Michael Helps

Almost eclipses the fun bags. Almost.

In terms of luring new donkeys to my farm, speculating about the junk in an Olympic swimmer’s trunks has been the most effective carrot yet. Within a single weekend, “Michael Phelps bulge” has become my second most popular search term—right behind “white trash tits” (of which we’re in no short supply ’round these parts). What this tells me is that everyone is as damaged as yours truly; that no matter how hoity our toity may seem, everyone giggles like a schoolgirl in a tickle fight whenever a part of our anatomy protrudes unflatteringly.

Well, almost everyone. My shenanigans seem to offend a lot of folks at LinkedIn, and they’ve told me as much. I’ve made some wonderful contacts there, but a disproportionate number of its members still take umbrage with my meandering bullshit. It’s unthinkable to some that occasionally (read: mostly) juvenile humor would ever perforate a food blog. Are they upset because, being sophisticated professionals, they expect a finer grade of entertainment from one of their own? As someone who has pounded pavement in the business sector for over a decade—and dated just about every link in the corporate food chain—let me just say pshaw! Sophistication and professionalism have so little to do with each other, we might as well be talking vegans and real people.

So why the pretentious friction? Consider this analogy: Social networks are essentially digital proxies for actual events. MySpace was the party site—scantily clad morons, zero privacy and lots of conjecturable shit spun by bullies that already hated your stinking guts (so of course it must’ve been true). Facebook is more akin to a family function, with a tighter-knit circle of better-mannered people that actually matter in your life. And LinkedIn is the mixer where we put our best perma-smile forward. This means perpetuating an annoyingly PC environment, lest one career opportunity deem you insensitive. I know everyone didn’t agree with my opposition to the foie gras ban, but I didn’t take shit for it anywhere else. I mean, if overly-sensitive white people don’t speak for the poor little geese, who will!?

And then there was Jack the Raper. Fucking LinkedIn.

Big F’ing Sandwich

True to its name, times two.

• 2 loaves Italian bread
• 1 lb cooked chicken breast
• 1 bag Caesar salad kit
• mayonnaise
• garlic powder
• parmesan cheese

This is as simple as it gets in my house. After a long Monday at work, complete with banking drama and a trip to the grocery story, I was in no mood to do much cooking. This is the result:

Slice the 2 loaves in half, lengthwise. Spread bread with mayonnaise, sprinkle with garlic powder and parmesan cheese. Place the bread on a baking sheet and broil until parmesan starts to brown. While the bread broils toss the salad , omitting the croutons. Make a sandwich using the chicken and salad. Slice and serve.

My boyfriend demands you watch the following musical tribute to Michael Phelps. When his daughter was just a little, screaming thing, he would sing this splendiferous song to shut her up. Nothing else worked. How he thought to do this is beyond me—how he thinks to do most things is beyond me. Dude’s a weirdo.

TWTG says, “That’s why I’m so awesome: because I’m awesome.”

Stranger Danger

The “charming and gorgeous” picture

The following is a very real e-mail from someone in Los Angeles wanting a peepee touch from yours truly. I’ve left all the grammatical blemishes in, and while it might not seem offensive or creepy at first… realize this was sent to me through LinkedIn:

Charming & Gorgeous picture. what manner of beauty bestowed on one person like you. You must have been created on God’s resting day.

I don’t know what to say after going through your profile, what a beauty you are, but in a short note, I will say that am thrilled, I would like to know more about you if you don’t mind. Anyway, my name is [name omitted], i am a normal man and would like to be friends with you. Can i have your email? or write me on [e-mail omitted]. Hope to hear from you soon if you are interested.

Regards,
[I so desperately want to sign this Jack the Raper]

Oh, men, men, men. Sorry, but I really do have to put you all on trial for this—like a class action lawsuit in reverse. Does (attempted) suaveness still work in 2012? Are there still women susceptible to this kind of long-winded puffery? And what the fuck does “God’s resting day” mean? God made me on the day He wasn’t doing shit? Also, I submit that if you have to consciously describe yourself as “normal”, you must also be willing to allow an inspection of the contents of your basement. You will? Ha! Egg on your face, sex deviant! California homes don’t have basements (my sister’s notwithstanding).

Being the way I am, obviously it isn’t my first rodeo with this sort of thing. But… really? Is this what we’re down to? Trolling for résumé ass on LinkedIn? Call me old fashioned, but I actually prefer the shitty one-liners: “Wanna go halfsies on a baby?”, “all those curves and me with no brakes”, “do you like athletic gear, because I’m sporting goods”, etc.. I actually thought of that third one, but you can borrow it if you’d like. Just put it in your pocket for safe keeping—right next to the chloroform.

Charming And Gorgeous Popcorn

Smuggling it into “The Dark Knight Rises”

• 8 cups popcorn, plain
• 8 slices crispy bacon, crumbled
• 1 cup toasted pecans, chopped
• 6 tbsp unsalted butter
• 1 1/2 cup maple syrup
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 1/2 tsp ancho chili powder

In large bowl, combine popcorn, crumbled bacon and pecans. (I popped my corn in bacon fat to add another layer of flavor and sin.) Line a large cookie sheet with foil and spray with non-stick spray. Melt butter in a medium sauce pan. Add maple syrup, salt and chili powder. Do not stir. Bring to a boil and continue boiling until a candy thermometer reads 300˚. (I went out and purchased a candy thermometer just so I could make this recipe.) Pour hot maple candy over popcorn and stir quickly with an oiled silicon spatula. Spread into prepared cookie sheet and allow to cool. Break up any large pieces.

I seem to have a nice theme of popcorn and perverts this week. Rereading the above, I do come off as a bit of a bully… but I can live with that. Maybe it helps to know the e-mail was sent at 12:44 a.m. on a Wednesday—which means, even from a LinkedIn point of view, it screams unprofessionalism. Jack also must not read the blog, else he’d know I’m already in a medium-crappy relationship.

TWTG says, “If I do yoga right now, I’m gonna barf.”