Tuesday Hatred: Dismissive lip fart

I hate sitting next to idiotic undergraduates in a crowded cafe. Or rather: I hate being forced to overhear their ridiculous chatter. Do I envy their apparent complete lack of self-awareness and freedom of expression? No! On the contrary, I hate it in an extremely passive, bitchy manner (as you can see).

I hate Weezer’s new (ok, not that new) single, you know, the one concerning Slayer t-shirts. It wasn’t until long after I’d first heard it that I learned it was by Weezer; I thought, rather, that it was the work of a young, annoying, crappy band. But there was a time when Weezer was not crappy. (At least not that crappy—even the Weezer-haters can admit that, I’m sure. My intentions are irenic.)

I hate that I can’t seem to find asafœtida at my usual shopping locations. I hate being dissatisfied with the state of my midsection and my bank account. I hate the production of water in the eye as a result of exposure to the movement of air relative to my face when operating a bicycle. I hate distraction. I hate that while my valentine’s-day plans call for me to audit the Chicago Underground Duo (whose members live in New York and Brazil), they call for me do so—alone. O hideous fate!

I hate that I missed the entire (two week!) run run of A Town Called Panic in the SF bay area. From Jan. 22 to Feb. 4, at one theater each in SF and Berkeley—that was the extent of its presence. San Francisco and environs seems to be an unusually terrible environment for cinema, given its cultural pretensions.

What follows are entries 77 through 79 of Kenko’s Essays in Idleness. I’ma broaden your minds here.

77 I find it intolerable when people who have no concern with some matter that has become a current subject of gossip acquaint themselves thoroughly with the intimate details, pass on to others their findings, or persist in further inquiries. It of ten happens that some country bumpkin of a priest pries into strangers’ businesss as if it were his concern, then spreads reports so detailed it makes one wonder how he could have learned so much.

78 I find it insufferbale too the way people spread word about the latest novelties and make a fuss over them. I am charmed by the man who remains unaware of such fashions until they have become quite an old story to everyone else.

The man without breeding or social graces will, when a new arrival is present, invariable mention subjects and persons familiar to the other members of a gathering, carrying on a conversation in fragments and with knowing glances and laughter, making the stranger, who fails to catch their meaning, feel an utter ignoramus.

79 A man should avoid displaying deep familiarity with any subject. Can one imainge a well-bred man talking with the air of a know-it-all, even about a matter with which is in fact familiar? The boor who pops up on the scene from somewhere in the hinterland answers questions with an air of utter authority in every field. As a result, though the man may also possess qualities that compel our admiration, the manner in which he displays his high opinion of himself is contemptible. It is impressive when a man is always slow to speak, even on subjects he knows thoroughly, and does not speak at all unless questioned.

One might fairly think he goes a bit too far occasionally.

Monday Movies: Fake Michael Cera

This week I decided to try a new strategy of writing up my thoughts as I watch the individual movies, rather than sitting down to do them all. This has resulted in longer remarks on each movie — you can judge for yourselves whether that’s good or bad. Meanwhile, I’d like to recommend this article on Eyes Wide Shut that Hill linked in last week’s post.

Movies watched this week:

Friday Afternoon Confessional: Flume

I confess that when I was “working from home” lo those many years, I never had trouble remembering what day of the week it is. Now, however, when I have a clear externally imposed schedule on certain days of the week and, for example, travel over a hundred miles on others, I routinely forget what day of the week it is. I further confess that I have Tuesdays off from all concrete commitments this quarter, and the very concept puzzles me already after only one full quarter of teaching — again, this comes after several years when I would go months at a time with only a sporadic need to even leave the house. Perhaps I’ve reached a point where my internal concept of time is thrown off rather than helped by “outside events.”

I confess that for much of the last week, I have been afflicted with man flu. I confess that I was embarrassed for The Girlfriend to see me in the throes of a deadly illness (the common cold), but it was bound to happen eventually.

I confess that I seem to be increasingly incapable of reading when not on a train.

Spoiler Alert Thursday

The most notable event on television this past week was the long-awaited series conclusion to “Dollhouse.” In as few words as possible: it did not disappoint. However, I warn you against reading anything positive into those words! If you thought “Dollhouse” was bad before, wait until you see this. Of all the people, Helo!? C’mon, now. How did the person who came up with a half dozen (to a dozen) interesting episodes of “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” (and most episodes of “Firefly”) come up with this piece of garbage? I sincerely hope that Joss Whedon is never allowed to make another show or movie: this was Kevin Smith bad.

I’m not sure when people as old as myself started playing teenagers of like fifteen. Take the most recent “Supernatural” episode: the teen-warlock is twenty-two in reality, his male friend is twenty-five (also plays a lab tech on “Caprica”–like a terminator, we have facial recognition software), and his female friend is thirty. No fifteen year old wannabe actors in Vancouver? I find that hard to believe.

“Human Target” remains the surprise show of the 2009/2010 season. No, it isn’t good; but it is bad-good. You should watch it. (There remains something funny about Brad from “Boston Legal” doing ninja stuff.)

“Caprica” was acceptable, but certainly not great–and definitely a bit slow. I hope this isn’t the case for the entire season. Although the great Admiral Adama as a low-level street thug for the mob is amusing.

“Spartacus: Blood & Sand” seems to have fallen into a formula: first quarter is softcore porn, second quarter is boring scheming, and the last half is visually spectacular ultra-violence. At least it is visually spectacular.

Tonight’s episode of “The Office” somehow looks even more dreadful than the clips episode? Remember when an episode was consistently funny? I don’t think there was been a single funny moment since like October. “Friends” aged better than this!

Wednesday Food: Homebrew Take Two

One month behind me, I have maintained my dedication to the Year of Beer.  As my first homebrew post was at the beginning of January, it seems appropriate that I will contain my beer blabbing to the first post of the month.

What I’ve surmised:

The most exciting part of the experience is the sampling of successful wort, as it provides an idea of what the final result will be, and produces an adrenaline rush and fleeting indulgent thought that, “this could be the beer that changes everything.”

The most antagonizing part is sanitation.  When the tiniest patch of dried sediment can contain enough bacteria and wild yeast to bust the whole batch, cleanliness is of the utmost importance.  In terms of bottles, I can’t imagine spending money on store-provided clean empties when, between myself, the neighbors, and the occasional get-together, I can assemble a handsome collection at home.  But removing the labels, cleaning, and sanitizing takes the most determination and elbow grease of the brewing process.  Oddly, it has afforded me an unexpected education on types of labels, not design so much as material: which breweries use a plastic coating, what kind of adhesive is applied, which bottles I end up giving up on and recycling (Magic Hat) who uses ridiculous screw-tops (Peak Organic), and who allows for the most agreeable label-removal (thank you, Bell’s.)

The most gratifying aspect of the process is the simple pleasure of opening a bottle at the end of a laborious day.  Expertly crafted beer may be tastier or more complex, but the satisfaction and sense of accomplishment that similarly accompanies a great home-cooked meal, also delivers with homemade beer.  Though I also get a kick out of keeping a detailed fermentation log.

Pictured is the first go (my glassware remains limited to Special Ex pints, but I find a pinot glass makes a great substitute for a tulip), about which you can read tasting notes after the jump.  Carbonating right now is a Scottish Ale, then this weekend I may try out an Imperial Blonde, after which I will have met the three-kit limit I set for myself, and will be onto recipes– the promise of higher learning and exploration.

By the way, if anyone is planning on attending San Francisco Beer Week, ESPECIALLY Toronado’s Barleywine Fest, your reports and comments would be coveted.

Tuesday Hatred: Odisse odientibus est esse

If you’re seeing this, then I hate that I never got around to writing the hatred this week. Don’t worry, though; I still exist.

Monday Movies: Not much

Sorry for the delay on the Monday Movies post this week — I’ve been fighting a cold all weekend, and by Sunday night I was losing pretty badly. It was a slow weekend, movie-wise. All we watched was Cure (mentioned, and maybe recommended, by Ben and JMS), and then I watched Cassavetes’ Faces on the train back to Kalamazoo. I thought both were good, but I don’t have much to say about them.

How about you?

Friday Afternoon Confessional: Sheridan

I confess that I am mildly obsessed with maps. It seems to have begun when I moved to Chicago and, after getting lost one too many times, decided that I would study maps of the city so that I would always know where I was. Chicago is very well-suited for such a pursuit because it is so systematically laid-out, at least in the inland area — aside from the diagonal streets, it’s all a grid.

The Girlfriend, however, lives near the lake, which is a completely different story. After a few weeks of visiting her (and therefore having her place always be the point of departure for wherever we went), I began to feel pretty confident about the configuration of the various streets, including the strange interweaving of Sheridan and Broadway. Something began to bother me, however: namely, Inner Lake Shore Drive. In some areas, the local service road closest to the lake is named something different, for instance Cornell in the Hyde Park area or Columbus near the Loop. On the north end, the local is inexplicably called Marine Drive. Yet strangely, the cut-off for it is not where Sheridan veers off (3900N), but Irving Park (4000N). I confess that this bothers me, as does the fact that Sheridan runs four blocks between Diversey and Belmont and then disappears until 3900N — why can’t the local just be called Sheridan? And then return to being called Inner Lake Shore Drive once Sheridan makes its turn inland (or Marine Drive, if they insist)? And why on earth do I care?

I confess that I’ve taken to watching whatever reruns of Mad Men they have on demand simply to have something in the background, but they quickly become the foreground. I confess that Pete’s secretary is amazing.

I confess that all this time in Kalamazoo, I didn’t realize that there was a nice, full-service grocery store less than a mile from my apartment. It’s a co-op with tons of organic stuff, which helps my righteousness level — and as a bonus, on the way home I helped a guy who was having trouble getting his wheelchair across the railroad tracks. Then there were these kids in a burning building yelling for help, but I figured I had done enough good for the day and anyway I really needed to get back home.

Spoiler Alert Thursday

Television this past week was rather disappointing–there wasn’t a whole lot on (again). As a result, we ended up re-watching the first season of the “Sarah Connor Chronicles.” This is, without a doubt, much better around the second time and I enjoyed it a lot the first time. Is there anything better than robots vs. warrior Jesus? (Astute viewers will note that Richard T. Jones reprised his role as Agent Ellison in “SCC” in last week’s episode of “Bones.” With a different name, of course. He remains the poor man’s Denzel.)

“Supernatural” was watchable, but not exceptional. It was, as they say, “a good Dean episode.”

While the premise of the show remains absolutely dumb and it definitely qualifies as low-quality television, “Human Target,” like, say, “NCIS,” has been very enjoyable: it is a bad show and it is fun to watch. Speaking of “NCIS,” having Tony and Ziva finally “hook-up” in Paris was just dumb. Like Jim and Pam, Tony and Ziva were only tolerable insofar as they weren’t a couple. Speaking of “The Office”–a clips show, really?

I did not watch the pilot episode of “Caprica” as I had watched the DVD version back in December. Those with comments on the theme of robots vs. humans are invited to comment. We did, however, watch the first episode of “Spartacus: Blood & Sand.” I’ll be honest: I’m not looking forward to seeing John Hanna’s wang or Lucy Lawless’s beaver. I think I can happily get through life without both. While the pornographic element of the show makes “True Blood” seem tame by comparison (c.f., Sookie’s breasts every episode while saying “Oh, Bee-eel”), the violence is truly spectacular. However, awesome violence will get tiresome very soon. And the dickens is with Spartacus having an Aragorn complex? They should have just put out the money for Viggo.

Wednesday Food: Guest Post From the West Coast

In the midst of a busy week, my sister asked me to step in and provide a guest food post for you this Wednesday. I live in San Diego and work for a large produce company, so naturally she thought I could highlight some of our sensational, seasonal items and provide a little peek at my snow-less winter eats.  My first thought was to brag; to talk about our fantastically orange mandarinquats, our quirky Italian cardone, or our heirloom Laratte French fingerling potatoes.  The more I thought about it, though, the crueler it seemed.  And so perhaps the right thing to do is to tell you about a little salad I’ve been eating quite often around here.

Now, I know you’re all clamoring for cheesy, baked gratins and stewed, hearty beans but really, this salad has it all. It’s crisp from the pickled radish, bright and clean from the citrus, rich from the butter lettuce and avocado without being heavy.  A homemade vinaigrette is the perfect compliment, as you can control the acid and use almost whatever you have in the pantry.  You could also make a number of substitutions, with whatever you can find at the market, though the beauty of this dish is in it’s composition and balance.

And in keeping with Erika’s beer pairing suggestions I think citrus notes in a mild witbier, such as my local Ballast Point Wahoo Wheat, would nicely complement the flavors in this salad.