Let me take you on a trip around the world and back

Last night I attended my third Depeche Mode concert in twelve years. That's right, they come around every four years, like clockwork, except that one year when they came back several months after I saw them, on the day that I was graduating from college, and I wasn't allowed to go to the concert since my parents thought it was important for me to graduate from college and all. Rats. Side note: Paul Sarbanes, of the Sarbanes-Oxley Act for all of you accounting nerds, spoke at my graduation about something Benjamin Franklin something, something. In case you were wondering what I would have missed had I gone to the concert instead.

So last night we packed ourselves into the Accord and drove to bumblefrick Virginia. My brother, sister-in-law, and Papa T. That's right, I was on a date with my dad. HOT.



And also literally, it was a very hot outside.

Papa T brought binoculars and lamented the fact that he did not have his Nikon D90 and a big lens with him because that definitely would not have been at all burdensome. In between losing my voice from all of the WOOOing & SINGING and dancing up a storm in my one square foot of sweaty dance floor, I took some extra blurry photos and videos.

This here is a fairly accurate representation of our view. But probably a little zoomed in. If my memory serves me correctly, I bought these tickets online pretty much the minute they were released to the public.



One of the screens was just to the right. Here I captured Martin, my lover brother from another mother.



I also shot some shitty video snippets. In your room your burning eyes cause flames to arise.



Are you clapping for an encore? I leave you with the more upbeat Enjoy the Silence.

Olive Kitteridge and Kitchen Confidential

Olive Kitteridge
by Elizabeth Strout

Thirteen stories about residents of a small town in coastal Maine, all linked by Olive Kitteridge, a retired teacher. I will give this book an unenthusiastic

4 out of 5

Kitchen Confidential
by Anthony Bourdain

I hated Bourdain's pompous, coke-addicted, mean voice throughout the entire narrative. But I also couldn't wait for bedtime reading time every night to learn more behind-the-scenes kitchen stories.

4 out of 5

Saturday morning photo shoot with my produce

Babushkas sing Britney Spears

King Corn

This documentary is about one of my favorite topics, evil corn. Although not as good as Omnivore's Dilemma, it touches on many of the same points for those who prefer a visual presentation -- farmers are no longer able to feed themselves off of their farms as they are producing surplus amounts of corn, which ends up in the feed of the cows raised on feeding lots and in our sodas and cheap packaged foods as sweetener. The grain-fed beef is saturated fatty, the sodas are liquid candy. Yes our food is cheap, but most of it encourages obesity and diabetes. Not to mention the toxic waste of the feeding lots and the chemical fertilizers that have to be used on a corn monoculture. There are just too many things wrong with our food system.

Independence Day photoshoot with my produce POD

Not pictured: Bread, Multi-grain; Muffin, Cranberry Almond; Sausage, Buffalo Bourbon Fennel; Sausage, Buffalo Cranberry Wine; Yogurt, Plain.

Bob Fosse

On tonight's episode of So You Think You Can Dance, one of the choreographers "paid tribute" to (ripped off the moves of, more like) Bob Fosse. From my favorite film dance sequence of all time, The Rich Man's Frug from "Sweet Charity":



My junior year of college, I took a jazz dance class, which for all intents and purposes turned out to be a Bob Fosse dance class. Armed with very little Bob Fosse knowledge, this class took me by surprise and I became obsessed with Bob Fosse that semester. We practiced many of the moves from The Rich Man's Frug. Being the overachiever that we all know and love, I rented all of the Bob Fosse movies from the College Park Potomac Video. I downloaded the "Fosse", "Cabaret" and "Sweet Charity" soundtracks. Even choreographed a Bob Fosse-like jazz routine (for a class assignment). Bob Fosse! It was truly a magical time.

New Rules

New Rules: Polite Musings from a Timid Observer
by Bill Maher

A collection of polite musings of the "I don't get that your air is poison and your job is gone and your son is scattered all over a desert you can't find on a map, but what really matters is boys kissing" variety. Religulous is funnier and time better spent.

3 out of 5

Sexy time ballet

I am still trying to wrap my brain around the ballet I saw today. The Royal Ballet is in town from London performing Manon at the Kennedy Center. If Le Corsaire should be subtitled "Pirate Ballet", then Manon's subtitle would most probably be "Sex Ballet".

The story begins outside of Paris, where Lescaut, a dashing young man, is waiting for the arrival of his sister at a popular "courtyard of an inn", perhaps the equivalent of a rooftop at an Arlington bar? In the crowd are Des Grieux (not rich) and Monsieur G.M. (very rich). Manon arrives and she and Des Grieux instantly fall in love with each other and escape to Paris. Monsieur G.M. also takes an interest in Manon. He's a little slow on the draw, but it's OK because he has tons of money so obviously Lescaut promises to find his sister and convince her to accept the rich guy.

They catch up to the lovers frolicking in Paris. Des Grieux steps out of the house to mail a letter and in swoop Lescaut and G.M., who gifts Manon with a sparkly necklace and fancy robe. She is all "Well these are kind of nice. I like riches. OK, I'll go with you. Want to see my crotch?" And G.M. is like "Yes." And Lescaut, the pimp brother, is all "Let me help you stretch? spread your leg out further."

Eventually Manon comes back to Des Grieux. So G.M. has the police arrest her for being a prostitute and banish her to a Louisiana jail. As an extra punishment, he randomly shoots Lescaut.

Des Grieux follows Manon to America and kills the Gaoler but only after the Gaoler rapes Manon in the mouth.

Let's take a step back. The Washington Post review mentions a blow job scene, which I was looking out for but figured I had missed as it was perhaps interpretive. Right. No stretch of the imagination was required for the blow job scene. Very shocking in terms of ballet. Not so shocking for a ballet already filled with prostitutes and drunks.

The dancing did not seem as strong as the Russians', who wowed me last week with their technical mastery of the most difficult turn and leap combinations. But perhaps it was the choreography that was less classical and technical and more modern and loose. It makes sense that you would drop your lady companion on the floor or fall in a heap landing from a jump if your character is supposed to be shitfaced. And it makes sense that you wouldn't be spinning circles if you've been banished to a jail in the swamps and you are forced to wear raggedy clothing and you perhaps have syphilis.

Oh yeah, spoiler alert! Manon dies in the swamp.

Saturday morning photo shoot wth my produce POD

Not pictured: Breakfast Scone

In which you find out that I am a stalker

A few weeks ago, at a brewery/beer event in Baltimore, I met Chef Teddy Folkman and his bacon-y mussels and frites recipes. Teddy is the executive chef at Granville Moore's in DC and a finalist on Food Network's "The Next Food Network Star" show. He was cooking in a tent over a hot plate, but dammit that food was good and he was a bit of a cutie. I went back for seconds.

The following week I DVR'd the Food Network Star show and have been watching it regularly. Watching him cry on the show and kind of be an ass. Yeah...um.

To me what's most maddening about the show is that you can't smell or taste the food and so have no idea who is actually doing well in the competition. Shockingly, it's not the same as watching a singing or dancing competition where you can judge for yourself the talent, or lack thereof, of the contestants. I am forced to take Bobby Flay's word for it, and having been to Bobby Flay's restaurant in Atlantic City, I don't know if we should all be trusting a man whose key lime dessert was neon goo. (But the steak was good!)

But back to Teddy. In a few weeks I will be attending his cooking demonstration at Sur La Table, where he will prepare a three-course meal and I will get to eat it.

I mean, there will be other people there, but I will be the one slipping him my phone number on a napkin.

And whether or not he calls, after visiting Granville Moore's, I will be sure to follow him to his house and sit outside his building (gotta tint the windows on the Accord first) with binoculars and a scrapbook of our two-month relationship.

Wearing this on a t-shirt:

6% complete

I've read past page 63 of my Summer Reading Project #2, which means that I am just a little ahead of schedule. So far I don't know what to make of anything (well, I've cheated a little bit and peaked at a couple of things on Wikipedia and the David Foster Wallace Wiki: Infinite Jest, but not enough to actually understand what is going on).

• For one thing, there's endnotes. And there's footnotes about the endnotes. And then there's an eight-and-a-half page endnote detailing the filmography of one of the (fictional) characters. That shit is wack, I say, but an "integral part of the text", the Internet says.
  
• Chapters are called "Year of the Trial-Size Dove Bar" and "Year of the Depend Adult Undergarment". My understanding is that the chronology will be revealed sometime later, and the goal at this point in the reading is to pay as close attention as possible and to absorb as many details as possible. I.e. I expect a reread of the entire thing.
  
• There's an emerging central character named Hal who attends a tennis academy.
• There's a chapter about a drug addict burgling houses.
• There's a chapter written in fake Ebonics (?)
• Apparently you are supposed to know Hamlet to get the full effect of this novel.
• And what in the hell are InterLace cartridges? The precursor to DVDs??
  

I am curious to see what form of conversation or analysis will emerge on the Infinite Summer blog as the readers and moderators chip away at the reading. Maybe I will occasionally post my my thoughts and feelings here. Buuut I just might spend that time watching this over and over again instead.

Pirate ballet/ballet Pirate

I finally broke my months-long gym fast this morning and went to work out to get in better shape for ballet class. I am considering taking some ballet classes this summer to get some more fitness back in my life, but before I can get fit AT ballet class, I have to first get fit FOR ballet class. You see, ballet class is really the feats of strength in disguise.

Going to see the real thing is always both a motivating tool AND depression inducer. Today I saw the matinee performance of "Le Corsaire" at the Kennedy Center, as performed by the Bolshoi Ballet from Moscow. I had never seen "Le Corsaire" before, and, terrible terrible shame on me, did not really know the plot line. Well apparently, it's about pirates. And female slaves and harem girls and ship wrecks. It was a three-hour show of visually stunning sets and costumes and dancing by graceful android robots. Seriously, was there someone backstage holding a remote control? I was incredulous at the dancers' control of some of the leap and turn sequences. Those crazy Russians.

Here is a review of the production from The Washington Post.

And here is a picture I am borrowing from that review:



Next week, I am showing up at ballet class with an eye patch.

Hard to be soft, tough to be tender

Enjoying this song a lot:

"Help I'm Alive" by Metric

Careful not to fall down the Cliffs of Moher POD

or look like a moron

Deep thought of the day (DTOP?)

I am adding the broiler to my repertoire. Interpret that as you will.

My Life in France

My Life in France
by Julia Child

So after reading this book, I am very much interested in French cooking, even though it sounds kind of nasty at times and terribly difficult most other times. This book is Julia Child's memoir of moving to France with her husband, discovering a love for French food and cooking, taking classes at the Cordon Bleu, writing her famous Mastering the Art of French Cooking, and filming The French Chef. Basically I am just a sucker for books that describe food and European countries with gusto and enthusiasm. And I definitely admire people who throw themselves wholeheartedly into something they absolutely love. This book is inspiring on many levels -- try new recipes, work on language skills, travel, take more photographs, be committed to a labor of love project, enjoy yourself when you do these things. Julia Child is officially my new life coach. WWJCD? What Would Julia Child Do?

4 out of 5

Lush Life

Lush Life
by Richard Price

This one is a New York City police drama, where a drunk white guy gets shot and the detectives scramble to find the suspect. It's definitely more engaging than that simple story line -- Price gives the reader detailed portraits of the shooter, the detective, the grieving father, the bystander, the neighborhood. It almost reads like a mystery novel, even though early on you know who the perpetrator is. Maybe it's like watching an episode of The Wire? I don't know, I've never seen that show. It's a good summer read.

4 out of 5

Animal Planet, Hours 30-36

I am not ashamed to admit that I took a 4 hour nap. Then we all moped around until our parents got back.

Overall I think the house-dog-cat-sitting was a resounding success. The dog did not eat the cat. The cat did not scratch the dog's eyes out. No one went hungry. And no one pooped on the floor.

Animal Planet, Hours 12-29

Field Notes: I am happy to report that everyone made it through the night. Wilson woke me up at 6 in the morning, attacking my feet under the covers. I got up and gave him some Fancy Feast and let Nicholson out of his bedroom (crate) into the yard for a minute. Alison and Kristin came to visit for bagel breakfast, and Nick got really excited and jumpy for about half an hour because we had GUESTS! and then went back to being depressed because why are his parents still gone? The girls taught me some dog whisperer training techniques, like saying CH CH to keep him from jumping, but Nick is Russian-speaking and an obedience school drop-out (miscreant) so he jumps anyways and only sits whenever he damn well pleases. Nick and I then attempted to go on a walk, short-lived, as he didn't seem to want to go anywhere. I believe now we are starting family nap time.