may be exaggerated: This is the ultimate locavorism, and they were on it a year ago. Of course, without the limitless pages of the internets, a magazine would have a harder time pulling it off.
(Filched from a cross between the two)
9/11 provided Tribeca with a dining correction, too. This at least was better than the trend stew, but you do wonder where editors big (judgment) and small (poor boys?) were.
Quote of the day, from the inimitable Dan Froomkin, on simian salaries:
"Staci A. Wheeler, the White House's director of fact checking, is -- at $60,000 -- either being paid way too little or way too much, depending on how you want to look at it."
I would ask who these sociopaths are who are working for McLame, but after seven years I think I have a clue.
Same Boy Wonder has one of the more insightful thoughts ever on cooking, too: Bullet point 2.
And we the people will pay* for that hair of the dog. (Whoever caught this on video, though, is probably on his way to Guantanamo right now.)**
(*Amended even though figures lie and liars figure.)
**Apparently I was right; video's gone from Youtube, but his words can't be erased. The Internets are forever.
to make a trend story anymore. Given the mix and match of gardening, shopping and conspicuous consumption needed to hit the magic three, this was more a trend stew. The Gurgling Cod beat me to it, but this is the only proper response.
toward extinction. Story's a bit of a mess, but it ends with a bang. (TomDispatch's advice for reading the NYTimes always holds: Start with the last three grafs.)
Still, as if we should talk . . .
"If this were a horror film, the downfall of the American economy could be karmic retribution, some manifestation of maize vengeance brought down by patient Native American spirits."
And as Astrology Mundo pointed out, and my consort's friends in Santa Fe confirmed, the Mayan calendar ends in 2012 . . .
under the bed. Of course, figures lie and liars figure, because this story mentions ground beef in passing, but the pants-wetting seems to be over produce. McDonald's, after all, is a constitutional right.
From "Nibbles" in the Guardian:
"On Monday, McClatchy Newspapers reported that in Changping, guards carefully monitor the perimeter of Lin Yuan's farm, where carrots, peppers and tomatoes will ripen in what Nibbles imagines to be a sort of vegetable POW camp. If you think that's ridiculous, spare a thought for the 10 secret pig farms set up in the countryside to provide meat for the Olympic Village. Destined for the dinner plate, the animals get a strict two hours of exercise a day, eat organic feed and are monitored around the clock. Guards go so far as to mentally train them, too: regular cries of "Trough it, you filthy beasts!" and "Eat for China!" ring out over the farmyard. (We freely admit our imagination ran away with us at this point.)"
hearing about the frantic calls made one afternoon in search of food allusions on deadline -- chefs sharpen knives, she hones her wit by stroking the serfs in the joint. Generally, I stay out of the black hole of comments, but these are worth the journey.
And this explains why we know more about arugula than Walnuts.
And this explains why we know more about arugula than Walnuts.
Rude Fun With New Yorker Cartoons: Every week, the magazine runs a caption contest for one of its cartoons. Nearly every week, you can put these words to the panel: "You think that's bad? I just blew my dog." Try it. It works about 90% of the time.
(If you're brave, read the whole thing. Time to move on . . .)
and I spent time in Philadelphia. I grew up with an electric stove (after we graduated from a wood-burning one), though, so this must have been pretty insidious propaganda. Gas is better.
than the Chimp's brain has exhibited in seven-plus years. The boyfriend slayer had better not see it, though -- it's the Lump in his bed's fantasy* come true.
*Warning: Go eat something obscene that you don't want to be part of you forever before clicking. You will surely upchuck. Long and hard.
Why we subscribe to two newspapers: put this and this together and you get a full story. One makes you despair for your bloated government, the other makes you wonder why the tomatoes couldn't be cooked rather than left to rot. Or why that was never an option for consumers. . . .
a Flying Wallenda of words who not only notes that our esteemed Chimp (sixth graf) was just as confused as the old guy about Social Security but also dredges up this (must be National Homer Day). Medicare? A national shame!
And the loser throws librarians out of town halls for bearing signs saying the new guy equals the old Chimp. I wonder if he has already had socks made with the presidential seal on them.
18 courses. The only consolation is that the Chimp was chained to his chair for all 18, presumably without wine. Those tasting menus can feel like hostage situations.
(Filched from mournful Trex, who has the best description ever of the media's demonstration of love for McLame. Hint: It doesn't involve BBQ or doughnuts.)
Identifying the villains makes it easier to vanquish them. I also like how the object of desire has morphed from "health insurance" to "health care" as more people realize they are paying big premiums for a crap shoot.
While newspapers wither . . .
(Full disclosure for Astrology Mundo's sake, and for those not connecting dots as easily: This is about the guy genius enough to hire my brilliant consort. And give great parties.)
about what has happened to my profession or anything, but wouldn't you think an elegy for the beer that made Sugar Mama's fortune could at least mention what she had to say about the takeover? You know that if it were some other all-American commodity -- ketchup, say -- it would be all fair and balanced, all the time.
Apparently it's cheaper to take an ambulance than pay your bill for a crappy steak dinner. My blocks-long ride last year, courtesy of the FDNY, was much more than a meal for one goes for at Masa.
I don't think jalapenos will be the culprit, although "loose ends" is an interesting phrase to use in an investigation of salmonella-driven diarrhea. And Lou Dobbs is going to go even more batshit insane. As always, though, the mystery is why recalls of far more lethal beef just elicit yawns.