To quote the inimitable Dan Hopper over at the Best Week Ever blog (where I first saw this gem), “Even if you brace yourself for the locallest commercial that ever localled, you’re still not expecting this ad for Staten Island’s Empire State Gold Buyers. You’re not prepared for Randomly Singing Mom. You’re just not.”
I’m not being facetious when I say that I need to see more of this woman on my television, right now.
We all know the real strength of Crasstalk is, well, us! And lately there’s been some back and forth about a place to request posts from other people, but I haven’t seen anything official made yet. So take a second and tell us what you’re good at. Tell us what you want more of. Tell us your ideas for future posts. And I’ll update this post with categories.
Coffee & Cigs
Art & Design
Photoshopping
High fashion both current and vintage
So far there seems to be some consensus that all of our glitches are caused by DJ Lance Rock. Our banhammer will be named after our first ban-victim. (Watch out Tony Kaye, your insider status puts you in immediate jeopardy! Plus the irony would be kind of awesome.) There is currently some movement to make the Honey Badger the Official Mascot.
But what about our Anthem?
There have been at least two proposals put forward, but we need more.
1) From slackjawed yoda, the following, which had me tearing up this morning.
2) A worthy counter-proposal, from BaldwinP
Both are appropriately overly-dramatic and ironic while actually capturing exactly how I sincerely feel!
What do you all think?
This is going to be a horribly unpopular post, and I don’t care. You know why I don’t care? Because I’m a smoker. And, from what I hear, all the time, regularly, ad nauseum, by virtue of my being a smoker, I don’t care about myself or anyone else. So, that’s cool. Easier for me.
On to the reviews/memoir.
These were the first cigarettes I smoked. Because that’s what she smoked.
(Surprise, surprise. Yes, I started smoking because of a girl.)
The original blend was really nice. It was a really light cigarette, but with a nice leafy flavor.
Dry without tasting burnt.
Then Winston went “additive-free,” and they started to taste like urine. Figure that one out.
Marlboro Lights. They made me feel nauseous. I didn’t smoke them for very long.
The taste was good, but seriously they were like smoking MSG.
Totally decent cigarette. The Budweiser of Cigarettes. Nothing fancy, but inoffensive.
I went through this phase briefly before I found…
Now this was my brand. The King of Smokes. They say they’re toasted. I believe it. The perfect golden leaf. Flavorful, nice smell, full-bodied, really tobacco-ey. No additive after-taste.
I picked a picture with non-U.S. packaging for a reason. They don’t sell them in the U.S. anymore. Bastards.
Oh, yeah, I went through this phase too. I’m not proud. I was in my mid-20’s and living in New York. I thought it was some kind of City Regulation that I had to smoke them.
They actually aren’t bad.
The flavor is a little thin, but the little air pocket at the end of the filter is pretty cool.
I’ve also tried plenty of others along the way. Menthol I just don’t get. Why cover up the tobacco? Reds and Non-filtered Luckies? Good, but I tend to need my voice the next day.
Nat Shermans and assorted French and Canadian cigarettes? Yummy, but I just feel too much like a prick when I smoke them. (And smoking makes me feel enough like a prick by itself.)
I do love, however, the way Canadian cigarettes pack 25 shorties instead of 20 longer ones.
That’s genius. Because really I rarely want a full cigarette.
Well, I guess it’s genius for me, but probably not for the cigarette companies, because I would have to buy new cigarettes less often.
Here is where I am now. It’s a damned fine cigarette. The taxes in New York make all cigarettes so expensive that they aren’t any more expensive than any of the ones above anymore.
They last longer, really full flavor. No additives. They pack them so tight that you have to loosen the tobacco for an even burn instead of tamping the box to pack the leaf like with other smokes.
So that’s the history of my slow march to lung disease. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I have. Although, from what I hear, you probably haven’t.
This is the Honey Badger. It’s pretty badass. Look, a snake’s up a tree! Honey Badger don’t care.
…from czg123’s YouTube channel
(special thanks to the legendary Homoviper for introducing us to my new role model)
Cap’n was working late last night. A psycho decided to kill his stepfather, girlfriend and her mother, then stab a random pedestrian, then carjack someone and stab her too. Since he was tearing around Brooklyn in a stolen Pontiac with every cop in the NYPD looking for him, it was Cap’n’s job to find out if he had any prior arrests. And he had four, two of which were sealed because he was a juvenile… at the age of 20! How ridiculous is that?
So, the joy of my Valentine Party Basket was somewhat diminished in his office after this, which irked me.
There are few restaurants in his gritty precinct, and he wasn’t going to order in, so he’d be ravenous when he got home. I decided to do it up even though I’d likely be asleep.
Chicken, Risotto, Broccoli feast
4 chicken thighs, skin on
1 shallot
¼ cup olive oil
¼ cup lemon juice (1 medium lemon)
2 tablespoons sherry
Black pepper to taste
Sea salt to taste
Fennel seeds
½ tsp. thyme
½ tsp oregano
Peel and slice the shallots thin. Insert the slices under the skin of each chicken thigh. Whisk everything else together in a small bowl. Line a small roasting pan with parchment paper and arrange the thighs on it. Pour marinade over it. Sprinkle with more pepper, if desired. Roast at 425 for 45 minutes to an hour.
Risotto: I use Rice Select Italian Rice and follow the package directions, BUT – I use chicken broth instead of water, and the last cup of liquid added is sherry. I also add mushrooms and cooked shallots.
Broccoli – frozen florets, blanched for 2 to 3 minutes in water at a rolling boil, then plunged into ice water. To serve, microwave for one minute with 1 tbsp. butter and the juice of half a lemon. Serve with lemon wedge.
I whipped all this up, covered it carefully, and left a note about the really good chardonnay in the fridge door and the bagged salad in the crisper. Then I took a place setting of the china he got me for Christmas out of the cabinet and stacked it next to the serving dishes, along with a linen napkin and one of our crystal wine glasses. Then I took shower #3 of the day and went to sleep.
At 2 AM, I should not have been surprised to find my ear being nibbled and a scruffy chin running down my neck as the long t-shirt I sleep in was expertly removed. But I was. I mean, we both put in long days and Sex Night is usually Saturday. Spontaneous Sex Night usually happens when we’re both home at the same time. But there we were, and ’twas glorious. More glorious was going to the kitchen for the last of the chardonnay and finding that he’d done the dishes.
I make no guarantee that making this dish will result in what P.G. Wodehouse would call “the pash”. But it will increase your chances. If it does, plan on Saturday being a Lazy Day.
First of all, to any Weezer fans – I’m sorry. This sucks to hear. It sucks because Weezer has clearly sold out. It also sucks because this is the best they have sounded for years.
I am so torn. What is seen cannot be unseen. What is heard cannot be unheard. I wish I never experienced this, so I can listen to The Blue Album without thinking about it. Dammit.
So this is what they now are – no longer artists who protect their artistic identity, suffering for their craft – but corporate cock-sucking shills.
I am disappoint.
Fuck nibbles. We need a real mascot.
I nominate DJ Lance Rock.
