As some of you may remember, about a month ago I left Twitter to: sick, lowlife scumbags. Well, it turns out the sick, lowlife scumbag population on Twitter is actually rather low while the number of nice, normal (seemingly at least) folks is relatively high.
As I mentioned last year about this time, the weeks and weeks of Mothers Day hype are a grind if you are recently short a mom. I am not sure if being an orphan makes the following more or less disturbing:
I can't imagine a contest where winning is more like a home invasion (well, maybe that Shaqille O'Neal searches your home for kiddie porn contest). Emeril got his start at a spot that, entre nous is home to a ferociously overrated brunch, and unless your mom is Rebecca Black, and sleeps perfectly coiffed and lipglossed, encountering the GMA crew first thing in the morning might not feel like winning. Also, the whole thing is just creepy. I am bracing myself for:
The Alton Brown shows you how to floss properly contest.
The Guy Fieri just needs to crash on your couch for a couple weeks contest.
The Rachael Ray hosts your Carlos viewing party contest.
The Anthony Bourdain crashes your sister's wedding contest.
Feel free to add you own contests in the comments, if it helps to pass the time on what is most certainly another Guiteau Monday.
(Yes, late to the party here, I know.) Props to Tony Bourdain for 100 episodes of No Reservations. If I had better food on TV skills, it's one of the few I'd watch on purpose.* I did notice something a bit strange in the print ad for the show. It's TB leaning against a knife - of WORDS! Sure, 100 episodes, 100 words, and maybe the copy folks run out of gas somewhere in the middle of the knife, but one of the choices towards the top seemed curious. (See detail at right.) But "culture junkie" seems like a curious choice for someone who documented his own career as and actual, you know, heroin junkie in his breakout book.** Not quite ready to break out the life imitates Onion category yet, but it is eerily reminiscent of the Onion's "I'm like a chocoholic, except for booze."
*The corollary to this is The Gurgling Cod's own version of the Bechdel Test: if you see Guy Fieri on your TV, throw wrenches at it until the image subsides. For a plasma screen, an open ended 1/2" does the trick, but if you have a CRT, keep some 9/16" and 5/8" by the TV.
That said, it's impressive that TB not only managed to kick the smack, but also mostly kick talking about smack.
One forgets just how formidable Marisa Tomei was when she was at the height of her powers. Unless you are a plushie chubby chaser with a thing for Snuffleupagus, Marisa telling the story of a fast food restaurant in Bensonhurst is, without question, the sexiest thing ever to happen on Sesame Street:
You are quite welcome. And thanks to Mr. Hird, who originally posted this to support his contention that Marisa Tomei is a reptile (see :30 or so).
I don't have time for commentary, but I am just posting this link to Deen's "why I love to cook for men" so that it will be handy when I put together the supporting materials for declaring a fatwa.* *Yes, I am using it in the incorrect Western sense as synonym for "death sentence." However, excited about this: A fatwā (Arabic: فتوى; plural fatāwāArabic: فتاوى), in the Islamic faith is a religious opinion concerning Islamic law issued by an Islamic scholar. In Sunni Islam any fatwa is non-binding, whereas in Shia Islam it could be binding, depending on the status of the scholar. If I convert to Shiism, and get promoted to Associate, I could issue binding laws? Sweet!
In real life as well as here, The Gurgling Cod has a weakness for analogies, finding it difficult to express concepts without likening them to others. When, on occasion something defies this structure of thought, it's traumatic. So, help me out: N______________ is like telling a former junkie he needs a drink. Via EMD, Glitch Queen Sandra Lee responded to Bourdain's criticism of her thus:
It's a strange gambit for SL. The screen persona she projects is that of a praline-flavored Giacometti sculpture, so there's something offputting about the idea that she might just hike up her peach colored shell and shush Bourdain that way. More generally, the distance between FN and pro wrestling is ever smaller. If Jimmy "Superfly" Snuka and Adrian Adonis spent their time praising one another's conditioning and sportsmanship, nobody would watch their bouts.