So here's an interesting concept for anyone trying to quit smoking. Take all the money you would have invested in the gradual rotting of your own lungs, and put it in a mutual fund instead. Enter Smoker's Brokers. The idea is simple. Log in once a week, enter in the amount of packs of cigarettes you avoided smoking that week, multiply by how much money you saved, and Smoker's Brokers will invest that amount of money into a mutual fund. They will also give you a few statistics on how much money you've saved so far, the number of days you've extended your life, and other motivational information.

Unfortunately, from what I've seen so far, this is really only a great concept. Customer service seems slow to activate new accounts, payments are done via PayPal which doesn't instill the greatest sense of trust, and there is no automation of payments. There is also no prospectus or indication of where your funds are being invested, so for now, it is definitely a "use at your own risk" kind of site. Maybe someone should take this same concept and make it work properly. Hmmm, do I have any free time coming up?

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Posted by Malcolm at 06:22 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Sing it with me now... "Captain... JeanLucPicard... oftheUSS... Ent-er-prise."

Make sure your sound is on, and listen for a good few minutes until you get good and hypnografied.

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Posted by Malcolm at 02:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Our benevolent dictator tells us that the time is near.

You have been warned.

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Posted by Jillian at 10:29 AM | Permalink | Comments (6)

With Thanksgiving finally out of the way, with the turkey hangovers cleared up, the carcasses boiled, the Indian corn taken off the front door, it's time to start ramping up for the big one. CHRISTMAS. Here's a little something to get you started, because if this picture doesn't say "holiday cheer," I don't know what does. Take it away, Jillian:

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Posted by Malcolm at 10:29 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

So last night, Jillian went out with her friend Angela. I had been sitting in front of a computer all day, and was feeling kind of strange and anti-social, so I elected to stay home. That is, UNTIL I had a couple of beers, and then the social fires were lit. So I did something I very rarely do...I went to the bar down the street by myself.

Going to a bar by yourself is a weird undertaking. You KNOW you're not going to talk to anybody, and you are there for just one thing: To stare vacantly at a televison and drink. The Notre Dame/Penn State game was on, and I watched, nursing a few pints.

The best part of the evening was NOT when an honest-to-god WOMAN tried to pick me up (I swear, nothing makes you feel your age like a bleached-blonde 30something with wrinkles trying to chat you up). The best part was how beautifully I faked man-talk. A dude next to me started chatting about the game, and I found that if I just took everything he said, waited a sentence, and repeated it back, I was believably rugged and in-the-know.

Fella next to me: "Man, I can't believe they're running the fuggin' clock out. DO something!"
Me: "Seriously, with that much time on the clock, you'd think they could pull something out!"

I don't know who we were rooting for. I don't know what we were talking about. Oh, and finally:

That's funny, I could have sworn I only had three.

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Posted by Malcolm at 12:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Ahhhhhhhhhhh. At last. Upgrade time. I used to have a wireless optical mouse, but ended up retiring it in favor of a corded solution because of the precision I need in Photoshop, etc. For a long time, I have been wrestling with myself over the idea of spending a ridiculous amount of money on a new keyboard and mouse for my home rig, but could never QUITE justify the cost. Until yesterday. FINALLY, my mouse just sort of crapped out.

Buttons wouldn't hold for click-drag operations, tracking became weird, and the whole thing just kind of stopped working. My keyboard, though it worked fine, was the no-name model that shipped with my system when I originally purchased it a few years ago. It just wasn't SPECIAL, and I used the hell out of it. Want proof?

Pictured above: The fact that I was WEARING THE LETTERS OFF THE KEYS, and am officially More Tech Than You. Not pictured? The 40 pounds of filth, dust, and disease in between each key.

AT LAST! A reason to buy a new system. If I had to spend the money on a new mouse, why not upgrade the keyboard as well? I opted for the Logitech MX-5000 system. It's completely wireless, and works over Bluetooth. The keyboard features touch-sensitive media controls, an LCD screen that displays incoming email and IM notifications, and more. It also acts as a Bluetooth hub for other things that may need to sync with my computer, such as Bluetooth PDAs, cell phones, etc. The mouse steps up from optical technology to LASER, which means it tracks as precisely as a corded optical mouse. It also is super over-molded, resulting in the most comfortable mouse I've ever held.

It's like a giant batarang.

Setting up the MX-5000 system was not without its hiccups. The bundled Logitech software seemed to not want to cooperate with XPs built-in Bluetooth handling, and I ended up having to re-install the system. Now, though, it seems to be working perfectly.

The new setup.

So here's the deal. I now have a tiny, wireless Bluetooth keyboard, an awesome wireless mouse, and the 20" widescreen Dell LCD. That means, once I sell my tower and buy a laptop, I have a full portable solution. I can use the laptop as is on the go, and then when I get to a new "home base," I can unpack the monitor, mouse, and keyboard, attach them to the laptop, and have a fully functioning home PC. It's the ultimate traveller's solution. Dig.

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Posted by Malcolm at 11:56 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

So we spent Thanksgiving this year not with my friend Adam eating cold cuts and ramen mashed potatoes, but at an honest to goodness Thanksgiving dinner at Jillian's grandmother's house in Clinton, CT. We were joined by her aunt, sister, and cousin, leaving me the only guy there. Luckily, I have the testosterone of 25 ordinary men, so the balance didn't seem that off. We ate dinner, looked at baby pictures, compared Anglo and Italian traditions (oh, you cover your artichokes in meat stuffing? We prefer mayonnaise...etc.), played a rousing game of Cranium, and I drank copious amounts of Jillian's late grandfather's leftover bottle of Dewer's. Here, some pictures so you can truly see this event in your minds:

This picture pretty much sums up the mood of the day. Josephine explains the mysterious origins of this 35 year old jockey-shaped liquor bottle.

Jillian had an entire box of pictures of herself to look at, while Josephine explains the minutiae of each photo.

I elected to spend much of my day pleasantly bemused.

The family gathers around for a game of Cranium.

Jillian and I at the head of the table.

All in all, the entire day was, really, a pure joy. It is nice to see families being all family-like, and you really realize that they are all pretty similar, the world over. The oldest member dodders around, the oldest kid tries to control slips of patience with said doddering, the kids all chatter, and everyone drinks. A lot. It's reassuring and amazing, and I was honored to be a part of it. Happy Holidays!

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Posted by Malcolm at 09:53 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Happy Thanksgiving everybody!

Things I am thankful for: The Egg and Muffin Toaster, Civilization IV, The XBOX 360 I played at Target yesterday, not having to venture outdoors on Black Friday, being engaged to a delight of a woman, the snow that fell last night, laying in bed in the morning and singing songs, getting to do what I love for a living, generic store brand sleeping pills, Mr. Patel at the liquor store, Ramen Mashed Potatoes, Morgan Webb, Mike the Mailman, Ed the Cat, my parents, family, and friends.

Pictured above: Jillian and I prepare the Thanksgiving meal.

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Posted by Malcolm at 11:18 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Mystery Soup

2 13 1/2-ounce cans beef broth
1 8-ounce package cream cheese

Heat, mixing well.
very special hot or cold (but best hot)

Yield: 4 servings

The Junior League of Worcester, Massachusettes

Reprinted from The Eastern Junior League Cookbook. Edited by Ann Seranne. (1980).

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Posted by Jillian at 11:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

So, anyone who likes this blog should immediately go and buy this album, or steal it online, or whatever. It is the first collaboration between DJ Danger Mouse, who was last seen flooring us with The Grey Album, and MF Doom (you may know him as a Kool Keith disciple, Zev Love X, Viktor Vaughn, King Geedorah, etc.). This album, inspired by the Cartoon Network's Adult Swim, features guest spots by Ghostface Killah, of Wu-Tang fame, as well as numerous sound bites from Brak, Master Shake, and other late-night animated favorites. Sound ridiculous? Of course it does. Does it have incredible beats, a sense of humour, and monster skill? Also true. Stop wasting time. You should already be downloading this.

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Posted by Malcolm at 11:09 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

follow this link to McSweeney's

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Posted by Jillian at 09:31 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I met a bundled Dr. Susan Cole outside of Skappo early Thursday evening. It's dark at 5:30, which is all the more reason to duck into warm, woody Skappo, a charming Umbrian place in New Haven's 9th Square. Skappo, like cake, is delicious. The menus are rustic little wooden things, the tables are all inlay and some are communal, the walls are decked with brightly colored flags reminiscent of holy affairs held in town squares in those parts of Europe where they hold on to their relics. The waiter subtly introduced himself as part of the clan of owners and chefs; we would later meet the matriarch, who scolds and charms and cajoles and blesses from table to table. The menu offers small plates, each paired with a wonderful regional wine. Acting as my own sommelier I selected something pleasant containing pear. It was fragrant and fruity with a hint of ancient trees and monasteries. We ate only the crostini and house salad, in order to begin simply and without distraction. Both plates of crostini were palette pleasing. One used a sharp pecorino and balsamic, the other a fresh creamy white cheese that balanced the red pepper medley spendidly. In the hours following, Susan and I transfixed in quiet conversation, the intimate space filled with couples and groups of friends, whose cold kissed faces reddened deeper as they ate and drank the fruits of Northern Italy. Skappo encourages, even demands that one enjoys an unhurried meal. Its warmth will ensure your return for another early winter dinner that lasts well into the night.

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Posted by Jillian at 09:20 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

By now, it's no secret to anybody. When you need a little something extra to kick your rock song into overdrive, there's nothing like adding a little cowbell into the mix. Saturday Night Live did an entire sketch about it featuring Christopher Walken, Paul Frank ripped off an independent designer and made a t-shirt about it, and the cowbell has finally, FINALLY received the recognition it deserves.

As a service, I have constructed what I consider to be the ultimate cowbell playlist. Every song features the repurposed farm equipment we all know and love, and none of them would be complete without that hollow, haunting tapping. As you look through this list, you're gonna be all like, "Oh yeah, I love that song!" Now you know why. Load this into your favorite music-stealing software, and enjoy the rest of the afternoon.

1. Blue Oyster Cult: Don't Fear the Reaper
2. AC/DC: Hell's Bells
3. B-52s: Rock Lobster
4. Southern Culture on the Skids: Fried Chicken and Gasoline
5. The Cult: Love Removal Machine
6. Donnas: Hook it Up
7. Beatles: Helter Skelter
8. Foghat: Fool for the City
9. Bangles: Hazy Shade of Winter
10. Guns N Roses: Nightrain
11. Charlie Daniels Band: Devil Went Down to Georgia
12. David Bowie: Diamond Dogs
13. Iggy and the Stooges: Raw Power
14. Cheap Trick: Dream Police
15. Iron Butterfly: Innagaddavida
16. Duran Duran: The Reflex
17. Jimi Hendrix: Fire
18. Bruce Springsteen: Born to Run
19. Judas Priest: Breakin' the Law
20. Elvis Costello: Every Day I Write the Book
21. Lou Reed: Vicious
22. Metallica: Master of Puppets
23. Creedence Clearwater Revival: Born on the Bayou
24. Motley Crue: Doctor Feelgood
25. Dirtbombs: Do You See My Love
26. Ramones: Suzy is a Headbanger
27. Southern Culture on the Skids: Fried Chicken and Gasoline
28. Black Sabbath: Wizard

Do you have a favorite that I missed? Drop a comment and let me know about it! (Pink Floyd suggestions will be ignored.)

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Posted by Malcolm at 02:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (11)

I know I'm out the astrostronomy loop (orbit?), but I only just learned that in 2000 the director of the Hayden Planetarium had the unmediated gaul to propose that Pluto be demoted from planet to a mere big ball of ice. The people were livid. There was rioting in the streets. It was 1789 all over again. and then there was quiet.

I felt genuinely bummed for the loss of status for the little guy, jettisoned out there all by its lonesome. Pluto puts the "pizza" in My Very Eager Mother Just Served Us Nine Pizzas.

which reminds me...

What do you think about living on Planet PIzza? Dude, I know. You're baffled and gleeful and a little misty eyed at the notion. You're all "This is the winningest idea that has ever been presented to me". Sadly, I'm all, "It's not."

The reality is sinking in, isn't it? If you live on a planet made of pizza, you would never get to eat delicious pizza...pizza would be, like, dirt. Ya, let that get all gammed up in your gray matter. Devasting news. But wait.

I know you're quicker than I am, kittens and you've already leapt to the existential conclusion that if one is a born inhabitant of Planet Pizza one would not even entertain the idea of pizza as being edible. Molten mozzarella would erupt from tomato volcanos. Though terrifying to you or I, this is reality on Planet Pizza. You holiday at the sausage sea and bask on a bready beach. The crust on Planet Pizza is actually crust!

Difficult as this is to digest (yes? no?), let us suspend our disbelief for just one moment to encounter the real cosmological conundrum: Could you live and breath on a planet where you could not eat pizza, where you walked on pizza and as a child played in the pizza, where pizza was what you called home but never dinner. What if our progeny explores and eventually settlles Planet Pizza, somewhere out there in a neighboring galaxy, and the new colony is thriving for generations, but somewhere in the recesses of the unconsious, is the sublte but strong desire to take a bit of the "earth". You are racked with guilt. You think you'e disturbed; you'll be labeled insane and made an outcast of your culture. This could be happening in one of the many parallel planets existing somewhere in the multiverse.

Or, if you had to, could you be the denizen of a planet that was no planet. If you were pleased with your place in world, living on the tiny planet farthest from the sun in this place we call the Milky Way, and suddenly some Earth-bound scientist informs you that your very comfortable geospehere is no planet at all. You're kicked out of the club. Neptune revokes your "Proud Planet" button and all that. What happens to your sense of self and stability. Do you feel changed? Less than what you had been before this diminishing revelation? Can a thing retain its qualities when its classification is suddenly switched? What is in a name?

So, I'm leaving this out there, dangling in the ...osphere: Planet Pizza or UnPlanet Pluto? Which one would you choose?

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Posted by Jillian at 01:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

So I am solidly in the middle of day three of quitting smoking. The way I figure it, at 27, I have extracted every possible adolescent cool point out of smoking that I can, and now am left with nothing but sentencing myself to a horribly painful death if I continue with the sweet deliciousness of mama tobacco. I find the notion of death difficult to accept in the first place, mainly because I can't stand the fact that I am going to MISS the FUTURE...but as inevitable as it may be, I can at least shoot for "not getting sawed in half and my organs removed" as a final procedure. If there is any such thing as a "safe window," where it's okay to smoke, I am undoubtedly at the end of it after smoking a pack a day for 12 years.

After watching my dad quit smoking when I was a kid, I knew a few things. I knew food would taste delicious. I knew that I would wake up at 6:00 AM consumed with the idea of cream cheese omelets. And I knew that I would be a pretty unbearable pain in the ass to everyone around me.

All those things are definitely happening. What I DIDN'T anticipate, was a total inability to even think straight. I sit at my desk, all day, thinking of nothing but smoking even while I am consumed with some other task. I make stupid mistakes. I feel like every single minute is a constant battle to keep my insides from scrambling themselves. My work is suffering, and the worst part is, it would be so EASY to fix. There is ONE thing I can do, that would solve everything. Yet, it is the thing I must NOT do. As my friend Matt says, the singularity of that thought alone makes things fairly maddening.

I've also gotten advice from friends and from articles online suggesting that I need to avoid alcohol, and coffee, and things I associate with smoking. But I would propose a different idea. Go on a three day bender to soften those withdrawal pains.

It comes down to self discipline. When I was a kid, my dad always told me that it was my utter LACK of self discipline that was going to be my ultimate downfall. In some ways, he was right. But what also happened, was somewhere along the line, I became HYPER-disciplined. There is little outside my immediate realm that I can control. But by god, when it comes to my body, and my actions, that's the one thing that I can obsessively master. So I think I'll make it. I won't fail.

I'll miss smoking. I'll miss that hot fullness in my lungs. I'll miss that delicious flavor of burning fur. I'll miss having a go-to activity and solution for stress and nerves. But I have no choice. Enough is enough. I'm too old for this little kid shit.

Here is a picture of some diseased lungs.

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Posted by Malcolm at 06:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

So my old friend David asked me to advise his company on a landing page redesign for his online photo sharing site. I gave him a few suggestions, and those changes are finally live. If I know me, his conversions will instantly go up 30%.

It's also a great service. If you don't yet have an online photo album solution, or better still, if you are using one of those free ad-based junk sites, you should definitely check out what AlbumPost has to offer.

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Posted by Malcolm at 06:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I just watched the documentary, The Coney Island of Lawrence Ferlinghetti, AND IT IS AWESOME.

I had forgotten all about him, sort of. He was interviewed in the Times magazine two weeks or so ago and I remembered how I once adored him and thought about him a lot in my travels.

From my first experiene when I was sixteen with his book, These Are My Rivers. where did I get this book? how did I get turned on to him? from my dad? some book on the Beats? where do we first learn to encounter our make believe friends and lifetime heroes? and one poem in particular, which I studied in chemistry class and concentrated on to make come true (for some reason only known to sixteen year olds)

she always said 'tu'
in such a way
as if she wanted to sleep with you
or had just had a most passionate orgasm
and she tutoyed everyone,
but she was really like Nora in Nightwood
long-gaited and restless as a mare
and she coursed the cafes
through revolving doors and nights
looking for a lover who would never satisfy her
and when she was old
slept among horses

I'm sure this isn't verbatim; this is from 10 year old memory, so don't quote me on it. You can ask me later to borrow the book, which I am currently too lazy to retrieve from my bookshelf.

Later, in Brooklyn I bought A Coney Island Of The Mind but where? Shakepseare and Co.? St. Marks? The Alabaster? That one who's name I never knew, the store of the bearded curmudgeon? Anyway, I read it on the F train back from Coney in the off season and I felt so connected to America and my lonely place in it. It is such a thin, pleasing volume. You may borrow this, too, if you like.

The greatest Beat, if you even consider him one of those, and a true American Artist. This film, which you really must see, watches him at work and at play. He, at seventy-something rides his bike to his bookstore (an aside to Danielle: you had better have gone there!), makes paintings, good paintings!, goes back to the Big Sur cabin where they all did their drunken dances, visits the original Shakespeare and Co., reminisces about his immigrant ancestors, speaks Italian and French, hangs with Ginsberg, and talks about being a poet and dissident.

It's a thoughtful, quiet, funny film that delivers him to us the audience and makes you want to run out West.

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Posted by Jillian at 04:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (23)

Today's Confession:

I enjoy Bacos, those meatless shaky bits that infiltrate cafeteria salad bars the world over. What Color! What Flavor! All Hail the Baco Bit, and their creator, the inimitable Ms. Betty Crocker.

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Posted by Jillian at 11:24 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

1. I was born in Detroit "Rock City"
2. My parents had wanted a boy and called me "Martin" for the first 6 months of my life
3. I suffer from trichotillomania
4.When my grandfather was a baby, he sat on Mussolini's lap
5. I prefer blondes
6. I am not afraid of the basement
7. I crave chocolate!
8. I speak a little Mandarin Chinese, which I learned from an exchange student my family hosted when I was in high school
9. My mouth is full of cavities
10. Sometimes I lie.

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Posted by Jillian at 09:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Charles over at LikeBanana has tagged me for the "20 Random Facts About You" game. He's got a pretty cool blog going, particularly when you are looking for slices of "gay" and "Norweigan" at the same time. And I can't really think of a time when that's NOT the case. At any rate, here we go:

1. I was born in Miami, Florida.
2. I am the last of seven brothers and sisters, though am only close with a handful of them.
3. I turned five years old in Cairo, Egypt.
4. At 27 years old, I don't, and never have had, a driver's license.
5. I lived for four years on a sailboat in the US Virgin Islands.
6. I frikkin' can't stand Los Angeles.
7. I missed out on a dotcom fortune by about 6 months.
8. Being a spammer continues to be a large part of what I do for a living.
9. I have a cat named Ed, and I commissioned an oil portrait of him by an Australian lesbian.
10. I am all set with the IRS.
11. Sometimes, I miss NYC. Other times, not so much.
12. I cannot maintain more than approximately 4 friendships at any given time.
13. I stole my first car when I was 11 years old, and got it stuck on a beach before abandoning it.
14. In spite of being kind of a jerk most of the time, I consider myself more caring towards others than most.
15. During my single days, I once made out with a stripper who was wearing silver pants and had a tramp stamp that haunts me.
16. The last five pairs of shoes I have purchased have been New Balance 574s.
17. I will be getting married in February, 2007.
18. My parents live in FL, and I wish I could see them more than about once per year.
19. I have my own secret, made up set of rules of conduct that exist only in my mind, and I become furious when they are violated by those around me.
20. I am not religious, or even spiritual. If I have one driving rule, it is: "Be a better man."

That's it. All true. Enjoy.

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Posted by Malcolm at 07:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

Any review of a recently opened New Haven pizza place should start with a description of the region's pies, for the uninitiated. You should discuss the history of pizza in the Elm City, the sparring between proprietors, and the long running battle for "Best of New Haven" between Sally's and Pepe's. Unfortunately, caring about pizza history is boring and pointless.

All you really need to know about New Haven pizza is this: It's cooked in hot hot hot ovens, and the crust is thin though still slightly doughier than in NYC. Toppings are purely optional, as is cheese. Some of the best pizzas I've had here are just crust-sauce-grated parmesan. And because of the heat of the ovens, slight charring of the crust is to be expected.

Our personal long running favorite here has been Modern Apizza, in part because they nail the formula, and in part because it's such a cozy, friendly restaurant once you get through the 30+ minute wait out on the sidewalk. But Modern, your place in my heart has slipped, with the recent opening of Cero's Pizza, at 974 State Street and Bradley Street.

It doesn't hurt that this place is two doors down from my apartment. The space is ENORMOUS, with tables scattered all over in little nooks and alcoves. There also appears to be a full, separate bar, which I made a note to stop by after work one day. The staff was courteous, and Maria, our server, made a point to tell us to come by for happy hour, since we lived so nearby.

We began with a simple house salad (iceberg lettuce, and bland tomatoes that can be blamed on the time of year). We were also given some rolls, which were actually a high point of the evening all in themselves. Soft, pillowy, warm, and starchy. Jillian even described wanting to "live inside of them." Also of curious note: dinner service was on paper plates. This could just be a touch of folksiness, but I suspect they opened the restaurant before the dish room was fully completed, and will have this ironed out shortly.

But on to the main event: The pizzas. We ordered two small, one with just mozzarella cheese, and one with sausage, mushrooms, and hot peppers, my personal favorite. They arrived quickly, and were served sidecar-style, next to the table. Every ingredient was exquisite. The red sauce was delicious, perfectly balanced between acid and sweet. The sausage was terrific, and the mushrooms fresh rather than canned. Modern Apizza could take a note, here.

What is setting Cero's apart from the New Haven Sally's-Pepe's-Modern crowd, however, is the crust. Slightly thinner and crispier than you usually see in this town, with a high proportion of cornmeal to give the crust a satisfying snap. It also had the perfectly burned edges that Modern seems to have long ago left behind in favor of "blacker is better."

In summary, you may think another pizza place is the last thing this city really needs, and in some ways, you would be right, particularly with so many masters of the craft. But Cero's is not trying to copy any other style. They have some kinks to work out, and their prices are SLIGHTLY high ($19-$23 for their large "specialty" pies). However, their massive space, their innovative crust, their fresh, incredibly delicious ingredients, and their unbelievably friendly staff make Cero's well worth the out-of-the-way trip. I also can't wait to see what they do with their massive courtyard, once the weather warms up, and I will definitely be making a return trip for their happy hour.

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Posted by Malcolm at 04:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

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Posted by Malcolm at 04:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Delightful Ham Rolls

12 thin slices boiled ham
1 8-ounce package cream cheese
1 cup finely chopped nuts
1 garlic clove, chopped
Mayonnaise

Have butcher slice boiled ham paper thin. Combine cream cheese, nuts, and garlic; add a small amount of mayonnaise. Do not get mixture too thin. Spread each slice of ham with mixture and roll as for jelly roll. Chill thoroughly; cut into three or four slices.

Serve each slice on round cracker.

Yield: 12 servings

5 O'clock Sustainers
The Junior League of Scranton, Pennsylvania

Reprinted from The Eastern Junior League Cookbook, Edited by Anne Seranne (1980).

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Posted by Jillian at 02:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

So with my old friend Matt in town from NYC, we wanted to show him the New Haven drinking attractions last night. Perfectly pleasant, on the whole, but I feel the need to mention our stop at Rudy's. It was the low point of the evening.

First, a little background. On the increasingly rare occasion that I want to imbibe my Adult Beverages out in the world with strangers, I really, really like divey, shitty bars. They're not scene-y, there is zero pretension, and everyone that is there is there for one reason: they want to get solidly ham-faced on a selection of drinks they may not have at home. There's no dress code, there's no disgusting "pick-up" vibe, and there is little chance you will even have to speak to anyone other than a friendly smile and nod at the bartender. It's remarkably easy to find these bars. Look for a vaguely Irish name, or no name at all. A hot tray of old boiled potatoes in the back is definitely a good sign. If there's a velvet rope, you can't get in with your sneakers on, or there are groups of more than four gigantic, tan, oily dudes in jewelry and tiny t-shirts standing around looking for someone to date-rape, you are in the wrong place.

With that said, I must also admit that I was never HUGELY into Rudy's in the first place. Though it seems, on the surface, to be a bar that would fit the above criteria, something always just struck me as kind of off about the place. On my way back from the liquor store just now, I tried to hammer out what these pre-existing problems were.

1. The Carved-Up Tables and Graffitied Bathroom: I know, I know, we're trying to establish a certain vibe here. And in a way, these things do. But there are only so many times I can read "Jeremy Loves it in the Ass" in black magic marker before I am kinda bored with the whole thing. Big points to the old photographs on the walls, though.

2. The Groups of Nouveau-Punk Kids: A long running frustration, and possibly not the fault of the bar. Punk erupted out of a time and place that has absolutely no resemblance to downtown New Haven. Punk was born out of working class hellholes in England. All the pyramid studs and liberty spikes in the world are not going to change the fact that you're in the middle of the Yale Campus, you grew up in Danbury, and your parents are doctors. Please, find a new way to express your dark inner yearnings and be as offensive as possible to strangers. Oh, and sometimes you play music at Rudy's? Nope, that's another strike.

3. The Very Notion of "Frites:" Oh, I'm sorry, are we in Belgium? You can put mayonnaise on fries all you want. Hell, I do, myself. But they're still fries. In this case, pretty damned good fries, but enough already. I feel about as warmly about "frites" as I did about the whole "Freedom Fries" thing that rednecks seemed to be so into for a while there.

With that said, let's think about the good things about Rudy's, as they existed prior to last night:

1. Not Being Picked Up On, or Being Able to Pull Anyway: No nonsense here. Just good old-fashioned drinking, with a wide, cheap selection on tap.

2. Conscientious Bathroom Lines: Everyone has to go, and everyone moves it along. No extended make-out or coke-blowing sessions holding this line up.

3. Reasonable Crowd: Little pretension, except for the whole "Not-Pretentious-as-Pretension" folks, which are at least somewhat easier to deal with.

4. Buying beer at 20: There's always that.

Good enough to warrant a few quick pints, yeah? Not anymore. Rudy's is now officially guilty of being the only thing WORSE than a pick-up joint, and that's being one and pretending not to be. Last night found me slammed in the middle of 150 dudes, all freshly showered, wearing repellant cologne, and looking up the skirt of all three of the women there, most of whom had faces like potatoes. The back room, usually a safe haven on even the worst nights, was full of people playing pool badly, high-fiving a LOT, and drinking shots of Jagermeister combatively. The beer was particularly bad, and tasted as though it had been poured hours before.

There was no place to sit, everyone was there to BE there, take pictures of each other, and sleep with someone. The whole thing made me feel kind of awful. What was once a little neighborhood bar of already questionable appeal, now is in line with the likes of Alchemy (Don't miss "Hooters Night" tonight!), Van Dome (Foam Party Wednesdays with DJ Skribble!), or Gotham Citi (Rohypnol Tuesdays!). We had one beer and left immediately, and probably won't be returning, now that I can drink with grownups. Or better still, at my desk by myself.

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Posted by Malcolm at 05:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Listen Up, Friends and Foes: I'm For Sale. My goods are on the block. The public can bid on my junk. My gently-used personal property is going downtown and up for sale. That's right, if a piece of malcolm memorabilia isn't appealing to you, then perhaps I can interest you in some of my goodies.

Now, I don't have any grand notions about dicovering my monetary value or wearing barrels; only the impulse to shed my earthy possessions, become unfettered from the bonds of profane consumerism, liberate my Self from those charnel grounds of excess belongings, and make a little scrill.

You know... bankroll, beans, bill, boodle, bread, bucks, cabbage, chicamin, chips, coin, coinage, dinero, dough, ducats, filthy lucre, funds, gold, gravy, green, jack, kitty,loot, mazuma, moolah, pesos, riches, roll, scratch, silver, skin, specie, sugar, treasure, wad, wage, wampum, wherewithal...

Because we're not Okies or turtles or snails, everything must go before we do. You simply cannot live off the grid with your Japanese tea pot, Ukranian nesting dolls, and vintage capes. I own some interesting things. They've served me well, are aesthetically pleasing and imprinted with my psychic essence. It's your one and only opportunity to get some Jills (unless we met more than six years ago). Stay tuned, the link to ebay is coming soon!

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Posted by Jillian at 01:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

http://www.plyrics.com/lyrics/clash/thisisradioclash.html

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Posted by Jillian at 07:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

After a cursory examination of our Google statistics thus far for November, I am ready to put together a profile of the average "Dropped In" reader. So far, these are the things we know you have a burning interest in, based on the number of searches for each of the following:

1. "Tucker: A Man and His Dream"
2. Volvo Radio Wiring Diagrams
3. Mortimer Ichabod Marker
4. Free Pumpkin Carving Stencils of Gene Simmons
5. Jilly Transvestite Home Page
6. East Melange
7. Real Estate Commodity Market Globalization
8. Powerball
9. Malcolm Jillian New Haven
10. Sexy Pirates

Good lord, I had no idea such a void was being filled! Where could all of this information previously be found under one roof? And where would all these poor souls go if we were to stop blogging?

Thank you, everybody! We look forward to discussing each of these topics in further depth!

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Posted by Malcolm at 06:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

"You can lead a horticulture, but you can't make her think."

Dorothy Parker

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Posted by Jillian at 01:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

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Posted by Malcolm at 12:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

So, this salty type, with eye patch and parrot and all, walks in to a tavern with a ship's wheel protruding through his pants, between his legs, right at the crotch. The barkeep inquires about his obviously awkward situation, to which the peg-legged mutherfucker replies: "Argh, it's drivin' me nuts!"

This happens to be the only joke I know.* It consistently makes me giggle, though not so much other people. Perhaps because joke telling is not one of my skills.

Fact: parallel parking is one of my skills.

The above joke-like narrative really demands hearing, in order for the funny to be understood. The teller must employ the accent and appropriately intonated vernacular for the listener to comprehend the double meaning. And therein lies the funny. Everbody loves a pirate voice.

I happen to do an excellent pirate. Other impressions of mine include Mae West and Cate Blanchett as Katherine Hepburn. But, I digress.

Because I'm here today to talk about pirates. I'm sure you've all read about the cruise ship that was attacked by Somalian pirates.

...to be continued

* I remembered that I also know "The Aristocrats", because we recently saw the super funny film at the Criterion. I really would like to try and tell it, but it is too blue for our blog, and I believe also requires oral delivery.

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Posted by Jillian at 11:06 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

I realized a few days ago just how many signals I have running through my home. There's the 11-antenna MIMO wireless router, which is constantly exploring my home and changing its signal array to accomodate the other signals. Signals put off by not one, but two cell phones, a Sirius satellite radio, a wireless USB access key, the cordless telephone, and whatever instant death our 4800 watt microwave is spitting directly at my genitals.

I first became aware of the interplay between these when I noticed that just before my cell phone would ring, there would be a few audible noises that came out of my PC speakers. I thought this was weird, but it DID provide a quick warning before the dreaded ring of the phone. But it didn't stop there.

I began to realize, as I sat in the middle of all these wireless and satellite signals, that I could feel them the same way my computer speakers could. I don't have to even hear the cell phone ring, or the speakers chirp. If I just sit still, and think about the signals, I can FEEL them change as they run through my body. I can anticipate anything. It FEELS different when the phone is about to ring. When my router changes which antennas it's using, I FEEL it, clear as a stiff wind coming through the room.

I think I may need to leave the house more.

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Posted by Malcolm at 10:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

So far, being 27 is the jam. The good times began a few hours before midnight Saturday and lasted well into Sunday morning. The college friends surprised me with gorgeous flowers, Angela (long-reigning BFF) and dinner at the restaurant at the top of the Omni Hotel, a bastion of Old Guard culture. We devoured plates of oysters and scallops, chowder and pork and filet and duck--a decadent collection of meaty beasties of the earth and sea; we imbibed deep red wines and finished our L. 14th-inspired feast with a birthday creme brulee (twice in one weekend?!) and strawberries dipped in chocolate. The fete continued at our place with champs (pop, glug, glug, glug, yay!), gifts (iPOD, Dorothy Parker bio, tickets to Dar Williams), parfait (ask Dan for the recipe), games (Frazzled & Taboo), and hilarity. We stayed up, up, up, and then I tipped over. Enormous thanks to all my dear, darling friends for making this birthday the best since the year of the pinata and buckets of pink (happiness) pudding. Welcome to the year of Jills. It's gonna rule.

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Posted by Jillian at 01:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

Civ 4: Our cat feels the same way I do.

Sid Meir's Civilization 4. Glowing reviews. Switch to 3-D engine. True to the Civ formula in spite of Sid Meir only acting in an "advisory" capacity to Fireaxis games. It's incredible. I haven't worked out all the details of some of the new advances in the gameplay, such as the new emphasis on religion, and a wide array of upgrade options for troops. I went to bed at around midnight last night, got up, played until 3:30, and went back to bed. I have accomplished very little so far today. It is owning me exactly the way I thought it would. I'm just thankful I didn't buy "City of Villians" at the same time. November is already shot.

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Posted by Malcolm at 02:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Happy Birthday, Jillian!

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Posted by Malcolm at 02:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Last night Lauren and Malcolm finally persuaded me to have dinner at East Melange. East Melange is an Asian food buffet in a shopping plaza in Hamden. Now, I'm no snob. Er, I'm a bit of a snob, but Christ. This is a far cry from Perbacco on the corner of 4th and B. But I'm game. I'm fun. I enjoy irony and dumplings. Also, I sort of think this is the beginning of an elaborate rouse that will ultimately land me at my birthday party. (I'll be 27 on Sunday, I'm not just delusional). And so I get bedazzled thinking soon it'll be all "Surprise!" and "Have some champs" pop, glug, glug, glug. And off we go.

The Ambience: It is bright. Times Square meets interrogation room bright. So, if you want to see suburbanites eating scallion pancakes and jello up close and personal-like, this is where you should camp out. To tell the truth, there were many Asian families enjoying the sumptious offerings for your eyes and mouths. Which made me feel more secure and hopeful. There was the obligatory fishtank, and then....The Steam Tables. Yes, friends, there were not one, not two, not three, but four banks of glistening goodness, all cozy under their hot lamps and whatnot. And, And, a raw slash sushi bar. Holy conumdrum and calamity.

The Yum-Yums: Lauren and I ordered a carafe of white wine (it was fine) and Malcolm requested a Singha. They have no Singha. I think he got a Heineken. They have that if that's what he got, but I don't recall because saliva was starting to pool in mouth, around my teeth and gums and whatnot in anticipation of digesting all the glorious food products I am about to hungrily ingest. To the plates! I think I forgot to mention that there is a little sideboard of soups. I did not choose to have any soups, though wonton is a soup that I enjoy. It was overwhelming. Everything looked quite good. Bamboo boxes of buns and biscuits; more impaled meat than I had ever imagined; even a carving station! The little ramekin of curried seafood was outstanding, my personal favorite. Also of note: beef on a stick, lobster pancakes, green beans in a sauce, and pork hobos. ? ! Lauren the Brave enjoyed some oysters, and I think she's still alive today. My friend Malc ate a piece tuna (whoch gives him clean strength) and salmon and said they weren't half bad. But who knows. Now, if you don't like things that taste lilke sewer ass, then definitely do not try a long stalk of something fishy where inside you'll find jagged little teeth akin to razor-wire. It has a bad mouth-feel, and, again, to reiterate, tastes like old, dead, decaying ass. Malcolm and Lauren's denoument included some desserts like soft serve chocolate and vanilla and creme brulee. not too shabby. Exeunt.

In conclusion, we were so stuffed...; there was no birthday party for jills; and I probably will not return to East Melange. But that's not because they aren't trying, and truly doing some good and interesting things with Chinese food. I just don't happen to enjoy a buffet, East, West, or anywhere in between.

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Posted by Jillian at 09:21 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I swear, if I weren't already burnt out and halfway over the hill at 27, I would go back to school and study videogame development. I don't really like to PLAY videogames (except for Civilization IV), but for some reason, I like reading about them, watching them, and researching them. Unfortunately, degree programs in videogame design simply weren't an option when I was in school back in the dark ages of 1996, and now, I am solidly in the middle of the rewarding career of, "Spammer." Ahem, that is, "Aggressive Online Marketer."

Enter the XGameStation. For the low price of $199, anyone can get started with the basics of videogame design, programming, and publishing. From the official website:

"The XGameStation Micro Edition (XGS ME) Video Game System development kit... is a retro-inspired educational video game console designed specifically for both hardware and software hackers. The system is powered by an 80 MIP RISC processor, has direct raster controlled graphics, 3-channel sound, built in programmer, and is capable of outputting both NTSC and PAL composite video. Additionally, to round out the retro-roots of the XGS, it's directly compatible with vintage Atari 2600 joysticks as well as custom-designed game pads."

Uh, okay, that has me written all over it. And from the looks of some of the games displayed in their online gallery, they're not too primitive to be fun. Look, you're not going to be creating the next GTA...but your own hacked version of Tetris? A basic Pole-Position-esque racing game? Sign me up. Go check out the site. And, um, buy me one.

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Posted by Malcolm at 01:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

After a month or two on haitus, or at the very least with irregular auctions, I am happy to say MalcolmForSale is back up and running. For those not up to speed, I am currently selling every single thing I own on eBay, in an attempt to place a value on my life, and clear out all of the junk furniture and stupid stuff I have accumulated up to this point in my life. When the project ends, I will own nothing but a shirt and a pair of pants. For more details, be sure to check out "The Rules."

Since moving here to New Haven, I am going to have to re-inventory and schedule everything, so expect the long-range schedule pages to change. But the project still has an end date of July 31st, and I'm only up to about five grand so far. So if you have an interest in any of my stuff, or if you simply want to follow along with my progress, I encourage you all to check out the site.

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Posted by Malcolm at 02:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Pellegrino
girls named Cat (you're lying if you say you're over it)
drawing a bath
preparing for a party
champagne in old-fashioned, wide-mouth glasses
that I'll never know for sure if Sandy Duncan had a glass eye
lathe - the word itself and the machine
A stack of unblemished library books
leaving your train thoughts on the train
Keats in Autumn

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Posted by Jillian at 01:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

By request, here are a handful of some choice pictures of the Halloweenie party, as described so eloquently by Jillian in the previous entry. Enjoy, and be slightly nauseated, as you gaze at the wasabi mustard, the bacon, the chili, the cheese...

Dan was dipping so quickly into that bowl of hot cheese, that conventional photography couldn't capture him!

Maggie looks to the ground, Lauren looks to the sauce.

I present the 12 topping hot dog bar.

Dan captures his creation...I can make out sweet peppers, onions, bacon, and cheese.

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Posted by Malcolm at 05:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

It appears last night's Halloweenie Soiree was a success. The hosts, Malcolm Sutton Bedell and the soon-to-be Mrs. Bedell, Ms. Jillian Raucci, originally of Clinton, Ct., were delighted to celebrate the charmingly dark and spooky occasion with an intimate group of dear friends. Ms. Raucci was fetching in a cowgirl ensemble, while Mr. Bedell sported his signature hat. In attendance were Daniel and Magdalena Raucci of New Haven and Ms. Lauren Weibrecht, the noted psychologist. The Daniel Rauccis, newlyweds and cousins of the hostess, wore ornamental sunglasses to great effect and Ms. Weibrecht, recently returned from weekend holiday in Raleigh, was toasted for her promotion at work. Guests feasted on Hummel Brothers all beef hot dogs and Emeril's chorizo and cheese sausage. A variety - 12, to be precise! - of dipping sauces were provided to stimulate conversation and palette alike. This writer has heard the wasabi mustard and nacho cheese were among the popular toppings. Oh my, how exquisitely spicy that must have been! There were parlour games and laughter well into the night. A grand and ghoulish time was had by all.

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Posted by Jillian at 09:24 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)