A number of you attempted to make a roux (fat+flour sauce base) this weekend. Some of you started to add flour to the warm milk and butter and it clumped up like gummy balls. Others experienced grittiness. Most of us have a snap style mesh ball tea infuser rattling around inside a drawer. Try adding the flour using the mesh ball infuser. For instance, if you are making mac-n-cheese with a Béchamel (milk+butter+flour), fill the infuser with flour and gently tap the infuser against the side of the pan to disperse a gentle dusting. No clumps. Need an even sprinkle of powdered sugar on cookies? Try administering the sweet sugarfrost with the infuser. Sifters can be unwieldy, with an infuser you better control the mess. Making a meringue or angel food cake? This is a great technique for adding sugar without collapsing your eggy fluff.
Say My Name ∴ Peking Duk
Psycho Killer (Acoustic) ◊ Talking Heads
Hold on to Your Friends ∇ Morrissey
The Answer ∗ Trentemøller remix UNKLE
I Know ⇔ Fiona Apple
As many of you know, I’m a yoga teacher. Whatever, roll your eyes. This one dude has been sporadically coming to my class for a couple years. He’s nice enough, I guess; albeit a little clingy. He’s always trying to hug. (Stop hugging your yoga teacher. We don’t want to hug everybody.) Recently, he’s been pressing me to have an “evening tea with him.” He’s married and his wife is out of the country on the front side of relocating the family. So the wife takes the kids to Europe to get settled, and the chubby little skeeze of a husband hits on his yoga teacher. Fucking Gross. I tried to just dust him off, but he keeps coming back with pressured persistence. Asshole, I’m not going to participate in your piggish fuckery. I am not going to carry on with you in a way that disrespects your wife. I decline to create the appearance of impropriety or compromise my character, dickwad Do not be naively drawn into these nefarious shenanigans under false pretenses, folks. He’s really trying to fuck. They’re always trying to fuck.
Here’s a puzzler: Why is Glamour magazine naming Caitlyn fucking Jenner “Woman of the Year” when Caitlyn Jenner hasn’t even been living as a woman for a full year? What does Caitlyn Jenner know about the struggle of womanhood? Has Caitlyn Jenner ever endured menstrual cramps? Fuck no. Has Caitlyn Jenner ever been paid less for equal work because of her vagina? Hell no. When Caitlyn Jenner walks alone at night is she afraid she’s going to be raped? I doubt it very seriously. Transgender poster girl, maybe. Woman of the year? Well that’s just an insult to those of us who haven’t lived with the benefit of affluent, white, male, privilege for the last 65 years. Eat a dick, Glamour, you traitorous rag!
Alright yogis, I know you are busy. I know you have kids. I know you are electronically leashed in a variety of ways. All that notwithstanding, do you really NEED your cell phone in yoga class? Yoga is a spiritual practice. Your postures are your body praying. Would you bring a cell phone into pray? Leave your electronics, keys, and shoes outside the yoga room. If you are understandably nervous about your shit getting stolen, lock it up. Namaste.
For about the last month, an anticipatory buzz has been building around the Starz miniseries Flesh and Bone. If you’re thinking all ballet stories are the same, you’re right. There’s always the Company neophyte, the aging star, the temperamental director and his put-upon assistant. The archetypes are familiar, but I still ♥♥♥ Flesh and Bone. Some dance movies skimp on the dance and the ones that don’t often skimp on story. Flesh and Bone has every ballet company cliché: drugs, fucking, fashion, music, dancing, backstabbing, and broken toenails. It’s Black Swan + Center Stage + Showgirls. Give it a twirl.
Next weekend is the First Annual Lip Sync Showcase. I have to prepare a number. What song would you choose? I’ve been profoundly contemplating my choice. I’m not sure what to perform. As a fan of Lip Sync Battle, I’ve been paying close attention to what works and what doesn’t. Nobody wants an earnest lip sync situation. The song must be worded with a wink. There are some obvious go-to’s. I want to avoid those. No Gloria Gaynor. No Madonna. But you don’t want to go too obscure or dark. It’s preferable when everyone in the audience knows the words. Speaking of audience, the selection must hype the people. I know a kid who insists on karaoke-ing Happiness is a Warm Gun, and it is such a bummer every single time. Don’t be that guy. An upbeat song choice is key, but you don’t want to go too corny either. I’m auditioning a few different ditties – and there’s choreography to consider. I gotta get to werk. And for those of you participating, I look forward to experiencing the full gamut of magic you have to offer.
I’m not a huge fan of the air kiss. To me, it smacks of insincerity, but I’ve accepted it’s part and parcel of a standard greeting for certain people, and therefore cannot be entirely avoided. Outside of Italy, how am I supposed to know if we air kiss one, two, or three times? You treble kissers must have strong and nimble necks. There is one particularly ferocious air kisser, who doesn’t seem to understand the “air” part of air kisser. On a weekly basis, she plants a fat, glossy, wet smooch on my cheek. I feel the gooey gloss on my cheek after her lips depart. This is often before I have to teach class, so I’m always paranoid that I have lip prints on my cheek. I love her, but too much moisture, hunny. If we must touch upon greeting socially (which as far as I’m concerned we don’t), I prefer handslap over all other available options. Obviously, a firm handshake is the only appropriate contact for business situations. That’s where many of us could use some work, the handshake department. With some folks, it’s like yanking a sad, little limp dick.