grendel20's Xanga

Friday, September 25, 2009

Fri, 25 Sep 2009 08:22:53 GMT

I love having your photo on my desk.

Tuesday, September 08, 2009

Tue, 08 Sep 2009 06:47:17 GMT

Well... well... well.....

I got my girl to my left, her diminutive frame expanding and contracting, not unlike the American economy, with every little snore her poor sinuses belt out. I got Hollywood to my right, coupled with a nice view of Los Angeles burning ever so slowly. I got work tomorrow, fulfilling and never ever humdrum. I got these words that, due to my own personal inabilities as a writer and thinker, can never ever really articulate all the little things that I wish to tell you. Or, matter of fact, could even dream of telling you. And....

Well.....

And I got you, dear xanga reader.

Life is good, man. Life is good.

Friday, September 04, 2009

Fri, 04 Sep 2009 01:17:21 GMT

Wednesday, May 06, 2009

Wed, 06 May 2009 00:31:13 GMT

In competitive boat racing, there's a guy whose sole job is to scrub kelp from the hull of the ship. During a race kelp and other little critters of the sea have a tendency to get build up around the front of the ship, thereby slowing down the velocity of the ship due to the excess friction. It may not seem like a kelp or two would have a major overall effect on the speed, but once they begin to aggregate, they could have a marked decrease on the overall speed.

This guy's only job is to scrub all of the barnacles, the kelp and anything else that collects there.

.......

Anyways, I'm pretty sure I failed my copyright exam yesterday. There were just too many questions, and I didn't have enough time to think. I literally froze for a few minutes, not even knowing where to begin. It's like I had spent a week preparing for a 10 mile marathon when in fact I was supposed to have prepared for a 200m sprint.

Not much I can do now, I guess. Still have four finals within the next 7 days. Then graduation. Hopefully the poor mark on copyright won't jeopardize going to the London for the Intellectual Property Institute this summer. I mean, why would a poor grade in Copyright affect that? Right?

Also, I think I may have become a member of Dumpsville during this finals period. But, I guess that's why one would feel the need to scribble analogies about ship racing and kelp.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Wed, 15 Apr 2009 23:04:35 GMT

So fucking fucked..... fuck.

:(

Monday, April 13, 2009

Mon, 13 Apr 2009 06:54:42 GMT

I think it was The Grateful Dead who were prescient enough to recognize the denouement of their band when they said 'What a long, strange trip it's been.'

Word, son. Word.

Graduation ceremonies are on the 17th of May. A Sunday. I am taking time away from studying for finals to type into this notepad again, but I am not really sure why. I ask that since I have sort of abandoned this journal. At the same time, though, I clicked through about 30 pages of blog to find an image I knew I had posted on here, and couldn't help but notice the wayward thoughts I had scribed here.

Wow. What a long, strange trip it's been.

For living in Irvine and commuting two hours, every weekday, to downtown Los Angeles. For living in my car in Irvine and commuting two hours, three days a week, to downtown Los Angeles. For living in Westchester, the asshole of the Earth, to downtown Los Angeles, a close second asshole of the Earth. To finally moving back to God's Country, in Orange County, and commuting again, but knowing who I am and in my place.

Wow. What a long, strange trip it's been.

I feel different from when I began law school. I need only look at what I wrote beforehand and what (little) I wrote after I began. I am not yet sure if that is a good or bad thing. Once the dice are rolled, you can't bring them back. I don't think I would anyways. Actually, I know I wouldn't.

What a long, strange trip it's been.

............

Fuck it.

Lazy lovers, sure would have been nice to have said.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Tue, 24 Feb 2009 07:00:03 GMT

Well, I finally added xanga lock. Primarily, I wanted to keep family members away from my blog. It sounds like a horrible thing to say, but I really just wanted the freedom to type whatever comes to mind, and it would be impossible to enjoy that luxury without xanga lock. Recently on facebook I had mentioned I was driving home to Dinuba. When I reached my destination, my parents were not surprised since both my brother and sister had informed them of my travels. It's the little things, sometimes.

Further, by adding xanga lock, I think I'm keeping away the majority of the hits that were coming from google. I'm not sure if that's a good thing, but at least suggests that I might be a little bit more serious about my scribbes here.

Finally, it's also sort of nice knowing that only fellow xanga readers will read these words. Although we're not that many, what we lack in numbers I'm sure we make up for with fervor.

On that..... I've begun another blog with my best friends. It is called <redacted> Nothing really spectacular has been added, at least on my part. However, the others contributing to the page are doing more than their fair share of excellent writing.

************

My return to Orange County is almost solidified. After these long, tortuous months in downtown los angeles, there is finally some light at the end of the tunnel. Open skies lacking skyscrapers, long sidewalks lacking urine, grass that is actually green on both sides.... Orange County, I'm coming home soon.

************

Saturday, January 03, 2009

Sat, 03 Jan 2009 23:43:47 GMT

I've always been a huge fan of Anthony Bourdain. No Reservations, his show on Travel Channel, is probably one of the most engaging 40 minutes of television that appears weekly - so much so that I can actually sit through the whole show, including commercials, and still want more afterwards. Here are some of my favorite quotes regarding other celebrity chefs.

***

I actually WATCH Food Network now and again, more often than not drawn in by the progressive horrors on screen. I find myself riveted by its awfulness, like watching a multi-car accident in slow motion. Mesmerized at the ascent of the Ready-Made bobblehead personalities, and the not-so-subtle shunting aside of the Old School chefs, I find myself de-constructing the not-terrible shows, imagining behind the scenes struggles and frustrations, and obsessing unhealthily on the Truly Awful ones. Screaming out loud at Sandra Lee in disbelief as she massacres another dish, then sits grinning, her face stretched into a terrifying rictus of faux cheer for the final triumphant presentation. I mourn for Mario..and Alton...Bobby and yes--even Emeril, nobly holding the fort while the TV empire he helped build crumbles like undercooked Bundt cake into a goo of Cheez Wiz around him. Some thoughts on the Newer, Younger, More Male-Oriented, More Dumb-Ass Food Network:

ALTON BROWN

How did Alton slip inside the wire--and stay there all these years? He must have something on them. He’s smart. You actually learn something from his commentary. And I’ll admit it: I watch and enjoy Iron Chef America-in all its cheesy glory. Absolutely SHOCKED and thrilled when guys like Homaru Cantu show up as contestants--and delighted when Mario wins--again and again, forestalling his secretly long-planned execution. His commentary is mostly good. And that collar-bone snapping fall off the motorcycle on Feasting On Asphalt? Good television!

EMERIL

I’m actually grateful when I channel surf across his show. He’s STILL there--the original Behemoth. And I STILL find him unwatchable. As much mileage as I’ve gotten over the years, making fun of Emeril; he deserves a lot more respect than I’ve given him. He does run a very successful and very decent restaurant group. He is--in fact--a really nice guy. And-as much as I hate the show-- compared to the current crop of culinary non-entities, he looks like Escoffier. He will probably be the last of the Real Chefs. I’m sure they’re growing future replacement options in petrie dishes somewhere, conducting Top Secret focus groups at suburban malls with their latest Bright Young Hopeful. I’m just glad he’s still there--a rebuke to the geniuses who brought us such Great Ideas as Dweezil and Lisa.

BOBBY FLAY

They seem to have noticed Bobby’s strong “negatives” among some viewer responses during focus groups--and decided to respond by subjecting poor Bobby to THROWDOWN; the object of which is to allow every web-fingered geek with a backyard grill--or half-mad muffin maker to proclaim, “I beat Bobby Flay at makin’ barbeque!” at the heart-warming end of show--before returning to tend their meth labs.. I watched poor Bobby battle to a draw recently in some bogus Southwestern “Chili Face-Off.” Now…does ANYONE actually believe that Bobby Flay can’t make a better chili than a supermarket ground beef bearing amateur? I don’t. It’s a cruel exercise in humiliation. A variation on “Dunk Bozo” or “Shoot The Geek,” at the carnival. And whatever I might have thought of Flay’s previous TV efforts, I find the network’s misuse of one of their founding chefs to be nauseatingly cynical. The conspiratorial-minded might be tempted to suspect this as yet another part of the Secret Plan to rid themselves of the annoyingly big ticket chefs--by driving Bobby to quit--or insane with misery. He may not be Mr. Cuddlesworth, but he’s a successful businessman and a good chef--and he doesn’t, after all, need this shit.

MARIO!

Oh, Mario! Oh great one! They shut down Molto Mario--only the smartest and best of the stand-up cooking shows. Is there any more egregiously under-used, criminally mishandled, dismissively treated chef on television? Relegated to the circus of Iron Chef America, where--like a great, toothless lion, fouling his cage, he hangs on--and on--a major draw (and often the only reason to watch the show). How I would like to see him unchained, free to make the television shows he’s capable of, the Real Mario--in all his Rabelasian brilliance. How I would love to hear the snapping bones of his cruel FN ringmasters, crunching between his mighty jaws! Let us see the cloven hooves beneath those cheery clogs! Let Mario be Mario!

THAT ACE OF CAKES GUY

Hey…He’s got talent! And..he seems to be a trained chef! And he’s really making food--and selling it in a real business! I think…I like it! If I have one reservation, it’s that I have no idea if the stuff actually TASTES good. It LOOKS really creative and quirky--and I’m interested but…I mean...it’s like construction going on over there from what we’re told and shown. One suspects that the producers don’t want to waste valuable time talking about anything so technical as food--on “Food” Network. I mean...what’s in those cakes, beneath the icing and marzipan and fondant? That said, it’s the only “kicky, new, cutting edge, in-your-face” hopeful they’ve managed to trot out of any quality in memory. Hope it lasts. Wait till they try and put the poor bastard on a pony--or do a “Tailgate Special” with the usual suspects. Or a “Thanksgiving Special” where he has to sit down with the bobbleheads and pretend to like it. On balance, it’s still probably the best new project they’ve come up with in a long, long time.

GIADA

What’s going on here!? Giada can actually cook! She was robbed in her bout versus Rachael Ray on ICA. ROBBED! And Food Net seems more interested in her enormous head (big head equals big ratings. Really!) and her cleavage--than the fact that she’s likeable, knows what she’s doing in an Italian kitchen--and makes food you’d actually want to eat. The new high concept Weekend Getaway show is a horrible, tired re-cap of the cheap-ass “Best Of” and “40 Dollar a Day” formula. Send host to empty restaurant. Watch them make crappy food for her. Have her take a few lonely, awkward stabs at the plate, then feign enjoyment with appropriately orgasmic eye-closing and moaning..Before spitting it out and rushing to the trailer. Send her to Italy and let her cook. She’s good at it.

RACHAEL

Complain all you want. It’s like railing against the pounding surf. She only grows stronger and more powerful. Her ear-shattering tones louder and louder. We KNOW she can’t cook. She shrewdly tells us so. So...what is she selling us? Really? She’s selling us satisfaction, the smug reassurance that mediocrity is quite enough. She’s a friendly, familiar face who appears regularly on our screens to tell us that “Even your dumb, lazy ass can cook this!” Wallowing in your own crapulence on your Cheeto-littered couch you watch her and think, “Hell…I could do that. I ain’t gonna…but I could--if I wanted! Now where’s my damn jug a Diet Pepsi?” Where the saintly Julia Child sought to raise expectations, to enlighten us, make us better--teach us--and in fact, did, Rachael uses her strange and terrible powers to narcotize her public with her hypnotic mantra of Yummo and Evoo and Sammys. “You’re doing just fine. You don’t even have to chop an onion--you can buy it already chopped. Aspire to nothing…Just sit there. Have another Triscuit…Sleep….sleep….”

PAULA DEEN

I’m reluctant to bash what seems to be a nice old lady. Even if her supporting cast is beginning to look like the Hills Have Eyes--and her food a True Buffet of Horrors. A recent Hawaii show was indistinguishable from an early John Waters film. And the food on a par with the last scene of Pink Flamingos. But I’d like to see her mad. Like her look-alike, Divine in the classic, “Female Trouble.“ Paula Deen on a Baltimore Killing Spree would be something to see. Let her get Rachael in a headlock--and it’s all over.

SANDRA LEE

Pure evil. This frightening Hell Spawn of Kathie Lee and Betty Crocker seems on a mission to kill her fans, one meal at a time. She Must Be Stopped. Her death-dealing can-opening ways will cut a swath of destruction through the world if not contained. I would likely be arrested if I suggested on television that any children watching should promptly go to a wooded area with a gun and harm themselves. What’s the difference between that and Sandra suggesting we fill our mouths with Ritz Crackers, jam a can of Cheez Wiz in after and press hard? None that I can see. This is simply irresponsible programming. Its only possible use might be as a psychological warfare strategy against the resurgent Taliban--or dangerous insurgent groups. A large-racked blonde repeatedly urging Afghans and angry Iraqis to stuff themseles with fatty, processed American foods might be just the weapon we need to win the war on terror.
AND FINALLY: Some IRON CHEF AMERICA match-ups I’d REALLY like to see:

Mario Batali (with one arm tied behind his back--and drunk) vs. Regina Schrambling
Michael Ruhlman, swacked on Ripple, vs. John Mariani-- in a Charcuterie Challenge
Grant Achatz vs. That Guy In Australia Who Ripped off his recipes as his own
Marco Pierre White vs. Gordon Ramsay
Charlie Trotter vs. Martin Picard (Chicken Livers vs. Foie Gras)
Chris Cosentino, Fergus Henderson, Martin Picard vs. Alain Passard, Roxanne Klein and Charlie Trotter (Cooked vs. Raw Challenge)
Martha Stewart vs. Rachael Ray (bare knuckle cage match)
Ducasse vs. Robuchon
“Mikey” from Top Chef vs. Sandra Lee

Video Gold!

http://blog.ruhlman.com/ruhlmancom/2...blogging_.html

Saturday, January 03, 2009

Sat, 03 Jan 2009 05:17:56 GMT

The investment banker was at the pier of a small coastal Mexican village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked. Inside the small boat were several large yellow fin tuna. The investment banker complimented the fisherman on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took to catch them.

"Only a little while," the fisherman replied.

The investment banker then asked why didn't he stay out longer and catch more fish?

The fisherman said he had enough to support his family's immediate needs.

The investment banker then asked, but what do you do with the rest of your time?

The fisherman said, "I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take siesta with my wife, Maria, stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine and play guitar with my amigos, I have a full and busy life, senor."

The investment banker scoffed, "I am a Harvard MBA and could help you. You should spend more time fishing and with the proceeds, buy a bigger boat. With the proceeds from the bigger boat you could buy several boats, eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats. Instead of selling your catch to a middleman you would sell directly to the processor, eventually opening your own cannery. You would control the product, processing and distribution. You can leave this small coastal fishing village and move to Mexico City, then LA and eventually NYC where you will run your expanding enterprise."

The fisherman asked, "But senor, how long will this all take?"

The American replied, "15-20 years."

But what then, senor?

The American laughed and said that's the best part. When the time is right you would announce an IPO and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich, you would make millions.

Millions, senor? Then what?

The American said, "Then you would retire. Move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take siesta with your wife, stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your amigos."

Wednesday, December 31, 2008

Wed, 31 Dec 2008 07:40:17 GMT

It's 11:11 somewhere.... right?

How could drops of water know themselves to be a river? Yet the river flows on

Thank God I'm not a sap and don't get sentimental with the coming of a new year.

Orrrrrrrrr maybeeeeee not!

Actually, I could care less about the new year. The ship's course has already set, and on Wednesday night, at around 11:58, the night will be just another regular night. Resolutions, I've never really been a fan of. Or at least resolving to somehow better myself in some way. Last year, I resolved to:

    1. Smoke more
    2. Tell more people they're being douchebags
    3. Drink more Jack Daniels
    4. Hook up with as many girls as I can
    5. Play guitar more often
    6. Move back to Orange County
    7. Start a new blog

Unfortunately, over the past 365 days of 2008, I think I smoked fewer cigarettes than in 2007 (and in 2007, probably smoked fewer than 2006). However, 2009 is a new year and I'm not necessarily foreclosing on the possibility that it may just in fact be the banner year of my smoking career.

Second, in the year 2008, when people were being douches, i am afraid I did not tell them that they were, in fact, being a douchebag. Again, 2009 is a new year.

Next, Jack. Jack Daniels. I think you and I have become far too intimate. This was to be the year that we redefined the nature of our association. I think we both know we're both so tangled together that we can hardly ever part - for now, at least.

Fourth. Fucking recession, man.

Fifth, sixth, and seventh. This year is my year. The gears are set, and pieces in place.

Well, 2009, bring it.

In a whisper quiet room,
Space the thinking,
Space to scream to,