking permission first might get her kicked out of the club. She's lost a bit of weight since her pay checks started coming in a little more frequently and with more heft, but she'd still like to lose more. She doesn't really see herself moving beyond the Times or writing, and if she was young enough, she would be writing a lot more messages on her friends' Facebook walls.

So, Ginny, tonight, you go ahead and eat that pint of Ben & Jerry's, you've earned it.

Virginia Heffernan: Arg! Chagrin!

2007-04-06T11:23:00.000-04:00

Oh, Virginia. Once again you've made a complex mess out of a simple pancake recipe. When did this vaguely whimsical, surrealist lite take over entertainment viewers for the NY Times? The same way that so many entertainment/gossip blogs (Defamer, Gawker, et al.) seem to have all drank deep and heartily from the same well of tonal sarcasm do reviewers like A.O. Scott and Virginia Heffernan seem to have taken writing lessons from Frank Bruni's less successful writing professor brother-in-law.

A better, perhaps more succinct description might be impressionistic reviews. Take this sentence from today's review of the new season (or second half of last season) of Entourage:

This season is about how men love men, and how they hate themselves for loving men, and how they worry about loving men, and how they need to stand up to men so they can love women, or stand up to women so they can love men.

What? I--it--really?

It also becomes apparent in VH's review that she aspires to something better than critic for the New York Times. Something, like, say, a gossip columnist:

And then there’s Jeremy Piven. Honestly, in the off seasons he looks ready to lose it. Can he really continue playing Ari Gold, the jerk superagent, without getting delusions and landing in ego-disorder rehab?

Like, wow, Scoob!

Now you may not agree with me on this, but perhaps you can forgive me for constantly looking for reasons to hate her writing when you read her other article in today's Times about that Seven Minute Sopranos vid.

Heffernan first gained a foothold in the YouTube/viral video reviewing niche when she reviewed (is reviewed even the right word?) a few of those Brokeback Mountain spoof trailers from a few years ago. Cute. Since then she's balanced her work between reviewing TV pap like Laguna Beach and writing about web video for an audience who a) has already seen the videos under review and b) probably doesn't care.

So it was with this already in mind that I opened up the paper today and greedily devoured her write up about the latest viral-video from-two-weeks-ago-that's-already-been-milked-to-death like a junkie who knows the heroin is only going to hurt him, but can't help needling up first thing in the AM.

I read along almost happily, like Ike and Tina on a pleasant picnic, until I came to this:

And that point — the duet in a major key, followed by a breath — is especially affecting when Carmela reverses her enthusiasm for therapy in the next scene, having learned that Tony’s therapist is a woman. Standing on a balcony she rains a half-dozen black valises down on her husband and curses at him to leave the house. This is the first of several times Mr. Sabia and Mr. Gulyas use this scene. It becomes shorthand for Carmela’s indignation.

The repetition of this stagecraft has become many commenters’ favorite part of “Seven Minute Sopranos.” But it’s also where Mr. Gulyas and Mr. Sabia make clear that they bring a critic’s eye to the action of the show. But what statement are they making with the repetition? Something about the redundancy of Ms. Falco’s performance? Or perhaps the cyclical nature of Tony and Carmela’s marriage?

It's bad enough that Heff is even writing about this in the first place, but when she tosses in attempts to legitimately review a web video, I just about fall off my chair. On purpose. To prove a point, you know? What statement are they making? This is like anthropomorphism, only instead of non-human begins, we have two guys with a lot of time on their hands, and instead of the ability to speak the human tongue, they have a keen critic's eye and sly wit for web video critique.

Now, I am more than willing to admit that context is everything for me. If this sort of review had appeared on a site like The Daily Reel, I'd call it well played. Brilliant even. But why, tell me Jesus, is this in the NY Times arts section? I'm all for convergence, but really, like this? Maybe that is like me saying I'm okay with anal rape as long as it doesn't happen to me, but all of this makes me understand the outcry amongst Austrian coffee house intellectuals over the introduction of newspapers when it was said that the appearance of so many varied topics will only result in everything losing its meaning. The same argument is applied to Internet news sources where one can catch up on the latest car bomb attack with one eye, while the other orb scans the dets of Anna Nicole Smith's autopsy and OH MY GOD is Bragelina getting fat! At first I found this thought off putting and precious, but now I get it.

Part of the problem is, as Mark Cuban already pointed out, big newspapers like the Times oughtn't be covering things that are necessarily temporal. Things like big breaking news events and even viral video are covered with much more precision and timeliness by other web sites devoted solely to such matters. In essence Cuban is the hunky jock who outs himself to the hot former nerd with an eating disorder, reassuring her, Look at you, you're gorgeous. You have it all, you just can turn me un-gay. Stick to what you're good at: letting the men's basketball team have their drunken way with you. Or something like that.

Is it me, or is it a sign of the times when our collective interests can leap from opera to classical music performance to web video in one fell swoop? What are we to make of our cultural standing that now includes YouTube (on the cusp of getting its own verb a la Google or Facebook) as a legitimate art form? It seems to me that we are now practicing the circumnavigational habits of the men of yore by going so far backwards that we end up ahead. And at our helm is a mahogany bust of Virginia Heffernan.

Awful, Awful, Awful

2007-04-05T10:32:00.000-04:00

This site is turning very morose. It was reported this morning that Bob Clark, director of "A Christmas Story" and his twenty-two year old son were killed when a drunk driver collided with their car last night on the PCH.

First Darren McGavin died last year, and now this.

Just think, where would we all be without our yearly 24 hours of "A Christmas Story"? As the story goes, Bob was a lot more involved in the creation than one might suspect. According to local lore:

In the late 1960s, “A Christmas Story” director Bob Clark was driving to a date’s house when he happened upon a broadcast of radio personality and writer Jean Shepherd’s recollections of growing up in Indiana in the late ’30s and early ’40s. Clark wound up driving around the block for almost an hour, glued to the radio until the program was over.

“My date was not happy,” Clark said, but he knew right away he wanted to make a movie out of the stories, many of which first appeared in Playboy magazine and were collected in Shepherd’s 1966 book, “In God We Trust: All Others Pay Cash.”

Clark’s adaptation, however, didn’t happen overnight. At the time, he was a journeyman director who specialized in low-budget B movies. For years Clark tried to find a studio to finance the film. But none were interested. Nevertheless, Clark held on to his ambition to bring Shepherd’s stories to the screen, and, in 1981, he directed Porky’s. Which became a hit at the box office. Suddenly he had some clout the bargain with. In the wake of that hit the studio want a sequel to Porky’s. Clark agreed to make a sequel if the studio agreed to let him do “A Christmas Story” first.

Thanks, Bob.

Fare thee well Calvert 'Larry "Bud" Melman' DeForest

2007-03-22T11:40:00.000-04:00

Calvert DeForest was was one of those actors who you never really saw too often, except in the odd cameo or commercial, and never paid too much attention to beyond his little eccentricities and quirks (that sybillance!). But somehow, in the back of the mind, one was always comforted by the knowledge that he was still around somewhere. On Monday he passed away and the world feels just a little worse for it. DeForest once said that his first appearance on Late Night with David Letterman was the best thing that ever happened to him. In tribute, here are some clips highlighting the man known as Larry "Bud" Melman and his days with the man who signs my checks.

Port Authority

Bear Suit

Melman and Carson

Viewer Mail

Intro to Ep 1.1 of Late Night

Segovian Bean Stew and Kristin White's Studies

2007-03-21T21:27:00.000-04:00

So the latest bout with Spain was a resounding success: cultural immersion, inexpensive wine, and agreeable weather. But the one thing that stands out as particularly excellent was the lunch me and Kristin White had at El Bernardino during a day trip to Segovia.

After spending Thursday and Friday in Valencia, and Saturday in Toldeo our Frommer's guide had a record of 2/2 when it came to guiding us to exemplary meals. Meals to which we would compare all others. In Valencia it was La Lola on Friday night, a wonderfully chic (and friendly) modern Spanish place with quirky flatware and polka dotted walls (one snag: Kristin White's bilingualism lapsed and she mistakenly ordered our veal and duck rare instead of medium). Then there was Friday's lunch at a fantastic business lunch-y paella place where, again, we had a tremendous seafood paella with scary good helado (dark chocolate and frozen yogurt with berries).

So by the time we came to Sunday, we were riding on the waves of Frommer's epicurean benediction and our expectations were high. We had two names of places in Segovia that were written up in Frommer's. One was El Bernardino. The other was some other place whose name goes unrecalled. We quickly found the old what's-his-face place as it was (tacky) located right next to the mortarless Roman aquaducts. El Bernardino was located on the tricky diagonal Calle Cervantes. After a fortifying stroll around the town's old center we asked an officer of the law to point us in the right direction and...success.

As I glanced at the menu del dia I noticed one thing and one thing only: Segovian bean stew. That pretty much sold me on the place, so after an obligatory glance at the rest of the menu, we found ourselves seated in an empty room at a wonderful table by the window overlooking snow-capped mountains and being doted on by an older tuxedoed man (thus fulfilling our only criteria for dining abroad: old men in tuxes).

First was the idiosyncratic Segovian bread which has a wedding cake-ish look to it and holds its own in a very bread oriented country. Our menu would be such: the aforementioned bean stew, roast suckling pig, and a Segovian vanilla postre. Right before we were to receive our first course Kristin White excused herself to go to the servicios (as opposed to my uncouth preference for "el bano" which Kristin White pointed out is akin to "Where's the toilet?"). Mere moments after Kristin White went off in search of the bathroom, our waiter entered carrying a large kettle of soup, ladle and all. Noticing Kristin White's absence, he put the soup down on a nearby tray table, folded his hands in front of him, and patiently waited. This is why you only go to places where old men in tuxedos work. To kill time I admired the half liter clay pitcher that bore not only my wine, but also El Bernardino's insignia.

Her bladder thus emptied, Kristin White returned and we were allowed to get our stew on via our waiter's skillful and noble ladle. Now when I talk about my five favorite things I've ever eaten, I'm talking about harrowed ground such as my grandma's tomato sauce and fusilli, or my own braised pork shoulder or stuffed zucchino from Liguria. It is not a list that is easily infiltrated. So imagine my joy when I was able to induct a new member into the top five favorite ingestables list! To be quick about it, the stew was perfect: rich, savory broth, expertly cooked (huge) beans, and perfect...PERFECT...chorizo. There's a reason Segovia is saturated with salchicherias, and this stew's chorizo was it. To be even more succinct, I present the following:

Next came our roast suckling pig, a dish that is big all over Spain and indicated by El Bernardino's sign out front labeling it as an "asador." By this point, other people had been seated in our once private room, so taking another photo was out. But I stole the following photo off Google and it gives one a good idea of what we're dealing with. On the one hand it might seem cruel in some way to eat a baby pig and in such a manner. But in actuality eating the animal in a state where it still looks like the animal heightens the meal and the relationship between eater and food. So there. (Note: ours did not have rosemary. Just pig.) It's not a pinkish medallion that comes wrapped in plastic and labeled as pork. No, this is identifiable by it's cute face, tiny snout, and little trotters (also the teeth were in there, but they could easily be confused with a toddler's). It was delicious--impeccably crisp skin, meat that yielded to the gentlest pressure from a fork (no knives necessary) and it came served in this ancient cast iron roasting dish. Again, our heroic camerero was on hand to first present our piglet and then slice it up for us. One of the most enjoyable aspects of this part of the meal was searching out the tiny ribs and making damn well sure every morsel of meat was cleared off of them.

After a while of staring at a baby animal, Kristin White was ready for a change, and after I unsuccessfully attempted to find meat on the animal's underdeveloped jaw, we and the pig parted ways.

Next up was the vanilla tart. It was very pretty, very delicate and very fine, but after the greatest stew in the world and the Renaissance protein course, a simple postre could never have expected to hold court for long.

We lingered another half hour or so, enjoying just sitting in the restaurant, then realized we had been inside for over two hours and only another two remained until our train left back for Madrid. Drat.

Those mountains in the background below looked really tempting, so me and the sister bid our waiter are very sad farewell and went off in search of a route that would lead us near them. There was a pretty little path that lead around the side of the hill upon which the town rested so we followed that and were rewarded with a dramatic valley view of the French influenced castle. We continued down the trail and were brought to the valley between the two hills (one being Segovia's hill, the other being a little tree lined step hill). Zigzagging our way up we were lead through a small tunnel that popped us out onto the foothill that was the start of the giant plain that eventually lead to the snow-capped mountains. We we rewarded for our minimal effort with this:

We strolled about up here for a time before heading back to the center of town. At the edge of the town was a very fine rectangular plaza that overlooked the mountains and castle. It also had benches. We strolled around a bit more, feeling very full and enjoying the sun. It was a very pleasant plaza. After a while we took the bus back down past the acquaducts and back to the town's train station. A short while later and it was onto the train and chatting with a Mexican father and daughter and a Texan husband and wife. I tried to forge a new relationship between the two thus ushering in a new era between Tejanos and Mexicanos, but the Mexican dad was asleep, or at least was really good at pretending to not feel my jabs to his ribs. Moments later we were back on the metro and tucked back into Senora's apartment.

One other thing I have to point out. While strolling around the town's windy little streets I heard a familiar noise. After a quick bit of auditory detective work (don't know what that means) I was able to determine that it was a yeowling cat! I followed the noise to its source: a seemingly abandoned construction site. I made that little kissy kissy heeere kitty noise and sure enough, a small cat came to the window and started yeowling all over again. It was as if Cat Dad had come to life and this kitty cat was not really a cat but, (coughs) Damnit, I am a man, not a kitty cat! The scenario that most seemed to fit was his owner had been dead for weeks after inhaling all the construction dust and now the cat was just all out of sorts. And Purina. Here's a photo I took of my incarcerated brethren in the hopes that a single image can unite disparate peoples to action. Stand tall, Segovians!

p.s. I have no doubt in my mind that if this cat had the chance, he would have murdered me straight away.

Frank Bruni Is a Little Girl

2007-02-28T10:47:00.000-05:00

In the Food and Dining section of today's NYTimes, Frank Bruni reviews Robert, the steak house in the Penthouse Executive Club. The review (cleverly titled 'Where Only the Salads Are Properly Dressed,' which doesn't really make sense because the girls in question actually are properly dressed, this being a strip club and all) is exceptional, if only because it's fun to watch Frank Bruni pretend to be a heterosexual.

His squeamishness in the admittedly raunchy environment coupled with the glee with which he mocks the topless dancers makes for one hell of a restaurant review.

In this excerpt, he tests his wit against that of a stripper named Foxy:

“Foxy,” I began, then stopped myself, wondering if I was being too familiar. “Are you and I on a first-name basis, or should I address you as Ms. Foxy?”

“You can call me Dr. Foxy,” she said.

“Is that an M.D. or a Ph.D.?”

Oh-ho! Frank Bruni, 1, IDIOT STUPID FOXY, zilch!