I'm Asking You Sugar, Would I Lie To You?

You Know Baby It's the Fondue Man

I receive a weekday email update called "DailyCandy." It's basically direct-marketing of female-upscale-urban-Trixie life specific to your city (there's LA, Boston, NY, DC, Atlanta, etc. editions as well), delivered into your Inbox or Blackberry in the wee early-morning hours, long after its punny, private-college-pedigreed and probably stiletto-ed writers have put their cyber-missive to bed. They are to lifestyle writers as Snoopy, atop his doghouse typing "It was a dark and stormy night," is to novelists.

Today I learned from DailyCandy that you can hire a guy--I mean, a dude--to come to your house and make fondue for you and a guest. So as to, you know, impress said guest. For only a Ben Franklin and a half, he delivers himself to your kitchen and prepares melted cheese in a pot and serves it with torn pieces of baguette and and tiny pickles you can get at Trader Joes for $3.99 a jar.

He's called The Fondude.

Here's just a nugget (or bite, as it were) of DailyCandy's typical "wit:"

The tete-a-tete makes for a magical evening. And she considers
ordering the fromage á trois for the next time around.

Cheesy but true.

At first I was thinking, Serial Killer, but then this is too chic and possibly gay to be.

Rather, it's another consumer-tunity for the Trixie/Wixie/Lixie (Logan Square Trixie--you know they're a-comin') to spend money on because her career and manis-pedis impinge on her cooking time...

Why not just cook your own fondue, since it's, um, melted cheese and bread? But cheap does not impress. Hiring a chef--that impresses.

As Kerri says:

Cheap? Not even. Especially after dropping $300 for hair cut and highlights, $30 Mystic tan, $75 mani/pedi, $85 microderm, $45 for polish lady to clean super cute apartment, $50 scented candles, $85 on La Perla bra & panties (found at Filenes...shhhh), $375 trapeze dress from super cute boutique on Armitage, borrowed Manolo's (two sizes to small but SCORE!), $4 plus tax for 2 bottles Charles Schwab (totally thought that Fondude came with fancy wine, but he doesnt, so had to speed walk to Trader Joes last minute for 2 buck Chuck and bring it home and pour it in a vase/carafe I bought at CB2), $20 on Plan B morning after pills, $45 firming/tightening/pulling/sparkling/scented body shimmer, $25 lip plumper (free
make over at the MAC counter).

But I do wonder: what would happen if you hired Fondude and dressed yourself up in your finest (or engaged in the preparation ritual Ker has described above), invited no guests and just...watched Fondude melt cheese in a Crate and Barrel pot? Just silently watched...?

Cheese encounters of a different rind.

DailyCandy should hire me.

Everybody Wants To Look The Other Way When Something Wicked This Way Comes

Alright. They have thrown down the gauntlet, and I'm picking it up, despite the fact my sinuses are on fire right now due to an old office building dust/forced-air heat/dry leaves/typical city pollution conflagration--oh, and that I have a thesis to write before May.

June. May. I mean--MARCH.

I loathe November. I love deadlines--well, not love, but deadlines make me make things happen (see above).

So, I'll bring it. I'll try to post to this blog every day. I mean, I have to have an opinion about something at least once a day, right?

And if not--hopefully posting photos is allowed.

I wish I'd taken a photo of this: I biked to work yesterday (and today--my intention until my body--or sinuses--cry "quit it!" as the temperature keeps dipping each morning), and just after I stopped at a red light at Wells/Division, another cyclist pulled up beside me. "Good morning!" he greeted me in a hollow voice. And it was hollow, because this dude was wearing a carved pumpkin. On his head. A real pumpkin. He confirmed he could indeed see through the gourd's nose holes. I rode behind him to Chicago Avenue, and man, he was poised for having no peripheral vision. The head bobbled a bit and he'd have to straighten it, but the looks on people's faces--especially those in that "I-don't-react-to-anything-strange" morning mode--were priceless.

And, for the first moment since I spied Halloween candy at Walgreen's in August, I was in the holiday spirit.

One Step Closer To Knowing

On the one-year anniversary of the crash of Comair flight 5191 in Lexington, Kentucky, the community remembers. My family remembers also its dear friend and champion of so many who had so little.

And I remember these words, by Rob Brezny, as a reminder to never lose your exuberance for life...

"We are primordial miracles. Resplendent avatars. Deities in disguise. Rebel creators. We are wrathful insurrectionaries and exuberant lovers of life dedicated to navigating our way through this peculiar turning point in the evolution of our 14-billion-year-old master game. It is our sacred duty to keep our imaginations wild and hungry and free, and to make sure that all of our fellow messiahs, even those who volunteered to play the roles of ignorant deceivers, have the chance to keep their imaginations wild and hungry and free...

...We can enjoy the pleasures of healing mischief, friendly shocks, compassionate tricks, irreverent devotion, holy pranks, playful experiments, and crazy wisdom.

We can inspire each other to perpetrate healing mischief, friendly shocks, compassionate tricks, blasphemous reverence, holy pranks, and crazy wisdom..."

Maybe Tomorrow, Maybe Someday

Know how you hear about something once--and then you're always hearing about it?

This show The Flight of the Conchords was recommended to me only last Friday. Since then? No less than ten recommendations, articles, reviews, raves, insights, gossip, banter, quotes.

From what I can tell from this latest Universe-is-speaking-to-you instance, the comedy is committed and subtle. And about struggling musicians. Who are Kiwis (from New Zealand).

And hell, throw in cheesy Seventies technology and props (soft-focus lens and giant white cigarette microphones), and I'm ever-lovingly yours.

I can't break down and get cable. I just...can't.

Please iTunes. Show me some love. Show me some Bret and Jemaine.

One Baby To Another Says, I'm Lucky To Have Met You

Today in F**k, That Was A Long Time Ago, Wasn't It? I Mean, I Can Remember 1991 Fairly Distinctly And Never Did I Think I'd Read A Who's-Who's Item In The Chicago Tribune About The Baby On The Cover Of Nevermind, Much Less Also Find His Photo On A German Gossip Website...

...Or That I Would Even Be Trawling Websites During the Workday When, Gee, In 1991, I Was Working At An Amiga 2000 In The Memorial Library Basement Computer Lab On A Paper About The Influence Of Madame De Pompadour, Mistress To French King Louis XV, On 18th-Century Fashion.

Hm, that kid hasn't changed much since the photo seventeen years ago (and he's a bit opportunistic about the experience now).

F**k, that was a long time ago...

Jump Back! What's That Sound?

Van Halen announced it is reforming (ha! pun!) for a new tour this fall, with original lead singer David Lee Roth back in the saddle. Or chaps. Assless, graffitti-painted chaps.

Anyway, the lineup is not quite that original, since bassist Michael Anthony--he of the Jack Daniels bass guitar--has gotten the heave-ho.

I don't care about the infighting. I don't care about the undeniable and veritable tidal wave of bad perms that will come out of hiding during this tour.

I just care that the reunion prompted me to find this video and re-watch it (even though I saw it no less than 1,433,709 times during the summer of 1984), and realize I had forgotten all about those canvas, flat-topped painter's caps with the protective neck panels. Damn.

But There's No Stoppin' A Duck And His Beat

It's Five O'Clock Somewhere

It's Called Gratitude (And That's Right) - Vol. 2

Because of Beach time.