The Beat Goes On

Living in an apartment has its ups and downs. The nice things are that you have access to Manhattan, what I consider to be one of -- if not the -- best cities in the world (San Francisco and London are on that very short list). And while living in a $20 million townhouse bests apartment living, it's not always an option for those of us without the means to achieve our just desserts ;-)

So...with an up comes a "down." That down, apparently, is some sort of mythic, mysterious water leak happening in my building. I was told a couple weeks ago that there was some sort of leak, but since I didn't see, hear or sniff anything remotely resembling water damage, all was fine...until Friday.

Apparently, the leak is happening somewhere in my line, so either it's coming from an apartment above mine or mine itself. And since nothing seems to be happening in mine, they're still not sure from where it's originating. However, that not withstanding, two plumber-dudes came by this AM. In preparation, I emptied my entire closet over the weekend, neatly (yeah, right) scattering hanging clothes all over the place, and cleaning out everything in the main closet area (not just the hanging stuff, but shoes, bags, boxes, etc.).

It was quite a pain in the ass, but alas, it was worthwhile as well.

So I'm stuck at home, doing some basic work online but nothing major as they started banging and breaking through the wall in the closet about an hour ago, and they pretty much haven't stopped since except for now, which is the first five minutes of quietude I've had this AM. It's not really loud -- not the kind of loud that drives people to jump from the rooftops of the city, anyway -- but it's BANG BANG bang BANG BANG regular and the rhythm is pretty much in tune with the headache I developed sometime over the weekend.

So.

So it should be a rather interesting day of banging, knocking and survival.

Of course, the BANG BANG bang bang other interesting aspect is whether they'll be able to reassemble all the closet hardware (ie the wire/cable shelving, etc.) that was pre-built. You didn't think I just had a big pole, now didya? ;-)

So if the next update here bang bang bang seems a bit stuttery or out of bang bang bang BANG BANG sorts for me, my BANG BANG OH SHIT you dropped it apologies on behalf of Bill the Plumber, Leo his Assistant Plumber and the entire staff here at the BANG BANG BANG HoB.

Just a Minor Observation

Is it me, or does Michael Phelps resemble an older, geekier McLovin'?

It's prolly just me.

Oh well.

The News About GeorGia

Jorge Terceiro and Renato Gomes.

These two names could, quite simply, be overlooked as just two more Olympic athletes competing in Beijing this summer. Judging by the immense amount of media speeding at us over international, interoceanic fiber-optic cable, it would be easy to skip over these two names. However, that would be a mistake -- whether you're a proponent or a critic of the Games.

Jorge and Renato, two Brazilians, put their indelible stamp on these Games on several levels. After losing their first two contests in Men's Beach Volleyball, Jorge and Renato faced a much more capable, far more experienced Netherlands team in Reinder Nummerdor and Richard Schuil. The two Dutch players were expected to run over the 0-2 pairing of Jorge and Renato, but miraculously, even after a premature celebration at the end of the first game, they beat their Dutch opponents 2-0. The upset was so exciting and so unexpected that Renato ran into the stands and climbed to the top of the seating area and raised his arms in triumph basking under his country's flag. His country's flag, of course, was that of the Republic of Georgia.

Jorge Terceiro and Renato Gomes are both Brazilian-born volleyball players. They tried competing for the Olympics and the World Cup and various other international competitions on behalf of their native country but due to the fact that Brazil has so many talented men volleyball players, they were shot down and weren't able to compete. Enter Georgia.

Apparently, Georgia's representatives approached the teammates and asked them to represent Georgia. For a fee -- part of which was contingent on their success at the games in Beijing -- they agreed to represent Georgia. Their first step was to gain dual citizenship in Brazil and Georgia, which they accomplished. Their second, and perhaps more painful step, was to sit out of international competition for two years, as their nationality was not immediately recognized. Their third step was to train and prepare for the games. Somewhere along the line, these two were nicknamed Geor (for Jorge) and Gia (for Renato), thus making them "Geor-Gia." That, of course, was as much connection to Georgia as they will ever have -- except, of course, the financial one.

Now that they've defeated the Dutch team, it's not clear how they'll fare in the semi- and, perhaps, Final rounds of the competition. However, as much as it was exciting seeing Renato running to the top of the volleyball arena to the Georgian flag, it was a bit different watching the spectacle and knowing his patriotism was, perhaps instead, a great showing of capitalistic pride.

I may be jaded; in fact, after years of reading more news about which athletes have been disqualified from international competition due to illegal doping, or simply hearing stories about athletes cheating or similarly trying to gain unfair advantage, I don't have the same naive, patriotic love for the Games as I did back when the US men's hockey team pulled off the Mirace on Ice in Lake Placid. Then, the Russians were regarded, not simply in men's hockey, as a monolithic entity destined to crush anything and anyone in their path. Under the tutelage of the late Herb Brooks, the team -- led by Mike Eruzione and a bunch of salty, young players too inexperienced to be scared -- was able to stand up to their Russian counterparts and win.

Now, when we hear about Michael Phelps or Dara Torres, the continued, incredible success leaves us wondering whether their achievements are the result of incredible, almost superhuman talent, or from external supplements that make them cheaters instead of the best of the best.

It's not the fault of these athletes, or the Olympics itself, that makes me feel this way. In fact, I feel badly I don't have the kind of almost hypnotic, gravitational pull towards the Games that many do, including my other half. I'm thoroughly patriotic, as I pull for my fellow Americans no matter what. However, when America is not competing in an event I'm watching, it's as disinteresting to me as a pre-season baseball game between the Kansas City Royals and the Washington Nationals. More often than not, I'm sleeping before the contest is a third of the way completed.

I've watched some sports with which I am familiar and, relatively speaking, I enjoy, like basketball and boxing. The former, especially those games featuring the USA, and the latter, are not quite the same as their professional counterparts. Olympic basketball is a bit cleaner and features a lot less show-boating and much less trash-talking, although I suspect the reason behind the latter is invariably teams that speak different languages have a tough time insulting their opponents' maternal parents effectively. And the boxing is a complete waste of time. The reason why people watch professional boxing, as they do NASCAR or other dangerous sports, is they're waiting for the crash that ends a career. They want to see one guy get knocked clear out of the ring like from the Rocky films, and knowing these guys wear protective headgear and, effectively, are sparring rather than competing leaves a lot to be desired. Knowing when a boxer gets "hurt" in the Olympics and when he gets "hurt" in the real world are completely different things make me, as a casual -- if at all -- boxing fan wish Mike Tyson was in there against some French guy who seems to apologize every time he hits his opponent.

The Olympics are an exciting time, but perhaps what leaves me jaded more than anything else is the crass, intense commercialization of the entire process. Knowing NBC stands to pocket somewhere around a billion -- not a million, a Billion -- dollars in the wake of this competition is staggering, and yet it's not as surprising as it is a mere fact. There has been a lot of excitement and drama -- from the Swedish wrestler who threw his medal away in protest of losing a match, to the US womens gymnasts poignantly striving and failing under Alicia Sacramone. It's just that the negatives seem to grow each four years, and I wonder -- and I hope -- that one day these games can recapture my excitement and complete interest like a World Series Game 7 or a Stanley Cup Finals Game 7 featuring, respectively, the Yankees or the Rangers.

I suppose all is not lost; I still retain the hope towards the rekindling of this excitement one day in the future, and despite not knowing the up-to-the-minute medal count, I can honestly and unabashedly root for Team USA no matter if the sport is Water Polo, Trampoline or Fencing. It may not be the Color War I experienced as a tyke in Camp, and it might not be October, 1996, when the Yankees won the first of four world series in that decade; but knowing that the majority of these athletes -- no matter what country they shoot, run, swim or compete for -- are legitimately the best in the world and watching them should be an honor. I'm appreciative of their efforts, and I aspire to really enjoying and following what's happening half a world away.

Every time I find myself detaching, I remember back to 1980 and it all comes back. So I'm not too, too worried.

Go USA!

Food TV: Free for Millions

Despite the fact that this mini-post is more a weak-kneed excuse to link to Forbes' ranking of celebrity chefs than my typical (perhaps anal-retentive) over-analysis, the list and the in-depth look at who these people are (in its incomplete splendor) are worth a click or two.

And, in related, somewhat disconcerting news, Rachel Ray topped the likes of Mario Batali, Bobby Flay, Anthony Bourdain and Tom Colicchio in earnings.

And, in sad news, Aaron McCargo, Jr., did not make the list. However, he did receive an honorary "Coke The Van" lapel pin manufactured by The Franklin Mint.

Okay, that's not true. But it would have been sweet if he did.

Nevermind.

The Epitome of Laziness, Part 37

At some point over the last few days I was multi-tasking my way around The Casa de Boogie when I got a phone call from a friend. I dialed it down for a few minutes to focus on the conversation and happened to notice the Food Network was on. The particular show was "Semi-Homemade with Sandra Lee" and it, generally speaking, features a host (Sandra Lee) who gives tips on how to cut prep time for semi-homemade fare (hence the title). Personally, I'm not a fan of this show because Ms. Lee is not a chef nor is she a cook; she essentially takes ingredients like frozen orange juice concentrate, pre-cooked rice, pre-packaged mixes and instant mixes (jello, pudding, etc.) and incorporates her own spin to create a "semi-homemade" dish or three.

Personally, I think the show's a joke; what makes it even moreso is that it's on the Food Network and not on something akin to Fine Living or, even more appropriately, the Home Shopping Network.

But neither here nor there. The point of the tale is that as I watched I saw her pour pre-bought lemon juice out of a bottle -- in her own "studio" kitchen -- rather than cut a lemon in half and squeeze that bad boy into her Frankenstein-esque concoction.

I don't purport to be Thomas Keller or Danielle Bouloud, so if I appear to be a food snob, that's not quite accurate. I like and appreciate high-end cuisine, but it's not just about foie gras and "Coke The Van" (thank you Aaron McCargo, Jr.). Plain, simple fare is more than adequate, and there have been plenty of times Kaia and I have kicked back with roast chicken and some steamed veggies and baked potatoes and it's better than some meals we've had in quasi-pricey restaurants.

The point is: if your gig is cooking on TV and you're trying to impart some measure of "home-y-ness" to your creations, using lemon juice out of a plastic lemon is not the way to go. In fact, as soon as I saw her do that I actually thought to myself "Why am I watching this dimwit?" There are some things one can do to speed up or help with home cooking; but some of the biggest no-no's are using garlic from a jar as opposed to fresh (if the garlic smell on your hands is your excuse, get a stainless steel fork or spoon after cutting the garlic and rub it all over your hands while under lukewarm water -- the smell will disappear) and squeezing a plastic bottle to get lemon juice rather than cutting a fresh lemon. If your lemon excuse is to avoid getting seeds in your mixture, then fer chrissakes use two hands and squeeze with one and let the juice drip into the other. The seeds will fall into your free hand and the juice will find its way into your dish.

I'll admit there are very few friends of mine whose refrigerators don't have a jar of garlic or a lemon bottle. The reality is that life -- phone calls, appointments, working out, etc. -- get in the way and it's not always easy to get to the store and get every single item necessary to whip up a five-star managerie from a decently-stocked pantry. So I can forgive John Doe and Jane Doe for going the quick'n'easy route. However, a TV "host" whose sole job it is to be prepared and set the bar for his/her viewers should know better. Even Rachel Ray, whose mouth is constantly moving as much as her dishes are speeding along in the 30 Minute Meals thing, always uses fresh ingredients, and I've actually seen her whip up a Thanksgiving dinner (albeit with some 'adjustments') in an hour. So the whole "shortcut" thing doesn't mean you need to buy, prepare and/or ingest crap out of a bottle or a wrapper.

In actuality, part -- if not all -- of the reason we, as viewers, watch the Food Network in the first place is because we're interested and care about what we consume. Seems to me that cutting corners in such blatant, basic ways contradicts the point of the network in the first place.

However, inasmuch as I am taking Sandra Lee to task here, she's more about cocktails and tablecloths than she is good food. I get it -- her standards are lower than many of her viewers. What bothers me is the shitbirds behind the cameras deeming these low-end shortcuts to be acceptable. There's nothing wrong with finding ways to speed up your food prep time, but if you're okay with chemicals and other crap out of bottles rather than the actual foods themselves, why not just call for a pizza and put out linen napkins instead of paper ones?

As I've mentioned before in these pages, Anthony Bourdain once described the Food Network as "striving for mediocrity."

Absolutely god-damn right.

The Uncanny Genius of "All In"

If you've seen the 2006 movie "All In," no doubt you will likely confirm my observations as listed below.

First, the cast is impressive: it includes Dominique Swain (as Ace -- LOL), Michael Madsen and Louis Gossett Jr. (in a rare non-Iron Eagle-sequel role).

Second, the movie, released in 2006, managed to seize on the notoriety of the poker craze that seems to occupy the nation these days. Turn on one of the fifty ESPN channels or FoxSports -- or even NBC -- late at night (after 1AM) and there is poker on TV.

Third, the movie incorporates the "Gen X" demographic much more efficiently than did other similar movies like "21," "Rounders" or "Lucky You."

And finally, the movie was atrociously awful.

There should be some sort of device attached to cable boxes that will spit out a $20 each time a shitty movie is broadcast and watched for its entirety. Or, if this wasn't feasible, perhaps cable companies broadcasting this type of dreck could simply tag these types of shitty movies with a "Ball-Kick" logo during the opening credits. Then, you as the viewer could simply press a button on your remote, and a representative from the cable company -- likely a large guy wearing steel-toed boots -- would come by your house or apartment and kick you in the balls, thus saving you 1:45 or so without your losing the same sensation as if you sat through the entire film.

Or, conversely, you could just check these pages prior to watching a movie you suspect will be shitty. However, unfortunately, when reading the members of this film's cast -- like Gene Hackman and Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio in the 1991 film "Class Action" -- it's not always easy to determine the well-cast yet nonetheless incredibly awful films from the run-of-the-mill time-wasting films like Lindsey Lohan's "I Know Who Killed Me."

So the next time you opt to pick up the remote and fire up your home theater, remember: caveat emptor.

And look for that "Ball-Kick" logo coming to a cable company near you.