Monday, February 28, 2011

Friday, February 25, 2011

Friday Food Fiesta: The Kipper

A friend of mine is preg. Lately, she's been having cravings for weird salty snacks... usually involving some sort of cream, like onion or clam dip. Being the ass that I am, I thought about suggesting one of the weirder snacks of my youth, to get a rise out of her.

How about Kippers on a Cracker?

To my shock, she replied, "Oh my mom used to love that," which is basically the only way that I remember Kippers.


It would be like some ancient ritual, she would slowly pull the black box of water crackers down from the shelf above the stove. Opening and removing the cellophane wrapped column of crackers and neatly pouring them in a fanned circle on the plate. A fork and the palm sized can would be placed on the plate as she marched to the couch in front of the TV. Turning the key would reveal the nastiest smashed up pieces of fish marinating in water from some stinky bog. Eyes glazed over, dejected, I could almost hear each of the skippers sigh, "whatever... eat me..." My mom, tense and mouth watering would gingerly take the fork and pry a bit of the swampy fish body from the can and spread it on the cracker as it it were an extravagant butter. Then down the hatch it would go, as she comically raised her shoulders in food contentment.

"mmmmmm crunch crunch crunch"

Every time the damn kipper can was brought down from the shelf I would go through a range of emotions.

1. Horror

After fully enjoying all the salty cracker goodness of her fishy treat, she would pry yet another bit of silvery fish flesh from the can and smather it on a cracker, but instead of enjoying this one for herself it would be insisted upon me.

2. Resistance

I fought hard, especially in the early years. I wanted no part in this can seafood adventure, but soon she wore me down. Even after partaking in this "snack" and vaguely enjoy it, I would still have to fight my inner monologue of "why am I eating this?!"

3. Complacence

I haven't seen my mom eat a kipper on a cracker in a really long time. Sometimes I wonder if she still does. The kipper definitely has to be a generational thing, because I definitely do not know of any people my age cracking open a little tin can to eat tiny fish... as a snack. Which leaves me to wonder, what current snacks will be thought of as weird?

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Mullet With A Heart: A Review

Earlier this week, I went to see Biutiful staring Javier Bardem and directed by Alejandro Gonzales Inarritu. Inarritu is know for the lovely rom-com 21 Grams, and that silly farce Babel. So I knew I was in store for a playful romp through Barcelona.

Obviously, this was going to be some heavy shit- did you watch the trailer?! Blew your face off right? Well imagine that for 2 & 1/2 hours. Rich imagery, interweaving story lines (A Inarritu favorite) and deep pain and emotion flowing through each of the characters. Unlike his other works, this story primarily focus on Javier Bardem's character who's name begins with an X or some weird shit like that. He's a struggling family man with a bat shit crazy wife, a sleazy brother, and two adorable kids. Props on the kid actors... 1. They picked a girl who looks straight up like the bat shit crazy mom and 2. Those kids know how to make some frickn' melancholy faces like you wouldn't believe. Bardem is a little like a hustler, he's involved in this and that, and because of him the underworld is basically able to function. He spends a good part of the movie walking here and walking there while letting his Spanish Mullet flop in the wind.

Ahem* A word about Javier Bardem...

Best. Actor. Ever.

The fact that he can go from this:

To this:

Is pretty amazing. Usually if you play a weirdo well in a movie, you're stuck playing weirdos the rest of your career. Not this fool. Why? Because he can act his pants off. Also he's not an American based actor, and we tend to pigeon hole our thespians... except for James Franco... but he's a whole 'nother barrel of freak (tweeting a picture of your pee? Really dude?!). Bardem in this movie is magnificent. You can almost taste the pain he's going though physically, mentally, and spiritually. His body bent over from everything that is weighing on him. If he doesn't win an Oscar I--- wont be surprised, because award shows are basically the equivalent of your "senior best" page in high school... you and I both know that the girl voted "prettiest" was not... her ass was just hella popular, but if he does win- I'll be happy.

The pace of the film is slow and eerie with a touch, just a touch of the super natural. Being the radical feminist that I am, I'm not too happy with the minority representation of the film- but then again no one is really shown in that favorable of a light- it's one of Inarritu specialties, he's shows that everyone has duality making each of us biutiful.

Vivienne Westwood for the Win

First of all, this lady is fucking awesome. She's been in the game since the 70s when she was doing it with Sex Pistols, Malcolm McLaren. Since then, she's continued to grow into a fashion giant influencing people like Gwen Stefani and her wannabe punk-high fashion ass.

Plus in a notoriously white image based industry she's be incredibly vocal about using all races,

"Naomi Campbell is the most beautiful girl, but how many covers has she had on the big magazines? Not many. It is racist."

Not many people will acknowledge this, and that fact that she does and tends to ALWAYS have a diverse set of models will always warm my heart.

Why she frumped up her models to look like Public Library hobos in her latest Fall 2011 Ready To Wear show is beyond me... but here are my highlights:

I think I gave this woman a dollar when I was a student at UC Santa Cruz, then it turned out she was in my 1960s Feminist Class.The center hooded knit dress in the middle of this mess is my jam. I would wear that right now if it didn't cost 30 gabillion dollars. Also blue tights and tan... I kinda heart that combination.

This woman looks like she just finished beating up my friend and now she's coming for me... but first I must admire her mis-buttoned blue cardigan. OMG I'm in love with this shiz. I currently have a blue plaid shirt dying to be worn with it. Colored cardigans with matching plaid shirts for the win. Jacked up model face for the loose.


To check out more of her wackiness and lovely diverse modelrinas go:


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I'll be the first to admit that I'm a bum...

...but this is mostly due to a lack of funds and an extreme debilitating sense of laziness.

Luckily, I have a good handful of wonderful people complimenting me on my style to know that I'm not a mullet, multi-colored vest, Teva wearing weirdo.

Yet, I also have some folks (Dad, I'm looking at you) suggesting that I could get on "What Not To Wear" which keeps me humble...

So, I personally walk the line of fashion presentation, but I love it. I could look at runways photos for hours, or at least until I get frustrated with the lack of minorities represented.

Most of the fashion blogs I read are from lovely high heeled ladies, knee deep in some elegant trend. I love your opinions, but come on... let's get back to earth! Sometimes fashion is really stupid, and I'm not going to pretend that it isn't.

Let's be honest, you probably look more like this:

Than this:

If you do, that's cool too, but you'll probably not like what I have to say.

Push Me in the Right Direction, Plz.

Okay I'm gonna add some structure to this 'ish.

Lately, I've been involved with an inner struggle of sorts. Kinda goes like this:

Write more!
About what?
I dunno...

So I figure the only way to get myself reeeally going with the new blog thingy is to have a structure. My old blog didn't have structure, but I was able to keep up the rambles for a good ole time. Now that I'm older, and more jaded with stuff, I no longer feel the urge to write about weirdness and kookiness with the world. Instead I just shrug and say, "Welp, that's dumb" and move on.

So to curb this new sense of jade with the world, I will write about certain things on certain days. To kinda jump start the ramble again. A piece of me is screaming: Le snooze, but the other piece is saying Nah... it will be good. Let's hope this works.


Sunday, February 6, 2011

Talent and Skill

Last night, I went to a cigar bar in the giant buzzing metropolis of San Francisco for a friend's surprise party. The place was swank, and booze and food was provided- which is always an extra special perk in my novel of life.

I had a good pocket of friends, but the majority of the party were unknown to me, so I reverted back to Middle School Nnekay and was flushed with an overwhelming sense of AWKWARD. With the nervous energy coursing through my lazily dressed veins, I drank a few beers and proceeded to shovel as much cheese and crackers into my face as possible.

I'm lactose intolerant.

Towards the end of the night my stomach was up in grumbles, I managed to ignore this fact until... I had to pee. A grumbly stomach is one thing, but a grumbly stomach in a public restroom is a whole 'nother batch of worms. I knew what I had to do, so I gathered my wit, and solemnly marched to the ladies room.

It was a tightly packed closet of a bathroom with two stalls and about 15 women jockeying for mirror space in front of the one sink. I squeezed through the bunch, and to my dismay could hear everything each woman was saying... meaning, they would hear the beautiful symphony my body was about to produce. Tabulating my grumbles, I knew this wouldn't be so horrible, I would only need to break wind...


Farting the ladies room, ain't easy.

In fact, controlling a pee-fart isn't easy in the first place... it takes a lot of talent and skill to manage those separate departments. I employed all my muscles (including a tightly squeezed face) to hold in my gas while while emptying the content of my bladder. Once done, I waited like a bathroom ninja, for a loud mouth woman to proclaim something stupid. Just like clock work, I heard a deep breath then a woman shriek "OH--" I seized the opportunity and a released a low rumbling,

"fffffffffffffffffphhhh..." under her loud ridiculous proclamation of,

"MY GOD THAT SPARKLE TOP IS TOO CUTE!!!" Quickly I flushed the toilet, let a couple more out during the wooshing noise... and proceeded to coolly wash my hands and exit.

I'm a little bummed I can't put this talent on my resume.