Friday, December 31, 2010

We Made Sushi

Using these recipes:
For the rice itself:
The simple instructions on the bottom work just as well as the complicated, often digressive ones on top, although it does go into the etymology of the word "sushi," which is kind of tight.
For the sushi in general:
I like the video at the bottom of that page, and its awkward "alternative rock" soundtrack. I don't see what's supposed to be so "controversial" about the guy that made Wiki-How, it seems like a pretty innocuous website to me...
Eel sauce:
Tiger sauce:
We got everything from Tan-A, but their fresh fish is not sushi-grade, you gotta get frozen.

Monday, December 20, 2010

Sunday, December 19, 2010

The Noise of History

Cleaning out the attic with my aunt in SF, findin' some good stuff...

A black newspaper circa D-Day:

And best of all, a soul brotha's valentine.
The inside reads:
Most people don't send Valentines
To their 'Brothers,' it is true,
But then most people never met
A real groovy one like you.

That's why I chose this Valentine
It sure means a lot to me,
To know the best darn 'Brother,'
That the world will ever see."

Friday, December 17, 2010

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

thanks to my sister for this one

Monday, December 13, 2010

evil must be punished


Plus, a bonus and "quasi-response" to Nate's Putin post.

Saturday, December 11, 2010

Come Weeth Me Beh-Bee

Like, those backup singers... and KURT RUSSELL...

Thursday, December 9, 2010

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

So Tight

"...the usual charge leveled against comic books, that they offered merely an escape from reality, seemed to Joe actually to be a powerful argument on their behalf. He had escaped, in his life, from ropes, chains, boxes, bags, and crates, from handcuffs and shackles, from countries and regimes, from the arms of a woman who loved him, from crashed airplanes and an opiate addiction and from an entire frozen continent intent on causing his death. The escape from reality was, he felt--especially right after the war--a worthy challenge. He would remember for the rest of his life a peaceful half hour spent reading a copy of Betty and Veronica that he had found in a service-station rest room: lying down with it under a fir tree, in a sun-slanting forest outside of Medford, Oregon, wholly absorbed into that primary-colored world of bad gags, heavy ink lines, Shakespearean farce, and the deep, almost Oriental mystery of the two big-toothed, wasp-waisted, goddess-girls, light and dark, entangled forever in the enmity of their friendship. The pain of his loss--though he would never have spoken of it in these terms--was always with him in those days, a cold smooth ball lodged in his chest, just behind his sternum. For that half hour spent in the dappled shade of the Douglas firs, reading Betty and Veronica, the icy ball had melted away without him even noticing. That was magic--not the apparent magic of the silk-hatted card-palmer, or the bold, brute trickery of the escape artist, but the genuine magic of art. It was a mark of how fucked-up and broken was the world--the reality--that had swallowed his home and his family that such a feat of escape, by no means easy to pull off, should remain so universally despised."
-Michael Chabon

Friday, December 3, 2010

best four hours of movie i've experienced in years.
sorry wiseau... upstaged! (in my heart)