These sentiments are not as faded in the A as one would hope.
]]>Your irrelevant comments are disrupting the internet and making us all look bad. Please shut it, weirdo.
Love,
Komment Kops
Interesting development. It's thought by one or two PBS-lovin' staff that this was mentioned in a recent documentary. For others, it calls to mind the Dead Kennedys' "I Am the Owl", a song told from the point of view of a government operative who "seeks out the foul". After drugging and staging an accident with a youth leader, he states:
In ten years we'll leak the truth By then it's only so much paper
To those involved, it's never "so much paper", but after 10 (or 40) years, the urgency is certainly diminished.
]]>If you're into that sort of thing, natch.
From Wired's engrossing "Art of the Steal: On the Trail of World's Most Ingenious Thief"
]]>Substitute 1 slice of pumpkin pie for 1 slice of pecan pie
Why not just skip the pecan pie? To do so would be, as famous Atlantan Blanche Deveraux would say, unSouthern.
Pumpkin pie is the more common pie choice in the North. Pumpkin pie is also often a healthy choice, if one is choosing between desserts. However, pecan pie is not such a staple foodstuff of every day life that a substitute would need to be found, much less called out in a specific tip. Much more likely would be a tip to not eat any pie, substituting a fruit-based dessert in its place.
A similar substitution tip is recommended for breakfasts:
Substitute grits for fried hash browns at breakfast and you will save around 100 calories
Bizarre. This warrants further investigation.
]]>This came back as change after a recent purchase. Favorite details:
The First Lady of Triskaidekaphobia never looked better than in this "wall scroll" by José Luis García-López.
We digress. The product:
Aw hell yeah, right? Classy and understated, like all their offerings.
Looking at the box, it has a number of things that would endear it to the majority of Triskaidekaphobia Staffers no matter what it tasted like:
This timeless product is destined to become a classic far and beyond the Valentine's Day it was intended for, igniting traditions that will last for all our lifetimes. Even as you read this, Junior Acquisition Officers are currently scouring the web to find a new supplier (besides eBay).
As much as we love strange and unusual Flavor Combinations, we were highly skeptical of this mix of candied coating, key lime flavor, popcorn, and America's leading hot new fading brand.
Gaudy it may be, but after initially (as one taste-tester eloquently put it) "caus[ing] your brain to go all, like, what?", it settles into a tasty flavor that lovers love. If you are a lover, you should give it to your lover to see them love you all over again. It is lovely to behold, and to be held. Which you will be.
But only if you buy this popcorn.
Otherwise, forget it.
In closing, and to summarize,:
This Popcorn = Yes
Not Having This Popcorn = No.
Florian's work has caused many a staff member to stop, pause, and reflect upon in enjoyment, before scurrying off to attend to the latest Paper Stack #8704-1a Overturn Emergency in Room #445. Out of the world of metal/doom/punk/noise-inspired artists, his work stands out for being both excellently done while avoiding most of the hokey clichés that so many, many, M-A-N-Y bands/artists employ.
Some examples of his work are below. One may see (and purchase) more of his work at Shirts and Destroy.
See this man? He calls himself Time Master. He masters time.
See us? We call ourselves Triskaidekaphobia. We do not master time. Time has mastered us.
Being mastered does not pass muster.
We survived Georgia's 500-year floods, and haven’t been swallowed by kudzu—except, perhaps, metaphorically.
Kudzu, if you’re not up to date on your invasive flora, is groundcover that grows up to a foot a day. It grows over anything that doesn’t move: trees, roads, abandoned houses, power lines, and dead bodies. Along the highways and roads of the South, it’s common to see whole hillsides and ravines covered in the stuff, a vast, leafy alien desert surfaced by the slow-stalking weed.
Frankly, it can be a little unsettling.
Anyway—we have survived. More true tales from the Southern Expedition to come. In the meantime, you should peer into the office at work by following us on Twitter here.
]]>Checking back on the continuous- and surreptitiously updating Obits website (guys, some RSS, please?), we found you can now have your own Obits live experiences, courtesy of the Free Music Archive. Choose from the original first concert, or their April 21, 2009 appearance on WFMU. Sweet bliss.
You don't even have to brave a sea of aging hipsters to see them--unless they're your roommates. In which case, you've got bigger problems than some digital downloads can solve.
]]>- Sex Pistols, "Sub-mission", Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's the Sex Pistols
Southerners have the reputation of loving a good meal. Speaking from the vantage point of someone who doesn't care a lot about food (indeed, we have eaten the same meal for luncheon 11 years straight and have naught the slightest desire to change our meal one whit), the South sure has some great places to eat--even if their fare does exhibit the glaring flaw of varying from our usual lunch selection.
Prior to the Southern Expedition, there was concern that even urban/e Atlanta would present difficulties for the (roughly) 50% of our office that are vegetarians. Rumor was meat makes the meal, and not the murder, in the ATL.
Despite rampant meat love, vegetarian-friendly meals haven't been a problem. Waffles are always plentiful, and the Mexican/Cuban/Asian restaurants (and there are many) are rife with choices. Yet for all the gluttony--cheese grits, waffles, biscuits, gravies, pork-stewed collard greens, fried chicken, molasses, fried fish, fried cheese waffle chicken bacon pork biscuit gravy--there is one indulgent menu item that has been difficult to locate. One item that, as a native of the cold and obese northern rust belt regions, is conspicuously absent as a great food stuff in the obese southern lap band regions of Atlanta, leaving the bountiful cornucopia of food choices naked as a dogwood tree in winter. That item: the submarine sandwich.
Call it a sub, submarine, hoagie, grinder, bomber, or italian sandwich, its presence is near-universal in our beloved Buffalo, NY. Atlanta has its share of sub and sandwich places. It's not entirely for want of venue that we go unsated.
First, however, a word about the dining customs here. Many restaurants operate according to a practice less familiar to us simple, displaced Northerners. Subs/sandwiches are served only at meal-specific hours, and restaurants close curiously early. Sandwiches may be served, but only from 11am-4pm. Dinner places in good and/or college neighborhoods that close at 5, 6 or 9 pm... on a Saturday night? Unheard of. Useless. Ridiculous.
Furthermore, many of the so-called "sub" places do have subs--but exhibiting such a meager and paltry variety of options that any true Buffalonian--like your Baby Joe Mesis or your Robby Takacs--would scoff in disgust... before placing their order. If you don't like the six choices at the local place, maybe you'll like the five options at the regional chain down the road a-piece.
It's not just the sub choices that are surprisingly weak. The subs themselves are pretty bland as well. Comprised of ingredients whose quality ranges from average to edible, what we've had so far manages to be--to paraphrase--almost wholly, but not quite, unlike a sub.
Confusingly, most places have no options for vegetarians. If they do have a non-meat sub, it appears to be made by someone who has no concept of what a vegetarian might like. These veggie subs seem to contain every non-meat topping the restaurant may have, without regard to the desirability and/or taste of the combined items. It's like a veggie sub designed by committee. You also run across "vegetarian" versions of standard fare--which will be the same, just minus the meat. No meat substitute, ala the veggie Whopper. This is pretty lame.
But, even more curious, is the absence of that handy and hardy default standby of vegetarians--the cheese sub. One wonders why. Easy to make, all the ingredients already in stock, filling, streamlined, satisfactory to children or fussy eaters or vegetarians (and any combination thereof), digitally restored, strong, durable, hardy, wonderful colors, beautiful patina, aromatic, delightful company, fast transfer speeds, extended range, more miles to the gallon, and overall pleasant personality, it would seem incredibly obvious to have it on the menu. REALLY, INCREDIBLY OBVIOUS. In a place where they love fatty/fried foods, cheese love would seem natural. Perhaps it has something to do with expense or the heat or being generally unloved or some other deep-seated regional psychosis? No idea. Some places have a "Swiss Cheese" sub--a single cheese choice that feels as unnatural as being forced to have only one Replacements album or one wife. A few places have Peanut Butter and Jelly as an option. An inspired choice! but PB&J does not a dinner make.
The hunt continues. Foodie Buddha is currently conducting a Sub & Sandwich tour of Atlanta. Their list was helpful in selecting places to scope out, although none seemed able to meet our relatively simple criteria:
Unique Pizzeria: The first attempt, born out of desperation. Saturday night. Everywhere closed. No cheese sub. This was before knowing better. We asked them to make one and they asked "what sort of cheese do you want?". When we listed multiple, they asked again. Ah. One sort of cheese, like the "Swiss Cheese Sub" above. Still full price, too. The subs came wrapped in aluminum foil. We later learned this may be in emulation of Chik-Fil-A. We admired the pluck, but won't return.
Savage Pizza: Had the advantage of being open late--by which we mean they were still open at 9pm on a Saturday, and not closed at 5 pm as if it were a country Sunday, the way other places do. Even though the only vegetarian option was an Eggplant Parmasean sub--a notoriously dodgy dish--we gave it a go. The result? Eggplant sub was mushy, tasted, vaguely, like a general representation of what one would call an "italian" flavor. Mostly tomato sauce. Edible with chips. The meatball sub was a loser. The meatballs were made with huge, unwanted/-advertised chunks of onion in them. Why do restaurants do this? Places that don't warn about onions in their dishes are invariably run either by grandmas, or balding, mustachioed men, dressed in garments that don't breathe, whose apartments smell like chain-smoking, luncheon meats, and the 70s. Never again.
Dave's Cosmic Subs: Has a 60's rock vibe, provided by both the name and web backstory. Out of the many places web-surveyed, they seemed to have one of the better menus. But, upon pick up, the Dave's Original Garden Burger (Hot Subs!) sub was only lukewarm. That may be our fault. The roast beef sub was middling. That was not our fault. Odd fact: they use shredded cheese on the subs, not sliced. Best overall experience, so far. The only place that might get a second shot. Maybe a pizza sub next time, though.
Look, lousy sandwiches wouldn't be so strange if Atlanta didn't have a rich and varied multi-cultural selection of great food, but it does, and this (apparently simple) food item is very hard to find. I can honestly say that you could pick any three sub places in the Buffalo, and not get subs this bad.
Discouraging, to say the least. So discouraging, in fact, that we've given up looking for now. We'll be watching the web and streets and tweets for any excellent selections. Until then, it's just another peculiarity of the Southern Expedition.
]]>Last year we had little to celebrate. Our beloved Buffalo, NY was losing another of its few record stores. Home of the Hits, New World Record, and Ruda's--all gone. It hurt... oh man, did it hurt. Buying online is great, but it's not the same.
Even though there was a seemingly endless list of awesome goodies for Record Store Day (Walk Among Us on 140 gram? Sold!), our current economic crisis and War Against Things made it doubtful we would attend. The War Against Things means getting fewer things, not more, after all.
Then we saw the Obits 7".
We love the Obits. These tracks weren't available digitally. We were going to Record Store Day.
Atlanta has some great record stores, including Criminal Records in the Little Five Points area of the city. It's like a bigger New World Record or Newbury Comics.
Our plan was simple: strike early, strike quickly. Ignore the temptations of the regular selections. Do not look at the used cds. DO NOT LOOK AT THE USED CDS. Exclusives only.
Getting to Criminal just before opening at 10 a.m., we saw our plan was wise. A huddled mass of music dorks clustered around the front door. The doors opened, and the herd trampled towards the call "Record Store Day exclusives are down here". What the bulk didn't hear was "Seven inches are here"--behind the front registers.
Looking at the 7"es was fine until a man, herd leader, asked for a single and was pointed towards the registers. Then a towering wall of music dorks swamped the area, eyes wild, nostrils flaring, as they began communicating with the alphas behind the counter, in their strange, almost nonsensical, calls. "Can I have the Grizzly Bear, a Flaming Lips, and the Sonic Youth?", "Where's the Bob Dylans?", "Do you have the Dr. Dog?", "Wilco?" &c.
More importantly: we were getting snaked.
Situation amended, precious tiny circles of vinyl payload in hand, we browsed the other selections JUST LIKE WE SAID WE WOULDN'T. Fool! However, using the exercises we've learned (count to three slowly, focusing on breathing, picturing ourselves living out of a shopping cart), we were able to resist the siren call of sweet, unpurchased music. Mostly.
Obligatory Chicago-related purchase: Thrill Jockey Records Toreism 12"
Obligatory Chicago-related regretful non-purchase: The Jesus Lizard Inch 7" collection. Awesome, cool idea and packaging. But we already own all of those 7"es. We're trying to save money. Sorry, guys.
Unintended Benefit of the Obligatory Chicago-related regretful non-purchase: Happy hours spent browsing for it on eBay in the years to come.
Being an anonymous music collector in a new city has its advantages. For example, you're unlikely to run into that guy who was in that band that was sorta lame that you asked to open for you one time because he was nice but you really have nothing to say to him when you see him. Even better, you're unlikely to BE that guy who was in that band that was sorta lame that was asked to open for someone once because you were nice but they really have nothing to say to you when they see you. But you do miss the personal touch, a little.
So, one of the best things at Record Store Day? When it came time to check out, the clerk recognized us from before and gave a wry smile. A sort-of "Yeah, I get it" moment: The vinyl, the CD, the showing up to check out 45 minutes after coming into the store to grab one 7" and leaving with three 7"es, a 12" single, and a CD, the whole "it" of buying music at a record store at 10 a.m. before coffee, shaving, or showering because, you know, WHAT IF ALL THE GOOD STUFF IS GONE? Yeah, that.
Thanks, Criminal Records, for making it a good day. You'll never replace our Home of the Hits, but you make a great replacement.
Oh, the records? They all KICK ASS. Totally worth it. Improved our living conditions by a noticeable margin. Take THAT, economic downturn!
]]>