So I made this for dinner.
Merken tastes a lot better than you’d think, mostly because it’s actually merkén, a Chilean seasoning blend of salt, cumin, coriander and something called cacho de cabra. But considering that merkén is a thing and all, you’d think whoever designed the packaging would have thought to include the accent mark, because merkins are also things. In fact, in spite of the associated shame, people would probably recognize merkin before they’d recognize merkén.
This is like the smen incident all over again.
Food gets sexy, previously:
Thursday, April 19, 2012
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Better Than a Homicidal Dwarf
Hi.
So I haven’t posted anything here in some time now, but I have a good justification: In the span of ten days, I’ve left my job and my apartment, and then I began a new job and moved into a new apartment on the other side of Los Angeles. It’s been a positive transition, overall, but I’ve been investing all of my time in making my new digs — both residential and professional — as comfortable as possible. Besides, you didn’t really want to hear stories about me unpacking boxes, did you? Of course you didn’t. No one ever wants to hear about anyone else’s moving experience ever.
Tonight, however, I actually have something to say. The full force of the following story will best be appreciated if you’ve seen the 1973 thriller Don’t Look Now. In fact, you may want to stop reading now and go rent this classic Donald Sutherland film now, even though I’ll be explaining the relevant plot points as I go.
Now that I’ve moved far from the streetlight-studded avenues of Brentwood, walking around my neighborhood is an exercise in “What did I just step on?” and “Oh, apparently there was a puddle there” and “Who would have predicted how uneven this sidewalk is?” I find these inconveniences fairly tolerable, since my rent dollar stretches a lot farther where I am now. But on Sunday night, while I was walking to my new apartment, I spotted something unidentifiable about half a block in front of me. It was about two feet tall and walking away from me... on two legs. I wasn’t wearing my glasses and my fellow biped was mostly obscured by shadows, so I still had to stop — like, literally cease movement — and watch this thing plod away, just so I could attempt to answer the question, “What the fuck is that?” The body shape and weird gait ruled out a cat or a dog or a raccoon or a skunk, and you just rarely see too many neighborhood critters walking, however awkwardly, on two legs nowadays. And while the questions lingered long after it scuttled into a gap in a fence, I didn’t mention it to everyone, because any of the possible answers — chupacabra or elf or diminutive spaceman — would make me sound crazy, even if someone else suggested them.
Tonight, in roughly the same spot on my block, I saw it again. It was stopped. It was mostly silhouetted with only a few spots of light showing me that it was gray in color. I walked toward it. It walked away. I moved faster. So did it. But rather than escaping to the left, into someone’s yard, it dodged right, in front of a parked car. I kept moving, having decided that I need to find out what this thing is. I saw nothing when I rounded the front of the car, but as I passed around to the car’s other side, I could hear its footsteps on the asphalt. And when I rounded the hood of the parked car, I heard it rustling in a big flax plant back near the sidewalk. I pulled back the big leaves, still having no idea what I would find…
Okay, so do you remember how I mentioned Don’t Look Know? Well, I’m going to spoil it for you now, and that’s okay, because the ending is pretty much the only thing people seem to remember about this movie, even though it’s pretty solid all the way through. In the movie, Donald Sutherland is grieving over the accidental drowning of his daughter. But upon moving to Italy — and away from the home at which she drowned — he keeps seeing her on the streets, wearing the same red rain slicker she had on when she died. In the film’s final moments, he chases what he suspects could be his daughter or even the ghost of his daughter. He corners the mysterious figure in an old, deserted palazzo.
You know what? Watch the clip. (Warning: It’s bloody and highly unpleasant.)
Yes, the figure he thought might be his daughter or whatever turns out to be a gibbering, homicidal dwarf who produces a razor and slashes him to death. In the context of the film, it’s a commentary on his inability to let go of his dead child: Had he accepted that she died, he would have lived, but he instead fixated on the hope of her being alive and therefore ended up dying himself. However, in the context of this story — and, really, the isolated clip and the fact that it’s the only thing most people remember about Don’t Look Now — it’s just jarring, surreal and nightmarish.
This scene was the only thing I had in mind as I reached for the potentially lethal whatsit in the flax plant.
With uncharacteristic levels of bravery pushing me onward, I pulled back the leaves at once I was greeted with a flurry of angry movement. And hissing. And flapping. And feathers. It was a duck — a gray duck, in fact, who was none too happy at having his hidey spot uncovered. And with that revelation, I turned around and walked home. Mystery? Solved.
Had I been anywhere else besides the middle of thoroughly urban Los Angeles, I might have thought, “Oh, maybe the thing walking on two legs was a large bird.” But I just don’t often see birds that size around these parts, much less taking night walks along the same schedule that I take mine. Though I could likely see the duck again, based on this past week, I feel like I’ll probably never know why he lives in my neighborhood. I wish him well. I hope he’s found a good life here in L.A.
So I haven’t posted anything here in some time now, but I have a good justification: In the span of ten days, I’ve left my job and my apartment, and then I began a new job and moved into a new apartment on the other side of Los Angeles. It’s been a positive transition, overall, but I’ve been investing all of my time in making my new digs — both residential and professional — as comfortable as possible. Besides, you didn’t really want to hear stories about me unpacking boxes, did you? Of course you didn’t. No one ever wants to hear about anyone else’s moving experience ever.
Tonight, however, I actually have something to say. The full force of the following story will best be appreciated if you’ve seen the 1973 thriller Don’t Look Now. In fact, you may want to stop reading now and go rent this classic Donald Sutherland film now, even though I’ll be explaining the relevant plot points as I go.
Now that I’ve moved far from the streetlight-studded avenues of Brentwood, walking around my neighborhood is an exercise in “What did I just step on?” and “Oh, apparently there was a puddle there” and “Who would have predicted how uneven this sidewalk is?” I find these inconveniences fairly tolerable, since my rent dollar stretches a lot farther where I am now. But on Sunday night, while I was walking to my new apartment, I spotted something unidentifiable about half a block in front of me. It was about two feet tall and walking away from me... on two legs. I wasn’t wearing my glasses and my fellow biped was mostly obscured by shadows, so I still had to stop — like, literally cease movement — and watch this thing plod away, just so I could attempt to answer the question, “What the fuck is that?” The body shape and weird gait ruled out a cat or a dog or a raccoon or a skunk, and you just rarely see too many neighborhood critters walking, however awkwardly, on two legs nowadays. And while the questions lingered long after it scuttled into a gap in a fence, I didn’t mention it to everyone, because any of the possible answers — chupacabra or elf or diminutive spaceman — would make me sound crazy, even if someone else suggested them.
Tonight, in roughly the same spot on my block, I saw it again. It was stopped. It was mostly silhouetted with only a few spots of light showing me that it was gray in color. I walked toward it. It walked away. I moved faster. So did it. But rather than escaping to the left, into someone’s yard, it dodged right, in front of a parked car. I kept moving, having decided that I need to find out what this thing is. I saw nothing when I rounded the front of the car, but as I passed around to the car’s other side, I could hear its footsteps on the asphalt. And when I rounded the hood of the parked car, I heard it rustling in a big flax plant back near the sidewalk. I pulled back the big leaves, still having no idea what I would find…
{ A BRIEF INTERMISSION }
Okay, so do you remember how I mentioned Don’t Look Know? Well, I’m going to spoil it for you now, and that’s okay, because the ending is pretty much the only thing people seem to remember about this movie, even though it’s pretty solid all the way through. In the movie, Donald Sutherland is grieving over the accidental drowning of his daughter. But upon moving to Italy — and away from the home at which she drowned — he keeps seeing her on the streets, wearing the same red rain slicker she had on when she died. In the film’s final moments, he chases what he suspects could be his daughter or even the ghost of his daughter. He corners the mysterious figure in an old, deserted palazzo.
You know what? Watch the clip. (Warning: It’s bloody and highly unpleasant.)
Yes, the figure he thought might be his daughter or whatever turns out to be a gibbering, homicidal dwarf who produces a razor and slashes him to death. In the context of the film, it’s a commentary on his inability to let go of his dead child: Had he accepted that she died, he would have lived, but he instead fixated on the hope of her being alive and therefore ended up dying himself. However, in the context of this story — and, really, the isolated clip and the fact that it’s the only thing most people remember about Don’t Look Now — it’s just jarring, surreal and nightmarish.
This scene was the only thing I had in mind as I reached for the potentially lethal whatsit in the flax plant.
{ AND NOW THE THRILLING CONCLUSION }
With uncharacteristic levels of bravery pushing me onward, I pulled back the leaves at once I was greeted with a flurry of angry movement. And hissing. And flapping. And feathers. It was a duck — a gray duck, in fact, who was none too happy at having his hidey spot uncovered. And with that revelation, I turned around and walked home. Mystery? Solved.
Had I been anywhere else besides the middle of thoroughly urban Los Angeles, I might have thought, “Oh, maybe the thing walking on two legs was a large bird.” But I just don’t often see birds that size around these parts, much less taking night walks along the same schedule that I take mine. Though I could likely see the duck again, based on this past week, I feel like I’ll probably never know why he lives in my neighborhood. I wish him well. I hope he’s found a good life here in L.A.
Read more:
a funny story
Saturday, April 7, 2012
An Easter Bunny More Full of Fear Than Chocolate Eggs
Four Easters ago, my father made the holiday less than joyous for a real-life rabbit. The incident probably would have disturbed me had I been an impressionable child then, but I was merely an impressionable 25-year-old. I understood that a wigglenose loses its magic when you’re protecting backyard produce, much in the way that a deer’s sparkling black eyes take on a sinister glint when heirloom roses hang in the balance. What I took away from this nontraditional celebration of Easter was that the Easter Bunny truly was inferior to Jesus Christ, for the former lacked the latter’s magic resurrection powers.
This year, the rabbit arrived a day early — Holy Saturday, if you’re a big fan of Holy Week, and who’s not, aside from Satan? My dad spotted baby jackrabbit in the tall grass, in dangerous proximity to the bean sprouts. Because no shotgun was handy, the little guy was only photographed, with the understanding that he’d be on file as having been warned to stay away. He was ushered to the great land beyond the fence, where at least our dogs wouldn’t be able to lay a tooth on him.
He says “quiver.”
In case you’re wondering, he vanished when I turned my back for a moment. I assume that he either hopped his way toward new adventures or a predatory bird plucked him a way in a single, silent instant. Either way, circle of life.
This year, the rabbit arrived a day early — Holy Saturday, if you’re a big fan of Holy Week, and who’s not, aside from Satan? My dad spotted baby jackrabbit in the tall grass, in dangerous proximity to the bean sprouts. Because no shotgun was handy, the little guy was only photographed, with the understanding that he’d be on file as having been warned to stay away. He was ushered to the great land beyond the fence, where at least our dogs wouldn’t be able to lay a tooth on him.
He says “quiver.”
In case you’re wondering, he vanished when I turned my back for a moment. I assume that he either hopped his way toward new adventures or a predatory bird plucked him a way in a single, silent instant. Either way, circle of life.
Friday, April 6, 2012
The Last in a Rarely Updated Series About the Brentwood Whole Foods
When I move to Los Feliz (and I’m hopefully moving very soon), I’ll miss certain aspects about Brentwood. But foremost among them is the Whole Foods grocery store nearest my apartment, where wonderful mini-dramas play out nearly every time I go. I haven’t written about this store recently, but not for a lack of notable happenings. For example, this is the place where I’ve spotted Dylan McDermott, Geretta Geretta (I’m pretty sure), Sun from Lost (mostly sure) and Jonathan from Buffy (why not?). Tonight, however, I witnessed an exchange that’s worth relating, even though it features no B- or C-list celebrities.
The scene: I’m standing in line at Whole Foods, behind two Fashionable Young Ladies who are leafing through a magazine that I feel comfortable calling as close to a trashy celeb publication as Whole Foods will go. And note that while I have paraphrased, I did my best to reconstruct the exchange.
The Brentwood Whole Foods, previously:
The scene: I’m standing in line at Whole Foods, behind two Fashionable Young Ladies who are leafing through a magazine that I feel comfortable calling as close to a trashy celeb publication as Whole Foods will go. And note that while I have paraphrased, I did my best to reconstruct the exchange.
FYL No. 1: I hate the term baby daddy.
FYL No. 2: Why?
FYL No. 1: It’s just one of those words that if you’re not a teenager, you can’t say it without sounding like an idiot.
FYL No. 2: I say it.
FYL No. 1: You sound like an idiot.
FYL No. 2: Even if it makes you sound stupid to say baby daddy, you have to say it because it’s the easiest way to say, like, “the father of the child who maybe the mother isn’t married to.”
FYL No. 1: I never say it.So yeah, I’ll miss Brentwood.
FYL No. 2: So how do you say “the father of the child who maybe the mother isn’t married to”?
FYL No. 1: I just would never refer to those people. Ew.
The Brentwood Whole Foods, previously:
Read more:
a funny story,
all things verbal,
los angeles
Monday, April 2, 2012
From Betsy Braddock to Whoopi Goldberg in Seven Geeky Paragraphs
If I told you that I was trying to connect X-Men and Star Trek: The Next Generation using only etymology, you’d probably say, “Oh god, get away from me, you, dork!” And I’d have deserved that. However, I’d still continue with this line of conversation, punches to the face notwithstanding, because I researched this one through. In the end? It didn’t pan out. My hunch turned out to be wrong and the connection I thought seemed obvious just didn’t exist. But that doesn’t mean the journey wasn’t educational.
Having grown up in an environment where everyone I knew was Catholic, I’m always interested to learn that my childhood religion into the histories of places where I assume Christianity wasn’t ever a driving force. For example, Christianity plays a surprising role in the history of Japan. Prior to 1637, a segment of the Japanese people openly practiced a brand of Christianity that we now refer to as the Japanese Catholic Church, but the Shimbara Revolution of 1637 forced these Japanese for Jesus to worship a lot more quietly. Consequently, these people are known as Kakure Christians, from the Japanese word for “hidden.” And one of the ways they could practice their chosen religion was to do so under the guise of it being a more accepted one. That’s why this statue is so interesting:
It’s the Virgin Mary disguised as a figure from East Asian Buddhism: Guanyin, an incarnation representing compassion and mercy usually styled as female. In fact, Guanyin is abbreviated Chinese for Guanshiyin, or “observing the cries of the world,” so the link between this Buddhist figure and the Virgin Mary is apt. What is Mary, after all, aside from an embodiment of femininity and a magnet for the sorrows of the world? Anyway, being a significant figure in Buddhism, Guanyin’s name was translated from Chinese into other Asian languages, and this is where we get out pop cultural connection. In Japanese, Guanyin becomes something that can render in English as Kannon, Kan’on, Kanzeon or Kwannon, the last of which should be familiar to X-Men diehards. Kwannon, in the Marvel comics continuity, is the supervillainess who swaps bodies with Betsy Braddock, a.k.a. Psylocke. Long story short, the two get their all-of-them mixed up —abilities, memories and even looks, which is why Betsy, Captain Britain’s twin sister, looks Japanese for a significant period of her comic book existence.
Knowing that Kwannon’s name wasn’t simply plucked out of the ether, I thought for sure that this character, an empath, was named for a reason, and that the same reason might explain why Star Trek: The Next Generation featured Whoopi Goldberg as a this wise bartender character saddled with the odd name Guinan. (And yeah — I get how it’s funny to talk about unusual names for characters played by an actress whose stage name was inspired by her flatulence.) There’s a certain empathetic quality to Guinan, and I would have put money down on the fact that she, like Kwannon, got her name from one of the many ways that Guanyin could be transliterated into the English alphabet.
Nope. But I still learned something.
While an X-Men-Star Trek connection would span geeky universes, Guinan actually gets her name from a real-life saloon owner, Texas Guinan, who served drinks in Prohibition-era New York and entertained patrons with her Waco-bred manner. She’s a thoroughly cool lady, and if her existence comes as news to you, I strongly encourage you to read up on this kickass dame of yore.
On one hand, oh well. It would have been cool to put two and two together and make four. In this case, two and two are just two and two. On the other hand, however, I pulled up enough cool bits of history — like, history history and pop culture history — that I couldn’t just toss it all aside. From covert Catholics in Japan to a Texas-to-the-core saloon mistress yet still manages to ding two nerdish pegs from my youth? That’s a trip worth taking.
Thanks, internet!
Having grown up in an environment where everyone I knew was Catholic, I’m always interested to learn that my childhood religion into the histories of places where I assume Christianity wasn’t ever a driving force. For example, Christianity plays a surprising role in the history of Japan. Prior to 1637, a segment of the Japanese people openly practiced a brand of Christianity that we now refer to as the Japanese Catholic Church, but the Shimbara Revolution of 1637 forced these Japanese for Jesus to worship a lot more quietly. Consequently, these people are known as Kakure Christians, from the Japanese word for “hidden.” And one of the ways they could practice their chosen religion was to do so under the guise of it being a more accepted one. That’s why this statue is so interesting:
![]() |
| the virgin mary in her best party costume, basically |
![]() |
| psylocke on the left, kwannon on the right... i think... |
Nope. But I still learned something.
While an X-Men-Star Trek connection would span geeky universes, Guinan actually gets her name from a real-life saloon owner, Texas Guinan, who served drinks in Prohibition-era New York and entertained patrons with her Waco-bred manner. She’s a thoroughly cool lady, and if her existence comes as news to you, I strongly encourage you to read up on this kickass dame of yore.
On one hand, oh well. It would have been cool to put two and two together and make four. In this case, two and two are just two and two. On the other hand, however, I pulled up enough cool bits of history — like, history history and pop culture history — that I couldn’t just toss it all aside. From covert Catholics in Japan to a Texas-to-the-core saloon mistress yet still manages to ding two nerdish pegs from my youth? That’s a trip worth taking.
Thanks, internet!
Read more:
all things verbal,
comics,
names,
pop culture minutiae,
star trek,
superheroes,
things japanese,
whoopi goldberg,
x-men
International Whoopie
Whoopie twelve times, but also three times, depending on how you look at it.
Gosh, after seeing the word whoopie like that, again and again in different languages, it starts to sound like nonsense. To think of it!
Seriously, though, given the connotations of the word whoopie and even the word pie, I’d maybe avoid using the word cavity in conjunction. You know?
Gosh, after seeing the word whoopie like that, again and again in different languages, it starts to sound like nonsense. To think of it!
Seriously, though, given the connotations of the word whoopie and even the word pie, I’d maybe avoid using the word cavity in conjunction. You know?
Read more:
all things verbal,
brand names,
food,
things more or less sexual,
translation
Sunday, April 1, 2012
An Idiotic Joke of a Word
Have I ever mentioned that I don’t like April Fools’ Day? I don’t, and it’s not because I consider myself some sort of expert prankster who just can’t be topped so don’t even try and sunglasses and “screw you, teach!” and then skateboard flawlessly out the classroom door. No, it’s just that a majority of my brain energies are spent on constructing “It would be funny if”-type situations, and when I hear a lot of people’s ideas about zany pranks that they think will delight and amaze, I realize that they’re forging into this territory for the first time. So, as I also do on New Year’s Eve and the feast of St. Agapanthus, I sit this one out.
In fact, this is as close as I’m going to get to any sort of participation in this holiday: a terrible world that I personally hate and that I only know exists because Words With Friends let someone play it against me.
Lest I sound like I’m dumping on the players who utilize all the possibilities in the Words With Friends dictionary, I should probably also admit that I used the word edh against my friend Mollie, and she had every reason to ask me exactly how edh is a word. I quickly explained that it’s an alternate spelling of eth, a letter used in Old English to represent the “th” sound. I did not, however, mention that I only knew about it because someone used it against me.
So see? Words With Friends is good after all. It teaches you about English language obscurities all while testing the limits of your friendships.
Previous words of the week after the jump.
In fact, this is as close as I’m going to get to any sort of participation in this holiday: a terrible world that I personally hate and that I only know exists because Words With Friends let someone play it against me.
phpht (ffft) — interjection: an expression of mild annoyance or disagreement.Phpht was not a word I used when it was played against me for a considerable score. No, I gave a fairly deadpan, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding,” because the same app that told me grunty wasn’t a word was perfectly happy to accept phpht, which is apparently a nonstandard variant of pht, which in turn is how a stupid person might represent the angry, breathy noise of protest that would otherwise be represented as ffft. “How is the pig?” “Oh, you know, the usual — pink and grunty.” I see nothing wrong with that sentence. But were the sentence “I used the word phpht, which doesn’t even need a vowel, against Drew in a game of Words With Friends, and it totally got more points than Drew got with crux,” then I would, in fact, have a problem that no amount of exasperated ventilation could solve. It would be the umiaq debacle all over again.
Lest I sound like I’m dumping on the players who utilize all the possibilities in the Words With Friends dictionary, I should probably also admit that I used the word edh against my friend Mollie, and she had every reason to ask me exactly how edh is a word. I quickly explained that it’s an alternate spelling of eth, a letter used in Old English to represent the “th” sound. I did not, however, mention that I only knew about it because someone used it against me.
So see? Words With Friends is good after all. It teaches you about English language obscurities all while testing the limits of your friendships.
Previous words of the week after the jump.
- acné excoriée des jeunes filles, adulterine, ageusia, ambeer, anosmia
- barn, barrack, beeturia, bissextile, bloofer, breastsummer, brinicle
- catholicon, cecaelia, cephalophore, cherpumple, chilver, chyron, cockernonnie, collywobbles, coprolalia, couvade, cranberry morpheme, crwth, culaccino, cummingtonite
- darkle, deasil, decussate, deuteragonist, dingbat, dingle
- eidolon, epeolatry, epopt, espalier, etui, exoterica
- fabiform, Feghoot, fissilingual, Föhnkrankheit, folderol, formication, freekeh, froward
- gallinipper, gnaborretni, grandgore, grue, guilloche, gyaru
- hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia, hobson-jobson, hogo, honorificabilitudinitatibus, hoyden, hyetal
- ignivomous, iracund, isabelline, itaiitai, izod, izzard
- jabroni, jamais vu, jehu, jumentous
- kaffir, kakopygian, kayfabe, knipperdollin
- lagniappe, leman, lemniscate, limnovore, linsey-woolsey, longicorn
- malacia, malison, maroon, milt, mongo, mooncalf, morepork, muzjiks
- narrenfreiheit, nef, nihilartikel, nobiliary particle, nosism
- ochanee, ogonek, ombré, ooglification, orchidectomy, ordured, orf, osculate
- pace, padiddle, paraprosdokian, pareidolia, pavonated, perendiate, perigee, perverb, petrichor, pettifogger, pettitoes, phlegmagogue, pismire, pixilated, pogonip, pong, pruniferous, puggle, pulveratricious, purse
- quacksalver, quagga, qualtagh, quidnunc, quiff
- ronion, roynish, rubirosa, rumpsprung, runcible
- salmagundi, scrutator, seneschal, sharrow, shebang, sinople, slampadato, slubberdegullion, stan, stevedore, suovetaurilia
- tappen, tatterdemalion, teratogenesis, tergiversate, tetromino, thagomizer, thon, tiffin, tittery-whoppet, tmesis, toby, tutoyer, tyro
- ucalegon, ultramontane, umiaq, umquhile
- veneficial, verdigris, vespertilionine, vinegeroon
- weeaboo, widdiful, williwaw, witzelsucht, wooper looper
- xenodocheionology, xyster
- yazoo, ypsiliform, yoink
- zanjero, zenzizenzizenzic, zinnober, zugzwang
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