Bacon Explosion Backlash

The popularity of the Bacon Explosion is a backlash to the anti-obesity message saturating the media. Behind every hot trend, a backlash eventually follows. Introducing the barbecue phenomenon, The New York Times says:

For a nation seeking unity, a recipe has swept the Internet that seems to unite conservatives and liberals, gun owners and foodies, carnivores and ... well, not vegetarians and health fanatics.

I object to The Times' implication that only vegetarians and health fanatics will object to this smoked meat monstrosity. "Fanatic" implies over the top, but even folks with a modicum of concern about their health should cringe at this dish.
I propose a backlash to the backlash.
Four pounds of piggy is the nutritional equivalent of running out of numbers on the National Debt Clock. Add in a jar of barbecue sauce and a jar of barbecue rub.
There are about 12,000 milligrams of sodium in the meat alone. The sauce and the rub send the sodium count to the moon. Move over Fettucini Alfredo, there is a new Heart Attack on a Plate.
After eating this, you will feel pork grease coursing through your veins and diluting your blood. The Times' estimate of 5,000 calories and 500 grams of fat sounds low. The Burnt Finger BBQ team recommends the pig log be cooked in a smoker, so the extra carcinogens of smoked meat can be sealed in.
There is more than one way to waste food. Don't let a cute, smart pig die in vain.

Chinese New Year: Resolution Do-Over

Happy Chinese New Year!
I believe in making New Year's resolutions, as long as they are manageable and measurable. I am still proud of saving the money to buy my first car with my first New Year's resolution ever. I resolved to save $15 in tips per waitress shift. I had never saved a dime prior and I had the car by May.
Since that long-ago year, I have kept some resolutions and abandoned others.
This year, I made a resolution to exercise. Yes, you can laugh. Exercising, that final step to getting to my ideal weight, is a resolution broken as quickly as it is made. I only vaguely thought about how I would execute my resolution.
Now it is January 26th and I have barely moved. Today, I admitted I am failing to keep my 2009 resolution. But then I remembered: today is the Chinese New Year.
All is not lost. Do over.

The Moth: Stories of Danger

The Moth's first 2009 mainstage event, showcased five captivating "Stories of Danger" told by people from across the spectrum of storytelling experience. I missed regular host Andy Borowitz; first-time host Tom Shillue is not nearly as funny.

Of the five storytellers, two stood out in my mind:

Wesley Autrey

This New York subway hero saved a convulsing man's life by lying on top of him between subway rails while a 1 train passed overhead. One-half inch of clearance hung between Autrey's scalp and the underbelly of the train.
Autrey's tale resonated with New Yorkers when it happened last January. Later, Autrey's notoriety became nationwide through appearances on David Letterman and Ellen. George Bush gave Autrey a shout-out at the State of the Union address.
None of his television appearances beats hearing him tell the harrowing story in his own words. Jumping off the subway platform, Autrey told himself, "fool, you can do it!"
A mantra for the new age if I ever heard one.

Mike Destefano

Destefano turns tragedy into comedy with a tale about how much one man can take. As a young man, he dealt with his father's death from brain cancer on the heels of his wife's slow death from AIDS. A strange coincidence (or not) and a brush with Buddhism bring the Bronx Catholic back from the brink of suicide.

The other three storytellers were writer Amy Cohen, Sudanese activist John Dau and The Moth founder, George Dawes Green.

The Players

Stepping into The Moth's home, The Players in Gramercy Park, is like stepping into the 19th century. The walls of the upstairs library are lined with volumes of mostly old and some new play collections and theater criticism. Guests are free to handle the books, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I shouldn't touch.
However, The Moth has outgrown its sentimental home and would best serve its fans by moving to a larger home base. Until then, The Moth should stop overselling tickets.
People crammed into the back half of the theater last night; employees shoved another row of chairs behind the last row, resulting in an unbearably crowded room . Two-thirds of the people could exit only by climbing over the makeshift row of chairs. Where were the fire marshalls?
The Moth is trying to preserve its $20 ticket price, but I their mainstage events are undervalued at that price. An ticket price increase, coupled with a cap on the audience size, would create a better experience for its patrons.

Inauguration Day in the Jury Room

Unlike 1.9 million people who spent Inauguration Day shoulder-to-shoulder on The Mall in Washington, I spent Inauguration Day shoulder-to-shoulder in a jury room.
The members of today's jury pool watched Barack Obama's swearing-in on a small snowy television. When Obama finished taking the oath of office, the room burst into applause. Here we were, already doing our civic duty, listening to Barack Obama urge Americans to take responsibility.
Were these folks surrounding me the same sleepy-eyed slackers who entered the bullpen three hours earlier? As I arrived, I looked around the room at the 140 adults gathered by random selection. Were these really my peers?
This is my fifth time on jury duty and the routine never changes. A large contingent lines up to give their excuses. Confident and superior, they don't comprehend that serving is compulsory. The clerk announces the rules; very few excuses will work.
The clerk is always a man of a certain temperament, always sixty or older. He explains the rules in detail, knowing the questions the jury pool will ask in advance; he is patient, humorous, but not someone you mess with either. How does each county find this exact same guy?
I admire the clerk's even tone dealing with 140 adults who can't follow rules as basic as the rules they followed in grade school. Two Upper East Side pre-crones behind me talk over the clerk's spiel. Could they have possibly just met each other this morning? A few people use their cell phones despite the warnings. They talk loudly about budgets, deadlines and other urgent matters to establish their importance.
Some, like me, just burrow in a book and wait.

Christopher Hitchens Lays Blame for Torture Policy

Dick Cheney and his cronies fulfilling the desire of the American people by torturing prisoners, Christopher Hitchens said at a Slate party Saturday night. If the Obama administration tries to prosecute them, these mitigating circumstances must be considered. In the nymag.com account of the incident, the public wanted torture. What?!
After 9/11, Americans wanted "a ruthless government," Hitchens said. After 9/11, Americans were angry, but no rational person (in the general public) suggested throwing out the Geneva Convention.
Chris may have had a few drinks before he mouthed off but he is heading down a dangerous path.
Hitchens does have the credentials to speak about torture. He voluntarily underwent waterboarding, as research for a Vanity Fair article. He lasted about ten seconds and called the experience horrendous.
People have tried to protect the Bush administration's actions by claiming the acts weren't torture, but this is a man who accepts that they tortured, but wants to blame the American people.
When has the government ever heeded what the common people wanted and when was that an excuse? If the government listened to the people, the Vietnam war would have been over in 1967. Our soldiers would be home from Iraq.

Unsung American Idol Heroes: Michael Gurr

We noticed an uncanny resemblance between American Idol contestant Michael Gurr and a certain movie star from the 1940's.  So we made a video about it.

Click on the image of Michael Gurr to view the video. 

American Idol Season 8: Joining the Party

Gene and I are coming late to the American Idol party. Neither of us has ever watched even a single episode before. We've been certain that Idol is not our type of show.
But we've heard the buzz loud and long; finally we decide to see for ourselves. Not wanting to dive in the middle of a season, we save ourselves for the Season 8 premier.
The show opens at the Phoenix auditions, and we think we are watching an Obama rally. The screaming excitement and shameless posing of the Idol hopefuls baffles us. Because we are not hooked on the show. Yet.
All they can say about Phoenix is that it's hot. Wednesday night, they show the Kansas City auditions. Kansas City, whose best view is in the rear view mirror, is positioned by Idol as a hotbed of talent, because David Cook hails from Kansas City, whoever he is. Half the show elapses before we realize why there are so many Wizard of Oz references and so many renditions of Somewhere Over the Rainbow.
Little Ryan Seacrest's role seems superfluous, like one more fly on the wall than you need. My opinion of Seacrest may be biased because of Joel McHale's constant berating of him on The Soup.
Is something wrong with Paula? Why is Simon such a dick to her? Has he been harassing her like this for eight seasons? We keep watching which direction the judges' heads are shaking. Why are the contestants begging for another chance? We can tell what Simon is thinking, we think, by the look on his face. He gets this little smile, showing no upper lip, when he likes someone.
It dawns on us that to be true Idolers, we won't be able to DVR this show all season . . . isn't the real-time voting a big part of the draw?
We hope all this fluff, the shots of the crowds, the previous season flashbacks are only part of the audition show. Please be only part of the audition show.

Seattle Newspaper Looking for a Buyer

The Seattle Post Intelligencer announced Friday that the 146-year-old newspaper is up for immediate sale. If parent company Hearst does not find a buyer in sixty days, the Seattle P-I will likely shuts its doors. They will shut down the presses for certain, but may keep the digital site alive.
In this economy, with the print newspaper industry on the verge of collapse, who wants to buy a newspaper? Who thinks he can turn a money-losing paper around, especially in a two-newspaper town? Any sane buyer, if one can be found, will kill the printed paper and will save the value of Post-Intelligencer brand name for the website.
Pundits debate the remaining lifespan of printed newspapers but mostly agree that the end will come and newspapers will publish only digitally. This New Yorker article, Out of Print states:

Philip Meyer, in his book “The Vanishing Newspaper” (2004), predicts that the final copy of the final newspaper will appear on somebody’s doorstep one day in 2043.

The Atlantic's prediction is more dire:

Regardless of what happens over the next few months, The (New York) Times is destined for significant and traumatic change. At some point soon—sooner than most of us think—the print edition, and with it The Times as we know it, will no longer exist. And it will likely have plenty of company.

The great newspapers of the newsprint era can still be great media giants. The change should not be mourned.
When Gutenberg invented the printing press, how happy were all the monks who could quit copying books by hand? Some scribes complained that printed books would diminish the value of hand copied books. There was a period of overlap where scribes continued to hand copy books and to denounce the printing press under their breath. History has shown that people adjusted.
Watch this video of Steven Swartz, president of Hearst's newspaper division making the announcement of the pending sale to the staff. According to Seattle P-I's own article, the staff reacted to the announcement (leaked the day before) was as one would expect: solemn, tearful, and confused.
But going by the video, the announcement comes off differently. No one seems to be paying much attention to Swartz. But the phones keep ringing and getting answered. One blonde employee in the background continues to work at her computer. Near the end of the video, she runs out of the room.
Perry White (or whoever the dude is standing behind Swarz) shows enough anguish for everyone. He folds and unfolds his arms; he runs his hand over his head, cricks his neck, shields his eyes. I'm no body language pro, but by the end of the announcement, he seems bored. He starts checking his fingernails and shifting his weight.
Start checking your watch, bro, time is running out.

Stephen Colbert Endorses Cow Tax

Click on the image to view Colbert's take on taxing cows. The animals have been getting away with murder. Or is it us?

4-Year Old Shooter: Baby, Get Your Gun

An angry four-year-old shoots his babysitter.
Take me back to the good old days when gun incidents involved a naughty kid playing with a gun and firing it accidentally. Now, children--babies-- shoot with intent.
This four-year-old kid, barely out of toddlerhood, got angry because the babysitter stepped on his foot. He ran to the closet, got the gun and shot the babysitter. Premeditated. Knew where the gun was. Somehow occured to him shooting would be an appropriate response. Where would he get that idea, parents?
Just three days ago, I posted scary headlines regarding children and guns. The clustering of these incidents point to a trend rather than a tragic incident. Parents must be held responsible. If you need further proof that it is the parents, check out this story about a ten-month-old receiving a gun license.
Laws must change.

Paris, France: Diary of My Trip

G and I spent four days in Paris in May last year, traveling via London. After returning home, I lost my Paris photos in a laptop disintegration. My chagrin over losing the pictures kept me from posting this journal.
I kept thinking the pictures might resurface. They must be on one of the digital camera discs, I thought. But how many times can I check the discs as if I don't remember what's not on them? How I did I back up all the digital photos from my gasping computer and miss only the Paris folder? Were the Paris photos on that one bad CD? Should I have really thrown that bad CD out?
Pondering these questions, I ignored the journal itself for months. At one point, I thought the journal might be a computer casualty too. (My laptop died three times during this period.)
Coming 'round to the conclusion that I was lucky to have the words still, I reread and edited the journal. The missing pictures flooded back into my imagination as I worked on the journal. I'm sorry the images of the trip are only in my head.
But here are the words to our four days in Paris.

Burial Plots: A Buyer's Market for Eternal Homes

When you hit hard times, as many folks have, what would you sell to make ends meet? What precious possessions are a little less precious when the rent or mortgage is overdue?
Certainly, things you don't need right now are things you may consider selling. Like those burial plots you've been holding onto.
The Associated Press reports that burial plot brokers are seeing an uptick in the reselling of grave sites. To move the plots fast, they are selling for a quarter of their original price. What a steal! If you have a job, maybe it's time to invest.
Ebay has twelve burial plots up for auction. Is that an average number or a high number? Your guess is as good as mine. A few of the ebay sellers offer free shipping, but I don't see the point of that.
The asking prices on ebay range from $250 to $12,000, but there are no bidders on any of them yet. One seller is selling four plots in Laurel, Maryland, my hometown. Eerie.
I wonder why people even have burial plots to sell. Wouldn't people who plans that far ahead be less likely to get in financial trouble? Maybe the plots are already in the family. Like The Big Bopper's family, who is selling the Bopper's casket fifty years after his death. Or maybe more people make early funeral arrangements than I think.
The only place I heard of buying funerals in advance is in the novels I read as a kid. The characters in the books I read are dirt, dirt poor. Through great sacrifice, the mother who could barely feed her kids would come up with the weekly nickel to pay her life insurance. Does this scenario come from A Tree Grows in Brooklyn? Or A Hero Ain't Nothin' But a Sandwich? All of the above?
This trend also reminds me that "cemetery" is one of English's most frequently misspelled words. To be fair, most people don't have to spell "cemetery" often. But if this sell-off continues, people may stop getting tripped up by that third "e."
Or perhaps, people should learn the easier-to-spell, "cremation."

NRA or Eddie Izzard?

Who should Americans listen to, the NRA or Eddie Izzard?

The disturbing headlines below may help you decide. Three of the four stories below are in today's news:

• Found Guilty: 12-Year-Old Boy Fatally Shot Mother 8 Times in Argument over Chores - Arizona
• Young Girl Who Murdered Family Gets Two Life Sentences - Texas
• 8-Year-Old Arizona Boy Kills Father - Arizona
• Cops: Dad Ordered to Pay Child Support Kills Son - Louisiana

Note the pattern: youth, guns and pro-gun states. In the cases of the 12-year-old and the 8-year-old, someone taught the child how to use the gun, in case of an "emergency."

The Palm's Carrot Cake, A Love Triangle

I live by my diet rules--rules give me willpower.
One year, I made a No Chocolate rule. No chocolate means that my favorite desserts: carrot cake, cheesecake and Key Lime Pie, ducked the ban. 2008, a more stringent rule-year, saw the ban of all desserts. Only a few exceptions were made:

• My birthday (Cheesecake Factory cheesecake)
  
• G's birthday (Magnolia Bakery Red Velvet cake)
  
• Thanksgiving (Doug Jahnke pumpkin pie)
  
• G and my tenth wedding anniversary last night (The Palm carrot cake)
  

Sticklers might say last night fell in 2009. Yes, but G and I begin our new year every year on the Monday after January 1. This calendar adjustment allows us a no-guilt anniversary celebration.
During the 2007 holiday season, a group of co-workers celebrated at the midtown Palm Steakhouse. After we couldn't eat another bite, the waiter lowered an eight-or-so-layer, eight-or-so inch high wedge of carrot cake onto the table. I swear the cake was as wide as it was tall. Some magical extra room for dessert appeared as soon as the cake hit the table.
During this year of No Sweets, I thought about The Palm's carrot cake. I described it to strangers every now and then.
Last night, G and I celebrated our anniversary at The Palm's new location in Tribeca. After lobster bisque, crab cocktail, a 14-0z filet mignon (G) and Alaskan King Crab legs (me), I found room for the carrot cake. (I knew I would.)
As reviewers traditionally say, it did not disappoint. Massive, with cream cheese icing marbling every bite, the cake arrived with a steak knife jammed in the center. Probably representing the time it will take off our lives.
Ahh, but it was sweet. Now 2009 may begin.

Smoking Pope

I know some priests smoke and drink and even break their vow of celibacy. But shouldn't the pope be held to a higher standard? Legend has it that he is infallible.
Let's apply a logic syllogism that I learned at my Catholic university: A = B and B = C; therefore A = C. In word form: If the pope smokes, and the pope makes no mistakes, then smoking is not a mistake.
According the the blog, guanabe.com, the pope even lies about smoking--with Vatican officials backing him up. Wandering off to pray, indeed. My mom would have seen through that lie instantly.
I understand nuns picking up the habit. Bah, dum dum. But where did the pope pick up this dirty habit? In the Hitler Youth, when he was Joe Ratzinger?
The pope has a heart condition and has had at least one stroke. He is the oldest person to rise to the papacy since Clement II in 1730, but his reign may be shortened due to the coffin nails he puffs on.
With implicit papal blessing, Europeans go on resisting the smoking bans that are slowly infiltrating the continent. Particularly resistant are the Austrians, according to today's Wall Street Journal. Forty-one per cent of Austrians smoke daily compared to 19% of Americans. Austria's former health minister, Andrea Kdolsky, is quoted in the article:

"Smokers are old enough to decide on their own," she said in an interview last year.

Opinion polls showed that most Austrians were against a full-blown smoking ban, says Ms. Kdolsky. She dismisses claims about the dangers of secondhand smoke. "No international study tells you that sitting in a restaurant for two hours as a passive smoker brings you harm," she says.

America's new leader might sneak a puff or two. But he has never claimed to be perfect.

The Polar Bears: The Icemen Swimeth

New Year's Day, all Polar Bear Club members across the country indulge in a frigid dip in the local waters.
The genesis of this traditional is a mystery, but the Coney Island Polar Bears first took the plunge in 1903 and the Milwaukee Polar Bears, not much later, in 1916.
Onlookers watching the insanity always outnumber the swimmers. As I wonder what makes the Polar Bears do it, I also admire the fortitude that propels them. Even in summer heat, I am a toe-dipper. Getting into a pool takes me ten minutes or more to get wet up to my waist. Then I hop up and down for a couple more minutes until the ridiculousness of the dance forces me to plunge underwater.
As I admire these brave, foolish men and women of the new year, I ask which polar bears are the fiercest? The Coney Island Polar Bear club might be the oldest, but aren't the waters of Lake Michigan colder than the Atlantic? Doesn't that make the Chicago and Milwaukee Bears tougher? According to the National Oceanographer Data Center, the water off The Battery, New York is 41 degrees today. Lake Michigan surface temperature around Milwaukee is 32.5 degrees. Watch this video of today's Chicago Polar Bear swim, with the air temperature at 14 and the water at 33.
Hypothermia, a condition to be avoided, can set in at water temperatures lower than 70 degrees. So the best place to be a Polar Bear today is in Key West where the Gulf of Mexico's bath water temperature is 78 degrees.
Even in all the crazy fun, whether you're a swimmer, an onlooker or an at-home skeptic, don't forget our real polar bears. Their arctic homes are becoming real swimming pools.