Better Like This? Or Better Like This?

I am deciding on my next pair of readers from Warby Parker.  I have three pairs currently, but need a new pair (with a stronger power) and decided to use their Home Try-On Program.  You can pick up to five pairs of glasses to try on at home, it takes all the worry out of online buying.  They ship them to you, you ship them back after you decide which one is the best for you.

Also, for every pair of glasses they sell, they provide a pair to someone in need.  So you read easier and help someone see better all at the same time.  Here are the options I chose, feel free to vote below:

Cupcakes – Creativity’s Antagonist

“Is there anything more blandly sweet, less evocative of this great city, and more goyish than any other baked good with the possible exception of Eucharist wafers than a cupcake?” – David RakoffHalf Empty

But I’ d rather know a shover than a pusher ’cause a pusher’s a jerk.

I came to a realization this weekend.  It’s not that I don’t like children as much as it is I really don’t like some of their parents.  I find babies to be mostly adorable and young children to be hilarious, creative, and imaginative.  School-age kids are refreshingly idealistic and void of jaded attitudes.  It’s their parents that they bring everywhere that ruin the entire experience.

Maybe a huge stroller is a status symbol, I am not claiming to know or understand the finer points of one-up-man-ship amongst the gymboree set, but I do know that a 3-wheeled jogging stroller is overkill almost everywhere that does not involve jogging.  It is understandable that these strollers take up a lot of space and are hard to maneuver, it may be because they are designed to be pushed whilst the operator is jogging and no one jogs through a shopping mall, farmer’s market, or grocery stores.  It is also understandable that being a parent is a tiring and frustrating job, so why add to that frustration by taking your child and jogging stroller to an antique mall?  It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than it is for anyone to push a stroller down the aisle of an overly-stuffed junk shop, let alone find a safe out-of-the-way place to park it while you shop for tchotchkes, knick-knacks, and/or bric-a-brac.

If it were only a matter of over-compensating parents, the stroller etiquette would be easily understood and universally agreed upon.  If it were only…  As a general rule, stroller pushers assume and demand the right-of-way in every situation, much to their public relations detriment.  My hope is that they are not actually arrogant jerks, but due to their circumstances, they just behave like ones.  These circumstances, it should be recognized, they chose freely.  I am sure it is exhausting to not get enough sleep and have someone screaming and asking you a million questions non-stop 18 hours a day, but they signed up for it.  Please stop inflicting your dissatisfaction with the realities of parenthood on the innocent public.

But mostly, move your fucking stroller before I teach you little talented-gifted-sensitive-precious angel enough swear words to guarantee expulsion from every day care, preschool, kindergarten and grade school they attend.

Forgetting Does Not Mean Forgiving: A Father’s Day Message

Happy Father’s Day to all the fathers out there.

Memories of my father are misty soft-focused outlines of events. They seem more like memories of photographs I haven’t seen recently. My father vanished completely from my life 18 years ago, he started to vanish 12 years before that, if he was ever actually there, that is. He is alive. A girl from the neighborhood sees him around town every now and then. He just stopped wanting to see my sister and me, I guess.

I am sure he has his reasons or what he thinks are reasons, but when you are 12 years old and your father never calls you and rarely returns your calls, you know it’s because there is something wrong with you. There is something that he can see, maybe all adults can see, that makes you unworthy, less than, not enough. Through his inactions, and sadly even some of his actions, I grew up thinking that I was not worth his time.

For quite a few years, he was a little league coach and I watched him interact with the kids on his team, being much more interested and excited and engaged with them than he ever was with me.

Once, after reviewing a less-than-favorable junior high report card, he commented that my mother and sister got the brains in the family.

I learned how to shave from the Lab Series sales associate at the Bon Marche.

He sold a a car for me to one of his friends and kept the money. I asked about it a few times and he would say that he traded it for something that he was selling and that I would get it soon, but it never happened.

When I told him that his father raped me repeatedly when I was four and five years old, his only response was to ask me why I agreed to move in and look after the same grandfather.

He and his sister must have changed or broke their Father’s will to cut my sister and me out. We received nothing and only learned of our grandfather’s death because our mother’s coworker read it in the newspaper and recognized the names.

My advice to fathers on Father’s Day is to either step up or stay away. You cannot half-ass it with a kid. If you can’t do it, just go away and let the memories fade.

My advice to kid on Father’s day is that you do not have to forgive to forget. Hopefully, your father didn’t fuck up on purpose. He probably just didn’t know how to be an adult and that is his fault for not sorting his shit out before having a kid. If you have kids of your own, it stops with you. Be the parent you wanted, not the one you had. It is probably scary and ego-crushingly hard, but you owe it to them, you owe it to yourself.

F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Turkey Recipes

During his lifetime, the great F. Scott Fitzgerald filled numerous notebooks with ideas, letters, jokes and essays. My favourite of these items, and the most amusing by quite a margin, is the following — a brilliant list of 13 ways to use leftover turkey.

(Source: The Crack-Up; Image: F. Scott Fitzgerald, via.)

TURKEY REMAINS AND HOW TO INTER THEM WITH NUMEROUS SCARCE RECIPES

At this post holiday season, the refrigerators of the nation are overstuffed with large masses of turkey, the sight of which is calculated to give an adult an attack of dizziness. It seems, therefore, an appropriate time to give the owners the benefit of my experience as an old gourmet, in using this surplus material. Some of the recipes have been in my family for generations. (This usually occurs when rigor mortis sets in.) They were collected over years, from old cook books, yellowed diaries of the Pilgrim Fathers, mail order catalogues, golf-bags and trash cans. Not one but has been tried and proven—there are headstones all over America to testify to the fact.

Very well then. Here goes:

1. Turkey Cocktail: To one large turkey add one gallon of vermouth and a demijohn of angostura bitters. Shake.

2. Turkey à la Francais: Take a large ripe turkey, prepare as for basting and stuff with old watches and chains and monkey meat. Proceed as with cottage pudding.

3. Turkey and Water: Take one turkey and one pan of water. Heat the latter to the boiling point and then put in the refrigerator. When it has jelled, drown the turkey in it. Eat. In preparing this recipe it is best to have a few ham sandwiches around in case things go wrong.

4. Turkey Mongole: Take three butts of salami and a large turkey skeleton, from which the feathers and natural stuffing have been removed. Lay them out on the table and call up some Mongole in the neighborhood to tell you how to proceed from there.

5. Turkey Mousse: Seed a large prone turkey, being careful to remove the bones, flesh, fins, gravy, etc. Blow up with a bicycle pump. Mount in becoming style and hang in the front hall.

6. Stolen Turkey: Walk quickly from the market, and, if accosted, remark with a laugh that it had just flown into your arms and you hadn’t noticed it. Then drop the turkey with the white of one egg—well, anyhow, beat it.

7. Turkey à la Crême: Prepare the crême a day in advance. Deluge the turkey with it and cook for six days over a blast furnace. Wrap in fly paper and serve.

8. Turkey Hash: This is the delight of all connoisseurs of the holiday beast, but few understand how really to prepare it. Like a lobster, it must be plunged alive into boiling water, until it becomes bright red or purple or something, and then before the color fades, placed quickly in a washing machine and allowed to stew in its own gore as it is whirled around. Only then is it ready for hash. To hash, take a large sharp tool like a nail-file or, if none is handy, a bayonet will serve the purpose—and then get at it! Hash it well! Bind the remains with dental floss and serve.

9. Feathered Turkey: To prepare this, a turkey is necessary and a one pounder cannon to compel anyone to eat it. Broil the feathers and stuff with sage-brush, old clothes, almost anything you can dig up. Then sit down and simmer. The feathers are to be eaten like artichokes (and this is not to be confused with the old Roman custom of tickling the throat.)

10. Turkey à la Maryland: Take a plump turkey to a barber’s and have him shaved, or if a female bird, given a facial and a water wave. Then, before killing him, stuff with old newspapers and put him to roost. He can then be served hot or raw, usually with a thick gravy of mineral oil and rubbing alcohol. (Note: This recipe was given me by an old black mammy.)

11. Turkey Remnant: This is one of the most useful recipes for, though not, “chic,” it tells what to do with the turkey after the holiday, and how to extract the most value from it. Take the remants, or, if they have been consumed, take the various plates on which the turkey or its parts have rested and stew them for two hours in milk of magnesia. Stuff with moth-balls.

12. Turkey with Whiskey Sauce: This recipe is for a party of four. Obtain a gallon of whiskey, and allow it to age for several hours. Then serve, allowing one quart for each guest. The next day the turkey should be added, little by little, constantly stirring and basting.

13. For Weddings or Funerals: Obtain a gross of small white boxes such as are used for bride’s cake. Cut the turkey into small squares, roast, stuff, kill, boil, bake and allow to skewer. Now we are ready to begin. Fill each box with a quantity of soup stock and pile in a handy place. As the liquid elapses, the prepared turkey is added until the guests arrive. The boxes delicately tied with white ribbons are then placed in the handbags of the ladies, or in the men’s side pockets.

There I guess that’s enough turkey talk. I hope I’ll never see or hear of another until—well, until next year.

via Lists of Note.

Dear Sriracha Rooster Sauce

Dear Sriracha Rooster Sauce – The Oatmeal.

How to Suck at Facebook

How to Suck at Facebook – The Oatmeal.

Apostrophe – Self Help

How To Use An Apostrophe – The Oatmeal.

This Longing – Not So Secret Obsession

camera 3

This Longing
by Martin Steingesser

… awoke to rain
around 2:30 this morning
thinking of you, because I’d said
only a few days before, this

is what I wanted, to lie with you in the dark
listening how rain sounds
in the tree beside my window,
on the sill, against the glass, damp

cool air on my face. I am loving
fresh smells, light flashes in the
black window, love how you are here
when you’re not, knowing we will

lie close, nothing between us; and maybe
it will be still, as now, the longing
that carries us
into each other’s arms

asleep, neither speaking
least it all too soon turn to morning, which
it does. Rain softens, low thunder, a car
sloshes past.

Dino and Paco – Not So Secret Obsession

Dino and Paco relax after a long day at the lake. They look like a two-headed dog.

Yesterday was Dina and Paco’s Birthday.

Here are Dino and Paco dancing and eating peanut butter.  These boys got skills.  I edited this video so it could be seen in the US.  I guess the music was making it so they were not allowed to be shown.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.