Sights of the Weekend

More Unicorns to Wish Away the Image of Shiny Meat

Show Me Your Big Unicorn Horn

Disco Valerie Drills Holes with Her Great Big Drill Bit

Suck it, Sucka!

This actually makes me a little reminiscent of the olden days, when I knew lots of Dungeons and Dragons believers. People who thought there were special doors scattered across the globe that would lead to alternate universes much like those pictured above. Er, well, except for Disco Valerie's world which, sadly, is the one they are hoping desperately to flee. I wonder what became of those crystal wearing, knife collecting, paint-it-black fantasy land friends? Wal Mart managers? Real estate brokers? Oh please oh please God, please let it be educators feeding the minds of the children. And a congressman or two, making policy for the country with little knives tucked in secret pockets all over their bodies and a fantasy unicorn tattoo spread across both butt cheeks.

Unicorns, Heyyyy

I was getting really sick of seeing that greasy swatch of meat. Once it is over, it is SO over. How do you fix the chumvom rocket from going off? Unicorns...and their theme song. Give it up!

Kiss the Cook

Once every...oh, I don't know...year? I get the idea that maybe I should cook something. It is usually an impulse that I follow with little thought to my own well being or the fact that I can't cook.

This time around, my impulse was inspired by a hunk of meat identified as "Roast Beef" . . . I have heard of this meat, therefore I am qualified to prepare it. The butcher sets me up with an embarrassment of meaty riches . . . this was the giantest thing I'd chosen (pretty randomly) to defrost a few days ago.


Flavorized with a smidgen of olive oil, dry rosemary, salt, pepper, and oregano, this is what it looked like about an hour in. Look at that glorious fat! No, I do not clean my oven. Why?
After it came out of the oven, I set it under the Chicken of Destiny's beak. I am quite sure he was impressed.

As it cooked, I'd busied myself with making mashed potatoes . . . now, let me get this right . . . "from scratch." Holy macaroni! I boiled the potatoes and threw in some chopped onions and smashed garlic cloves with 15 minutes left on the clock. Afterward I scooped out most of the onion remnants, drained the potatoes, smashed them (mostly), threw in a few fresh onion shreds, butter, milk, butcher pepper, and some garlic salt. After a lot of cursing and slopping potatoes all around, this is how it looked.

A note on onions: holding a match in your teeth really does work with the onion-cutting tears. I didn't have blue tips, but I have plenty of other types. I didn't know if there was some magic to blue tips for some reason, but the standard matches worked like a charm.

Look at this mess. I have to clean this later, you know. But for now, this is apparently the beginning of the groovy gravy. Pretty gross. It didn't start off well. At first it kind of smooshed together like some kind of evil taffy. Fatty taffy. Ew. It was the first time I'd ever made gravy all on my own, so I was kind of like Towelie from South Park ("No, you're a towel!"), but it turned out pretty well.

When I cut into the meat, I was so sure I'd under-cooked it, but lookit here. About a medium, I think? Not bad. The trick, I discovered, was letting that meat just sit there for awhile...I think I let it sit for about 15 to 20 minutes. It doesn't go stone cold, first of all, but more importantly the juices get trapped inside and it just kind of permeates. I can testify that it was one of the juiciest roast beefs I have ever had. That's RIGHT. Look at Mr. Roastypants! He's saying howdy. I've gone insane.

Finally, the finished piece. Ta-da! Now I don't have to cook again for another year. Isn't it fantastic? The "salad" is what it looks like: ripped Romain drizzled with basic Italian dressing. Look at the gravy, though! It wasn't bad...needed more salt...but full of char-y bits and full of potential. The potatoes were Perfect...this is something I can actually make. And the roast beef? Look at the Chicken of Glory crowing happily at the sight of it. I cooked!


And, like a lunatic might, documented the whole thing. Now, the dishes.

Xanadu

I remember seeing this one with you, Maw. Man, the suffering you've been thru.

I still love it tho. And can sing this ENTIRE SOUNDTRACK, word for word, on command.

Have Some Drugs

Summer Movie Extravaganza

Having just seen Hancock (review TK), I can officially say that this is my most active summer of movie viewing maybe ever. I've seen Indiana Jones (good), Iron Man (great), The Incredible Hulk (yawn), The Happening (damn fool), Wall-E (prosh!), and...well, I already mentioned Hancock, which was the one I was really waiting for. I wish I could say that it delivered...

Thank the Lordy Lord that Wall-E came through. It got me thinking, though, about expectations and the realities we must come to terms with when we take a seat at the local multiplex and dive into our $17 bag of popcorn. Movies that are above and beyond, extraordinary, striking and permanent are really not that common. They are also individualized...I liked The Matrix, but I don't own it. I do know many men who do, and would jujitsu your ass if you tried to take it. My personal stash is one part chick-flick, 9 parts guns ablazing: Love Actually resides comfortably next to Independence Day. Not everyone loved Cloverfield, but I will shut you down like a clown if you try to steal it. And Aliens? Maybe the best movie ever. Period.

Do you agree? Probably not. But some people will feel that way about The Incredible Hulk...we're all wired differently, there's something for everyone, blah blah blah. So while I might have been wildly underwhelmed by Hancock, someone out there is going to see it for the third time already and dreaming of the day it comes out on DVD. Meanwhile, as I grump in my general malaise of disappointment, the Butcher is making me watch "the best movie ever" on DVD...some hideous thing called Men at Work. We are, indeed, all very special.

Robotears of Adorabliciousness

We are going to see Wall-E tonight. You (and dogs) will likely hear the high shrieks of adoration all the way on the other coast and in the British Isles, too, probably. I'm a sucker for a big-eyed tin can.