Monday, December 27, 2004
Friday, December 24, 2004
Using the results of detailed studies involving thousands of participants, focus groups, and taste tests, Ferrero, the manufacturer the Nutella brand chocolate and hazelnut spread, has subtly tweaked their recipe to better serve the individual needs of its many international markets. While Ferrero keeps the recipes in strict secrecy, independent tasting and review boards have reported on the differences, and they are quite telling. For instance, the Italian product has 40% less sugar per weight than its American counterpart. In
Thursday, December 23, 2004
A Second Wine Review
A curious, initial waft of wax moustache/lips, or scented marker is noted. Aside from a minor, frightened treble of black pepper, the bulk of the bouquet (or smell, rather) is reminiscent of any number of olfactory trompe l'oeil. This is apropos, as the wine seems like something one should not put in ones mouth. This is a wine masquerading as a cleaner or as dish washing effluvia. I also could swear it was undergoing some process or change as I let it breath. Rarely does one get a visceral impression that a wine is truly respiring.
There was also something haunting in the nose. It was either too esoteric or advanced for me to pinpoint other than to say it made me think of...well, Idaho.
I did not want to drink this wine, from the label to the nose, to the way the retail sommelier shook her head, I was new this was to be no '77 Gran Mutard d'Alexandre. Luckily I had "Marakesh," from Peace Orchestra (CD, G-Stone G-CD 004) on the Levinsons, and had been drinking Bushmills since 6.
Again the haunting whisper of Idaho.
A selection from my notes:
First sip.... At first no flavor, nothing, the wine is galloping to the sides of my tongue, leaving in it's wake numbness and a musty, almost emasculating regret.
Second....This wine may have shared a prison cell with a poor Juet once, but that is as close as it ever came to anything I might drink voluntarily
Third...rag, dish rag, sleeve, leather, Idaho
I was 27 and working Ski Patrol in Sun Valley Idaho, it was 1987. My friend, an architect that was making a killing setting up vacation audiophile listening rooms, and I had a great set-up in a large chalet not far from the mountain. We were living rent free in exchange for showing the owner, a fairly well known casting agent, a good time whenever he flew in from LA. This usually entailed dragging a bunch of my ski school students over on a Thursday night with the promises of "clouds of coke" and both a hot tub and a pool. On one particular night we had failed to create the requested good time, we had in fact failed even to wake up and clean the house that day. Making matters worse was the hole in the passenger seat of his BMW 633i, put there during a blacked out attempt at using incense to mask pot odors.
As it was, he had always had a thing for me, undoubtedly a large part of why were able to use his chalet. He was pissed, I was wasted, I made out with him. He was 60ish, and he smoked cigars, a habit he attempted to mask with a complicated regimen of breath freshening tools. Thankfully some fireworks started after a few minutes and we all ended up out on the porch to watch. The fireworks lighting up our breath, making us all into winter dragons. I noted a hand print in the snow covering the cedar railing that had turned to ice, ice in the shape of a hand. Winter dragons and frozen people. The owner's hand was grabbing my ass, softly.
I can't drink this wine. It is making me think of all that I have done in order to live what I deem a "rich" life, and my utter lack of real accomplishment despite the opportunity and means I have disposed of. This is a terrible wine, three sips was too many. Dr. L.F. III PhD.
Wednesday, December 22, 2004
In Keeping with the Gravity of OUR LORD'S own Humblness. I am Offering to all A Christmas Card, Featuring the AUTHOR, INFLAGRANTO NUDUM, Sitting on his New DEVAN PORT, Bestrode his YULE TREE.
Let us all PAUSE, and RECUFLECT on the GLORIOUS FACT, that, we are not dead!
[EDIT]: Due to the FLAT and LONG Stream of Comments Regarding the HAUNTING and META-PRESENT Nature of this Phosphorgraph, the AUTHOR GENEROUS'ly offers an Explanatory Post Scripture. This is not Truly a Picture of me, Rather an INGENIOUS CON-FABROCATION of Technologies. I used both a CAMERA (Modern, Digital) and a L.A.S.E.R.(Lightbeam's Astounding Simulacra and Elucidary Recumbra) to HAND DRAW a Hyper-Realistic image of my Ownself's Complete Form. To put it by Layman ways, an ARTISNAL HOLOGRAM.
Friday, December 17, 2004
To be noted, it was Later Dicovered through Fate and Coincidence, that SHE who did don said Raiment was OFTEN seen Wearing the "LATEST", thus Tipping-th'-Scales Towards the Latter Option. I remain Flummoxed.
P.S. This is a Fine Cheese: Robiola Vite.
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
The World's Grayt'st Sentence!
Monday, December 13, 2004
My Favorite Lyrics Right Now
Sometimes I live in town
Sometimes I have a great notion
To jump in, into the river and drown
2.When I was a young boy
mama said "watch out for the fall"
Now that I am a grown woman
I know I know I know
3.I want to live in Jamaica
Blah blah blah blah blah blaaaah
A Dream I Had Last Night.
A large bearded man walked through the backyard, and I drew a bead on him. I attempted to lead fire, but failed, the bullet went about a foot behind him. The man did not flinch, and one of my friends remarked, "that guy was a little too cool about that, you should be careful with him".
Breakfast in the kitchen continued and I went to a different room, and was surprised to see this large man staring in the window. I shot him in the face and bits of him went all over the fence at the side of the house. I returned to the kitchen, and started worrying about the body.
My solution was to throw the body into this well-like hole in the back patio which was covered in a heavy metal grate. So I did this and returned to breakfast, nobody seemed to notice or care, but I began to worry more. So I retired to my guest room and fashioned a black powder pipe bomb with about ten seconds of fuse. I lit and dropped the bomb down the well-like hole and returned to breakfast. I waited for the blast, and was just starting to get that anxious feeling when you think the bomb is a dud when kitchen flashed with the light of the explosion and we all spun around to look. There was a huge misty column of green water jetting up from the hole, which rained down, the grate keeping all the body chunks in the hole. I freaked out, I knew my gig was up, and I started pacing around the house, I could hear sirens. I was pacing around the upper floor and out the windows I could many backyards and streets of this topographically exciting burg. People were everywhere scared and running into their houses. Mostly mothers and young children. I was thinking, "these people are really good people, and brought all my white trash filth into their neighborhood, they don't deserve this. I have truly offended and earned the wrath of some very good and powerful people." I was staring out the window when a woman came in and asked, "did you cram anything down into the well?". I tried to lie but failed and just said, "I am just leaving, I am packing my bags and I am just going away". I woke up then.