May 24, 2006
Top Drunk: Slaying the Red Dragon
Posted by eek at 02:45 PM | Comments (7)
May 11, 2006
Top Shelf.
SFist has the Top Chef drinking game.
This game is fly!
Posted by eek at 07:29 PM | Comments (0)
May 10, 2006
The road to Rioja is littered with shiso tamales.
I have a bottle of el cheapo Montebuena Rioja and a thirst for the dirt ... t minus 10 minutes 'til the Top Chef reunion show. I think Harold wears flip flops? Another brave footwear choice! Previews on Bravo's site show the Tiffanator getting the business from all sides, Dave sniffling, and Ken the Crazy Irishman braying from the back row. Bring it.
Thoughts on the Top Chef Reunion...
I have seen my future, and it looks a lot like Cynthia Sestito. Sailor mouth? Check. Suicide blonde? Check. The only quibble I have with Cynthia is this: sweetheart, ring me. That Jack Daniels you're drinking? Honey, I can hook you up. Tennessee whiskey is but a slow-witted cousin with an overbite to good Kentucky bourbon. Cynthia had to leave the show early because of her father's declining health, but I hope they bring her back for a full season 2 of stashing airplane bottles in her bra, peering down her specs at a tableful of mess, and dropping the smoky F-bomb more often than Sir Harold. In 25 years, I anticipate becoming Cynthia: a ballsy broad with a popped collar, cute eyewear, and a no-nonsense attitude about life and how to live it. May the next quarter-century be filled with the good stuff that'll get me there.
Harold not only sported a questionable sweater (as suspected) and the aforementioned flops, but matched them with camo pants not unlike the kind worn by the guys in the Ag Sci program at my high school (they drove tractors and grew blue-ribbon'd hydroponic shit). Some kids were not meant to go out of uniform. Still, Harold, I salute your testimony on sticking your own finger in the sauce, your Bones McCoy montage on everything you are not, ie a pastry chef, an entertainer, a cast member on a reality show ... oh, wait ...? Anyway, I think Harold broke Gail Simmons' heart when he revealed his non-single status. She seemed a bit too eager to get the answer to that "viewer's question" to me ... Gail, you looked fierce tonight. Call me! I know some bartenders who will take you to Paradise City without a second thought.
Tiffani cried and only the production assistant (adorable!) cared. Wow. I have to hope that she's not an absolutely miserable cow like she's been portrayed on the show, but that's pretty damning evidence right there. If a bunch of weepy drunks won't even rush to comfort your dry-heaving ass, it's almost a lock that you've acted the skank in the recent past. Look, I work in a creative field full of egos and bullshit and constant subjective judgment. As a player in my field, and as a strong woman, I know it's not only possible, but actually preferable, to be a supportive friend to my colleagues (who are all going after the same spoils I am) without sacrificing my own goals. It's all about the Golden Rule - you treat others the way you'd like to be treated and it will come back on you ten-fold. The way I see it, when my friends succeed, we all succeed. We're all in this together, and I pity Tiffani since she apparently feels like she's in the game alone.
Speaking of strong females, Lee Anne's outfit was hot, and I loved her sharing the Swigging Bottle with Stephen, who killed me as the Defender of Truth and Righteousness tonight. I still feel a bit wounded that the final three of the competition were not Lee Anne, Harold, and Dave. Tiffani kind of kills it for me ... her veg lasagna looks fine, but the side of bitchcakes? I can do without. Lee Anne brought the hilarity and the humanity to this show, and I can only imagine her incredulous laughter at whatever retarded challenge they'll throw their way in Vegas. Lee Anne, I pour my three-ounce pour out on the lawn in honor of you, our packed-knife homie.
Which brings us to Dave, the Human Arc. Unlike anyone else on the show, Dave was edited to show a story arc, and that is not to be discounted. Reality teevee loves a personal arc. Though one of my pet peeves is crying in the workplace, Dave's waterworks never bothered me. Probably because I friggin' love nachos. What can I say? I'm part of the 73% who eats tasty falafels and magic lasagnas for 95% of my meals. I work in the nonprofit and academic worlds, people. I can't swing Big Dining Dinners on my salary more than once in a blue moon, so I will take "layered big flavors" over the whiff of ground unicorn horn and just call it a fucking Jerusalem artichoke already plated through a biscuit cutter most days of the week. Paired, natch, with a flavor-for-the-value Rioja, which has, as a testament to Stephen's schtick, taken the place of my ubiquitous Ozzie shiraz.
It is what it is.
Which is to say: fairly amusing.
Can't wait for the endgame.
Past Top Chef entries:
The kitchen is no place for bad genitalia puns
On Harold, Derby, and New Orleans
My mushrooms are gritty - that's no good
... and here's why it's relevant
Posted by eek at 09:50 PM | Comments (12)
May 08, 2006
The kitchen is no place for bad genitalia puns.
I just iTuned the first two episodes of Top Chef because I am a teevee troglodyte and have no DVR. I am old and lame and must be shot for dog chow.
The first episode featured a tragically insane Irish guy. Slap my ass and call me Erin, but I love hot, insane Irish boys. They will drink all your whisky and fingerbang your roommate while you've ducked out for a smoke, but the accent! I swoon! But this guy was crazy, even by Crazy Irish Boy standards. He struck me as the kind of guy who picks fights in the DMV line. I bet he carries nunchucks. Is that how you spell nunchucks? I dated a guy once who carried ninja stars. To, like, the movies and community college. Not a lot of ninja battles going down in the cineplex, but he liked to roll prepared.
Second episode featured the now-infamous sex shoppe hott dessert challenge. But omigod we are not pastry chefs! Heavens!
Stephen created some froofy orchid-topped champers situation [correction: appears to be little more than a schmancy jello shot. -- Ed.] that was probably blessed by Tinkerbell and infused with carmelized princess fingernail clippings. But he looked genuinely puzzled with the whole "sex" concept. He called his dish a Bubbling Orgasm, but I'm halfway convinced he had to look the term up, making that patented eye-squint/cocked head look of puzzlement. What is this sex thing you speak of? I put my hoo hoo in someone's ha ha? Fellatio - is that the next trendy Italian wine region? Bless his cufflinks, someone help that kid get laid ... man, woman, mineral, vegetable, whatever. Harold?
What the fuck kind of dog biscuit did Tiffani string onto those twine necklaces? I'm just not sure how you can be 28 years old and a professional in the kitchen and not know how to bake a damn cookie. I'm sure she is the Chuck Norris of the Kenmore Elite Kitchen and all, fueling all of the ovens by the fire of her laserbeam fingertips, but it's a damn cookie, lady. Even I can make one. At least she didn't give it some cringetastic nickname like Colon Blowing Ballsacks or Lick My Titties. Some of the dish names ... a little, how do you say, on the nose? Big points to Lee Anne for classing it up a bit, though the bar was set pretty low by the time Chunk came out shaking his belly fur.
Harold handmaking ice cream - awesome. Even more awesome was Top Dick Colicchio pointing out the ice cream maker to the cameras, sporting the biggest shit-eating grin. I can respect his sadism, because any opportunity to torture reality show contestants should be exploited to its fullest. I'm surprised he didn't make Candice cover herself in Grand Marnier flavored whipped cream and serve herself as dessert. Come to think of it, bitch should have thought of that herself, her cake was a goddamned mess. Why aren't there more model/chefs? Is this maybe a question that answers itself?
Further gratuitous Harold commentary: sleeveless black t-shirt? Hot. Though I hope those white shoes were, like, regulation uniform shoes or something. They looked orthopedic to me. I should know. I wore orthopedic shoes until kindergarten. What the fuck, I was pigeontoed. But I never wore them into a sex shop, or paired them with a hot sleeveless number that makes me look like the oldest boy left in high school, the one with the Z-28 and the substitute teacher's phone number, you know the guy who'd been shaving, or not, for so long he no longer fronted the ratstache just to prove he could, preferring to graduate to a three-o'clock shadow that gave your face a particular flavor of rug burn that betrayed your afterschool activities to your parents who angrily whispered things like "juvie" and "Outward Bound" after they thought you'd gone to bed. God, where did I put my Guns 'n' Roses album?
Posted by eek at 01:05 AM | Comments (11)
May 05, 2006
My mushrooms are gritty - that's no good.
Posted by eek at 10:10 AM | Comments (11)
April 20, 2006
Chef's a top!
Last night I did something I've never done before. I hurried home to watch the new episode of a competitive reality show. True Life: I have a new television addiction - Bravo's Top Chef.
But EEK! you don't watch competitive reality programming, with the exception of the Real World/Road Rules Challenge, which you only watch for the nudity and catfights!
I know! (and stop peeking in my windows at night! we've talked about this!)
I will cop to having watched a few episodes of America's Next Top Model, because A) there's always the chance there will be nudity and catfights and B) they are in a constant re-run cycle and very difficult to avoid. But it goes without saying that I just don't care who wins. Or who takes home the paper wedding dress on Project Runway, or which bizdork wins over The Donald, or godforbid becomes an American Idol or a Survivor. I just don't care. But Top Chef? I have opinions, America.
Last night's episode just confirms why Harold Dieterle (28, from New York, has worked at The Harrison) should get all the spoils and glory (and maybe get naked in the process). He's consistently solid in the kitchen, laughs when things are funny (amazing, but so many reality show people have no sense of humor), and swears loudly at the camera in Italian. He wears a cute stripey apron. Important: he's hot and butch, which appear to be mutually exclusive traits for televised chefs. He wears that little white coat with rumpled style, though I did notice last night that he doesn't have much going on in the ass department.
Still, the guy knows his way around a coconut-milk soup. And when his team won the restaurant concept challenge last night, he didn't promote himself to win the individual prize like his spazzy teammates, instead opting to give Tiffani the Tyrant her due as a great cook and Dave the Wreck ultimate respect as a great front-of-house guy, helping send Dave to Cannes to suck the butt of some famous restauranteur I won't bother to learn about until he has his own television program. When they sent the sacrificial piglet, Miguel, home last night, Harold pulled Chunk LeFunk close and claspd him on the back of his head in what can only be desrcibed as the sexiest man-hug ever. He's above the drama, self-deprecating, competent, and hot in an apron. Give the boy the prize already!
On the other end of the spectrum, crazypants Stephen Aspirino is really growing on me, despite his pedantic style and creepy Windsor knot ties. Perhaps it's because he journals the episodes on his website and manages to crack me up every time. Who knew the enfant terrible of the sommelier world gets baked and watches Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle (or, as Easy Chiarello on FoodTV says, Castillo Blanco)? Last night, he left patrons hanging in the waiting area without seats and food cold in the kitchen so he could explain, in excruciating detail, the origins and virtues of the Spanish wines he presented with dinner. After we watched him down on his knees, trimming the carpet with scissors while Miguel and Lee Anne sweated it out in the kitchen. And I'm starting to notice his little smirks, which seem to indicate that he is playing an absurd role for our benefit. Bravo indeed, Stephen! You've crafted a reality tv personality as fine as the most idiosyncratic clarete.
As a patron, would I have been annoyed by Stephen's schoolmarmish presentation of ten thousand trivia facts before I can drink my damn wine? Probably not. This is where I admit I have a high tolerance for the restaurant absurd. I frequent El Mundo, after all, where we're often the receptacle for all kinds of running monologue, most of which aren't in the least bit educational. Every time I visit, something's a little off and abrasive, from the NO!!!! sign scrawled in Sharpie and duct-taped across the entrance to their back patio to the unwritten and wholly subject to change rules about downstairs versus upstairs seating. God forbid should you have someone joining you at a slightly later time ... you all eat together at El Mundo or you don't eat at all! In light of the lectures I receive there several times a month, I might even enjoy some barely-legal sommelier blathering about regions and rosés, even to the detriment of my actual food.
I leave you with this snippet from the avant-garde world of Stephen:
To me, food and sex is a close second to food and wine, and quite the "flavor combination" if you will. If you are ever feeling ambitious in this realm, try shaving truffles over your significant other. Truffles are a natural aphrodisiac and not too "messy."
Posted by eek at 07:35 AM | Comments (4)
April 16, 2006
Ahem.
Cough cough BIRTHDAY and HAPPINESS, etc.
Many happy returns of the day to the cutest monkey on the scene! May the babydoll dresses, chunky heels, and heavy-on-the-Urge-Overkill mix tapes fall all day from the heavens for you. I watched Singles tonight before going out and thought about how awesome Bridget Fonda's outfits were, and how delicious Campbell Scott was, and how lucky I am not to have a mime on my regular route, though I did spend a summer miming in high school, don't ask. Happy birthday, luv!
Posted by eek at 01:54 AM | Comments (2)
March 28, 2006
Do you like nerds?
I do.
In honor of A Great Big Nerd's*** nerdy blog (recently discovered, man, give a girl some notice!), here are the lyrics to "Golf Shirt" by the terribly underrated Nerfherder (<- in and of itself a nerd-reference).
I'm not the one you dream about
And I'm not the one you can't live without
I'm not the one who you wanna see
I'm not the one who you want to be seen with
And when you're tired of all the jerks
And you're tired of all the work
And you're tired of being hurt
You will long for the comfort of my golf shirt
I'm not the one who was an old time punk rocker
I was listening to Rush and trying to feather my hair back
When all that stuff went down
I'm not the one who was in a high school hardcore band
I sat in my room scoring with Ms. Pac-Man
And when you're tired of all the jerks
And you're tired of all the work
And you're tired of being hurt
You will long for the comfort of my golf shirt
No tats, no piercings, no hats, no grunge beard baby, yeah!
***In fact, he's just an actual-sized nerd. This is called "hyperbole," which you may pronounce like "Hyper Bowl," but only if you do so in a fake Cosell voice, like the Japanese racer guy in "Better Off Dead."
Posted by eek at 06:18 PM | Comments (3)
March 07, 2006
Eat this!
Last week, Jason reprogrammed the television remote to skip over channel 46 when scrolling up and down through the channels. Now, Reader, we have no direcTV, no TiVo or -FaUx, not even fancy menu-tastic digital cable. We have plain-ass cable (plus fuzzy, blackmarket Showtime!) and a remote that won't work the DVD and has separate on and off buttons. It's unclear to me why we're allowed to exist in such an analog manner. I expect the Sunset Squad to rap on my door any evening now, interrupting my daily devotional exercises in front of channel 46, which just happens to be our local cable affiliate's designated spot for the Food Network.
I've said my piece on sucky cooking shows already, but Reader, I have found a new reason to watch Food teevee: the hot celebrity chef.
What is it about these guys that I find so attractive? It is not as though Michael "Easy" Chiarello is really my type. Well, except for the whole "family vineyards" bit. And he just called White Castle "Castello Blanco," which made me melt a little and forgive him for hosting a show that is basically a gigantic product placement, Napa-style (which is to say, tastefully understated despite abundance of dorky wine glass holding plates).
For those of you who have learned to loathe falsely-advertised "Naked Chef" Jamie Oliver (hate for Oliver seems only eclipsed by rampant disgust for Rachel Ray) and yet still have a place for a pixie-faced homemaker in your lives, just look at Dave Lieberman and try to think mean thoughts. You cannot! It is impossible! Check out his "Good Deal" show and watch him scamper all around Manhattan, dropping food knowledge like "OMG! chocolate is like really hot right now!" with such a disgustingly appealing Abercrombiesque joie de vivre. I half expect him to start stripping in front of the Columbus Circle Whole Foods at any time, flinging a papaya smoothie over his head while exhorting passers-by to Taste! Me! America!
I blame the current political climate. National leaders are so ugly these days, is it any wonder we turn inward to matters domestic? I mean, I would gladly ogle a Senator or whatever, but for the most part they are woefully stuffy-looking when they're not downright unappetizing. Is it wrong to imagine Michael Chiarello using Dan Lieberman as a serving platter for an easy yet elegant cocktail brunch? Reader, these are boys who know their risottos. And that, frankly, is hotter than any subcommittee ever could be.
Posted by eek at 04:11 PM | Comments (7)
January 25, 2006
OK, first things fuckin' last!
Actor Chris Penn, the younger brother of Sean Penn, has been found dead at his home in Santa Monica, California.Penn, who was in his 40s, starred in Reservoir Dogs as Nice Guy Eddie, as well as Mulholland Falls and Rush Hour.
Police said there were no obvious signs of foul play. A post-mortem examination will determine the cause of death.
Farewell, Chris Penn. We appreciated a piece of prime rib when we saw one.
Let's hear it for the boy.
Posted by eek at 09:44 AM | Comments (3)
January 23, 2006
Saaaaaaarsgaaaaard.
Forgot to tape the Sarsgaard on SNL.
I know, reader! I can't believe it myself.
But here's a little Monday morning pirate action. Arrrgh!
Couldn't they have rigged the Sarsgaard into a pirate outfit? For me?
On a more serious note, I didn't catch The Dying Gaul when it played here in town, if it even did. I swear, I blink and the movies I want to see disappear. Thankfully, Capote came back to Baxter Avenue after its previously triumphant two week run. If you haven't seen it yet, do. I guess this just reveals my bias, but I'd rather watch a movie about a writer than a cowboy any day. Hoffman was as brilliant as ever. But let's not lose sight of what this post is really about, which is how hot Peter Sarsgaard is, even when he's talking like a pirate.
Posted by eek at 09:50 AM | Comments (2)
December 27, 2005
Stuff I'd know if I actually read the local tabloids...
Matt's the best thing to happen to the Mighty Fine 91.9 in a long-ass time ... well, he was, until the insufferable Scott Mullins announced his defection to the yonder Midwest, prompting some of us do the happy Snoopy dance.
Too bad my wish for More Matt in Aught Six will go unfilled, as he's scaled back his radio time drastically. Bad for us, but probably good for him. Some of those long-time public radio guys go awfully stale, swimming around their tiny little pond.
Posted by eek at 10:37 AM | Comments (4)
November 14, 2005
Jarsgaard.
Perhaps it's because he is an only child or maybe it's because he is Catholic or it could just be that he allows the complications of his mind to flourish, but Peter Sarsgaard always looks as if he has a secret.
Great article on Peter Sarsgaard in the NY Times magazine.
Santa's coming early this year... two Sarsgaard features in one holiday season? Not only do we get hot bald macho desert dick-swinging Marines, but bisexual elitist literary Hollywood types, too! Campbell Scott and Sarsgaard, together at last. Someone up there loves me (well, at least Craig Lucas does).
Posted by eek at 12:00 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
November 08, 2005
A very stylish book.
Warning: geek-out ahead — Penguin's new edition of the venerable writing manual Elements of Style by William Strunk & E.B. White comes jacketed in a sporty Corvette red hardcover, graced with the most lovely of type treatments and features beautiful illustrations by Maira Kalman. Most of us have a battered old paperback, raggedy with use and gray-cast as only pulpy writing manuals can be, but this new edition is a work of art. Finally, a packaging as stylish as the prose within. The JC gave me a copy for my birthday and I have not stopped swooning. Friends, if you have a nerd on your Chrismukkah list, do consider giftmas-ing this beautiful and useful book.
Next step: compact OED and Greek, Latin, and Sanskrit dictionaries. Nerd ho!
Posted by eek at 09:36 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
Holla back boy.
Looking for a fun new read? The Guatemala Holla interviews visa applicants at the American embassy in Guatemala City, but mostly he reports on expat life in the land of eternal spring (and surrounding environs). He's a real person with a real love for televised sports and travel experiences both cheesy and sublime.
Do give him a read, and do not forget to holla back at him, if you're so inclined.
Posted by eek at 09:20 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
October 25, 2005
Louisville readings - excellent free entertainment.
More help from EEK! on how to land that naughty librarian of your dreams ... escort a literary hottie to one or more of the following free readings by fantastic authors at Spalding University's Festival of Contemporary Writing in Louisville.
Free Readings by faculty and guests of the MFA in Writing Program.
Unless noted, the readings are in the Egan Leadership Center Lectorium at the corner of Breckinridge and Fourth Streets. Plenty of free parking is nearby. Please note: The reading schedule may change without notice.
Sunday, October 30, 3:45 p.m.
Sena Jeter Naslund (fiction), author of Four Spirits
Dianne Aprile (nonfiction), author of Making a Heart for God: A Week Inside a Catholic Monastery
Kirby Gann (fiction), author of Our Napoleon in Rags
Kathleen Driskell (poetry), author of Laughing Sickness
Crystal Wilkinson (fiction), author of Water Street
Silas House (fiction), author of The Coal Tattoo
Sunday, October 30, 7 p.m.
Greg Pape (poetry), author of American Flamingo
Cathleen Medwick (nonfiction), author of Teresa of Avila: The Progress of a Soul
Robin Lippincott (fiction), author of Our Arcadia
Louella Bryant (writing for children), author of Two Tracks in the Snow
Charles Schulman (playwriting, screenwriting), author of Angel of Death
Monday, October 31, 3:45 p.m.
Robert Finch (nonfiction), author of Death of a Hornet
Barbara Hamby (poetry), author of Babel
Philip F. Deaver (fiction, poetry), author of Silent Retreats: How Men Pray
Sam Zalutsky (screenwriting), screenwriter of Stefan's Silver Bell
Monday, October 31, 7 p.m.
Mary Yukari Waters (fiction), author of The Laws of Evening
Roy Hoffman (fiction, nonfiction), author of Chicken Dreaming Corn; Back Home: Journeys Through Mobile
Joyce McDonald (writing for children), author of Devil on My Heels
Richard Cecil (poetry), author of Twenty-First Century Blues
Connie May Fowler (fiction, nonfiction), author of The Problem with Murmur Lee: A Novel; When Katie Wakes: A Memoir
Tuesday, November 1, 2:45 p.m.
Julie Brickman (fiction), author of What Birds Can Only Whisper
Richard Goodman (nonfiction), author of French Dirt: The Story of a Garden in the South of France
Neela Vaswani (fiction), author of Where the Long Grass Bends
Jeanie Thompson (poetry), author of White for Harvest: New and Selected Poems
K. L. Cook (fiction), author of Last Call: Stories
Sheila Callaghan (playwriting), author of Kate Crackernuts
Tuesday, November 1, 7:30 p.m. Celebration of Recently Published Books (Gallery, 16th floor, The Brown Hotel, 335 W. Broadway)
Mary Welp, author of The Triangle Pose, published by Fleur-de-Lis Press
Rane Arroyo (poetry), author of How to Name a Hurricane
Susan Campbell Bartoletti (writing for children), author of Hitler Youth: Growing Up in Hitler's Shadow
Eric Schmiedl (playwriting), author of Denise Druczweski's Inferno
Reception
Book signing to follow. Books provided by Carmichael's Bookstore.
Wednesday, November 2, 7:30 p.m. (Bluegrass Room, The Brown Hotel, 335 W. Broadway)
Special Guest: Scott Russell Sanders, author of Writing from the Center
Book signing and reception to follow. Books provided by Carmichael's Bookstore.
Saturday, November 5, 2:45 p.m. Post-Graduate Reading
Dawn Shamp
ERIN KEANE
George Getschow
Lauren Titus
Edie Hemingway
Marci Johnson
Kathleen Thompson
Posted by eek at 10:44 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
October 05, 2005
Nerd Love.
Used to be, I couldn't listen to talky radio in my car. I needed music: fast music, verse-chorus-verse, and so loud that I'd be mortified when I'd forget to turn the dial down when picking up a friend or a trick or whatever and I'd turn the key and NINETEEN SEVENTY-SEVEN! I HOPE I GO TO HEAVEN! would blow us both into the backseat, no pun intended. In theory, I wanted to be one of those people who listened to NPR, but thanks to Louisville's awesome partitioning of public radio, I can be a public radio listener, yet still not fall asleep at the wheel. That changed the first time I heard This American Life. I fell in love with the themed shows, the mix of fiction, nonfiction, and interview, and, of course, the host and captain of the motley crew of TAL regulars. Oh, Ira.
Thanks to Ira, I discovered David Sedaris and Sarah Vowell (call me!) and learned to listen to people talking for more than a thirty-second station break. And I have second-row tickets to his Louisville show in January.
I might just have to lean in and lick him. The glasses? The hair? The wit? The voice? Oh, the voice.
Oh, Ira.
Posted by eek at 11:16 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
September 19, 2005
The Triangle Pose.
Mary Welp had me at risotto. Or was it havarti? Welp, resident food diva at LouMag and wearer of envy-inspiring vintage outfits, is releasing her finest recipe to date: her debut novel, The Triangle Pose (Fleur-de-Lis Press). Welp's smart, liberal, foodie academic protagonist Anna Wallace (a married professor with a baby on the way) finds herself drawn into an intellectual and romantic entanglement with a local super-conservative speech writer. Anna's narration is clever in that way that makes you feel like you're breaking down the latest gossip with your favorite lunch date, yet smart and heartfelt enough to create a character the reader will empathize with, despite (or more likely, because of) her contradictions.
Read an excerpt, go hear Mary read, and if you're interested in a totally unbiased review, see what her funny brother Jim has to say on the matter. Just when I thought my brother and I were the funniest sibling duo act in town, I meet the Welps. Damn you, Welps!
Posted by eek at 04:57 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
September 11, 2005
Are you reading The New Southerner?
Throwaway society, pop culture, and the politics of the charge of domesticity in the current issue of this new online magazine:
New Southerner is a bimonthly magazine of literary journalism about Southern people, places and issues. We encourage readers to live a more meaningful, self-sufficient life through thought-provoking and instructive articles on good stewardship of our land, conservation of natural resources, neighborliness and support of local communities. We also highlight visual art and literature that show appreciation of these values in Southern culture.
Posted by eek at 01:52 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
August 28, 2005
Radio Free Louisville?
Will WXBH 92.7 - Brick Radio - become a reality? And what will take its place if these scrappy kids can't raise the necessary funds to bring Pacifica to the Louisville airwaves, along with an assortment of free form programming?
Think of it - you apply for a show and you have a chance of getting on the air. Love the Mighty Fine 91.9 as I do, this open-arms policy makes me giddy - real access for the people.
They need about $70,000 to make it happen, folks. That might sound like a lot of money, but in fundraising terms, it's a drop in the bucket. Can you help?
And what will happen if Brick Radio has to forfeit their license? Southeast Christian Radio? Could be. Check it out.
And spread the word - you Louisville blogish types, link it up. Isn't it about time Bryan had his own radio show?
Posted by eek at 10:16 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
May 26, 2005
Don't be such a broomhead.
It might interest you to know that the first season of the seminal Canadian teen drama, Degrassi Jr. High, is now available on DVD. I remember watching a bit of Degrassi High, sort of, on TRIO or some other knockoff Canuck network back in high school, but I've never seen (many of the same characters) back in their unfortunate junior high days. The good thing about this series is that the kids look pretty much like any group of 13-year-olds - undercooked and poorly dressed. There's a lot of unintentional hilarity, too - Degrassi is rife with clunky foreshadowing, silly stereotypes that are "shattered" in really obvious ways, creepy twins, a scary albino, and no small amount of the awesome black and white worldview particular to kids in that age bracket. Oh, and I spent the entire Season 1 waiting for the girl in the wheelchair to have her own subplot, or even some lines, to no avail. You can read about the entire televised lives of these characters (some of whom are followed through high school and beyond thanks to specials and cameos on the Next Generation) on this site, which includes the best description of Stephanie Kaye ever: "She played the girl who liked to dress like a whore at school. In the mornings she would come to school dressed all nice and normal, then enter the bathroom, and instantly became a hooker."
Go rent, now. It's no Freaks & Geeks, but you do see a kid blow $100 on licorice. $100 Canadian, but still.
Posted by eek at 11:31 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
April 14, 2005
You think you have a tough boss?
Heartbreaking vixen Nickole Brown writes an account of her time with Hunter S. Thompson in this month's online version of Poets & Wankers. Nick served as his editorial assistant in the late '90s, working on the Polo Is My Life manuscript.
Into the night and past sunrise and sometimes into the next night we continue, characters like polo heiress Avery Jane Baxter and Charles "Shiteyes" McCrory coming to life, a girl named Jilly marrying her "money-mad brute of a boyfriend" in Reno and driving off in a Lamborghini Jeep, Jilly having "mind-bending" sex with a Samoan fighter named Pisa Finai, and then, finally, dynamite exploding at the CNN headquarters, on "the true Generation of Cowards and Queaslings Who Failed at everything except building new jails and bombing sand-niggers and turning in each other to the Police."
Posted by eek at 06:02 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
April 07, 2005
Heart-hands of oak, or: under the covers, shhh!
Speaking of earworms, Beloved Hot Boy™ Ted Leo does Kelly Clarkson's "Since U Been Gone."
Via Jason Kottke.
Best cover since Les Sans Culottes' "Ces Bottes (sons faites pour marcher)!"
Last night at ADI, Bryan Hurst did us up some great covers, including an inspired acoustic version of "Love Potion No. 9" and "1952 Vincent Black Lightning," which I did not know was a Richard Thompson song. I've only ever heard the Del McCoury version. We love this song because Bryan named his car, a saucy red Mini Cooper, after the leading lady, and if there's anything EEK! can support, it's an obscene kind of love for your car.
Other current favorite covers: Neko Case's "Train from Kansas City," REM's "Who'll Stop the Rain," My Morning Jacket's "Blue Moon."
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April 06, 2005
Lacking my joie de vivre.
Gwenda has a fondness for listing the day's earworm, so I thought I'd share this one with whomever's still reading after my little hiatus. In this case, the earworm is not an annoying song, just one I can't really get out of my head.
"The Legionnaire's Lament" by the Decemberists.
They'll be in Louisville on May 14, but our good friends Scott and Erin are throwing a wedding reception that night up in Covington, so no show for me. Hm, they're in Newport the next day. Hmmm....
Just found out: someone (junkie? fan? vive le difference?) stole their tour van. The van was recovered but the gear, alas, no. Wanna help? He grew up in Montana!
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March 15, 2005
You know, FRRIIIEEENDS.
Thanks to my excellent friend Bryan, I'm now the proud owner of (count 'em!) two cds titled "(Possibly) The Best of the Jam!" The Jam are one of those bands that I should know more about but do not, and I'm only familiar with the songs that make it onto soundtracks and compilations. I'm eternally grateful to friends with superior record collections. If you're not into the Jam, I suggest you remedy that immediately. You might also want to suck up to Bryan, 'cause he can hook a kid up.
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March 14, 2005
Gotta respect the hustle.
Melissa Howard ponders the ethics of being a D-List quasi-celeb with hats to spare.
... because you're a jackass kid and anything some cute boy says is fucking magical and you're doodling his name on your actual thigh in geometry class like an asshole...
I love her, Mariah lyrics and all.
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March 10, 2005
Midnight Cowboys.
Local favorites Dallas Alice need your help. For reasons that should be obvious, they desperately need photos of you "ridin' them little mechanized robot ponies outside of wal-mart and grocery stores." They say they would prefer photos featuring females, but guys, don't let your hairy legs, broad shoulders, or lack of heaving bosoms getcha down. Put on your best Joe Buck kit — fringe definitely not optional — and let the Kodachrome fly. Read their impassioned appeal, but try to keep the giggles down, people are trying to work over here! P.S. this photo is HOT -->
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February 14, 2005
Every day, he writes the book.
Wesley Stace, otherwise known as folk-pop singer/songwriter John Wesley Harding, added another slash to his resume late last year. His novel, Misfortune, grew from a single line in his song of the same name, and to add another layer of reflexive intertextuality, he's set to release an album of new material that grew out of the writing of the book. And it looks like he'll be in Nashville to give a reading on April 28. Saddle up, kids. We're heading south to see one of my favorite singer/songwriters — and though he's English, and his novel is set in England of all places, so he hardly qualifies as part of the Sophomore Interdisciplinary "U.S. Experience," I'll pick up his novel and call it academic research. Wonder how much of this I can write off on my taxes?
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January 17, 2005
I was told there would be blow jobs?
OK, so no hot oral from Sarsgaard, but the look on his face when he asks Kinsey (spppooooiler!) the big "do ya wanna" question, well. ROAR.
I could have used a little more Sarsgaard, definitely a few longer scenes between him and Laura Linney.
You've probably figured out that EEK! is not the blog to consult for breaking cinema reviews, because I rarely see a movie when it first opens. However, Bethmerica has sold me on the concept of "not discriminating against the last minute," so I won't apologize for my leisurely procrastination. Suffice to say that I have been eagerly anticipating Kinsey since the first glimpse of previews, even though I just got around to seeing it.
As a wee child, I remember wondering who this Kinsey was and why was his Report so ubiquitious in all of the human sexuality texts I read? The Moms is an OB/GYN/LDR nurse, so we always had tons of gyn/sexuality books in our library, and I read the sex books voraciously, hoping to be somewhat of a prodigy. Since our backwater public school sex ed was relegated to one embarassingly short unit in Health class (taught by a squicky perv with hygiene issues, no less), I am thankful to Professor Kinsey and his fearless researchers for their invaluable and detailed report on everything from health to behavior, as they were the most frequently-cited scientific report on the books. Bummer for my first asshole of a boyfriend, who was totally chagrined to learn that at 15, I could totally blow a hole in his "guys need to get regular action because it HURTS" theory. Maybe I should have given him a suggested reading list (community colleges being what they were in the area of sex science, I guess) so he could attempt a more scientific approach with the next high schooler he banged, poorly I might add, so hey guy who was way too old to go around pretending to be a vampire years after I dated him, thank you, you have only yourself to blame when I stopped shagging you in the back seat of your Accord, and you're right, I told everyone.
Anyway. Wanna see Sarsgaard's unbelievably nice ass? Go. Go. Go! Stay through the ending credits, the animal sex is hilarious.
Posted by eek at 11:14 PM | Comments (11) | TrackBack
December 13, 2004
My little grubbies.
Feel like a fish out of water, or an ape out of the jungle? Find yourself confused, conflicted, in love with a fickle blonde, stranded atop the Empire State Building? You know what you need for Chrismukkah: a little bit of Kong.
William Trowbridge's book of poems, The Complete Book of Kong, gives the King a voice that's weary beyond his years, bewildered by life in and beyond the movies, from power lunches with Godzilla to NFL tryouts.
All this reading's got you drowsy, sides hurting from hearty giggles. Time to dance! King Kong will set your ass a-shakin and your shoulders a-shimmy. No matter how tempting it sounds, a kid can't spend his whole life dancing in questionable nightclubs, so take home a copy of The Big Bang or another of the Kong's delicious, addictive sonic treats.
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December 06, 2004
Gimme gimme I been good.
Is your mom like my mom? "I want a list!" Every December she requests an itemized req form to shop from, and I have to think up my own gift ideas. Are you like me? Maybe you don't know what you want. So I will tell you. You want this book. Write Your Heart Out: Advice from the Moon Winx Motel is Geoff Schmidt's novel disguised as a writing manual, featuring the charmingly unreliable narrator Gus Jones. Gus is a writer and teacher of writing; he's a man desperate to pass on what he's learned even as he struggles to learn more, to learn what he needs to know to save his own life, writing and otherwise. Go ahead, read an excerpt.
Geoff's one of the best young instructional novelists in the game. His wit is deadly and generous, his characters memorable and heartbreaking (please pause to imagine your Muse, then take her bowling), his narrative seductive, his writing exercises absurd and brilliant at the same time. I could say some things about how Geoff won't come out drinking and whoring with us even when Richard calls and says EEK and PamelaSue have driven all the way to St. Louis just to hit the Cat's Meow and pour Cactus Juice shots down some brilliant instructional novelists's throat, but that would be a cheap shot (they certainly are!) and would diminish my praise for Geoff's brilliant instructional novel, which you should definitely put on your holiday gift-grubbing list.
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December 02, 2004
H-O-double T-B-O-Y.
Oh boy, indeed. 
On the concert horizon: luscious Nashville boy Todd Snider is coming to Headliners tomorrow night, and I've got a golden ticket, thanks to PamelaSue.
Now, you might wonder why I've classified this tidbit as a Tiger Beat entry, rather than Do You Like American Music? The answer is simple and shallow: though Todd is a fine musician, he's a really fine musician. He's cute, witty, and tells his funny little stories in such a precious manner. Would I like him as much if he had fake teeth like Steve Earle? Probably not. Today on EEK! we're all about the hot.
Posted by eek at 11:14 AM | Comments (7) | TrackBack
November 20, 2004
Not your average white boy.
Since this blog is veering dangerously close to becoming the Thinking Woman's Tiger Beat, let us pause for a moment to salute Peter Sarsgaard, whose eyebrows work harder in a five-minute scene than I do all month. Last night, the Moms and I rented Shattered Glass, which I enjoyed immensely, much to the Moms' chagrin (she was snoring, man). I've enjoyed Sarsgaard as the scariest man ever in Boys Don't Cry and the coolest gravedigger since Hamlet's in Garden State, but he was in rare form as Chuck Lane, the New Republic editor who gradually discovers and understands the depths of Stephen Glass' journalistic deceptions. He manages to work doubt, guilt, suspicion, hope, and fear into one tiny little Scandanavian eyebrow — how? Is it the magic of the double vowel? Some Malkovichian magic inherent in the flat Midwestern accent? Why are editors so much sexier than writers? Is it the power or the weary resignation?
ADDED: Listen to Sarsgaard on an old ep of Fresh Air.
Posted by eek at 03:49 PM | Comments (389) | TrackBack
November 17, 2004
Nobody puts Andrew McCarthy in a corner.
Can you ever forget your first love? At the ripe old age of 10, I knew you could keep your Spaders, your Macchios, your Emilios, your godforbid Jon Cryers. All I ever wanted was Andrew McCarthy. His slight whine, pained wince, and nancyboy haircut said: Rich boys have souls. Sportscoats are white. You are special and he will intuit this from across a crowded-yet-alienating room and he will come for you. You will be wearing a retarded hat, and he will like it. I took my first dip with Pretty in Pink, then St. Elmo's Fire and Less Than Zero (special heart-hands for this one), but my favorite Andy Movie will always be Heaven Help Us. If you, like me, are always up for seeing McCarthy in a Catholic schoolboy outfit, sneaking smokes and loving Mary Stuart Masterson from across the tracks, haul your chalice to the video store stat. Have I mentioned he's a Jersey boy? Oh, yeah.
Being a treacherous female, as I aged my eye wandered, settling on such delicious morsels as John Cusack and Johnny Depp, but in my heart of hearts, I will always carry a watermelon for Andy McCarthy. And god almighty, boys and girls. Somewhere, off-Broadway or on TBS, he's aged like wine and cheese, comfy as a worn-in pair of Chuck Taylors, with a little of the sweet and burn of very fine whiskey. Skimming his imdb stats, I see I've neglected several key movies in the McCarthy oeuvre, notably Class. Day-um. I think I need a moment alone. I'm not alone in my McCarthy love, am I? He's guest-starred on SVU, if, like me, that makes you love him even more. OK. Maybe you loved James Spader. All that proves is you're kinda heartless.
Posted by eek at 11:07 PM | Comments (12) | TrackBack
October 16, 2004
Damn, the booty don't stop, girl.
Bethmerica, Alan, the Big JC, and I went to Found magazine's, um, book tour? Spoken word? Musical? performance tonight, and wow. Definitely the best show I've attended in forever, the hardest I've laughed in maybe my life. I am so in love with these guys.
Found is a great little mag made up of stuff people find and mail in. You definitely have to see them read this shit live. Here's the schedule. Lexington, you're coming up!
Posted by eek at 01:55 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
October 15, 2004
The only boy I know who can say "honkytonkin'" and get away with it.
The ever-darling Silas House came up from the wilds of Appalachia to read at Carmichael's last night. His new novel, The Coal Tattoo (Algonquin), tells the story of Anneth and Easter, two sisters who can’t stand to live together, but can’t bear to be apart.
As always, Silas gave a splendid reading — all the bluehairs just about wet their folding chair seats as soon as he opened his mouth. A yooooge gaggle of Sacred Heart girls were giggling up their fugly field hockey hoodie sleeves, alternately awkward and predatory. They must be reading one of his books for a class. Maybe an autograph = extra credit?
Every time I hear Silas give a reading, I learn something different about his family or his writing process. This time, I learned he compiles a soundtrack for each of his novels, something I did after I finished my book in March. It's comforting to know that other people share that sort of dorky hobby.
If you've never heard Silas speak, here are some great audio clips from All Things Considered.
Anyway, my point on this is that old ladies and Sacred Heart Academy juniors go ga-ga over Sexay Silas, and he has earned the EEK! Drinking and Writing Buddy Stamp of Approval, so go buy his new book already, sheesh.
Posted by eek at 03:26 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
September 26, 2004
The first of the gang to die
Just returned from British Zombie Flick "Shaun of the Dead." Very funny stuff, though prefaced by extremely disturbing previews for films like "Jet Li Is Raised to Believe He's a Dog," "Chucky Inseminates Jennifer Tilly," and "Jorie Graham Makes a Pact With the Devil." OK, OK, before you IMDB me, the last one is fake. But I did see a preview for "Mary Camden Fights Vampires," which is sort of on the same level.
Posted by eek at 11:56 PM | Comments (31) | TrackBack