I Tried It!

Dino GIF

2009-07-22T09:43:00.000-07:00

Obsessed

2009-07-05T20:27:00.000-07:00

It's been about two months since Obsessed became my most anticipated movie of the year. After what seemed a lifetime of waiting, it hit the dollar theater recently. Naturally, I had to see it during its opening weekend at the lice farm. Jordan and Melissa joined me for a screening.

We missed the first fifteen or twenty minutes of the movie, but I imagine successful hunk Derek was loving life with his wife Sharon (played by Beyond) for a good portion of it. At the point we began watching, Sharon was just visiting husband at work when Lisa, the office sociopath, dropped in to discuss some generic office duty with her way handsome boss. Derek is oblivious to the tension between his wife and Lisa, but Sharon knows better: She knows that Lisa is OBSESSED. Evidently Sharon isn't too concerned, as she still lets Derek attend the company Christmas party, which for reasons unexplained is a singles mixer, no Sharons allowed.

It's at the holiday gathering that innocent office obsession becomes white-hot after-work social event obsession. No longer satisfied with simply spying on Derek (by means of her massive Bluetooth earpiece), Lisa uses the warm Christmas spirit as an excuse to sneak up on her boss at the urinal, tap him with a piece of mistletoe, corral him in a bathroom stall, and attempt to assault him. She's a strong woman and she gets what she wants, but Derek's gotta wife.

I don't want to give away too many more details, because some of them are so terrific I'm considering a second viewing. All I can promise is that Derek is so embarrassed to talk about S-E-X that he avoids telling Sharon about the first and continued attempts by Lisa to have his baby, and things get very, very wild. Serious issues.

We're talkin'

GENDER

We're talkin'

RACE

We're talkin'

CLIMATIC FINAL BATTLE BETWEEN SHARON AND A BE-PANTIED LISA IN SHARON'S ATTIC

Obviously an:

AAA MP3

2009-06-20T17:09:00.000-07:00

Don't worry, this blog's coma has nothing to do with:

-My tragic death
-My pregnancy
-My having better things to do

I pray those things will all come in time, but for now the world will have do deal with my laziness. With luck, this will eventually roar back to life and rip your head off, but I can't make any promises. However, I do have a sample of an All~Bran Fiber Bar and a single serving of All~Bran Fiber Drink Mix sitting on my desk. This could mean great things for fans of diarrhea and this: ~. Listen to some songs:

Compulsive Gamblers- "Your Happiness" (Nolan Strong and the Diablos cover)

YACHT- "Psychic City"

Harlem- "No True Love" (Dixie Cups cover)

Mars Real Chocolate Relief Act

2009-06-05T14:51:00.000-07:00

I had no idea that my words on Strawberried Peanut Butter M&M's would create such a stir. I should have known better, as I learned long ago that there are three things one should never discuss in polite company: religion, politics, and artificial fruit flavoring. Chemicals parading as strawberry are only second to faux banana in the list of most volatile discussion topics, so it was only natural that opinions would be heated on these gimmick candy pieces. Throw in the talk of Transformers and it's a surprise no one has burned a cross in my front lawn. Outside of one person, those who expressed their feelings in the comments section either tried and hated these M&M's, or didn't try but imagined they would hate them. Fortunately, I have something to offer all parties: the Mars Real Chocolate Relief Act.

At some point in the last year, the Hershey's corporation decided to stop using the wax that the FDA considered chocolate in several of its candy bars in favor of wax that the FDA doesn't consider chocolate. Something about removing cocoa butter to cut costs, as far as I care to remember. This means they have to start labeling these candy bars as "chocolaty" instead of "chocolate," and as the Coke to Hershey's Pepsi, or the hungry lion to the wounded gazelle (for those of you who know your wildlife), the Mars people are attacking. And so arises the Real Chocolate Relief Act, a weekly promotion where you can sign up to receive a maximum of four coupons for Mars' chocolate, not chocolaty, candy pieces. Free. Free of charge. It's four to a household each Friday, so I signed up a couple weeks ago for these four people: Bridger Winegar, Bridgo Winegar, Richard Winegar, and Eric Winegar, and now I have the power to get four free bars or bags of pieces of my choice. This morning I signed up for four more folks, including myself, my imaginary wife, Samantha Jenkins-Winegar, my imaginary mistress Dana Teence, and someone else who Mars thinks lives in my house that I can't remember.

I have four coupons for free candy bars sailing through the air towards my house, and I haven't even exercised my first four. I have eight or more free candy bars in my future, and so can you. So if you're feeling uneasy about spending .60 cents on something you may not enjoy (who isn't?), prepare to sign up for one to four of the 250,000 coupons that Mars will be giving away each Friday until September, and then get off my case.

The link in case you weren't able to catch it earlier in the post:

http://www.realchocolate.com

Strawberried Peanut Butter M&M's

2009-06-03T18:41:00.000-07:00

It's been over a week since my last post, and my advertisers are getting antsy. They say my audience isn't just dwindling, it's been cut in half. So, now that you and I are alone, I'd like to divulge a secret.

In 2007, I joined my father and brothers for an Independence Day viewing of Transformers. At the time I had no interest in the movie, but I figured it would be a great opportunity to spend some quality bonding time with the other males in my family without having to engage them in conversation. Little did I know, Michael Bay would be treating me to a front seat in the loose stool splash zone of modern cinema. Transformers wasn't innocent, dumb summer fun; it should have been preceded by a "CHARRED BRAIN STEMS ONLY" disclaimer. Tears filled my eyes, I gagged, my ears bled for several seconds, and to this day I have flashbacks of robot potty humor. I swore to myself that I wouldn't again be associated with the franchise until it saw a reboot featuring a young, troubled robot facing his parents' death head-on while training with a League of Shadows somewhere in the Himalayas. It was a perfectly attainable goal. Of course, the people at the Mars corporation couldn't keep from meddling in my personal affairs-- they just had to release Strawberried Peanut Butter M&M's to coincide with the release of Transformed: Revenge of the Falcon.

The rise of these limited edition candy pieces left me feeling confused. I didn't know how something became strawberried. I had no idea what connection there was between Michael Bay's latest mass rape and strawberries (or M&M's, for that matter). All I knew was that trying a new variety of M&M's was a decent excuse to betray my trust and break the promise I made to myself two years ago.

During one of the many times I spoke poorly of the original Transform! picture, I compared it to lapping diarrhea out of a urinal (The power of understatement). Naturally, I had reservations about about anything related to the series that would be entering my mouth. The gimmick of tiny chocolate PB&J sandwiches was too much excitement to resist, however, and I proceeded with the trial, in which I learned that Strawberried Peanut Butter M&M's aren't only delicious, they're a bargain. Currently, Mars is trying the recession-proof idea of selling M&M's at $4 a bag by tacking the word "premium" in the title and adding flavors to the shells. As a leading consumer guide, I can tell you that's a genuine scam, especially now that you can buy these Strawberried pieces, which are essentially the same idea at a fraction of the cost. Each morsel has a smack of strawberry built in, transforming (is this the connection I seek?!) the regular sugar-flavored shell into something a little more useful. The triple punch combo of chocolate, peanut butter, and not-nauseating strawberry is everything I'm sure the Transformé sequel wont' be: tasteful and truly unique. I think they're an:

Taken

2009-05-26T20:07:00.000-07:00

At some point between wishing for a pony and wishing to become a pop songstress, Liam Neeson's retarded daughter hears "Beautiful Day" in a dentist office waiting room and decides to follow U2 on its European tour. Liam's uneasy, but according to his ex-wife, all the teens are doing it. Not wanting to be outshined by rich stepdad, Liam relents and daughter runs off to Paris with arms flailing like a toddler chasing bubbles. Within a few minutes of the European vacation, daughter gets snatched up by a pack of mysterious men in Shoes For Crews. It's here that Liam doesn't disguise himself as a lovable old nanny to win back his family, but instead uses his "particular set of skills" (one being the "superhuman" skill) to kill everyone. It should also be noted that a non-plot featuring a superstar chanteuse named Sheerah bookends the picture.

Thankfully someone realized how insane all of this is and did nothing to reign it in. It moves along very quickly, so instead of being pretty bad and slow, it's ridiculous and not boring. Good hotel watching or $1 rental:

AAA MP3

2009-05-21T18:54:00.000-07:00

Shelley

There will be a slight interruption in service as I try to reconcile my new life as a Harlem gang member (I'll shoot anything in a pair of red shoes) with my former existence as a sweet-natured, service-oriented small town youth. I'm also in pursuit of two or three particular things to try, which will be complained about before you know it. Here are some songs:

Destroyer- "Trembling Peacock"

Free Energy- "Dream City"

Mark Sultan- "We're Sinking"

Baked! Lay's Southwestern Ranch Flavored Potato Crisps

2009-05-14T08:08:00.000-07:00

With its Southwestern Ranch variety of Baked! Lay's, the Lay's corporation is trying to add some kick to ranch. The inherent taste of ranch flavoring is cooler, we know this thanks to Doritos. When you eat one of these chips, you experience neither cooler nor spicy hot; the two cancel each other out. It only makes sense. Lay's, why didn't you call me?

AAA MP3

2009-05-13T07:39:00.000-07:00

Look at that-- they all start with a "B." Isn't that incredible?

Ben Charest- "Pa Pa Pa Palavas"

Box Elders- "Hole In My Head"

Built to Spill- "Big Dipper"

Happy Family Chinese Food

2009-05-12T11:00:00.000-07:00

As I've mentioned as recently as Fluffy's Salad, Leez picks up the tab for Monday night's dinner, and there's always at least one "safe" option in the form of a cafe or diner. When I wrote about Fluffy's, I half-joked that there must be an intern that can't live through a Monday without a salad, wrap, or sandwich. Well, it turns out that's true, or at least, was true. Last week one intern, a weighty, loud miscreant with an undying love for turning any object that could be held in one hand into a phallic blast of sexual harassment, left us. The obese's exit is the only reasonable explanation I can come up with for the two restaurants I had to choose from last night, neither which was a diner nor a cafe. Instead of the option of a flying saucer-sized bowl of vegetables, I was faced with a barbecue chain whose claim to fame is something like seventy pounds of warm lard for $9.99, Dallas BBQ, or a Chinese place that one person warned to "run for the hills" from, the Happy Family restaurant. Garbage barbecue or garbage Chinese. Usually when given such choices I opt for death, but I figured I'd made it this far into the internship, why not stick it out for a few more days?

The Happy Family took me in, and I hedged my bets with two orders: sesame chicken and chicken with broccoli. I also ordered hot sauce in capital letters to mask any blandness, but naturally, my plea was ignored by the Happy Family and all I got were my two orders, which could be described like this:

Sesame chicken: Shreds of succulent grizzle enveloped in unflavored, pillowy batter. Soaked in brown sauce with a thick water taste. Sprinkled with sesame seeds. Swallowable.

Chicken with broccoli: Pieces of chicken with the texture of wet Kleenex, covered in goo with a base of salt and light notes of grease. Some broccoli.

I know it was an:

Public Enemies

2009-05-11T10:45:00.000-07:00

I got a lot of flak for my review of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, where I prematurely revealed to readers around the globe that Dumbledore continues to live on in our hearts. As much of a trial it was to deal with all of the hate mail I received for spilling those beans, I can't help but give away the big twist of Public Enemies. SPOILER ALERT: Alvin Karpis slimmed down to a beach-ready 26" waistline while on the lam! Had I known that a life of crime would produce such slendering results, I would have started knocking over banks years ago. The book is full of such helpful hints and other fascinating information. For example, I learned that while filling a bank robbing gang with venereal diseased members may seem sexy, there's a good chance something may flame up at an inopportune time and slow you down. What I got here was a book that informatively entertained me without glamorizing the lives of such criminal bigshots as John Dillinger (pretty nice guy), Bonnie and Clyde (dirty, loser nobodies), and Baby Face Nelson (obnoxious twerp). I thought it was an:

Star Trick

2009-05-07T21:05:00.000-07:00

Through the magic of television and movies, I've seen babies delivered in a variety of unique situations. The back of a limousine, a stalled elevator, even a sound stage dressed up to look like a hospital; no place in the world is safe from cinematic childbirth. That's why I wasn't surprised to witness the birth of a baby on a spaceship lifeboat within the first few minutes of this new Star Trick picture. There, in the great vastness of space, young James Tanya Kirk is born as his mother flees an exploding vessel, her screaming face hilariously filling up the silver screen. Such birthing circumstances are hard to beat in peculiarity, and so this baby must be special. The potential for such a life is limitless: Captain of the USS Enterprise? Possibly. Pitchman for an online travel website with unbeatable deals? The sky's the limit!

As the picture unfolds, we learn that young JT, the fatherless yokel, now stranded somewhere in the Midwest, has a kid-actorly streak of defiance in him. This is illustrated by his penchant for stealing convertible sports cars and driving them to the edges of cliffs while listening to the Beastie Boys at high volumes. It's comforting to know that even far, far into the future, angry pre-teens will still find solace in the sounds of Mike D, MCA, and Ad-Rock. It's moments like this that make it clear that this Star Trick is trying to target people like me; people whose knowledge of the franchise doesn't extend beyond a few viewings of Trekkies and the opinion that more than one of their local librarians bare a striking resemblance to Data.

Fortunately, the movie doesn't allow the Zack and Cody version of JT much screentime. Star Trick moves along at a brisk pace, quickly advancing time to show that spunky child James Tanya eventually becomes hunky, troubled twentysomething Jamie Tanya. Of course, no bar fight-prone Midwesterner born while his mother escaped from an exploding flying saucer is ever what he seems, and so it's not a surprise that JT, the seemingly rough-n-tough loner, is actually a supergenius. His incredible intelligence doesn't go unnoticed for long, and soon he's able to trade in his motorcycle for a chance to join the Starfleet Academy. It's there that he makes out with a woman covered in green paint and also initially butts heads with Spock, outfitted in his Spock hairdo (evidently film franchise reboots have no effect on Vulcan style).

At some point it's revealed that at least part of the galaxy is being threatened by a race of Tom Cruises outfitted by FUBU, and both Spock and Jennifer Tanya must learn valuable lessons about themselves in order to overcome this and a variety of trials. There's a bunch of talk of time travel and time bending and I don't know, the type of thing that's best ignored when trying to enjoy all the explosions and monsters. It's all exciting and nice to look at, and I might even pay to see the next one. Even if I didn't really care about what was going on, I think it was a:

Fluffy's Salad

2009-05-07T07:37:00.000-07:00

I ducked under my salad to avoid the rain.

Every Monday, Leez buys the interns dinner as a reward for doing their very best. That's what I like to imagine, anyway, but I think part of Leez's generosity has to do with the government kindly asking her to keep us from starving to death after twelve hours on the job. Each week two restaurants are picked, and then we're alotted fifteen dollars to help us go wild. Of those two restaurants, the default is always some kind of cafe/diner; apparently at least one intern can't make it through a Monday without the possibility of eating a salad, sandwich, or wrap.

For the last couple of weeks the first option has been Fluffy's, which, in fact, does not sell kittens, but cafe food. I try to use my spending power to get enough food for both dinner and the next day's lunch, so in addition to a burrito, last week I got a Chicken Caesar wrap from Fluffy's. It was fine. Not what I ordered (I actually demanded a California wrap), but fine. Yesterday before ordering, I was alerted to Fluffy's salads, which were said to be large. I've been ordering what I thought to be enormous salads for my boss the last four months, and I couldn't imagine anything bigger, especially at the reasonable seven dollar price of Fluffy's. Because salads hold their quality far better than wraps, I thought I'd give one a shot. Chicken, egg white, mixed greens, raw peppers, peas, cucumbers, onions, broccoli, tomatoes, carrots, and jack cheese: these were the ingredients I selected.

Now listen, I don't necessarily think that quantity alone should qualify a salad for praise. But this wasn't a salad, this was sixteen. Or at least three. My first thought upon seeing it was "The only thing on this table is a party platter created from the freshest produce-- where in the damn is my salad?" Unfortunately, Fluffy forgot to include the ranch dressing I requested, but I used my wit and intellect to order an extra dressing with boss' salad the next day, successfully solving the puzzle. I then ate a lot of the salad for lunch. With over half left, I returned it to the fridge. Two hours later I felt like a snack. I retrieved the salad to eat more, and something strange happened: there was still over half left. What does one do when driven to the edge of still having half a large salad? One saves it for the next day's lunch, and that's what I did. Fluffy, if you're out there, I want to thank you for going above and beyond my expectations of having enough food for one meal, as you gave me two and a half. For that, I'm going to mostly look past the lack of dressing and give you a:

AAA MP3

2009-05-05T18:40:00.000-07:00

Anyone worth their salt has at least one tasteful, understated top in their wardrobe.

Quasi- "The Happy Prole"

Camera Obscura- "Swans"

The Clean- "Getting Older"

Honey Bunches of Oats with Cinnamon Clusters

2009-05-04T09:39:00.000-07:00

One of the three slugs I've been living with, Chase, left last week for a month-long pleasure cruise in his home state of Idaho. I'll be gone when he returns, so as a parting gift for my four months of unending devotion to him, he left me three half-empty boxes of cereal (he'll be receiving my three plastic bowls and two drinking glasses in the divorce). The amount of cereal I eat grows in absurdity every day, so I was glad to have more ammunition to fight my insatiable hunger for sugared grains. Of the three boxes, I was gifted two cereals I already know and would eat if they were offered to me on a Scouting trip: Apple Jacks and Frosted Flakes. The third box, however, was both something old and new: Honey Bunches of Oats... WITH CINNAMON CLUSTERS.

I've never seen what all the hoopla is about Honey Bunches of Oats. For years my mother supported the brand, meaning many bowls of a flake-thickened milk. The enormous lack of crunch and bunches of oats got to me every time, so this new variety didn't hold much appeal for me. However, as I mentioned, I do go through a lot of cereal, so I got around to finishing the box as soon as Chase was out the door. And what's this? An almost instantaneous climb into my favorite cereals? It happened, and my head is still spinning from the surprise. The cereal is so delicious that after every spoonful I throw my hands in the air and wail in ecstasy. Post has really done it with these cinnamon clusters. I know it's an:

The Burrowers

2009-05-01T07:56:00.001-07:00

Howard Zinn's A People's History of the United States was on the reading list for one of my classes at some point in my mysterious college past. For some reason I never finished reading it, either because I dropped the course or because I continued the course, but I got a good idea of what the book is all about. It's fascinating stuff, a record of the untold history of the country; the sort of thing that makes you question everything you learned from kindergarten to the twelfth grade. Learning about such non-finger paintable historical details such as Christopher Columbus' hand-chopping fetish was eye-opening, but after watching The Burrowers, I'm starting to think that Zinn is being about as honest with people as my first grade teacher Ms. Andrews was. The movie brings the true cause of tension between cowboys and Indians to the surface, and it's got nothing to do with ignorance, culture clashes, or land disputes. No, I can now say with certainty that all those tearful trails started with buffalo-starved subterranean hell beasts.

It seems like the majority of modern horror films aim to scare me out of pursuing my babysitting career. Monsters and menaces rarely stray from suburbia in the movies, and so I was interested to see how terror in the wild west would play out in this Burrowers picture. Set somewhere in the United States at some western-y point in history, some sort of story takes place where cowboys do battle with both the natives and the ancestors of Tremors. Apparently the critters originally dined on buffalo (isn't that how it always begins?), but the cowboys killed all of those, so the critters start dining on cowboys. I'm sure throughout all of this, gender and racial issues abound.

I'll be honest, I wasn't in the mood to watch this show when I did, which may explain why I didn't really care about what was going on. There aren't any moments that I remember feeling terrified, but I didn't hate it. It's a straight-to-video release, but it doesn't look or feel like one, which was a surprise. I thought it was a:

AAA MP3

2009-04-30T06:53:00.000-07:00

Modern Lovers- "Government Center"

Eat Skull- "Oregon Dreaming"

Sloan- "Cheap Champagne"

Theo's Brazilian Burger XXX and Kimball Farm Ice Cream

2009-04-28T17:40:00.000-07:00

I feel like I've been doing a very poor job the last few days. The tragic truth is that although I'm trying very hard, I simply haven't tried much. There was a motion picture I got a sneak peek at recently, but I can't say any words on that until it gets released. I won't say it was a car wreck, but it may very well rhyme with those words. Could there be a better time for me to devote a few sentences to a hamburger I ate several weeks ago? It's lost to time and my digestive tract, but that isn't going to stop me.

I hope I'm handsome enough to be a cardiac arrest model when I get to this man's age.

Theo's Brazilian Burger

Before I visited Boston over Easter Weekend, I asked around as to what some must-see places were. Virtually everyone I spoke to mentioned the North End, which I was lead to believe was a sort-of Little Italy. Well, I went with friends Emily and Brittany, and the place felt like an excuse for jerks to yell at you to eat at their rip-off restaurants. Fortunately before we made any brash decisions, we visited the church where Paul Revere did his thing, which gave us some time to think.

After a presentation that cleared up all the lies I was told about Revere in the first grade, I approached one of the church's employees, asking for dining suggestions. Initially, the lazy good-for-nothing recommended the tourist trap food court that is Faneuil Hall. Nobody's fool, I pressed him for a better answer. He wasn't easy to get information out of, but after I knocked him to the floor and pinned him bleeding beneath a folding chair, he volunteered that a place he actually ate at was Theo's, an Italian and Brazilian diner. We had passed it on our way to the church, and even had an elderly gent recommend it, but assuming he was in cahoots with the restaurant owners, we ignored it. Good grief, did we feel the fools! We sheepishly returned to Theo's, where we remained suspicious of the Brazilian restaurateurs' largely Italian menu.

Something strange happens to me when I'm around Brittany, who is a licensed nutritionist: my eating habits become an exaggeration of their already cartoonish unhealthiness. It's as if I'm at the swimming pool and notice a lifeguard on duty. Knowing a trained professional is on hand only makes me want to attempt even more dangerous feats, as I know that if the worst happens, they can at least use their cleaning net to fish my corpse from the bottom of the pool. And so, the only choice on Theo's menu that made sense for the situation was their Brazilian Burger XXX or whatever they named it. The burger was a quarter pound of beef topped with cheese, bacon, ham, fried egg, tomato, and lettuce. Two greasy breakfasts and a lunch housed in one bun: I wouldn't even try to resist. Combined with french fries, I was looking death in the face.

Well, the hamburger was really something. Nowhere near the hamburger I had in Caracas a few years ago (which resembled what you'll see here), but still, really something. Taking my health and manners to a new level, I then helped Brittany finish her eggplant parmigiana sub, which was equally delicious. Those squirrely Brazilians and their cross-continental cuisine really took my body by storm:

Kimball Farm Ice Cream

I'll also use this time to remember and rate Kimball Farm Ice Cream of Westford, Massachusetts. I had a peanut butter chocolate frappe, which I nearly ordered as frappé, but was saved from hoity-toity embarrassment by the employee who pronounced it as if it rhymed with rat trap. I'm going to save you a lot of grief and just tell you to cancel all your plans and head to this modern day dairy miracle now. It's nothing less than, and somehow more than, an:

Kashi Honey Sunshine

2009-04-23T11:19:00.001-07:00

Pathmark really threw me for a loop this week with their cereal sale, which included the never-affordable Kashi brand. It was such a surprise that I ended up buying five boxes of stuff; after four months, I've realized that you've got to strike when the sale iron is hot. The other night at the store for some milk to match my cereal collection, I noticed that the shelves had been restored to their pre-Pathmark shopper state. Stocked and mildly organized, they might have even rivaled the shelves of those real fancy retailers, like one of them Wal-Mart's. Part of the restocking included Kashi Honey Sunshine cereal, a variety my sale-blinders had never allowed me to see. At $2.33 a box, I couldn't resist: Kashi describes the cereal as "Honey-kissed Seven Whole Grain Cereal Pillows," and no food compared to a pillow gets past this mouth.

I was suspicious of Honey Sunshine's claim to pillowy divinity-- the box makes it look like Cap'n Crunch, a cereal which has the power to turn even the toughest mouths into ground beef. The big surprise, then, was that the cereal, when properly exposed to milk, has a texture I'd compare to something stuffed with feathers-- if that didn't bring up the idea of a cereal box full of filthy goose dander. A really miraculous puffiness here, like no other cereal texture I've dealt with before. The flavor comes close to what I remember that awful Waffle Crisp tasting like, but it works wonders in these tiny cushions. I eat it as a treat, I eat it as a breakfast, I eat it whenever I please. If you can find this on sale, by all means reward yourself:

AAA MP3

2009-04-22T10:47:00.000-07:00

Go-Betweens- "Lee Remick"

Fresh & Onlys- "Peacock and Wing"

OMD- "Of All the Things We've Made"

Twice Around the Reservoir

2009-04-21T11:29:00.001-07:00

Rumors persist that Jackie can be seen tubing around the reservoir during the witching hour.

Over the past couple of months I've felt pressure from certain people to run a half-marathon. Besides telling me I'll "never amount to anything," my "fanny is disgusting," and if I "don't lose twenty pounds by July there's no chance you're coming to the pool party for my twelfth birthday," this individual did provide me with some helpful tips on how to prepare for the big day, one which is to give the running thing a shot. I'll be honest: when I originally caved to this gal's demands, I had no idea how long a half-marathon was. The word "half" gave me hope of not having to give a full effort, and I figured no reasonable human being would be willing to ask me to run more than five miles. When I learned that a half-marathon is thirteen miles, I found a quiet place, bit my lip, then decided to commit to it as tears silently streamed from my eyes.

In preparation for the big day in July, I have decided to give the occasional run a chance. Last Saturday morning, I loaded Funky Divas onto my iPod Shuffle, slipped into my running shorts and sports bra, and headed towards Central Park, where I planned to make two laps around the Jackie O. Reservoir of Tears. After pretending to know what kind of stretches I needed to be doing pre-run, I set off at a quick pace, doing my best to avoid people walking in the wrong direction and the brilliant types who are still learning the slower-traffic-to-the-right philosophy. After running and speed-walking one lap, which according to Wikipedia is 1.58 miles (most likely 15 feet in real world measurements), I felt decent enough, ready for another round. It was about a quarter of the way through the second loop that years and years of bodily neglect came crashing down on me. The agony I experienced, as far as I can tell, wouldn't be worse if you had shot my husband in the back of our convertible. Still, I looked to the reservoir's namesake for strength, and carried on just as she would have wanted me to: with undeniable style and grace.

After completing the 3-mile affair, I dragged my aching self to the subway, where something miraculous occurred. About two minutes into the train ride, I felt as if my body had screamed "UNLEASH THE ENDORPHINS!" I was on top of the world, and nothing was going to stop me. A genuine, full-on "natural high" PSA-type experience. And unlike the speed I sprinkled on my baked potato earlier in the week, this didn't make my nose bleed. I did get a blister on my foot, but overall, I felt like a real champion. And I still do:

For Better or Worse: Snickers Dark and Reese's Crunchy Peanut Butter Cups

2009-04-20T09:57:00.000-07:00

The sheer randomness of the universe is really something, isn't it? Take last Friday for example: How likely is it that I'd walk into a corner store with the intent to buy a candy bar and walk out with a candy bar? I'm still reeling from the shock and surprise of it. And to think the bar, a Snickers Dark, only cost .85 cents-- life is really amazing! Previously on a trip to the same store to buy some Tums for one of my bosses I had spotted Reese's Crunchy Peanut Butter Cups, but as I have a strict don't-fool-around-on-the-job-you-professional-you policy, I held off on the alluring sweet. But now, out of some wild cosmic coincidence, I've tried both the Reese's Crunchy and the Snickers Dark, which perceptive readers will recognize as special edition takes on classic candy bars. I thought it would be provocative to shine a spotlight on them by deciding if their respective manufacturers' tweaks had BETTERED or WORSENED the bars.

Snickers Dark

There are a lot of things I remember about my second grade teacher, Mrs. Jones, possibly too many things, but she had one attribute that is particularly burned into my memory: Mrs. Jones breathed death. There was a horror to her halitosis that I've yet to smell elsewhere. It was as if her mouth had existed since the dawn of time, like a puddle of primordial ooze that had stumbled on a pair of dentures and said, "hey, I've got a few billion years, why not form a person around these things?" It was a shame, too, because other than the rotting hole in her face, Mrs. Jones probably wasn't that terrible of a teacher. However, feeling the warmth of the noxious gas as she whispered in my ear amplified any irritating quirks she had, and my dislike for her cemented quickly.

As a lifelong devotee to dental hygiene, I did everything I could to subtly attack Mrs. Jones. One such opportunity arose as the winter break of 1993 closed in. From the beginning of the school year, Mrs. Jones had spent much of the time she could have been using to brush her teeth or swig Scope to remind our class of her love for all things chocolate, and as we left for the holidays, she requested that each student bring her one piece of their Christmas chocolate. This strikes me as bizarre today, but at the time it just made me angry. I began to think of ways to really teach Mrs. Jones a lesson. This manifested itself in my plan to really hit her where it would hurt: I would gift Mrs. Jones a fun size Hershey's Special Dark candy bar which I found at the bottom of my stocking. At the time, and let's be honest, today as well, I had the delusional belief that everyone shared my opinions, and my opinion on dark chocolate was that it tasted bad. Good grief, was she screwed.

I've since come to my senses in regards to dark chocolate, and although I imagine Hershey's Special Dark is still just repackaged hand soap, there are plenty of dark chocolate products I now enjoy. Candy bar manufacturers' swapping milk for dark chocolate is probably the safest gimmick they can conjure up. It worked for Twix (limited time, sadly), and it even made Milky Way worth eating, so I was ready to give Snickers Dark a whirl, even if the last gimmick Snickers I tried wasn't that exciting.

I don't remember the last time I paid money for a regular Snickers, as there are plenty of more exciting options available to me. That's not to say that I dislike them; I think they're pleasant enough. This may all change with the advent of Snickers Dark, though, as replacing the sort-of crappy milk chocolate with dark chocolate has transformed the trusted bar into something I would market as INTRIGUING, DECADENT, and WORTH AT LEAST FIFTY CENTS (are you listening, Mars, Inc.?). I think these darlings are just the twist Snickers needed to catch my attention on the candy aisle. Better:

Reese's Cruncy Peanut Butter Cups

Have you ever had Reese's Peanut Butter Cups? These are the same thing. Maybe the texture is a bit different, but they could have fooled me. Worse for getting my hopes up. As a gimmick, they are an:

Cracker Awareness: Reader Recommendations

2009-04-17T09:41:00.000-07:00

When I started this blog, I intended it to be a humble outlet for the unending stream of mind-blowing visions piling up in my brilliant head, nothing more. Little did I know at the time that it would become an unqualified success, a worldwide smash, a complete cultural phenomenon; t-shirts emblazoned with my shining face are just a matter of time. With readers numbering in the nearly tens, it can be hard to keep up with at times. As you might imagine, sorting through the vast amounts of fan letters for messages worthy of my time is a daunting task. Every once in a while a member of my staff finds something worthy of my attention, and because I occasionally give a damn about your thoughts, I take a moment to read them.

With that in mind, it's no secret that cracker fever continues its stranglehold of the United States. America's love affair with all things cracker in 2008 has only gotten steamier in 2009, and readers can't get the snack off their minds. In particular, two fans' similar e-pleas have been recently placed on my desk: they both wanted me to validate their enjoyment of certain cracker products. Because I love crackers, I decided not to ignore them.

Jordan Smith of South Jordan, Utah writes:
Have you tried the Wheat Things [sic] Artisan Cheese crackers? I think they are top-notch!

Jordan,

Thanks for your letter and complete devotion to my blog! And thanks for picking up my desperate in-grocery store call when I needed to know which dehydrated cheese-powdered cracker to try! You'll be happy to know that I trusted your recommendation of the Vermont White Cheddar variety, and what's more, I ate the entire box in a personal record of under 24 hours. The story between Wheat Thins Artisan Cheese Vermont White Cheddar and me isn't so simple as the happy part of a bulimic's diet, however. Truth be told, I actually had to dip my tongue a few times in the white cheddar pool before nearly drowning myself in it.

Initially the cracker pleased, but didn't take me to another realm. The white cheddar flavor was smooth, slightly creamy, and as always, unbelievably sexual; far more pleasant than the last snack I had in this flavor, popcorn, which was at a birthday slumber party in 1994. The cracker lacked a slight punch, and I didn't know what to do until I realized what I needed to do: place it on my tongue salted-side down. No one can say why I always forget this trick with a new cracker, but I'm glad it hit me, as it transformed Wheat Thins Artisan Cheese Vermont White Cheddar crackers from something my mouth could do while watching true crime TV to a complete ball for my senses. They'll make people think of me as the perfect host at my next get-together:

-Bridger

Caitlin Jackowiak of Hamburg, New York writes:
I haven't looked into your blog hard enough but I was wondering if you have sampled "Flip Sides" the hybrid pretzel cracker. I like them but can't seem to find the words to describe them....maybe you can.

Caitlin,

I'll take your comment about not looking into my blog hard enough as a compliment-- I'm flattered that you're spending hours upon hours savoring each entry to maximize your enjoyment. You might even consider memorizing some of your favorites to recite at a party or in front of an important college class. I think you'll be surprised by the results!

As far as your cracker query, I think we need to get it out in the open that as a rule, I would never willingly eat a snack pretzel. I like the occasional baked one when I'm taking a rest from a mall shoplifting spree (now that I think of it, a Dr. Pepper and a pretzel from Auntie Anne's is nearly unbeatable during one's fifteen-minute break from the Apple Store, and you may even develop a crush on a pretzel-making employee), but I find the small bagged ones too bland and dry for my tastes.

As little interest as I have in pretzels, I weathered the Pathmark of Hell to find a box of Town House Flip Sides Pretzel Crackers Original. It was there just a few aisles past yet another terrible cereal sale, that I found the snack I sought at $4.39 a box. Seeing as $4.39 was just over my budget of whatever I feel is an appropriate price for what I want, I nearly left the store empty handed. I wasn't going to give up so easily, though: I had devoted a large amount of energy to trek through the grocery badlands, and I had a commitment to try to the cracker. Besides, this blog was already half-written; I had to do something. It was on my way out that I noticed a sale sign for all things Town House: $2.50 a box. A savings of $1.89, a stunning bargain. As is custom, I learned a valuable lesson at Pathmark last night: put in no effort and then give up when things don't go your way, and you will be rewarded.

I took the box home, and before heading off to do my laundry, I snuck a preview taste of the Flip Sides. It was a confusing sensation that I couldn't get off my mind. After doing my laundry, I ate the rest of the recommended serving of five crackers (which provides you with a meaningless 1% of your daily fiber, by the way) in an attempt to solve this taste puzzle. What we're looking at here is a product that maintains many of the same properties of a pretzel, including a lot of salt and a slightly burnt flavor. Where Flip Sides diverge from their pretzel heritage is that they don't turn to choke-inducing mortar when exposed to saliva. That's due to the trustworthy deliciousness of the Town House cracker side.

It has to be said that Flip Sides are event crackers, something you'd find on a platter at a holiday party. Throughout the forty-five seconds I spent eating them, I wished they could have been presented to me like the picture on the box. That is to say, I wish that someone had Photoshopped slices of cheese and tomato on them for my pleasure. If they haven't been removed from the market by Christmas, though, I'm going to stir up some ginger ale and cranberry juice in a punch bowl, throw some beautifully garnished Flip Sides on a platter, and once again have folks think of me as the perfect host. I think they're a:

-Bridger

Parks and Recreation and Millionaire Matchmaker

2009-04-16T10:39:00.001-07:00

Parks and Recreation

I only watched ten minutes or so, but that won't stop me from saying Parks and Recreation is The Office, the only difference being I haven't been trained to hate the characters. I even like a lot of the folks on the show, so hopefully it will find the strength to be more than a:

Millionaire Matchmaker

You get to watch this slug slither around and set terrible people up on dates with each other. It's trash and therefore, great hotel room television:

AAA MP3

2009-04-15T06:46:00.001-07:00

I'll never return to the wilderness.

Gentleman Jesse- "Highland Crawler"

Flaming Lips- "Buggin'"

Wounded Lion- "Carol Cloud"

And can I say how excited I am to hear three songs from the upcoming Reigning Sound album, Love & Curses? I loved "Break It" and "Call Me" live, and now I can love them in the privacy of my own deathtrap.

Cougar TV Show CUBcake

2009-04-14T07:17:00.000-07:00

There's just something about the depth, texture, and tone of a cellphone camera photo that speaks to the artist in me.

I've never hidden my desire to marry an older, wealthy woman, back over her with the family wagon a few months into our wedded bliss, twice if I have to, and reap the financial rewards. It would be all too easy if it weren't for my charming under-18 looks, which I fear are keeping non-pedophilic older gals at bay. Still, I toil on, praying for the day that a Mona Robinson-esque dazzler walks into my life to nurture and spoil me with her untimely death.

On a vacation to Seattle a couple of years ago, I learned from a local newspaper of the "cougar" craze that was beginning to sweep the nation. The article focused on college-age men scouring the world for the sexiest members of their mother's book clubs, and it struck fear into my heart. Suddenly I had competition, and besides having the edge of being more attractive, suave, and experienced than me, these men also seemed to be interested in these women for more than their wills. I tried to calm my worries, telling myself the trend would be over in a flash; the world would quickly return to normal, clearing the love forest for me to hunt cougars without anyone stepping on my toes.

It's been nearly two years since I read that article, and cougar fever rages on. The trend has even produced a new reality show, The Cougar, which I imagine puts several vacuous pinhead types in the same home as a middle-aged floozy, at which point everyone takes turns sleeping with each other until they're mildly famous enough to find their way to some other television diarrhea swamp.

Of course, with a new television show comes promotional material to the offices of Leeza, and part of those promotional materials included cupcakes, not cleverly retitled CUBcakes in honor of the douchebags sure to be vying for the heart of the decrepit slutzoid TV Land peeled out of a tanning bed for their show. As I was digging through bins of free promo CDs in the office, Mike the mailroom miracle worker encouraged me to try one.

I was naturally suspicious of anything to do with this certainly worthless piece of programming, but like older women, when I'm near baked goods I have a hard time keeping my hands to myself. The CUBcake I almost swallowed whole consisted of white cake with some kind of whipped frosting and the smashed semblance of something to do with the show printed on it, and I was shocked, shocked to find myself loving it. The whipped frosting shook me all night long, even if the whole package was a bit too sweet. I can't recommend the program, but I'll say their tiny cake was a:

Cadbury Moro

2009-04-13T09:33:00.001-07:00

As much as I love the British sweets I can get my hands on, I can't help but feel candy retailers aren't telling me the whole truth about the wonders of British chocolate. Most of the imported candy bar selections I find offer few surprises. Stores usually have a standard collection that includes Aero, Mars, Kit Kat, Galaxy, and a few others. I can't complain much about these offerings, but within my heart of hearts, I know there's more to explore in the British candy barscape. That's why I felt a sensation of total delight run up and down my spine when my uppity friend Emily took me to a gourmet convenience store on my recent trip to Boston, city of wonders. The shop tempts and teases its customers with a wide variety of imported chocolate bars, many that I'd never had the chance to swallow. Among these bars was the Cadbury Moro, and knowing that no candy bar would ever come closer to having "moron" as a title, I snatched one up.

A search of the internet for the components of the Moron revealed that the bar is actually a New Zealand favorite, and the thing I tried last Thursday is a combination of whipped chocolate, biscuit bits, and caramel, all covered in regular chocolate. The Moron let me down, and I think the finger should be pointed at its whipped chocolate. Instead of being the chocolate cloud you'd imagine, it felt more like dried caulk on my tongue. Such a texture would have been welcomed had I been insulating my gingerbread house for winter, but I wasn't: I was just trying to reward myself for overcoming a lifetime of tribulations. The other elements of the bar were tasty enough, but the huge amount of choco-caulk overwhelmed me. Cadbury, how could you? I'm sorry to say it was a:

AAA MP3

2009-04-07T18:56:00.000-07:00

Nobunny- "Chuck Berry Holiday"

The Revelons- "Brighter Side"

Them- "Turn On Your Love Light"

Double Screecher: Necco Skybar and Cadbury Time Out

2009-04-07T08:38:00.001-07:00

Whether she's pushing me in a cart through the grocery store or helping me pick out a new Easter dress, I know I can always count on Mommy for an Advil while we're out of the house. One never can tell when a headache will strike, and so it's nice to know I can count on the little tin of painkillers she keeps in her purse. Likewise, should I have the urge to experience a sudden wave of nausea followed by a light migraine to remind myself that I'm indeed a mortal, I can usually rely on her handbag to deliver a Necco Wafer. These dusty sugar discs, sort of suicide pill-lites, have always been the perfect antidote for too decent of a day. Along with their thicker, equally distasteful sisters, Sweethearts Conversation Hearts, the Wafers have been the terrifying face of the Necco (New England Confectionary Company-- make learning a life pursuit!) brand in my life. Despite this, as a candy bar eater and saint, I was willing to give the candy maker a chance to redeem itself when I learned of the Skybar candy bar while wandering around the Economy Candy Market.

The Skybar, which is packaged as if it were found in a candy factory abandoned in 1967, boasts its unique trait of having four different flavors in a single candy bar. Four: fudge, peanut, vanilla, and caramel. It's enough to make other candy bars that had to settle on just one sensible flavor combination shake in their sweet, sweet boots. The flavors aren't combined, of course, but held in four separate chocolate compartments.

Putting my terrible history with Necco aside, I tried this Skybar, and the first thing I noticed was its complete lack of relation to anything to do with the sky. 5th Avenue, Kit Kat, Hershey's Milk Chocolate-- I realize many bars have names that don't relate to how they taste, but I was hoping that just this once a candy would be true to its name. The possibilities are endless: it could have been like the sky. Light and airy, or simply stunning, or mildly smoggy. It could have had been molded in sky-related shapes: clouds, airplanes, or even the letters "s," "k," and "y." But no, none of this applies to the Skybar. It's just this thing:

These look like seashells if you ask me.

The only fair method I could conjure up to review this four-flavored bar was to grade each chocolate compartment on its own merits. These are my feelings on the innards:

Fudge: Tasted like a gummier, sweeter version of the chocolate shell.

Caramel/Peanut Butter: I actually couldn't tell the difference between these two flavors of slime, which had a base of sweet with notes of sugar. They looked about the same, too.

Vanilla: Oh, who am I fooling? This was essentially the same taste as the other three, but it looked like the remains of those sacks that spiders carry their spawn around in.

As a final complaint, the chocolate surrounding this mess tasted like sweetened food grade plastic. Necco, you won't get me again:

I tried the Cadbury Time Out, which is sort of like a lighter, caramel-less Twix with that magic Cadbury chocolate. Oh delicious. Really a stand-up bar:

The Seventeenth Iteration of Facebook in Six Weeks

2009-04-06T09:13:00.001-07:00

I didn't become incredible at the internet by accident. No, it's taken years and years of dedication and a complete lack of productive hobbies to become the world wide wizard that I am today. Before my family had even signed up for an actual service provider, I was dipping my toe in online waters by using our otherwise useless modem in tandem with a copy of Descent to prank call neighbors (the fools never saw those cleverly timed hang-ups coming!). It was somewhere around 1995 that the information super highway came crashing through my family's home at a blazing14k. Tired of getting my updates on Mario 64 at just magazine speeds, I leaped on the back of the rickety internet trolley and never looked back.

The early days of my web gazing were far from smooth. There were changes in providers, long internet droughts broken only by the occasional 14 days of free AOL service, and frequent modem failures. Forever strong, I never backed down in the face of these adversities, and eventually I was able to stay on the internet for periods of time long enough to be considered unhealthy. It's been that way for years now, and although I still couldn't code a website to save the Chesapeake Bay's Mute Swans!, I don't mind boasting that I'm quite proficient on the internet otherwise.

Being such a powerful force on the web brings with it many wonderful benefits, but there is the occasional downfall. One being watching other people's behavior on the internet. As amazing as it may seem, many folks out there are still struggling to "find themselves" on the internet, and anyone with a non-sizzled brain and a Facebook account has probably witnessed this phenomenon. It goes something like this: an old acquaintance sends a friend request, and with the hope that you'll be able to discover what a shamble their life is in comparison to yours, you add them. Growing bored after finding their profile yields such exciting tidbits as their love for "just about any" music and that they enjoy "to many movies too list!," the rivers of irritation begin to flow. First you learn what Shrek character they are. Then they've invited you to join the cause against Kim Jong Il's pedophile daughter's portrayal of a klyptomaniac Jesus in Spider-man 4. After assaulting you with this sort of behavior for weeks, they move into the advanced stage of Facebook morons, the type that just hate the latest iteration of Facebook.

There was a time when I scoffed at such people, using my advanced e-skills to easily adapt to whatever the online social service threw at me. But with the newest version of Facebook, that pipsqueak jerk and his rich friends have gone too far, too many times. Large chunks of my days are spent on the internet, and until the release of Facebook 11.8.62.09, I was able to keep myself entertained with relative ease. Now, with its overly streamlined Twitter rip-off design and scaled back updates on all of my 7 friends, I feel like I've been locked in the internet basement to starve. No longer can I learn the meaningless things everyone is doing on Facebook whenever I fancy. The static screen I'm now faced with is less than a drip feed, a far cry from the reservoir of satisfaction that was the live feed of Facebooks past. I could have lapped from those things for days at a time, and now I'm stuck with next to nothing.

I have noticed one good thing about this sham: the ability to hide people from my attention that I'm too afraid to delete. This is valuable because I can now ignore updates on how magical every hour of someone's marriage is, or the number of minutes left until they think about getting engaged. Although I've waited for such a power for sometime now, I'd gladly give it away in exchange for something that resembles the old Facebook. Because as good as I am at exercising my internet abilities, eventually I'm going to collapse without healthy portions of prying into my friends' lives nine hours a day. I think it's an:

Betty Crocker Warm Delights Minis Molten Chocolate Cake

2009-04-02T11:43:00.000-07:00

Writing your name on all your dishes not only beautifies, it also ensures they won't be left in the sink full of goo for days at a time.

After working hard for straight A's throughout my middle school career, I figured I deserved a rest during my three years of high school. At that point it didn't matter if my report cards suffered a bit-- everyone knows that colleges only really care about your performance in the eighth grade. With this attitude, I found myself enrolling in a variety of meaningless classes. From setting my heart racing in aerobics class to using outdated software in the "Tech Lab 2000" course, I was certain to be ready for the relaxed regimen offered by any of the non-elite universities guaranteed to accept me. While I enjoyed the time I spent learning nothing in these classes, none of them satisfied me quite like the endless number of foods courses I took. Something about hours of word search worksheets spiked by the occasional incorrectly prepared recipe really did it for me.

Many elements differed in these culinary classes, such as the number of lively rodents I opened drawers to find, but one thing was constant: the "Microwave Unit," in which students learned the fundamentals of radioactive cooking and baking. From what I've imagined, this staple of every home economics course was originally formed as a part of the United States' Cold War strategy. Initially set in place to boast to the Soviets about how advanced even our teen chefs were with their space age microwave ovens, the program managed to sneak past the fall of the U.S.S.R. and into the 21st century, where it stood as evidence to high schoolers that the 1950s actually took place.

Microwaves, we learned, were not just for reheating leftovers-- they could also be used to whip up entire meals in minutes, leaving you enough time to tidy the house and set the table before your husband came home to read the paper, catch his radio show, and beat you. Of course, none of the promises of microwave magic made by the outdated goldenrod handouts actually came through. The unit seemed perfect for the student who passed on challenging, inspiring courses in favor of new foods classes every semester, the student whose future would see endless microwaved meals not by choice, but necessity. Certainly no one like me.

The other night, nearly six years after graduation, I stood alone in my kitchen with very few cooking instruments besides a microwave at my disposal and even less motivation. Over the few days prior I had devoured seven pounds of cookies delivered to me by my mother and sister on a recent visit. I was without treat, and I felt stranded with the limited cooking armory, as usual. Listen, I'm sure that if we did have a more robust cooking and baking tool selection, I wouldn't actually use it, but it would be nice to know that if I had the urge to bake a cake, eat a piece, and watch the rest go stale, the option would be available to me. Such a creation wouldn't be necessary, however, as I found myself staring at a free sample of Betty Crocker Warm Delights Minis Molten Chocolate Cake. The box promised cake in 30 seconds by way of microwave, and with just 45 seconds to spare before whatever show seemed mildly interesting would still be playing when I turned on the TV, it fit my schedule.

After combining the cake's powdered mix with a rough estimate of the called-for water, it was hard not to be skeptical of this product. I expected the thin brown glue to transform to thin black ash after a half minute of heating, and feared that upon opening Pandora's Microwave, that ash would abscond, whisking through the apartment and killing every living thing in its path. Thankfully, after the final beep tolled, I opened the microwave door to find that the cake batter had risen! The shock of seeing something that so closely resembled cake almost threw me to the floor in a shaking fit. It was as if the spirits of all those women they combined to create Betty Crocker had personally descended into my apartment to create Earth's first actual microwave miracle. Bedazzling.

It tasted okay enough, and like I said, it really did resemble cake. Probably wouldn't buy it with my own money, but just for surprising me, I'd give it a:

Girl Scout Sugar Free Chocolate Chip Cookies

2009-03-31T15:48:00.000-07:00

I ate three Girl Scout cookies today, two of which were sugar free chocolate chip. Initially I steered clear of these, because, sugar free. Several hungry hours later I was ready for any cookie and so I swept back through the area I ate a Tagalong earlier in the day (a terrific letdown as usual) only to find the sugar free cookies available. I tried one and I enjoyed it, so I tried another, which gave me the same feeling. A real surprise for me. My fear of my inevitable diet-onset diabetes has been slightly alleviated. I think they're a:

AAA(A) MP3: Coping with Loss

2009-03-29T17:28:00.000-07:00

Come back to my life.

These songs seem appropriate in light of recent events. I'm uploading four songs to match the number of tacos I could get in the great special they had. Tacos Nacos, I don't want to get over you:

The Bats- "Miss These Things"

Personal and the Pizzas- "I Don't Feel So Happy Now No More"

Buddy Holly- "Crying, Waiting, Hoping"

Magnetic Fields- "I Don't Want To Get Over You"

If you haven't already, I think you should contact Tacos Nacos and beg for their return:

info @ tacosnacos.com

Orbit Mist Mango Surf

2009-03-27T09:48:00.001-07:00

This is a picture of the peppermint style, but the mango style looks almost the same. Just imagine if that circle was a mango-orange shade.

Like the time my boss surprised me with a Rice Krispie treat or the morning I found out my baby was going to grow up without a daddy, sometimes life throws us a curveball. For some people it takes a while, but I learned quickly to be prepared for anything. It's been a very useful skill for me in situations like this afternoon, when I was sent to Duane Reade on a mission to buy a birthday card. Buying a birthday card is a daunting task on its own (I can never settle on "silly!" or "sentimental," so I usually end up going for "irrelevant"), and today I had to deal with another factor: the Wrigley corporation had set up a roadblock in the form of a cardboard stand advertising their latest entry in the Orbit gum line, Orbit Mist.

Orbit Mist, which is billed as "A HYDRATING SENSATION with micro-bursts™," is a sugarfree gum available in three flavors: Peppermint Spay, Watermelon Spring, and Mango Surf. I had a small amount of time, so despite my curiosity in the other flavors, I quickly picked the Spay variety. I thought the mint default would be a good gateway to the Mist family, but after a few agonizing minutes on the gift card aisle, I felt I deserved the tropical getaway promised by the Mango Surf flavor.

My plan to try the gum once I was finished with work failed. You just can't leave me alone in an for more than thirty seconds; I'm bound to put something in my mouth out of sheer boredom. The sticks of gum look very similar to Orbit, but the difference in this new line is immediately apparent once they make it into your mouth. They're quite a bit stiffer than regular Orbit, and the hydrating microchips have a very subtle sand-got-in-my-gum texture. The mango flavor is initially delicious, but switches to more of a watermelon sensation after about 15 seconds of chewing. Maybe the Watermelon Spring flavor betrays its name the same way and transforms into mango gum four chews in? I can't say. At no point does the gum feel hydrating. I feel sort of disappointed. I'd suggest trying it if you see it on a buy one, get one free sale. I think this is a:

R.O.T.O.R.

2009-03-25T19:40:00.000-07:00

This movie is flawless. If these videos don't convince you to see it, nothing I write will.

It couldn't be anything less than an:

AAA MP3

2009-03-24T19:48:00.000-07:00

I can't be bothered to bother you with descriptions for these. Do you have room in your heart for them?

Grandaddy- "I'm On Standby"

Davila 666- "Dimelo Ya"

Ganglians- "Lost Words"

Vegetable Tom Yum From Q2 Thai

2009-03-17T09:31:00.000-07:00

If you find yourself dining in an environment similar to this, do not order the tom yum.

The soup was placed where it belonged.

This soup tasted like it should have been irrigating crops in Laos. This has been a very difficult situation for me:

Sensory Deprivation Hallucination

2009-03-16T10:52:00.001-07:00

For those times when you want to avoid the hippie chic of LSD.

As I was moving my belongings out of my Salt Lake apartment in preparation for my move to the big city, I ran into my landlord (I'll choose to remember him as Devin), who was renovating one of the complex's spaces. We spoke for a moment, and I explained why I was giving up on the apartment just a few months into the lease. After some mild chitchat we got back to our tasks at hand, but not before his parting words of "don't let that city change you." This struck me as odd because the conversation, which lasted all of forty seconds, was easily the longest exchange Devin and I had shared-- what element of my personality had he picked up on that he feared would be significantly altered by New York? Was he afraid that I'd become one of those people? The type who lived in New York? Who had possibly spoken to their landlord for two to three minutes? I'll never be able to say for certain, but I guess he sensed a child-like innocence in me, and simply wanted to remind me of the hardening effects of an urban environment. Little did he know that at the very worst, New York would keep me the same. It's hard to get much lower than the bottom, if you know what I mean. And by that, I mean that there's no way I could get worse. I make all the wrong choices. I am a bad person.

To everyone outside of Devin Landlord, it's no secret that I live a chancy and exciting life. I drive five over the speed limit, I get loaded on diet cola, and I've seen my share of 48 Hours-- Mystery episodes. It goes without saying that such a lifestyle is packed with insane parties that would make people less depraved than I turn in horror. Many find me participating in such sexy activities as eating two to three cookies or sitting on couches and avoiding eye contact with other people. So it should come as no surprise that I found myself at a Pi Party over the weekend. It was March 14, 3/14, Pi Day, and my roommate's friend invited everyone to bring pies to his apartment and share the joy of mathematical constants whose value are the ratio of any circle's circumference to its diameter in Euclidean space. Of course, as is the rule for any party I go to, there had to be a risk element, and besides the threat of my cheerleader friends finding out that I went to a math party, there would be a hallucinating activity.

From my three years of middle school to my three years of high school to my decade of a bachelor's degree, and let's be honest, most of the years prior, there have been a number of times in my life that I'd like to say I was hallucinating. As far as I know however, I've yet to have an actual hallucinatory experience. No LSD-induced dizzy fits of psychedelia, no mushroom-fueled trips on the cookie train through glitter world. The closest I've come to hallucinating is Rainbow Road. The possibility has always intrigued me, but other than the slimming effects of drug dependency, I just can't get behind the concept. That's why the idea of non-chemical hallucination seemed so exciting. The hosts of the party had learned of sensory deprivation hallucination, which involves cutting a ping-pong ball in half, placing the pieces over one's eyes, and blasting radio static. Evidently, because the mind is so used to sensations it goes wild when all it gets is a white image and the snow slowly falling out of your stereo. Or at least, that's what it says on the internet.

I was skeptical of the whole idea but I couldn't help but feel curious. That's why while the party buzzed on, I allowed a strange man to lead me to a secluded room in the back of his apartment. I wasn't raped or murdered, but I did have ping-pong halves placed over my eyes, a shirt sleeve pulled over my head, and headphones channeling loud static placed over my ears; chances are that both things happened to me and I just don't know it yet. After outfitting me for the experience, the strange man left me to marinate in the white noise. I didn't expect immediate results and I'm patient when I feel like it, so I just tried to relax. The brightness of the ping-pong balls combined with the loud nothingness in my ears was strangely soothing. No matter how relaxed I was, however, several minutes of staring into whiteness was turning me into a skeptic. I wasn't giving up so easily, though. I tried to loosen up. I tried imagining I was hallucinating. I offered my body and soul to the gods of psychedelia, and nothing. After a few more minutes of waiting, I had to give up. There's only so much nothing I can take, and a minute more would have threatened to make my eyeliner run.

With something like this it's either pass or fail. At no point was I sort of hallucinating. I would have had a more surreal experience pinning a tail on a donkey. So let this be your invitation to my 75th birthday party, where I'm going to go for the jugular and have one of my grandchildren administer an acid drop to me. I need to see what the rage is all about. This was an:

AAA MP3

2009-03-15T17:23:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about doing a weekly post called AAA MP3 for a little while now. I've held off for various reasons, the biggest being that I think posting music for people to download makes everyone uncomfortable. No one wants to be the person who burdens his friends with agonizing mixes of Paste recommendations and live Devendra Banhart recordings (are they the same thing?), and no one wants to be on the receiving end of that death ship, so I feel uneasy even recommending a single MP3 to people.

However, when I do come across a firecracker of a song, I love to share with those who care. With that said, I'm going to go ahead with the weekly thing as long as I can round up three A MP3s. I'll then present them in a no-pressure fashion: they'll be here for the world to take, but only if the world wants them. You have no need to fear that six months from now I'll be investigating your iPod for songs I've uploaded, and I'll never, never ask you if you got around to listening to that She and Him b-side.

I'm planning for the songs to usually come from three different bands, but this week is special, as one of my very favorites, Wales' Super Furry Animals, is releasing their album Dark Days/Light Years digitally here tomorrow (the CD release is April 21st). The band put out their first album, Fuzzy Logic, in 1996, and everything they've released since then (minus one, which was sort of a snooze) has treated me with the respect I deserve and the love I demand. The new thing they're putting out is apparently all about thrills, as they've said "there's only one slow number which isn't slow at all." Plus they have promised no pedal steel, which I can get behind; there's only so much of that instrument I can take. In honor of this exciting release, I'm offering three not-slow SFA songs with coordinating challenges:

"Something For the Weekend"(From Fuzzy Logic): Just try to not drop acid after hearing this number. I challenge you.

"Baby Ate My Eightball"(From Hey Venus!): Just try not to drive fast or dance hard and nasty while listening to this number. I challenge you.

"Inaugural Trams" (from Dark Days/Light Years): Just try not to ride a tram or dance in an unhip fashion to this number. I challenge you.

Kind Chef vs. Mean Chef: FINISH HIM

2009-03-11T18:24:00.000-07:00

This man and his show wasted my precious time.

Chopping Block

A commercial for this mean chef show caught my attention a couple of weeks ago when it directly referenced more-famous mean chef Gordon Ramsay. The mean chef on this show has crimped hair and a bad attitude; it's as if your babysitter from eighteen years ago finally got her own show. There were two teams, each had to run a restaurant, you know how it goes. When they were running the restaurants, some jerk critic from The Atlantic visited each for dinner. At one point he was served undercooked chicken which prompted him to make a shocking announcement to his table: raw chicken can make you sick. Then the rest of the show just sort of bored me. I was skeptical of the mean chef thing when they first started promoting Hell's Kitchen, so half a decade later, the idea of copying the gimmick isn't dead, it's dusty bones in a coffin. Plus there are two twin ninny chefs named Zan and Than. Good grief. I won't watch this again, it's an:

Great show! I really like it!

Throwdown with Bobby Flay

I've only ever seen Bobby Flay during Iron Chef, which I haven't watched a lot of. In this program he's a very likable, friendly person. How refreshing. Plus, I've seen parts of Good Eats in the last couple of nights, and the sooner the guy that runs the show on that gets swallowed by a boa constrictor the better. Between his irrating douchebaggery and mean chef's phony anger, Flay is a real breath of fresh air. I just watched the episode of Throwdown where Bobby challenges the Casserole Queens of Austin, Texas to a pot pie duel. I loved every minute of it, I felt great. It didn't hurt that I happen to go wild for pot pie (first breakfast tacos, now the Casserole Queens' pot pie: I have to visit Austin). It's just friendly competition between Mr. Flay and these friendly mom-and-pop types. I feel very happy during it and that's all I'll say. Now I need to pay more attention to the current episode of the show, which is focusing on grilled cheese, so I give this an:

Diet Canada Dry Ginger Ale

2009-03-11T17:52:00.000-07:00

Out of all the diet sodas available to me in the work fridge, the only I'd yet to try until tonight was Diet Canada Dry Ginger Ale. I think this may be because although I love ginger ale (especially when in flight), I rarely drink it, so I feel justified enjoying the real thing when the occasion calls for it. As I went to go home this evening I felt like packing a drink along with me, but after already consuming some nine pounds of caffeine, I thought I'd give a non pick-me-up a shot. The options were Caffeine Free Diet Pepsi and the subject of this review. The subject of this review made it from the fourteenth floor to the lobby garbage can. I think I drank about 1/5 of it, because what a waste of time. I felt like I had arrived to your grandfather's 73rd birthday four hours late: Diet Canada Dry is flat and watery. It offers no encouragement for the drinker to continue consuming it. I thought this might be a good thing to occasionally throw in between Coke Zero and Diet Dr. Pepper, but I'll save my ginger ale drinking for my next ride on a plane. It was a:

Free Samples

2009-03-11T08:08:00.000-07:00

Finding free samples on the internet isn't that difficult. You should try it sometime. Just go to a website like this hideous thing and you're on your way to a mailbox full of things you normally wouldn't consider purchasing. Here are two samples I've recently had delivered to me at no cost:

Click this link to order one of these things for yourself, free of sharge.

Quaker True Delights Dark Chocolate Raspberry Almond Granola Bar: There's something about the packaging of this bar that makes me feel like I've been sucked through a vortex into a Silo Electronics store circa-1986. Putting that aside, I'd like to talk about the bar. The raspberries in the bar were surprisingly more than swallowable, maybe even truly delightful, but the chocolate wasn't rich, sinful, or decadent; it merely raised its hand and whispered "present" in my mouth. The promised combination of raspberries, chocolate, and almonds is an extraordinary concept, but the execution is half-assed. A:

A free sample of this is no longer available. Look for it at fine retailers and wherever groceries are sold.

Total Cranberry Crunch Cereal: I'm not a big corn flake cereal eater. It gets soggy in a flash, and the flavor is barely, rarely there to encourage me to keep eating. Cranberries and crunch are a different story. Neither has ever let me down. The most disappointing thing about this cereal was that it pointed out what one actual serving of cereal is, which is about 1/17 of what I usually eat. The makers of Total have almost given me a cereal-serving complex. This was fine, if it was at the price of 2 for $4, I'd buy it for the nutritional benefits. It's a:

Jamba Juice Oatmeal

2009-03-09T15:46:00.000-07:00

I pass a Jamba Juice on my way to work every morning, and a few weeks ago I noticed that they had added "hot, steel-cut oatmeal" to their menu. I wasn't sure what the steel-cut process involved (until now), but as the wind freeze-dried my bone marrow, hot oatmeal held a certain appeal. I was initially held back from the oatmeal by budgetary concerns, but last week I received this coupon from Jamba. I'm not sure how the company got my email, but with coupons like this, I don't care. Paying a dollar for breakfast at any food establishment is unheard of, especially a piping hot, high-fiber breakfast. Jamba Juice offers three fruit options for their oatmeal, and because the offer lasts until the end of March, I made ten copies of the coupon and vowed to try each flavor at least once.

Banana
My first visit to the Jamba Juice on 53rd and Broadway was jarring. That morning the location was in the hands of the two angriest smoothie makers in existence. They knew why I was there before I was finished unfolding my paper, and so I initially assumed their unhappiness was caused by droves of coupon-wielding oatmeal eaters. Later visits would prove that these gals are simply mean. Luckily for me, they were able to focus their anger into dicing up a fresh banana for my oatmeal. They then furiously sprinkled brown sugar on top. The last time I had non-instant oatmeal must have been before the advent of the microwave-- perhaps even as long ago as the early 1990s, so the hot, steel-cut oatmeal alone was a real smash for my mouth. I love instant oatmeal, but I'm not afraid to admit that it's essentially flavored glue in comparison to hot, steel-cut oatmeal. Throw a banana and brown sugar in, and you've found success. An:

Apple Cinnamon
My initial excitement for $1 oatmeal was completely irrational. Until I had my first bite of the banana variety, I was inexplicably thrilled. I can't say why, but the idea of quality oatmeal at a bargain basement price was electrifying. Fortunately it didn't let me down. Naturally my satisfaction with the first cup of oatmeal only fueled my anticipation for the apple cinnamon flavor, which I assumed would be prepared in a similar fashion to the banana oatmeal: a fresh apple chopped by an annoyed woman, topped with cinnamon. I was wrong on everything but the annoyed woman.

When I arrive at work every morning, I have to make the coffee and fill the kitchen fridge with a variety of diet sodas. Eager to eat my oats but bound to my duties, I set my breakfast at my desk while I took care of business, figuring that the time would allow my hot oatmeal to soften the fresh apples, making it just that much more enjoyable. After finishing my tasks I returned to the oatmeal. I opened it to find that I was either duped by Jamba Juice or that someone had secretly microwaved my breakfast for six hours, as I did not see apple slices, but SOME KIND OF SLIME on my oatmeal. Well, not slime, but what appeared to be apple pie filling. Disappointed, slightly frightened, but hardly deterred by the not-fresh apples, I still ate the oatmeal. After mixing it all together, I enjoyed it. Combining apple pie and oatmeal didn't feel like an incredibly healthful breakfast, but I have faith the oats provided me with some kind of nutrition. I think:

Blueberry-Blackberry
With the apple oatmeal's grave warning of possibly not fresh fruit ending up in my order, I kept my expectations low for the blueberry-blackberry variety. It was a wise move, as when I when I opened my blueberry-blackberry oatmeal, I found what amounted to purple ooze covering the entire top of the cup. There was also a dash of brown sugar, but it was quickly being consumed by this horrifying berry swamp. Blackberries are easily my favorite of the berry family, and blueberries aren't bad either, but the forms of these tiny fruits were hardly visible amid the goop. Having enjoyed the apple slime, I figured that this mix wouldn't kill me, either. Unfortunately, unlike the apple concoction, which would have made a decent pie, I'm not sure this purple waste would even qualify for a Hostess Fruit Pie. Not terrible, but quite sweet with the faint taste of the promised berries. Maybe if there had been less than two inches of it to mix into the oatmeal I would have enjoyed it more, but there was simply too much of a not-great thing. Maybe, maybe worth $1, but I'd never consider it at the regular $3. Shame, it's a:

Watchmen

2009-03-07T22:44:00.000-08:00

A lady in a one-piece does her best impersonation of Drew Barrymore playing Marsha Brady, a visibly CG horned-tiger beast wanders around without explanation, people have sex in creative and flashy ways, people get stylishly blown/hacked/burned to pieces, and blue guy is naked a lot. The soundtrack feels like one of those "decades" compilations you buy off late night TV ("The Times They Are A-Changin',""The Sound of Silence," "99 Luftballons," etc.). All of this in just under 16 hours. I felt a lot like I did when I saw 300, just swap that one-piece for those famous leather underpants. I should have just read the source material. It's a:

Cinna-Graham Honeycomb

2009-03-07T15:13:00.001-08:00

Opening my box of Cinna-Graham Honeycomb, I was blasted in the face with the overwhelming scent of artificial cinnamon. It was the same smell that cinnamon gum gives off, and the idea of eating a bowl of Big Red sticks drenched in milk scared me out of my wits. I did a little nutritional information research and discovered the reason behind this: Cinna-Graham Honeycomb makes no use of actual cinnamon-- the closest Post could come was "natural flavor." I was disappointed to learn this because other cinnamon cereal luminaries such as Cinnamon Toast Crunch and Cinnamon Life have the integrity to deliver the genuine spice. They know what the consumer expects, and they know what the consumer needs. Of course, I was never promised cinnamon with this Honeycomb, just cinna, which for all intents and purposes could have just been another word for badger carcass or something. So I guess I should count my blessings in that respect, but what about the GRAHAM? A thorough tasting and smelling test revealed little-to-no graham scent or flavor, artificial or otherwise.

Although the cereal let me down on its promises, it wasn't awful. It still had the undeniable styrofoam-crunch that I trust Honeycomb to deliver, and the faint taste of phony cinnamon was decent enough. Still, if I want cinnamon cereal, I'll just go with one of the aforementioned types, and if I want graham, Golden Grahams have never let me down. I would like to find a cereal that properly mixes cinnamon and graham, but I guess I'll have to keep waiting. This was a:

Keebler Chips Deluxe Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies

2009-03-06T10:04:00.001-08:00

Listen, when Mother's Cookies recently shutdown with no warning, I just about lost it. While I won't miss Mother's nauseating pink and white frosted circus animal cookies, I will miss her glorious Chocolate Chip Parade. BREAKING NEWS: Just as I was searching for the image of the Chocolate Chip Parade to link to, I learned that Kellogg's, in all their grace and glory, have bought the rights to the Mother's brand and recipes. I'm not sure if this means the Parade will rise again, but I'm keeping my fingers crossed. Anyway, the oatmeal chocolate chip cookies that marched along in the Chocolate Chip Parade drove me wild. I loved them very much, and was sad to face a lifetime without them. For the past two months, I've been trying to fill the void left from the loss of Mother. It's been lonely, strange. Fortunately, the Keebler Elves wasted little time after Mother's passing before swooping in to woo me using their new Chips Deluxe Oatmeal Chocolate Chip. Certainly everyone will give me looks when I show up to the next game of bridge with Ernie at my side, but at this point in my life I just need some comforting cookie companionship; Ernie seems like a really nice guy. Plus, the possibility of moving into that treehouse is irresistible.

I picked up a bag of this cookie on sale at PathMark of Harlem the other evening, and at first, our time together was uncomfortable. The texture of the Deluxe is strikingly similar to that of Mother's, but the flavor is different. Where as Mother's oatmeal choco chip cookies struck a balance between the flavor of the completely dry, crunchy oatmeal dough and the tiny chocolate chips, the Deluxe cede power almost entirely to the chips themselves. After a few trials with milk, I was almost ready to give the Deluxe a regular C. I eat oatmeal chocolate chip cookies for a reason, and it's not just for the chocolate chips, I thought. Then one night, desperate to make the relationship work, I remembered that I usually prefer to eat Chips Deluxe Coconut without milk. Would the same trick work here? Yes. I've discovered that this oatmeal cookie is actually quite good when enjoyed dry. While it will never take the place of Mother's (and with the intervention of Kellogg's, hopefully won't have to), I feel like it will hold me over for now. I'd say a:

B-Bap Rice Fusion Bar

2009-03-03T18:23:00.000-08:00

You can't really tell from this photo, but I sat on what seemed to be part of a tree stump. Truly something.

Monday through Thursday, I'm charged with the task of ordering dinner for everyone in my department. This job is most often done on an empty stomach, so I frequently visualize myself gorging on the things my coworkers order. The temptation to eat the occasional stray french fry or piece of pita is extremely strong, but so far I've managed to control myself. Although most of the food ordered sounds, smells, and looks delicious, it's often quite standard: Greek, Italian, New York Mexican, so I at least don't have to fight off a sense of curiosity. Once in a while, however, a new restaurant with an interesting type of food is added to the mix, and it's then that jealously consumes me.

The most recent restaurant to drive my envy has been the B-Bap Rice Fusion Bar. B-Bap serves bibimbap, a trendy Korean dish which is essentially a rice bowl. Up until this evening, I'd seen Korean movies (that links to one blog below), but I'd never had Korean food. I'd been wanting to try it for some time, but until about 7:30, my dinner plans were broccoli and scrambled eggs as prepared by me. Things took a wonderful turn for the very best, fortunately. My boss kept me until the magic hour: 8:00. Besides witches soaring through the sky and the dead walking the streets, 8:00 brings a true miracle, which is a $15 overtime meal for Uncle Bridgey. I set my sights on B-Bap and never looked back.

When faced with the possibility of selecting the ingredients that will go into what I eat at a restaurant, I am likely to fail. In the fourth grade my father took me to Sizzler for a birthday lunch. After finding a taco shell at the salad bar, I proceeded to fill it with bacon bits when a suitable taco meat couldn't be found. The memory will haunt me long into the next life. Whenever I visit a Cold Stone I ruin my ice cream with an overload of garbage: "Hello, I'll have chocolate chips, caramel, and an entire birthday cake. I also noticed that bag of cane sugar on the counter-- you might as well toss that in." I just can't be trusted with these delicate situations. That was my one worry about B-Bap, which allows the customer to select a base of rice (white, brown, green tea, or black), noodles, or salad, which can be topped with chicken (spicy or regular), beef, or tofu, and a large variety of other toppings, including vegetables, eggs, and sauces. With this many choices within my reach, I was certain to screw my dinner into oblivion.

I ordered brown rice with double broccoli, carrots, egg whites, nuts, spicy chicken, and spicy sauce, which came to a total of $9. Not one to waste a penny when Leez is footing the bill, I also put in an order for beef dumplings. Not even the threat of instantaneous obestity would stand between me and a Korean exaltation overload. Listen, I'm so happy to report that I ate every bit of the meal, because it was RAZZLE DAZZLE DELICIOUS. The dumplings were similar to what the Japanese prefer to call gyoza and the Chinese like to call potstickers, but I've never had dumplings with such a delightfully non-soggy shell. Excellent. Even the bibimbap was able to withstand my avian-brained ordering skills to reach a level of fantastic that hours before I could have only imagined. The nuts added a surprising new texture twist, and everything else worked as a team to do a number on my tastebuds. Plus, it was actually sort of tastefully spicy, something many restaurants promise but usually fail to deliver on. B-Bap, I miss you already. I'm giving you an:

The Chaser

2009-03-02T06:45:00.000-08:00

The Chaser is not a romantic comedy about a shy-but-handsome Korean man.

A lot of movies give positive reinforcement to goals I already have. The Return of the King reminded me to be a more loyal friend, Ratatouille encouraged me to follow my heart, and The Chaser gave me a refresher on why I should avoid becoming a Korean prostitute. Evidently, there are some Korean gentlemen out there that would love nothing more than to pick up a lady of the night, take her home, and then drive a chisel through her head. Plus, Seoul's call girls don't even get sick days. I could never work such a job. There's only so much glamor I can take.

The same goes for Korean pimps. You force one of your ladies out on a night when she's got a cold, and all of a sudden you have to race against the clock to save her life and take care of her only daughter, who is both adorable and smart as a whip. That's why I suggest we show The Chaser in America's classrooms. Our teens need to know that whoremongering isn't all wide-brim velvet hats and jewel-encrusted canes: Sometimes it's a dirty job.

This movie made my heart race, it made my heart warm, and it made my heart break. Korean prostitutes, stay true to who you are. I thought it was a:

Levain Bakery Chocolate Chip Cookie

2009-02-28T12:48:00.001-08:00

My manicure left me wanting a cookie.

I don't have a lot to say about this cookie. Just know that it was one of the best, if not the best cookie. I tried to keep myself from eating it on the subway, but my self-control naturally failed. Fortunately, there was enough cookie to easily last me until I was able to get to a glass of milk. It cost $3.75, but I don't care. I'd do it again without complaint, because this cookie nearly made me scream out in pleasure. Apparently this is a copycat recipe, and if you can come within thirty miles of matching what I ate, you will still feel like your life is a complete success. Use it until you can get to New York, and then immediately go the Levain Bakery. Really an:

Splinter and Waltz with Bashir

2009-02-27T07:54:00.000-08:00

After reading some positive reviews, I sought out the trailer for Splinter last fall. The preview lead me to believe that the movie would be a "big things done smartly on a small budget" picture. After watching it, I have to say this leans slightly more towards "not terrible b-movie" territory. It isn't awful by any means, and does have a sprinkling of terror. By the final third of the picture however, the only fear I still had was that the film was going to somehow get hokier. I realize the movie was probably made on someone's Coinstar savings, but some of the special effects are too ambitious for this budget, and the tonal shifts get out of hand. Still, it's good to see that Thing has finally found some post-Addams Family work. Here he breaks free of being typecast as yet another helping disembodied hand and plays the part of a terrifying disembodied hand. I don't know, I wouldn't be mad if I spent $1 and 90 minutes on this. I guess it was a:

This was another picture that ended up being something slightly different than I was originally lead to believe it would be. The trailer had me under the impression that this would be an animated, fictional take on a real life event, but as far as I could tell while watching it, it's actually an animated documentary dealing with a real life event, the 1982 Lebanon War. It follows a fellow who's trying to recall a certain event of the war that he experienced, and he speaks to a variety of former co-war guys and other folks to refresh his memory. While all this chatter is going on, different scenes from the war are animated for the viewer's education and pleasure. It's interesting, and the animation is something I enjoyed looking at. Far more animated naked people than I expect Kung Fu Panda had, but I'm sure I'm wrong. I occasionally felt a bit snoozy, but no big deal. I thought it was a:

Chocolate Cereal Death Showdown

2009-02-23T11:54:00.001-08:00

I can enjoy eating virtually anything. Obviously, there are exceptions to this: the blatantly disgusting and hazardous, such as bodily fluids, rodent lungs, and Filet-O-Fishes. For the most part however, if presented with a consumable item that doesn't pose a health risk, I can eat it without too much complaint. I've been to hell and back as far as food goes (pig head chunks, may we never meet again), so very few foods are off-limits in my diet. Naturally, this ability has come in handy on my current .45 cents an hour Leeza stipend. Whenever offered food, I'll take it. When grocery shopping, a bargain basement value will usually trump all. And when offered a bit of money to sleep with a stranger for a little bit of money, I can't say no; my baby's home crying on the floor because he's hungry. What would you do?

Pathmark of Harlem holds a weekly cereal sale. They often have great deals, except last week, as they were only offering a discount on the a-bland-ination that is Frosted Flakes. Fortunately, when the sales are hot, I strike and I strike hard: The week before I bought three bags of Frosted Mini Spooners and a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, so I was able to weather the storm. A couple weeks earlier saw a similar shopping spree, when I found these two chocolate cereals on sale:

Chocolate Chex: Wandering down the cereal aisle, I noticed that Chocolate Chex were being sold at 50% off their normal Pathmark cost. Obviously priced to move, this cereal was not moving. The entire shelf was stocked on a non-cereal shopping trip, and when I returned a day or so later, it remained virtually untouched. This is peculiar for the Pathmark of Harlem, because when cereal goes on sale, the shelves are usually decimated in a moment's time. The only explanations I could come up with for Chocolate Chex's lacking popularity were that Pathmark's discriminating cereal eaters already knew it was disgusting, or that Pathmark's discriminating cereal eaters were in fact, not. Always the optimist, I assumed the latter, bought two boxes, and returned home to try the cereal. My big gamble paid off, as I found this new variation on Chex to be delicious. Chocolate Chex is now responsible for the vast majority of Chex that I've eaten in non-snack mix form in the last ten years. It somehow manages to balance the world of chocolate and breakfast like no other cereal I've tried before (outside of when I occasionally drop a Snickers into my bowls of Special K). I could easily eat it for breakfast, snack, or dessert. Although I imagine it has little-to-no nutritional value, I give it an:

Frosted Mini-Wheats Little Bites Chocolate: From the flavor to the size of each cereal piece, this variety of Mini-Wheats is aimed at people with small mouths and infantile eating habits: me. And maybe children. Being the cereal's target audience in every aspect but my age, I was naturally excited for something to enjoy during my recent fiber craze. Unfortunately, things didn't work out as well as I had hoped. The promised flavor of the cereal leaned more towards Tootsie Roll than actual chocolate (despite containing actual chocolate chips, according to the ingredients list). There was something slightly artificial about the whole affair. I think it may have had something to do with the combination of the frosting and the chocolate. I was underwhelmed. The cereal's box was a delightful surprise, however, as it offered more than a piece of clipart or an order form. Instead, it had a quiz, which I gladly took and, because I can't help but brag, I aced it. Here it is (with one bonus question), challenge yourself!

1. Which is nearly half the size of the Pacific Ocean?
A. The Atlantic Ocean
B. The Indian Ocean
C. The Arctic Ocean

2. Which is nearly half the size of an ostrich?
A. A penguin
B. A stork
C. An emu

3. Which is nearly half the size of the planet Earth?
A. Neptune
B. Mars
C. Saturn

4. Which is nearly half the size of Africa?
A. India
B. Antarctica
C. South America

5. Which is nearly half the length of a tennis court?
A. A bowling lane
B. A basketball court
C. An Olympic-size swimming pool

6. What does Bridger think of Frosted Mini-Wheats Little Bites Chocolate?
A. Excellent
B. Good
C. Average
D. Quite below average
F. Agony

Highlight for the answers: 1-a, 2-c, 3-b, 4-b, 5-a, 6-c

Malta India Soft Drink

2009-02-18T13:51:00.001-08:00

I look very cool drinking this drink, but don't be fooled.

A bottle of Malta India has been sitting in the back of my fridge for over two weeks now, haunting me, taunting me. I originally purchased it on a whim while walking back to my apartment one night. There are several tiny dump markets in the area, and I knew I'd find something intriguing to try in one of them. The first one I went into had two soft drinks I've never (or thought I'd never tried before): Malta India and Black Cherry Canada Dry. My lack of sense, which I'll refer to as "bad luck" here, guided my choice of the Malta India bottle. I paid the $1.50 or so for the beverage, got back to my apartment, and immediately realized that I was not going to be able to finish all 12 ounces of it. I think I may have tried something similar to it when I visited Venezuela a few years ago, and while looking at the dark brown liquid in the bottle and reading the ingredients (water, malt, malt, malt, malt, malt, malt, molasses, corn syrup, malt, malt, hops, malt), the sense memory came roaring back. I nearly gagged. I wasn't positive that this was the same soft drink I hated in Caracas, but the thought alone terrified me.

Last night, I decided to quit dicking around and try my Malta. My initial taste wasn't as bad as I expected. "Oh, this is simply liquefied rye bread," I told myself. "Just another day at the races." Four to five gulps later, everything changed. I felt myself becoming physically ill. The room surrounding me began to spin. I did not break into a cold sweat, but the possibility lingered. As far as I know, the only reason someone should be drinking something of this taste is to loosen up and become funnier, a better dancer, and unconscious on the floor. Malta India promises none of these things. I couldn't finish the bottle, but thank everything that it at least offered an opportunity for a great self-photo shoot: if this world's ever going to have a chance to heal, it's going to need more photos of me on the internet. Malta India, stay away from me:

Tacos Matamoros

2009-02-17T10:07:00.000-08:00

It's been well over a month since I last ate at my favorite restaurant, Tacos Nacos. Actually, it's been over a month since I last had decent Mexican food at all. As far as I can tell, good Mexican is nearly impossible to find in Manhattan, and up until last weekend, I was under the impression that New York was devoid entirely of it. I was looking at four very dark months. Things started to look a bit more cheery during some of my most internet food studies, which revealed that Mexican food fared better outside of Manhattan, especially in Brooklyn and Queens. After reading that a certain Tacos Matamoros served a New York Times writer "some of the best, if not the best, tacos" he'd had in New York, all I could say was "well, we'll see."

I had some time Friday night (well, I have time almost all the time, so I guess I had some energy, if we're going to get technical) to travel to Tacos Matamoros. The trip seemed daunting at the time, but it ended up being a very simple affair outside of the enormous rodent I saw on the train platform in Brooklyn. I've seen a lot of rats since I got here, but this one will reside in my subconscious until the time is right to send me screaming from nightmare world to the waking life sweating and paralyzed with fear. The hardest battle I fought walking the block or so to Matamoros was the temptation to walk into one of the multiple taquerias surrounding it. Much like my weakness for pumps and strappy platform sandals (keep me away from a Payless!) or man-eating sea monsters, tacos have a way of sucking me in with an Ian McKellen-esque magic. <----Reference to my own blog I just made it to my destination by the whatever of my whatever, and was happy to see it with far more customers than its rivals. After entering the restaurant, I was promptly seated by my waitress, who spoke just a lick of English. She served a Coke Zero after requesting a Diet Coke, which was a pleasant shake-up in the diet soda routine. I asked a few questions about the menu, got slightly less than a lick of information out of the sweet gal, and got down to ordering.

At Tacos Nacos, I generally order two to three tacos, occasionally splurging on four (Monday through Thursday, get four tacos and a soda for the unbeatable price of $6.99). Those tacos have an abundant mix of high quality, delicious ingredients that fill me up quickly. In my anticipation of possibly getting decent tacos at Matamoros, however, I ordered four from the beginning: chicken, steak, carnitas, and al pastor. For the uninitiated, al pastor is pork that's roasted on a gyro-style spit with pineapple, and it's sadly difficult to find in Utah. I'll judge my tacos from wrong to right. The chicken taco had meat that tasted suspiciously of can origin: D. The steak taco was decent enough: B. The carnitas taco was good, but a bit salty: B. The al pastor was, as far as I can tell, the best I'm going to get as far as Mexican food until June: A. It was slightly greasy (don't tell my cheer coach!), but definitely good enough to swing my favor towards the al pastor camp, which I was unsure of joining. Until last night I had only had it twice, at a restaurant in West Jordan that served it for a period of eight minutes before they shut down due to their overpriced food, and at a place in Manhattan that overdid the flavor to the point that it tasted like I was eating a teriyaki burrito. Now that I've tasted al pastor at a flavor and a price ($1.25) that I can get behind, I'm willing to run a marathon to support it. I'm very pragmatic that way. After finishing my four tacos, I ordered two more al pastor just to be sure of my enjoyment, and case closed, delicious. Did I mention that tacos come with a plate that holds a bowl of great guacamole and a bowl of salsa verde? That plate may not replace the delcious fresh avocado found on every Tacos Nacos taco, but it was welcome nonetheless.

Eating at Tacos Matamoros was a relief for a couple of reasons. First, it assuaged my fears of finding a better restaurant than Tacos Nacos in New York. What would happen if I somehow found a better place than Tacos Nacos? I'd be ruined when the time came to leave. I'm glad to say that Tacos Nacos is still rules the kingdom of my heart like any loving monarchy would. Second, it was at least good enough to calm my anxiety of being so far away from my favorite restaurant. I'm not sure if it could assist me in this for more than five months, but I at least feel I'll be able to survive until June, even if I still have to cry myself to sleep every night. So let's give it an:

Brioche French Toast From Vynl Restaurant

2009-02-16T14:39:00.000-08:00

Brioche French Toast w/ sautéed apples & warm caramel sauce			9.95

Sometimes in life, imagining eating something is more enjoyable than eating something:

All-Bran Crackers Multi-Grain Crackers

2009-02-16T09:26:00.000-08:00

Every six months or so, I become fixated on better integrating a different nutrient into my diet. This is usually sparked by five or six words I read on the front of a cereal box or in the coupon section of the Sunday paper, and as a rule, I generally never know or never attempt to find out why my body needs this nutrient. In concern to my eating habits, whatever a manufacturer with a large ad budget large says, goes. All previous nutrients quickly fall by the wayside as I try to consume as much of the particular item as possible. I doubt this shifting and sliding of my dietary balance won't help in the short term, but I let myself imagine that by my death at 117, I will have ingested at least a day's worth of the FDA's daily recommended allowance for a 2,000 calorie diet.

In my current nutrition rotation, I have a stronger interest in fiber than three retirement homes combined. When selecting an item at the grocery store, my thought process goes something like this: Cost--->Fiber--->Yes. Two items that have made their way into my life from this recent increased interest are Quaker High Fiber Instant Oatmeal (Tastes just like oatmeal. High fiber: an A) and All-Bran Crackers Multi-Grain crackers. This type of cracker had three initial hooks for me. First, All-Bran Crackers Multi-Grain crackers are crackers. Second, Pathmark of Harlem was running a sale on them. Finally, one serving (18 crackers) promises 20% of one's recommended fiber for a day. Not buying them would mean a loss of the little respect I still had for myself. While that respect has now withered away from my life for a multitude of other reasons, the crackers remain.

For the majority of the week, All-Bran Crackers Multi-Grain crackers are my lunch, and for being there for me, I thank them. This type of cracker originally startled me with an almost graham cracker sense of sweetness, but I didn't give up hope. I learved to love their multi-faceted taste, which can be salty if placed salt-side down on the tongue, or slightly after-school-snack sweet if done in the reverse fashion. Listen, I don't think you're going to find a cracker that offers a better combination of fiber and smooth, relaxing pleasure than All-Bran Crackers Multi-Grain crackers, but to be safe, don't look into it. An:

Tasting Tour with the Lewis Ladies

2009-02-14T14:30:00.000-08:00

Last weekend, friends Brittany and Emily arrived by bus from Boston. Having them in town felt a bit like two loving aunts coming to spoil little nephew Bridgey. The ladies were too kind to me, and I even slept over at their hotel, whose size and scorching boiler system lead me to believe it was going for a cute bottom level-of-the-Titanic theme. Don't get me wrong, the place was nice, but my lifelong dream to convert my mother's oven into a bed and breakfast now doesn't seem so implausible. During the gals' stay, we tried a variety of foods. Why don't you read about them below?

Lime Leaf Thai Restaurant: For the first night of Weekend Spectacular, I was promised that we'd be visiting wd~50. Besides having always wanted to visit a restaurant with the gall to use a ~ in its title, I was also interested in having Emily's rich boyfriend Uncle Spencer pay $140 for my dinner. Unfortunately, things fell through, and so I'll have to wait until Uncle Spencer visits me in April for my 14th birthday to eat at wd~50. Not all was lost, however, as Uncle Spencer took us all out to the Lime Leaf Thai Restaurant.

It may be Mexican food purgatory, but I have to hand it to New York. I don't know of any other city that would let me walk into a random Thai restaurant and find green curry as good as that served at my favorite Thai establishment. The curry I had was spicy enough, and included pineapple and tomatoes, two things I've never had in green curry. Really extraordinary. The Lime Leaf also supplies each table with a chips and salsa replacement that consists of puffed chips and peanut sauce. While it wasn't a $140 bowl of popcorn soup, the Lime Leaf was an:

Otto Restaurant

While Brittany did some shopping Saturday morning, Emily and I visited Otto, a restaurant she'd been wanting to try for its offering of olive oil gelato. Knowing that skipping breakfast would be unwise, especially if I had to take the SAT at some point in the day, I treated myself to a Diet Coke from McDonald's on the way to lunch. We arrived safely at Otto after having a passerby shout the directions to us, and this is how things unfolded:

Marinara Pizza: After narrowing my choices to the marinara pizza, which the menu described as "tomato, garlic, chiles" and the pasta alla norma, which the menu described as "tomato, roasted eggplant, basil, bufala ricotta," I asked our server her opinion. She recommended the marinara; I ordered it. Immediately she questioned my choice by saying "it doesn't have cheese," which threw me off-- I'd just read the description that mentioned nothing about cheese, and as far as I knew, the waitress that stood before me was the same one that four seconds before had recommended the pizza. I assured her that I knew this, and considered reminding her that I was literate to boot, but restrained myself. The pizza was decent, but could have used more chiles and a bit more zip in the sauce. I know in my heart of hearts that Settebello of Salt Lake makes a better crust. It was a:

Olive Oil Gelato: Before trying this, I felt confused. Isn't olive oil gelato... Butter? I guess not, because this actually tasted like a nice treat, not something I'd spread on a slice of toast. It was sweet but did have a nice olive oily flavor. Would I order it again? Sure, it was an:

Salted Caramel Gelato: Continuing along the lines of ingredients that would be more comfortable on broccoli than in ice cream, this one had a very distinct saltiness. It wasn't bad by any means, maybe even more peculiar than the olive oil variety, which was exciting. Plus, salt is completely en vogue in the dessert world these days (I know these things), and who am I to not go along with the hottest trend? I think it would have benefited from some chocolate sauce to offset that salt, but it was at least a:

Hand Dryers in Bathroom: I have never been an advocate of hand dryers. They've always got stickers on them proclaiming how terrific they are for the environment, how economical they are, whatever: I don't care. If my jeans have to pick up the drying slack on the way out of the restroom, I don't care how many trees or dollars you've saved, because you've ruined my bathroom experience. Lo and behold, then, the miracle hand dryers of Otto. The drying power these things possess is nothing if not sorcery. I've never had my hands dried so precisely, so quickly:

Extra Berry Pearadise Sugarfree Gum: That terrible pun in this gum's name is a testament to its sensational flavor. Without the thrilling, powerful, long-lasting burst of joy that this gum provides, its title would have ensured its failure before it reached store shelves. I don't often buy non-mint flavored gum, but this is worth keeping around. As I chewed a stick of it in the elevator the other day, I had two co-workers ask me what I was eating based on the tantalizing aroma alone. With it in my mouth, I could have easily made out with both of them if I weren't such a gentleman. And, sexual harassment. Also one was a man. Anyway, easily an:

Doughnut Plant
In comparison to any other donut I've ever had, everything the Doughnut Plant serves is an A. I'm not in the mood to argue about it right now, Daniel. Emily kindly bought three for us to share, so I'm going to pit them against one another like any healthy mother dog does her pups:

Passion Fruit-glazed Donut: This one was my favorite. Although I don't actually know what passion fruit tastes like, I know this was glazed with genuine passion fruit flavor, not some nauseating artificial fruit slime. An:

Ginger-glazed Donut: My biggest complaint with this one was that there were bits of ginger sprinkled on the glaze, so if you weren't lucky to get some in your mouth, you didn't get the full effect. When you did, however, you couldn't help but regret years of eating donuts without it. A:

Creme Brulee Donut: This donut was about twice the size of two ping pong balls. I imagine if they were the size of regular donuts, they'd have the power to instantaneously make you a hideously obese slob. Not too sweet, and a slightly chewier donut, which appealed to my love of food that makes you work to consume it. An:

Nameless Diner: I can't remember the name of this place, it was one of a thousand on the upper west side. Certainly a better diner experience than the Cosmic Rat Scalp. I just had standard eggs/toast/potatoes, but they were all done in the fancy "quality" style that is more difficult to find at Denny's. Emily and Brittany both had cheese fries with cups of a tomato gravy stuff, which upon reflection sounds as enjoyable as a throat culture, but it was actually delicious. A:

Darrell Lea Mango Soft Eating Liquorice: Brittany bought a bag of this and shared a few pieces with me, thank everything. As we ate it, we wondered why all this fancy liquorice is coming out of Australia. I didn't look it up on the internet, but I'm sure it's origins lie in the hands of all those British prisoners that made up the early colonial Australian population. They probably just wanted chewy, thick ropes of candy in exotic and tempting flavors, and now we're reaping the benefits. An:

Haribo Rainbow Mini Frogs: There was a point when I was willing to blindly put my trust in any and all Haribo gummy products. Then I tried their gummy colas and felt bad. If I wanted the sensation of warm, flat Coke in my mouth, I'd show up to your birthday party far too late. I di'n't give up on the brand though; everyone makes mistakes. I was rewarded for my fidelity, as these Rainbow Mini Frogs take all the tender mercy of their larger apple-flavored relatives, shrink it, and add a blast of rainbow pleasure. My faith is restored in Haribo with an:

H & H Bagels: I think the lady running the customer service side of this place ripped us off. My blueberry bagel was good enough, not too sweet like you find so often. I didn't see what the big deal was, however. "Like no other bagel in the world"? Please. A:

Rapid Fire

2009-02-06T12:52:00.000-08:00

Brooklyn Diner Greek Salad: This was a food item gifted to me by my boss, who decided he didn't want it. He always prefaces giving me his food with "I didn't even crack the packaging," to which I feel like replying "I ate four crackers for lunch, you didn't bleed much into it, did you?" While eating this salad, I was asked "Is it anything?" No, it wasn't anything. It had some nice tomato slices and an abundance of feta, and I appreciate any food given to me, but for the huge price I'm sure it cost, it was just a:

My Neighbor Totoro: This beautifully done picture made me happy, and it featured a giant, soft cat that doubled as a bus, something which is lacking from most feature presentations these days. Not my favorite Studio Ghibli picture, but let's be serious, it was a:

Hello Deli Club Sandwich: Rupert Jee could really screw people over at his deli. He's sitting on a pile of tourist trap gold, but I feel like he does his best to ensure his place is a good value for customers. I didn't feel ripped off, but I probably would request no Russian dressing next time, it's a bit sweet for my taste. Still, the club sandwich is almost always a winner:

Empanadas Cafe of Queens: When I tried Empanada Mama, I hadn't tried Empanadas Cafe, and so I gave it an A. I can be such a careless fool. Now that I've eaten at Empanada Mama, which is the better restaurant, I'd have to consider Mama a B at best. The Cafe sells their bigger, even more delicious empanadas at almost half the price of Mama's. I had a breakfast type with egg and bacon, a chicken type with chicken, a turkey type with turkey, and a dessert type with Nutella and banana. I had to travel to Queens to eat there, and got lost on the way, but fortunately I was with two people who know how to navigate sidewalks, so it all worked out. I have a better idea of how to get there now, and I'm glad, because it's an:

Chopped TV Show: This is a rip-off of that Iron Chef program, isn't it? I think it is. You can't fool me, just because it has less flipping and sparks in the opening sequence doesn't mean it's not the same show. Who cares? I welcome any Food Network programming that isn't my girl Rachel Raylene:

Stage Deli Square Knish: This was gifted to me by my boss as well. I had no idea what a knish was, but I do now. This one was a fried mashed potato sandwich. I think the only thing holding KFC back from selling these is the "it tastes good" barrier. I may have given it an A if I could have eaten it on my own terms, piping hot, but even just warm, and despite its total disregard for my poor body, I give it a:

Cupcake From Anonymous Fancy Bakery: Along with the disappointment, eating a barely average product from a bakery also brings the joy of knowing that such a sweet could be made better at home. For me, this is the case with nearly all cupcakes. Unlike say, donuts, which I believe require a not-for-home-use sized vat of Freddy Kruegerizing-hot grease to create, cupcakes are something that anyone with a bit of patience, a decent recipe, and the most indulgent ingredients can create. This cupcake, which came from a batch created by an unknown bakery, and most likely cost $75, was just average. A decent white cake with a lot of frosting. The frosting did have a rumor of lemon, which helped balance things, but it didn't do much for me otherwise. A cupcake with a capital:

Trader Jose's 5-layer Fiesta Dip

2009-02-03T11:22:00.001-08:00

Another generously sized photo.

There was a period in my early teenage years that I spent pretending to be interested in the Super Bowl. After that transparent facade fell, I spent several years pretending to be interested in Super Bowl commercials. It took some time, but I eventually realized that watching eleven hours of football to catch the latest in trained animal tomfoolery wasn't for me. Besides, any commercial that wanted my attention badly enough could find me on the internet. I learned to spend the precious hours America threw away each year on the Super Bowl to pursue more dynamic activities, like sitting in another room or laying still on my bed. Those were hours well spent, but over the last month or so I've gotten my fill of such pleasures, as outside of my work on Leeza, I don't have a very busy schedule. What's worse, I haven't had a delicious chip-and-dip combination in weeks; there are times I'm not sure if can hold on for another day. Sundays can be especially dull, so when a roommate mentioned the possibility of a Super Bowl party over the weekend, I ran the equation through my head: 2 + 2= delicious guacamole.

After arriving at the party and finding a comfortable seat near the table of assorted snacks, away from the pesky social activity, I realized that I'd done my math wrong. 2+2 doesn't equal guacamole. 2+2=5. 5 as in Trader Jose's 5-layer Fiesta Dip, sold at Trader Joe's supermarket. I bargained to stay for ten minutes of the game at the sign of guacamole, and I found so much more. I couldn't leave until Springsteen took the stage.

The plain corn chips were just out of my reach, somewhere among the televised event, the people watching it, and what's left of my manners, so I had to opt for flavored Doritos to carry the dip to my mouth. While they weren't the tasting format I would have preferred, the dip overcame. It won me over. Delicious. The five layers consisted of black bean dip, sour cream, guacamole, salsa, and cheddar cheese (look my personal recipe below). I think the thing that really did it for me, the thing that allowed me to ignore the idiotic name of the product, was the inclusion of black bean dip instead of standard refried beans. It was just the twist this trusted dip needed to take it over the top. I'm going to search for it at Trader Joe's this weekend, fearing every minute that it's going to be wildly overpriced, but until then, this dip will stay in my mind as an:

Bridger Winegar's 5-layer Fiesta Dip Recipe

Freshest guacamole
Freshest salsa
Freshest sour cream
Freshest black bean dip
Freshest cheddar cheese

Layer whichever way you choose. Serve when you see fit.

And, just to whet your appetite, a piece of recent history:
http://www.fda.gov/bbs/topics/NEWS/NEW00713.html

Chips Ahoy! Oatmeal Chewy

2009-01-27T18:11:00.000-08:00

Look at the size of this image.

When I eat a cheeseburger at McDonald's, I don't eat it as a cheeseburger. Rather, I imagine it as some sort of futuristic foodstuff, a space age ration that I could enjoy on a night out on Mars in my astronaut suit. The same goes for Chips Ahoy! cookies. The product is so far away from homemade chocolate chip cookies that it becomes another delicious type of treat entirely. I've always been partial to the original Chips Ahoy!, because I feel like Chips Ahoy! Chewy cookies are trying to be something they'll never be; the strange cousin who mimics the style of the pretty cousin is still the strange cousin, but she has a weird texture and overly sweet taste.

Recently, while scouring the aisles of the Pathmark of Harlem grocery store for deals to justify my shopping in a place that makes me long for Wal-Mart's petty abuses, I noticed that the Chips Ahoy! line was on sale. Never not wanting a cookie, I took a closer look. One of the types of Chips Ahoy! listed for sale was Chips Ahoy! Oatmeal Chewy, a variety I'd never seen before. Unfortunately, the Pathmark shoppers had decimated the shelf, taking all of this particular variety with them. Forever the martyr, I held off on purchasing any cookies for myself, promising to return when Chips Ahoy! Oatmeal Chewy were back in stock. To my surprise, Pathmark had refilled the shelf by my next visit, and I treated myself to a whole box-bag of this particular cookie. Two weeks later, I have finished the box-bag, and can now report honestly and fairly on my feelings toward Chips Ahoy! Oatmeal Chewy.

This type of Chips Ahoy! comes no closer to actually cookieness than the original variety, and I'm vaguely suspicious that Nabisco is simply sprinkling oatmeal on top of Chips Ahoy! Chewy. Still, I enjoyed them. For my dollar, they're just slightly better tasting than those expensive Kashi Oatmeal cookies. By no means a perfect cookie, but I don't mind having them around. I give them a:

Banh Mi Saigon Bakery

2009-01-23T14:05:00.000-08:00

I'm not entirely surprised that Vietnamese food still hasn't taken over the world. Once the dog consumption secret was out of the bag, the country's cuisine faced near impossible odds of worldwide success. The global potluck is a tricky thing; you let one region of your country bake a few strays and all of a sudden no one trusts what's stewing in your casserole dish. Fortunately, France was able to sweep through the nation in the 1800s, at which point I imagine it subjected the Vietnamese to unimaginable horrors as well as les secrets of truly gourmet cooking. As far as I know, these new techniques may or may not have lead to the development of two of Vietnam's most popular exports, pho soup and banh mi sandwiches.

I had my first banh mi in 2008 at Cafe Thao Mi in West Valley. Despite the slightly dry bread it was served on, I enjoyed the sandwich enough to toy with the idea of imagining going back at some point. Although that's as close as I got to returning, I've kept banh mi in my thoughts and occasionally, prayers for the last six months or so. Before making my move east, I began looking for places to eat in the city, and I learned of the Banh Mi Saigon Bakery, which is almost exactly what the title tells you it is. The one thing you won't learn from the bakery's name is that it's actually the back third of a real life jewelry store. After traveling downtown this afternoon and (quite handily, I have to say) finding the place, I walked directly past the jewelry department to the counter. Although I didn't check the prices on their gold chains (still waiting for that Speedo and bottle of Musk in the mail), I have to guess that the bakery has jacked up the prices of its shimmering jewels in order to compensate for the low, low cost of its sandwich line. No kidding, the sandwiches at Banh Mi Saigon range from about $3.75 to $5. I chose the very popular pork option and also selected a bottle of diet cola pop, and my total came to $5.25, which is the equivalent of about .13 cents everywhere-else-in-America dollars.

The bakery seemed to be a strictly to-go affair, so I was happy about today's soaring temperature of 40 degrees, which allowed me to eat my sandwich outdoors without feeling the need to kill, gut, and cozy up inside the carcass of a nearby snow monster. The sandwich, I'm so thrilled to announce, was over the top in its deliciousness. Unlike the previous banh mi I had at Cafe Thao Mi, the bread it was prepared with was at least recently fresh, and it was full of pork, carrots, cucumbers, some sort of spiciness, and a slice of what I assume was pate, which I probably wouldn't eat under any other circumstance. My only complaint was that it wasn't quite as spicy as I've trained my mouth to enjoy, but that will be corrected on future visits.

After finishing my seven or so inches of sandwich, I looked in my bag, only to find that good grief, there was another of the same size. All of this for $3.75, what can I say? I felt like a mother who finds a baby in a basket on her porch and lovingly welcomes it into her home only to discover that it has a twin. In my case, that twin baby was brandishing a pistol; the pistol of taste and irresistibly, and all I could think was well, we'll just have to make room. I ate the rest of what embarrassingly would have been enough for two people, and I'll make no apologies. It gave me the energy to wander around various too-expensive parts of downtown for five hours (the courage to do so came from within), and I was even able to track down a bottle of Sriracha in Chinatown for future less exciting Ramen and vegetable dinners. If you ever meet with me in New York, I will force you to go to this restaurant with me. You'll be so happy. Thank you, Banh Mi Saigon Bakery, I give you an:

Cosmic Diner

2009-01-22T09:43:00.000-08:00

The Cosmic Dump must be empty when it can't even offer people a warm refuge.

Finding a decent diner in New York and making an enjoyable cup of hot chocolate seem like relatively simple tasks. Recently, both of these expectations were upset: everything I've come to believe in must now be questioned. While looking for a place to get a sweet with Jordan, Melissa, Sarah, and some other folks late Tuesday night, I remembered the name of the Cosmic Diner, which was just a block or so from where we were at the time. Because certain death is always moments away while standing in the ice hell of January Manhattan, everyone was eager to step inside any business that came close to what we were after.

Putting aside the great company I shared at the place, I had a terrible experience. I tasted two items on the menu. The first, which I ordered myself, was a cup of hot chocolate. There is only one reasonable explanation that I can conjure up for this drink's creation: taken by surprise by the rare order of hot chocolate in winter time, the kitchen staff quickly turned to a rusty tap to fill a mug with a brown liquid, microwaved it for 45 seconds, and added a dash of whip cream. A failed attempt at a drink that requires the beaker-and-flask complexity of mixing one powder with one liquid. After realizing the mediocrity of my drink two sips in, I noticed Sarah give me a look concerning her slice of coconut custard pie. "Is it disgusting?" I asked.

"It's disgusting," she replied. I have a hard time passing up the disgusting, so I requested a taste. The pie had a tartness that shot past a "spoil yourself" taste to a "spoiled food" taste, sealing my thoughts on the restaurant's menu.

The service was another bad story. I have a high tolerance for bad service, but when food ends up on my clothing, I start to feel slightly impatient. Our waiter, obviously nervous about the consequences of us discovering that the diner sold bad food, spilled part of Jordan's milkshake on my jacket and generally just clumsied about. If I hadn't been surrounded by loved ones, I would have flipped the table over before smashing through one of the Cosmic Diner's windows and into the night. I hate it and I don't want to talk about it anymore. I give it an:

53rd and 6th Cart

2009-01-15T07:00:00.001-08:00

Last night as I waited to be released from work at Leeza, I began looking for great places to eat in New York for the fourth or fifth time of the day. One option that I learned of was the 53rd and 6th cart, a small food stand located at that address. After doing five minutes of internet research on the subject, I knew it was for me. It sounded delicious, and nearly everyone on the internet seemed to agree. As I took the elevator to the ground floor, I decided to forgo my previously planned stop at McDonald's for a cheeseburger Happy Meal in favor of this apparent miracle cart, which was only a couple of blocks from my location. It was a brash, bold decision, but that's how I choose to live my life.

The cart opens at 7:30 pm. I arrived at 7:35 to a line of about seven people. The food wasn't being sold yet, so I took my place at the end of the queue and began to entertain myself with a mix of music and walking in place. After about thirty minutes of waiting in the death cold, I began to wonder if I would ever be served. Had I made a mistake? Was a Happy Meal really my fate? No. Behind me, there were at least twenty-five other waiting customers, and if they had the gusto to withstand this weather, so did I. Another fifteen minutes passed, and after a bit more suffering, the line began to move, and I was soon ordering a combo platter from Rasputin in a parka.

For six dollars, I was handed a bag containing a round tin of food, a side of hot sauce, and two larger sides of a mysterious white sauce. Too cold to walk to the beverage cart for a drink, I took my meal to the nearest sitting place and went wild. As far as I could tell, the platter consisted of rice, salad, chopped chicken and chopped gyro, and some pita. I utilized the sauces and consumed about 70% of the platter, which I imagine weighed about a pound or so. So far while eating in New York, I've had $12 meals and thought "well, that would have cost $5 in Salt Lake, but this is Manhattan." This was a different situation, however. The amount of quality food I received at this cart was an unbeatable value anywhere in the first world. I couldn't stop eating it, despite my continued plunge into frostbitten hypothermia. I actually had to use the time-honored tradition of "one more big bite and you're done" to restrain myself.

I thought I was going to lose my fingers. Then I thought I was going to lose my feet. Finally, I thought I was going to lose my mind. Fortunately during this debacle, I never lost my appetite for delicious food. What a valuable lesson. I give this cart an:

Pop Soda Mint Lime Soda

2009-01-11T17:08:00.000-08:00

This photo is proof that someone else has also tried this drink. From this, we can deduce that Pop Soda has sold at least two of their Mint Lime beverages.

There's no television in my apartment, and this evening two of my roommates wanted to watch one of those football games you're always hearing about. They planned to go to a local sports bar, and while neither the football game nor sports bar held much interest for me, getting out of our apartment, which had reached pizza-baking levels of heat, did. Unfortunately, after spending about fifteen minutes at the bar with my official Michelob plastic cup of water, I became violently bored. I excused myself and began wandering the streets in search for some form of entertainment.

Floating through grocery stores with no purpose in mind is quite soothing for me, and so I was happy to see several in the area. After taking in the cookie selections of two Duane Reed drug stores and two grocers, I spotted a store called Eli Zabar. Two minutes into this Zabar, I came to the realization that it's a grocery store for people who can't spare the space in their money-filled purses for petty inconveniences such as coupons. This fact hit me hardest when I saw a small package of delicous looking crispy cookies and then finding that they were priced at $12.95. Zabar did have a soda section full of a variety of showy bottled pops. For whatever reason, I'm usually a bit more of a spendthrift when it comes to novelty sodas, and so I decided to spend the $2.50 I refused on a Diet Coke at the sports bar (OUTRAGEOUS PRICING!) on a bottle of Pop Soda's Mint Lime flavor, whose icy cold contents would be perfect to accompany me as I wandered down the icy cold streets. Refreshment was at my doorstep.

Pop Soda says that their soda is microbrewed, which means nothing to me, but I like to imagine that it made my tasting experience that much better than those paltry just brewed varieties. My Mint Lime soda, I guess, was basically a non-alcoholic mojito in a beer bottle. It had the promised combination of mint and lime, but it lacked the sourness I demand from my favorite fruit. The packaging told me actual limes were used in the creation of the beverage, but I'm skeptical. I was also disappointed to find that the soda almost completely lacked fizz. This may have tasted a bit better mid-July, or even in the sweaty throes of my apartment, but I'll never be able to say for sure. Microbrewed or not, I'll just have to give it a:

Empanada Mama

2009-01-10T19:22:00.000-08:00

No one pictured here is me.

I think the empanada is delicious by nature. It combines the loved-by-millions appeal of pie with the loved-by-billions appeal of fried, and puts them in a small, wonderful package. If you can get ingredients anywhere near edible inside an empanada shell, you have a good chance of pleasing whoever consumes your empanada.

Tonight roommate and I spent a good amount of time traveling to get some of these wonderful items. We waited for our transfer on the subway for at least a half hour, entertained by a gal doing Madonna karaoke, and finally left assuming the train had been swallowed by a giant serpent somewhere beneath Manhattan. From there we walked several blocks in the worst possible combination of wet and cold to find Empanada Mama, a restaurant that made me feel better about the size of my current bedroom. It was full, so we sat at their counter space, and after a few minutes of waiting ordered a variety of empanadas from two people who felt Scandanavianly out of their element.

I ordered four empanadas: a fried whole wheat cheesesteak variety, a baked wheat Greek spinach variety, and a cheese-filled corn shell variety. Finally, to prove to my heart that I don't care if she lives or dies, I ordered a dessert empanada called the "Elvis," which was fried and full of peanut butter and banana. I had a real time with nearly every empanada, except the baked Greek type, which was a bit dry to be proud of eating. Still, they've got a large variety of the things, and I want to try every one of them other than the "American," which has chunks of hotdog in it. If being an American means being full of hot dog chunks, then being an American means nothing at all. At about $2.50 an empanada, I feel like they're a bit expensive, but I still feel I should give Empanada Mama an:

Gran Torino and Jaya Restaurant

2009-01-09T22:01:00.000-08:00

I was surprised how similar Gran Torino was to one of my favorite 2005 films, Grandpa Joins a Gang. Both movies deal with similar themes and subjects, but I feel like Torino has the slight edge, as it's an actual movie. I haven't seen a lot of Quint Eastwood pictures, but I loved the man in this one. It's actually an incredibly funny movie, and I enjoyed a good part of it. My biggest problem was the teen actor who played Eastwood's teen counterpart in the picture. This teen actor was devastatingly bad at acting, but I guess we all need to forgive him, because I just looked him up on the Google and apparently he's never been in a real picture before. He wasn't the only person displaying local theatre troupe-quality acting, however. Virtually everyone outside of Quinton and his barber does a pretty bad job. Fortunately, Q holds the whole thing together as the world's most intentionally dangerous senior citizen. Oh, and as the movie closes, Quinton sings on the soundtrack, which made me feel a bit uncomfortable. I'd still recommend this picture, though. I enjoyed myself enough for a:

Jaya Restaurant

I didn't take this photo, and it's not even from the restaurant, but this is essentially one of the things I had there.

During the Gran Turino picture, which focuses heavily on a Hmong community, I became hungry watching Quint's character enjoy some delicious Asian cuisine. After the show, I requested that we find some Thai food, and so we took a confused trip to China Town. It was there that we easily stumbled upon Jaya, a restaurant that I've wanted to try for quite a while, but haven't had the inner-strength to find on my own. I demanded that we try it out, and I'm glad we did. Jaya serves roti canai and roti telur, two of the most delicious snacks known to any person. I ordered a roti telur, which is a sort of fried bread filled with egg. It came with curry dipping sauce, and it all worked out for me. I could have had seven. I then ordered a noodle dish called Mee Goreng, which was delicious with one drawback: miscellany meat. The spicy dish had an assortment of meats ranging from the welcomed (shrimp and calamari) to what I refuse to consider food (fishballs and pieces of flesh that I couldn't even identify). Please, restaurants everywhere, hear my plea: pulverizing meat and whipping it into a ball form is in bad taste. And if you have to put in a dish, at least ask me before you do so. Anyway, outside of the slimy scraps and spheres of protein that I'm sure were crawling through my noodles, I enjoyed the hell out of myself. I'll give it a:

A World in Crisis, A Year in Entertainment

2008-12-30T15:49:00.001-08:00

2008 wasn't a wonderful year for the movies and me. I paid for two absolutely garbage movies, and even the best ones I saw had some blatant flaws. I did see some decent pictures this year; I just hope 2009 can provide a bit more excitement.

Best Movies

Wall-E

I'll never be able to comprehend the decision to have live-action anything in this movie. Seeing actual human beings in the same movie as CG human beings was incredibly distracting. Fortunately, I loved nearly everything else, even if some bits were heavy-handed. Beautiful thing, and there was a moment that I teared up slightly, which is something I do rarely as a real guy's guy.

The Dark Knight

Listen, someone should have given the Halloween costume-level design of Two Face some more thought. Compared to the rest of this picture, which I enjoyed a great deal (well, Batman voice makes me feel odd, but I think we're stuck with that), the Two Face moments were a bit much. It was a big improvement on the already enjoyable Batman Begins, and I'm excited to see them completely change the tone of the series with the third film as they lose Christopher Nolan and bring back Joel Schumacher. Count on it.

Let the Right One In

This movie wasn't particularly terrifying, and there was one moment where a ravenous pack of house cats looked a bit too phony, but it still entertained me a good deal. I might even read the book, because I feel like I'll finally be able to appreciate vampires, which I feel is the one thing blocking my interest in that unique Twilight saga.

Slumdog Millionaire

I saw this one twice, once for free at a special screening, once for free because I had free tickets from complaining. Some of the camerawork bothered me quite a bit, but I let it go with the excuse of it probably being an homage to Bollywood's cheese. Great movie for the most part, adorable kids, fascinating look at India, and I still can't get over the eastern version of Regis Philbin. Who wants to beeee a millin-air?

Burn After Reading

The Coen brothers released a far better movie last year, but it was certainly a different type of picture than this one. It would be a better comparison to put this one up against Fargo, The Big Lebowski, and to a lesser extent, Raising Arizona. Those movies are better than this one, but I still enjoyed myself. Some very funny moments, and George Clooney surprises everyone with a big machine.

Vicky Cristina Barcelona

I had high hopes for this one, and although it didn't match them, I felt like it would have been worth just seeing the nice Spanish setting. Fortunately, it also had some very funny bits provided mostly by Javier Bardem and Penelope Cruz, who do a spectacular job as a disfunctional couple. I'm now hoping Whatever Works will be the next great Woody Allen comedy.

Worst Movies

Tropic Thunder

I heard nothing but raves about this movie for the longest time. I was lied to. People just went ga-ga over Tom Cruise's "surprise" performance as a movie studio executive, but I'm here to tell you that all those people were wrong. Cruise's shocking, hilarious character was bald and fat, but he danced to RAP MUSIC! And he YELLED at people! I mean, he yelled real curse words and did those funny dance moves that teens are so wild about! I'm dying just thinking about it! A real crack-up! Cruise wasn't the only problem here, however. I can't forget the awful kid actor, any scene with Jack Black, and the two-minute Playstation 3 ad rammed right in the middle of the movie. Diarrhea ran down the screen, diarrhea sprayed from the speakers. I left the theater absolutely soaked in it.

Be Kind Rewind

The other movie I hated the most this year involved Jack Black as well. He wasn't completely obnoxious in this one, none of the people involved were. It was just insanely boring. I felt like I spent six days in the theater watching this. This wasn't a quarter as whimsical, cute, inventive, or funny as it thought it was. I'm falling asleep just thinking about it.

Best Television Show: I watched both seasons of Mad Men this year, and after getting through its slow start, I thought wow, what a great show. I can really get behind Peggy Olson, who shows that even those with a slightly mousy look can find success at high power ad agencies. Such courage.

Worst Television Show: A month or so ago, I came to the realization that Heroes has now surpassed The O.C. as the worst TV show of which I've willingly watched more than one episode. Fortunately, this program's soaring idiocy is awful enough to provide some entertainment. Take this animated GIF I created, for example. Only on a show that makes as many terrible decisions as Heroes will you find a murderous villain who discovers his "empathy" and transforms into a modern dancer in the same scene. Paid adults thought having the character rise from the floor in this way was a sound idea:

Craig, my apologies.

Worst Commercial: I guess I didn't watch enough actual television to pick out a favorite commercial this year. However, I can tell you with ease what the worst one was. It's the following video, and if you can't see what's wrong with it, I invite you to make a New Year's resolution to start thinking properly. All aboard the Good Ship Douchebag:

Best Game Tapes

LittleBigPlanet

This game tape is excellent proof that "videogames for everyone" don't have to be "videogames for everyone who would rather flail their arms in the air instead of playing videogames." There's so much happiness in this product that I won't even try to describe it to you.

Burnout Paradise

This one only cost me $30 in cash, but it's cost me hours and hours in precious time. That's okay with me. There has been only one other game tape to allow me the play-zure of listening to my favorite music at loud volumes while watching a dazzling moving image on my television, and this one continues the tradition of sheer joy that tape started. It even overcomes two horrendous mistakes made by the people who made it: 1. The game's "DJ," DJ Atomica, uses the absolute worst "rock on!" type of voice. Listening to it makes me want to track him down and hurt his feelings. 2. I have to hear Guns N' Roses' "Paradise City" every time I start the game. I was hoping the next time I heard this song would be when I started my career as a topless dancer.

Super Smash Bros. Brawl

What a great game tape. Although there's still a long list of Nintendo characters I'd like to use to beat other Nintendo characters to death with a bat, this game tape did supply me with quite a few of my favorites. Everyone has fun with this one, except possibly when Craig is playing, because he's nigh unbeatable when he utilizes Kirby. When I do defeat him I feel really great about myself, so this game tape is also perfect for building self-esteem.

Worst Game Tape

Grand Theft Auto IV

Imagine being dropped in New York City and told you can do anything you want without consequence. And then imagine your ability to jump is comparable to that of a crippled potato sack racer, every car steering wheel is covered in Crisco, and outside of stealing vehicles and shooting people, "everything" means playing a terrible bowling game, using phony internet on a videogame computer, and having people call you on your videogame cell phone NON-STOP. Not the worst game tape I've ever played, but certainly the biggest letdown.

Curious Case of Benjamin Button

2008-12-27T22:14:00.001-08:00

This movie would have worked out a lot better if some of the budget devoted to the 17-hour running time would have been redirected to keeping the protagonist from often looking like a Madame Trousseau escapee. However, the last half of the picture was nice enough, if not too sentimental and similar to Forrest Gump and Big Fish. I give it a:

Two Thousand Eat

2008-12-24T00:48:00.001-08:00

Best Restaurant:

The owners of Tacos Nacos could pull my hair, steal my identity, verbally attack me, or key my car, and I would continue to eat at their restaurant; they make outstanding tacos. The fact that every person who works at this restaurant is a wonderful human being is only a bonus to the food they make. I've eaten at this place so many times this year that I'm sure they're working on a restraining order. Everything I've ever eaten at this joint has been delicious. The tortas are something else. The quesadillas are like no other quesadilla I've ever eaten. The plates of nachos are large enough to feed family of 73. It's my favorite restaurant. Once, I almost began to cry because I couldn't go there. You should try it. It's the best Mexican food in Utah, and it's located on 33 East 11400 South in Sandy, near the Best Buy electronic retailer.

Worst Restaurant:

Even if my former employer, Simply Thai, hadn't ruined me for all other Thai food, I'd still be able to tell you that the Thai Siam restaurant, voted best Thai food or something like that by worthless City Weekly, is one of the worst restaurants I've ever eaten at. The food served at this restaurant is unbelievably disgusting. When two plates of food can nearly cause you to declare war on a city, you know you've picked the wrong restaurant. Thai Siam is the worst.

I also feel like I should mention Carraba's Italian Grill, which my father has an inexplicable obsession with. On our last visit, I ordered a bowl of minestrone and when it arrived at the table, it was grey. They do have good service (a lime with every refill is really something for me), but I don't care. Bad restaurant.

Best Thing I Ate:

The single best thing I ate this year was a sandwich from the Molinari Delicatessen in San Francisco. I asked the man behind the counter to do his thing, and he whipped up the best sandwich I have ever eaten. It had everything I wanted (turkey, roll) and more (peppers, some sort of thinly sliced spicy meat [which terrified me until I tried it, and then my fears were assuaged], other delicious ingredients). I don't believe this sandwich will ever be beat, ever. Don't go to this place while you're in San Francisco; go to San Francisco to go to this place.

Worst Thing I Ate:

I can't remember eating anything worse than the Pad Thai I had at Thai Siam. There was little exaggeration on my part when I compared it to this photo earlier this year. The next time I eat something this bad, I'm sure I'll vomit for days.

Best Cookie:

My sister has crafted an uncountable amount of delicious cookies this year. Seeing as cookie is my favorite food, I can't pick just one. If I had to pick just two, I'd say the cookies created from David Leite's chocolate chip cookie recipe and some hazlenut chocolate cookies were my two favorites. I ate a lot of cookies this year.

Worst Cookie:

For the last few Thanksgivings, my sister and I have found ourselves desperately bored, trapped, and confused. We also get hungry in the evenings because cold, drying leftover turkey holds little appeal for either of us. In order to alleviate the pain of the holiday, we usually drive around looking for any open business that sells food. This year that place was Albertson's, which employed me in its bakery for two days last year. I only learned two things while I was working there, but I'll never forget them. First: garlic bread recipe= old bread + garlic slime from a bucket. Second: they will give you a free chocolate chip cookie if you ask. Unfortunately, the bakery was closed by the time we arrived Thanksgiving night, so I was forced to select from one of the store's many pre-packaged choices. I ended up choosing chocolate chip pecan cookies from Albertson's own fancy x-brand, Culinary Circle. The packaging really got me, I guess. They looked great, the description the package provided sounded great (freshest ingredients, etc.), but they tasted exactly why I imagine the word foodstuff was created: flavorless and consumable. A shame, really, because Albertson's bakery actually makes decent cookies.

Worst Service:

I would love to tell you the type of the tacos I ate at Las Tarascas in Provo (recommended by this blog), because they were quite good. Unfortunately, I never caught their name because our white American waiter, clearly a former missionary, was so eager to over-pronounce the name that I thought he was going to cough up blood on our table. The worst service.

Worst Food Critic:

As long as the Deseret News employs Stacy Kratz, who has demonstrated her restaurant savvy by reviewing such places as Red Robin and, two hundred years after its opening, Cafe Rio, she will be the worst food critic. I'm starting to feel bad for the poor thing.

Best Soda Mix:

I would say it's a tie between the Diet Coke at Tacos Nacos and the Coke Zero at Chipotle, but Tacos Nacos has better food to go with their drinks, so the Diet Coke at Tacos Nacos it is. I've had a lot of it to drink.

Worst Soda Mix:

As much as I love to eat at Simply Thai, the restaurant's soda machine sucks. Fortunately, I've gotten word that a new one is being installed, and I'll be able to enjoy dazzling Thai food with dazzling diet soda whenever I feel that burning desire.

Best Chef:

My sister, Sarah-Ashley, is the best chef I know personally, even if the jealous tyrant of the Let's Share Recipes Facebook group won't acknowledge her expertise. She can make just about any food she can see in her mind's eye.

Worst Chef:

At one point, I made an omelet out of egg whites and broccoli (I'm such a gourmand!), and it was disgusting. I really let myself down.

Celebrate 2008: Music

2008-12-22T01:12:00.000-08:00

Cheap Time- Cheap Time: Something about this album cover makes me want to not like these three men (is guy on the left wearing a choker or a flesh-tone mock turtleneck? Either way, stop it.), but that's just a testament to what an outstanding group of songs this is. They're having a great time, I'm having a great time, you're having a great time.

of Montreal- Skeletal Lamping: Really a crass album for the most part. The best songs are when Kevin Barnes is not living out his black tranny fantasies, and there are only about two or three of those here, but it's all still a fantastic fun time.

Harlem- Free Drugs: This climbed my list faster than any other album this year. When I'm listening to it, I'm having the time of my life.

Jay Reatard- Matador Singles '08: Wonderful guy, wonderful songs. I thought his collection from In the Red was a bit more exciting, but still, this man had something to offer me nearly every month this year, and I for that I can't complain.

TV On the Radio- Dear Science: Terrific album, "Family Tree" is a song of all-time. Good through and through.

Deerhunter- Microcastle: Have you ever seen a picture of this band's leader, Bradford Cox? Living skeleton, really not much of a looker. Still, this album got me through a lot of days of writing pet urn and rug product descriptions.

Magnetic Fields- Distortion: This band is always a tasteful choice. Once, James told me he didn't want to listen to this band because they're depressing, and I just thought, James, you're wrong. The last album they made was a bit spotty, but this one's almost as good as all their others, which is good enough for me.

Vivian Girls- Vivian Girls: Their was some sort of nitwit blog drama about this band and the Crystal Stilts band which I was lucky not to actually read about, because I'd probably hate everyone involved. This album shows the world what it's really like to be a woman.

Sic Alps- U.S. EZ: As you can see by the tasteful font choice for the album art, this is worth listening to.

Barbaras- "Summertime Road" 7": I think this band is a lot of fun, even if they let me down by not putting out an actual album this year. Be sure to download the live MP3s on their Myspace, which are all spectacular (especially "Breathing Underwater").

Girl Talk- Feed the Animals: Sometimes, I have the urge to listen to all the songs I wouldn't care to listen to on their own at the same time. This man makes it a possibility.

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Fleet Foxes- Fleet Foxes: Any band that makes the listener want to simultaneously own a dream catcher, soundtrack a Hallmark made-for-TV special, and wear a scarf with a t-shirt does not deserve this sort of attention. It's pretty, it has some nice production, but at the end of the day it's still only a notch or two above dad rock. I spend a large amount of my time listening to it imagining wanting to stick a shiv in the kidneys of everyone at their concerts. Anyway, not terrible, but album of the year? Get real.

WORST ALBUM:

There is not doubt in my mind. I refuse to picture it here, but if you must see, click here. The lows this band reaches with each new album are mind-blowing. Put these men in prison before they finally obliterate what good they managed to do with their first two albums.

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Presenting three incredible mixes for one incredible price:

Celebrate 2008

Hot Cuts
Another Time, Another World

Slumdog Millionaire

2008-12-05T19:15:00.000-08:00

My sister and I were able to get in to a free screening of the new Slumdog Millionaire picture on Wednesday. These free screenings are presented to audiences in order to spread word of mouth, and I don't mind falling into that ploy for a free viewing of a good movie. I've read an enormous amount of hype about this particular picture, so I went in with high expectations, and left only slightly disappointed.

Highlights of the picture:

+A rarely seen look into an Indian call center, something I've hoped to experience since my family's first Dell computer
+Children more adorable than kittens
+India, land of filth and beauty
+Exciting, if slightly overbearing soundtrack
+Bossy, paranoid Indian Regis Philbin
+Feel-great picture

Lowlights of the picture:

-Occasionally too melodramatic
-One scene with two cartoon Americans (Americans think they can solve anything with money bla bla bla)
-Felt a bit long (although, this may have had something to do with my bladder being on the brink of rupturing from a gallon of soda pop)

I don't feel like giving a synopsis, you can watch the trailer:

I really liked this one for the most part. I give it a:

Mint Truffle-filled Hershey's Kisses

2008-12-04T19:37:00.000-08:00

Photo directed by Sarah-Ashley Winegar

The combination of mint and chocolate is trickier than I think a lot of people realize. A confectioner must precisely combine the right textures and flavors or risk developing a sweet that makes the consumer feel like they should have instead brushed their teeth or eaten a different piece of chocolate. I was recently gifted a single holiday-exclusive Hershey's Kiss "filled with mint truffle" from my sister, which I quickly ate. After some internet research, I discovered that the interior of these Kisses is a wintry mint green. I stole another from my sister to investigate and found this to be true. This green food coloring may have no effect on the product's flavor, but it is truly unique. As for the taste, Hershey's patented melt-in-your-candle-holder chocolate surrounds toothpaste to create a strictly average candy piece. While these may not be Kisses of death or bad enough to ruin Christmas, they are certainly not worthy of the trusted mint truffle name. I will not eat one again unless I'm invited to a Christmas party with a candy dish full of them. I give this candy a:

Vampire Movies

2008-11-28T23:50:00.000-08:00

I just sat through a two-hour long movie that focused on the loving relationship between a young vampire and a human being, and it wasn't even based on a crappy pre-teen romance novel. The movie I'm talking about is Let the Right One In, a Swedish adaptation of a Swedish book I've just learned about. Obviously the comparisons to Twilight are inevitable, so I'm going to do a list of pros and cons for each film. I haven't seen Twilight, but I think I have a decent grasp of it:

Let the Right One In
+Adolescent male bully named Conny
+Woman with big blond hair being attacked by multiple house cats (simultaneously)
+Protagonist with He-man hairdo
+Adorable, bloodthirsty vampire girl
+A bit scary
+Timeless Swedish style

Twilight
-Not good

Venus Home 100-percent Cotton Bath Towel (Green, Blue and Silver)

2008-11-25T14:52:00.001-08:00

You worthless towel.

After returning to my apartment Sunday evening from a lavish weekend escape to Draper, Utah, I noticed I forgot to bring a towel back with my laundry. Bathing is an important part of any young professional's life, and although I do enjoy the occasional opportunity to stretch clothes over my cold, wet body immediately after stepping out of the shower (spoil yourself with the sexiest mental image you can summon here), I try not to indulge myself in this activity too often. Discovering my lack of a towel threw me into a state of panic. I'm in the process of moving back to my parents' home, which is full of free bath towels. I didn't want to pay for one; paying for things is for idiots. I considered a number of options to dry off, from handfuls of toilet paper to old clothes. However, after considering the damaging effect that walking around with an ankle sock wrapped around my body would have on everyone involved, I finally admitted to myself that buying a towel was my least disgusting option.

Tired and irritated, I drove myself to Smith's Marketplace to search for an affordable towel. Following several minutes of rummaging through the store's bath linens, I found a towel on clearance for just over three dollars. I didn't know it at the time, but the towel would fail me in more ways than I could have imagined. It felt soft, it looked fine, but the first time I used it, I realized that I could have just as effectively dried myself with a plastic tarp. It's completely devoid of drying power. What's more is the towel's amazing knack of dissolving when exposed to moisture. When wet, the cotton that makes up the towel unleashes itself, so by the time I'm done pretending to dry off, I’m covered in small green and blue balls of terry cloth. I really hate this towel, and hope to never use it again. I give it an:

Summer Heights High

2008-11-20T16:08:00.001-08:00

Off the top of my head, I can't think of many things Australia has done for me entertainment-wise (or anything-wise, for that matter). It's a big place with a lot of people, and outside of having a wild assortment of animals, the country doesn't seem to be pulling its weight. I think it's about time Australia steps it up or just sinks into the ocean. HBO has recently begun airing the Australian series Summer Heights High, and I think the country might be headed in the right direction. Unlike the other comedy show HBO has culled from Oceanic peoples, Flight of the Conchords, which I tried and tried to enjoy, I've done more than smirk at the two episodes of Summer Heights High I've watched. The show does borrow a lot from Waiting For Guffman and the original Office (it's a mockumentary, it has a flamboyant theatre enthusiast, etc.), but I've seen some hilarious things happen. The star of the show, Chris Lilley, plays the three central characters: Mr. G, a drama teacher; Ja'mie King, a 16-year old private schooled girl; and Jonah Takalua, a 13-year old Tongan. All three characters have their moments, but so far I've enjoyed Ja'mie the most as she tries to get used to her life in a public school. Anyway, so far not the greatest show I've ever seen, but certainly the funniest new show I've seen this year. I give it a:

A video sample:

Quinton of Solace

2008-11-14T22:14:00.000-08:00

When Casino Royale was released in 2006, everyone went to see the movie without me, something I will bitterly hold against my friends and family until I die. I just won't let it go, despite never having more than a passing interest in the movie. A few months ago I rented it from Netflix. Unfortunately, after looking at the case as it sat in my room for three weeks, I finally had to admit to myself that I just didn't care to watch it. I mailed it back, assuming I'd end up watching at someone's house before the release of Quantum of Solace. That never happened, but seeing the new James Bond picture seemed like the right thing to do last night, and so that's what I did.

When people describe a movie as a distraction, they usually mean it was a fun diversion not to be taken too seriously. When I say that Quantum of Solace was a distraction, I mean it was actually just very distracting. The movie seems built to distract, starting with the fonts used to tell the audience that the movie had traveled to another country (as if the images depicting other countries on a giant screen are not enough). "Siena, Italy" is spelled out in a fancy cursive, "Kazan, Russia" uses a font that mimics the Russian alphabet, you get the idea. It's as if MGM has gone totally ga-ga for Printshop Deluxe (I know what I'm getting Marc Forster for Christmas!).

Next, the sheer number of crappy vehicles Bond manages to comandeer throughout the picture. The man goes by crappy hatchback, crappy dirtbike, (incredibly fast) crappy fishing boat, crappy Bronco (!), crappy airplane, and at least one more crappy car that I can't bring to mind. Who can I count on to drive the occasional impractically fancy car if not James Bond?

The climax of the movie is just as distracting as the rest due to the world's most dedicated rapist. Somewhere in the nonsense story lies some kind of Bolivian despot who will stop at nothing, and I mean not even being trapped in an exploding building, to rape Bond's female counterpart. Of course he doesn't succeed, but it was certainly bizarre to watch him try. Oh, rapists.

I should also mention that Lloyd Christmas has a surprisingly large role in the film, much of which he spends in a neck brace. I cannot understand this.

Another complaint is the often-nauseating camera work, especially during action scenes. Someone, anyone, please get a hold of that camera next time.

It was kind of exciting. Maybe I'll see the previous one someday. I give it a:

Trying My Patience, Volume II

2008-11-13T17:13:00.000-08:00

Loud motorcycles: Maybe it's time to turn in my holey jeans, leather jacket and every-other-song-is-"Bad to the Bone"-playlists, because the rebellious thirty-thousand decibel roar of a motorcycle engine is really starting to grind on my nerves and ears. The only other motorcycle-related noises I'd rather hear less are the voices of John Travolta, Tim Allen, or Martin Lawrence.

Bacon factories: Any facility that holds the ability to transform every passing vehicle into a rotting Lunchable on wheels should have to be buried at least a hundred miles below the Earth's crust. You don't play around with this sort of power.

Using The Office to illustrate points about YOUR office!: Doesn't the idea of using a tired sitcom to help motivate your employees seem like something that would spring from the very mind of Michael Scott?

Obituary billboards: This desperate last-ditch effort to have an impact on the world has got to go. Please leave your dead to the last few pages of the newspaper so I can look them up on my own depressing terms.

Carl's Jr. Commercials Voice-Over Jerk: I realize your clientele consists almost entirely of slobs, dimwits, and starving people with less-than-discriminating taste, but please consider those of us who are actually conscious while watching television.

University of Utah Internship Credit Policy

2008-11-12T21:54:00.000-08:00

Gorgeous Graphic

It's going to be difficult, but just try to imagine this dream scenario: You move to New York to work a non-paying internship for six months and get three credit hours that won't help you get any closer to college graduation but will certainly move you closer to bankruptcy, and you only have to pay the University of Utah a thousand dollars for it. That's the situation I'm currently facing, which is essentially the same as the University charging me money to go to another school. Yes, I do get three credit hours and what I'm sure will be an enormous stack of worksheets, but I think everyone who has passed the third grade has learned that golden rod isn't made from actual gold. That bill breaks down like this:

3 credit hours: Zero Hour Tuition: $360.11 + Per Credit Hour Charge: $385.92 + Fees: $238.68
=
$984.71

I am paying the University of Utah $746.03 for my worthless credit, which is no more essential to my graduation than finishing reading assignments. On top of that, I'm paying the standard nonsense fees that I've at least been able to deal with while having access to the University's stunning array of bathrooms and drinking fountains, but which will unfortunately be out of reach when I'm on the opposite side of the country. I assume in my absence those fees will go directly to hiring a reggaeton performer to entertain hundreds of hairbrained students sometime in April. I think I'll be speaking to the folks at Salt Lake Community College about getting a better deal. I've tried thinking about trying this, and I give it an:

Go to hell, University of Utah.

Bear Naked Fruit and Nut Granola

2008-11-11T20:48:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago I went looking for free food samples on the internet. After five minutes of scouring the first three links that Google provided me, I was only able to find two free offers. Coincidentally, they were both organic products, which could point to an important trend: Will the internet soon offer just as many free wholesome foods as it does music, movies, software, and any other digital product I want? Will I eventually be able to download all the whole grain, all-natural foods I desire at the punch of a button? No, I will not. I'm not here to talk about the future, I'm here to describe my experience with Bear Naked Fruit and Nut Granola, which took considerably longer to arrive by mail than the cookie I wrote about a few weeks ago.

I took my small bag of granola to work to perform as a snack, and it failed me. The granola wasn't the worst thing I've eaten, but outside of whatever dried fruit and single nut they had slipped into the package, it was bursting with boring flavor. I did not finish this snack, which is unusual for me, as I love to finish most snacks. Maybe it was the fact that I didn't actually pay for the granola, but I found it very easy to throw away after eating half of the package's contents. I don't have the interest to find out how much this poorly named organization is charging for its granola, but I'm sure it's very expensive. I give it a:

Don't you want to try some for yourself?

Haribo Sour S'ghetti

2008-11-06T15:42:00.000-08:00

The world didn't think it could be done, but the gummy market has a new leader in the shape of Haribo Sour S'ghetti. Whether or not Sour S'ghetti is actually new is inconsequential. I just learned of it, so it can now be considered the gummy industry's newest and most enthralling leader. Each package of Sour S'ghetti comes filled with hundreds (thousands? [millions??]) of spaghetti-thin, not-spaghetti length (which is why I imagine they contract it to "s'ghetti") gummy candies. The consumer is provided with three flavor choices: strawberry, apple, and blue rasberry. Either those or red, green, and blue; I can't remember. All three flavors are equally delicious and offer an exciting taste experience every time. This gummy, unlike so many others that claim to be, is actually slightly sour, which I have no one but the Germans at Haribo to thank for. It's difficult to do, but I just have to look past Germany's sordid Nazi past to give this gummy an:

Post Cranberry Vanilla Trail Mix Crunch

2008-11-05T19:48:00.000-08:00

I've reached the bottom of my 17 oz. box of Post Trail Mix Crunch, and how do I feel? Just as I would after hiking through a mountain forest is how I feel. All the beauty, pride, and awe one experiences after a long climb through the wilderness are right here in the form of granola, lightly crunchy nuggets, cranberries, almonds and a touch of vanilla flavor. I enjoyed this cereal cold. I enjoyed this cereal microwaved thirty seconds (for a big crunch). I enjoyed this cereal microwaved one minute (for a little crunch). I even enjoyed this cereal as I would actual trail mix, straight from the palm of my own hand. It feels great to be alive. I've reached the summit and I give this cereal an:

LittleBigPlanet

2008-10-27T22:25:00.000-07:00

This little person very cute.

Of all my favorite leisure time activities, I've probably loved video games the longest. Despite the enormous amount of hours I've dedicated to playing Nintendo in lieu of other skill-building activities, I'm still not terrifically adept at the hobby. Fortunately, I think this works in my favor when other people watch me play, as they must just assume that I spend my time more intelligently with tasks such as homeless animal rescue or speedboating. Over the last few years, I'm afraid that video games have largely drifted towards two extremes, as pictured here:

Extreme 1

Extreme 2

Extreme sport

I'm not interested in imagining babyz, but I'm also not the type to be found in an oversized black t-shirt lying in a pool of Mountain Dew Gamer Fuel (it exists) after a long night of imagining I'm a bald musclebound space marine. Somewhere in between, more like it. That's why I've found this recent trend of polarized video games so disturbing. Why must so many games be aimed at just seniors with wildly swinging limbs or just slimeball teenagers living out their Doritos-sponsored sci-fi fantasies? Where are the video games for the largely ignored everyone set? Yes, occasionally such games are released, but they're becoming harder and harder to come by. That's why I'm so thrilled about LittleBigPlanet for the Playstation 3, which I can say is a game that virtually anyone with two arms and working hands can enjoy.

The game has granted me absolute happiness every time I've played it. It allows up to four people at a time to play as something similar to the adorable thing pictured above, which you can dress in a large variety of costumes. I've been playing the game with Craig, and we have had the opportunity to run around learning valuable lessons such as teamwork, patience and the timeless virtue of knowing how to jump from floating platform to floating platform. LittleBigPlanet also includes a level-creation utility that has really blown my brains out in its versatility. I've screwed around with it just a bit and created some exciting things, but what I've seen other people make (the creations can be shared online, which is great, but head my warning, world) is what's really amazing. Take this level, which someone with a real head on their shoulders managed to recreate a Radiohead song in:

Anyway, bla bla bla. Unless something that transfers actual magic powers to its users comes along in the next two months, this is the best video game of the year, no arguments. A big thank you to Craig and James for birthday gifting it to me. I give it an:

Trying My Patience

2008-10-23T20:58:00.000-07:00

Enormous tattoos on upper chests: If you want to get a tattoo, that's fine by me. Just don't drag me into your personal agony. Go ahead and riddle your thorax with needle holes, but please, keep it out of my sight.

Comment Anglers: "I find your post very interesting! I have nothing specific to say! Did I mention I just updated my own blog?"

New Windows Ads: A blogger for Obama. A celebrity by the pool. A nerdy billionaire. I'm a PC, and I haven't been made into a stereotype. I've been made into several. As if those Mac ads weren't a nuisance enough.

Americans Using British Slang/Grammar: Having this, which far as I can tell, is an American, refer to me as a "ginger kid," was the final straw. It's called British slang and British grammar for a reason, and if you don't agree, I hope your next step towards Anglophilia is a high speed drive down the wrong side of the freeway.

"I'm voting for the lesser of two evils": No you're not. And, if by some chance you are telling the truth, there's an easier way out: just don't vote. A shower of blessings will be yours.

Subscription to Paste Magazine

2008-10-21T19:14:00.000-07:00

Last December, Jordan mentioned that Paste Magazine was running a Radiohead-esque subscription payment plan, meaning you could pay whatever you wanted to have the magazine delivered in a discreet package straight to your door for an entire year. At the time, my only magazine subscription was to Electronic Gaming Monthly, which thanks to hundreds of free offers, will be arriving in my mailbox until the planet collapses. I was promised "Signs of life in music, film and culture" for an entire year, which I figured was worth about $5. I was wrong. From the very first issue I received, I realized what a terrible, terrible publication this is. Every idea, every article, every review that is printed in Paste feels like something from a truly blood-drained mind. Absolute garbage. The magazine's April cover story really did a number on me:

"Late last summer, Death Cab for Cutie frontman Ben Gibbard retreated to the rustic California town of Big Sur to write songs for his band's new record, and to commune with the spirit of his idol Jack Kerouac, who'd visited Big Sur almost a half-century ago. For this essay, we sent Gibbard back to his cabin in the woods to meditate on life, art and solitude."

Get real. At about 43 cents an issue, I am a larceny victim of the highest order. Without a doubt, an:

Cracker Awareness

2008-10-19T12:28:00.000-07:00

Out of all the snack foods available, my two favorites both start with a hard c: cookie and cracker. I don't believe any cupboard should go without at least one delicious cracker. I try to have two boxes at all times, because different situations call for different crackers. I've recently tried two excellent crackers: Triscuit Thin Crisps and Wheat Thins Fiber Selects Garden Vegetable.

I can't say enough about my love for original Triscuit crackers. There's a reason they are a cracker industry standard. However, those fiber-full squares do have the power to drain any and all moisture from a mouth, leaving the eater with a bone-dry hole in the middle of their face. I feel like these Triscuit Thin Crisps manage to correct their thicker parent's problem. Their slender shape allows the consumer to eat at least two crackers in a row without needing to rehydrate. I can't say how they would hold up to a thicker dip, but I rarely eat crackers with a dip, so I don't care. A delicious cracker that I will eat again gets an:

Nabisco's cracker crown jewel has to be the Wheat Thins brand. I've never had a bad Wheat Thin, and that counts Wheat Thins Fiber Selects Garden Vegetable, even if a single serving doesn't provide enough caloric energy to read that name. When I eat a Fiber Selects Garden Vegetable, I eat another, and then I eat at least two more. I have no choice, because this is one of my new favorite crackers. I don't know any of the nutritional information, but I see the words wheat, thin, fiber, garden, and vegetable right there in the title, as well as "selects," which either says something about the product's superior quality or just indicates Wheat Thins Fiber's bold choice of choosing "garden vegetable" as its flavor. Of course, this cracker receives an:

Kashi Oatmeal Dark Chocolate Cookie

2008-10-12T15:46:00.000-07:00

Until October 15th, Kashi is giving away free samples of their cookies here. Just sign up and a couple weeks later you will have a cookie slightly larger than a slammer sitting in your mailbox. I know you have one question: are these cookies worth NOTHING?

My answer is a hesitant "yes." After consuming my cookie, I have to say that if I saw a box for two dollars or less at a grocery store, I would consider them. However, a price any higher would be asking too much. The treat they sent me tasted about 60% cookie, 40% health bar. Not fantastic, but a good thing if you can find a box for a decent price. Treat yourself to one for free, at the very least. I give the cookie I tried a:

I nearly forgot to showcase this wonderful commercial (which I originally found here) that fits so appropriately here: