Brenton

Darn you snowwwwww

Somehow/someway I was able to score a reservation at Momofuku Ko for this Sunday. Needless to say, I feel like I won the lottery.

hellyeahpugs:

a child’s pug picture

Every morning on the way to work, I see this billboard. Every time I see this billboard, my mind asks a rhetorical WTF.

Did someone actually think this was a good idea? Did the Choctaw tribe really endorse this? Does the casino look like a maximum security prison from the future? And, last and most important, did someone get paid to write this?

The answer to all these questions is yes. I don’t know whether I would to high five this guy/girl, or wag my finger in shame. Probably both, while high fiving them, even though it would make you feel totally awkward. Like this building wrap.

Yes! BONUS: I now have enough miles for another ticket on American, which means I have not one but TWO free plane tickets at my disposal. So don’t feel shafted LA; I will return when it feels right.

This dogg behind me has had this forced grin on his face since I got here and it’s kind of freaking me out. The only other time I’ve seen someone look like this was at a party. At said party my friend, having had to much to drink, became delightfully creepy. There’s only one way to describe it:

RAPE FACE.

So if I don’t come home tonight tell my Mom I love her.

I can’t wait until I can do this to my own dog(s).

On my bike ride today I decided I was going to make my first pug wear a bee costume for a month. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, and yes, I already know it’s a great idea.

As I mentioned earlier, about once a week I dine out by myself. Some of you probably think that’s all kinds of whack, but it’s not; everyone has their own neuroses and tics, we just rarely analyze why we do them. And why not? Habits are as formative and definitive as anything else. For example- if you pick your nose, you probably are disgusting. Bite your nails? You’re self-destructive.

All the rote things we do have some justification behind them. So consider my own weirdism– eating alone. Why would I do that? It would be an understatement to say I love food. Talking about it, writing about it, thinking about it, cooking it gives me a culinary boner. And if you tend to get a a culinary boner about food like I do, you care about each and every step that goes into making a dish delicious. Or palatable, if you suck at cooking but make the effort.

Keeping that in mind, every time I go to a restaurant something turns on in my brain. You know the guy that’s picky and asks the server way too many questions about the specials and wine? That’s me, and I can’t help myself. Think about it: there are so many things that happen before your order arrives and even before you stepped into the restaurant. Ingredients are sourced. Prepped. Cooked- hopefully with some TLC but probably not if you are/were a chode or chose a shitty place. After all that, your order is plated and delivered.

Granted not every restaurant puts so much thought into their food and creating a menu, but the most successful ones do (Bolsa I’m looking at you). The chefs want to make you happy and let their dishes speak for themselves. The Japanese even made up a word for it; omakase, meaning it’s up to the chef. After all, they’re the experts, and by they I mean the chefs. Not the Japanese. FYI.

With that cleared up, only someone who lives and works in the kitchen knows what’s fresh and not so fresh, what they excel at and what they don’t. It’s simple. Give your complete trust to the people preparing your food and you’ll get the best culinary experience you can, cost be damned.

That’s probably why I visit a hole in the wall once a week- to get my own dollar menu version of omnikase. Am I romanticizing the idea? Yes, but I don’t really care. For now, I’ll trust in whoever will get me my fix of cheeseburger made just the way it was meant to be.

My book club now has a blog and a twitter. Peruse at your own leisure/risk.

Months ago on a soul seeking road trip through the great American South, I spent a couple of days at my Uncle’s place. He calls it the Good Shepherd farm. It’s more like a McMansion with a giant yard in the foothills of Appalachia, but to each his own.

One of the privileges of visiting my Uncle is he always has some sort of manual labor for me. This time the chore du jour was baling hay. Since I’m really a luddite at heart I don’t really mind helping. Farm work is typically mindless, allowing for plenty of thinking time.

It’s funny- I escape to the farm, and all I could think about was a book on the ethics of technology. The book premises that as we continue to develop technologies the amount of meaningless information continues to amass, the end result being we lose touch with ourselves.

Just the day before I went to pick up my cousin at her seventh grade dance and Postman’s theory proved itself. At my middle school dance, we danced wildly to Will Smith while teachers and chaperones looked on in pity/disgust. At my cousin’s dance everyone was on their cell phones, texting friends within 15 feet of them. Mind=BLOWN.

People my age grew up in a time when AOL was the number one ISP. Everyone remembers that awful sound of the modem connecting to the internet, and the frustration of getting kicked off and having to reconnect if someone called while you were online. Today, middle schoolers have iPhones and don’t know what dial up is. Now if you think I sound like a crotchety old man, you’re right. But at least people my age can make a phone call instead of texting and hold a conversation in person. The problem is we can, but don’t. It’s even worse for people five years younger than me; they can’t, and won’t. Call me romantic or unrealistic, but people are more dynamic than their facebook page.

As much as I want to unplug myself and eventually get off the grid, it’s unrealistic for the time being. But we can still be friends for reals. Just be sure to call (not message) me.

nevver:

Hold Still

Relevant.

HAPPY HOLIDAYZ Y’ALL

I hope this works out.

I firmly believe we know less about our ocean then we do about the cosmos. That is all kinds of whack.

Ocean > Space.

A couple of years ago I wrote an essay about vice. No, not the insular magazine that tells Generation Y what to think, but the formative habits both good and bad we all have.

The basic point was that we all have vices and they reveal our true selves- instead of ignoring said vices we should embrace them. As much as you can try to deny your affinity for trashy television/Newports/whatever the fact remains that if no one was around, you would lay in bed watching Maury’s “You are not the Father”, chain smoking menthols all damn day. And you would love it.

Personally I’ve had a number of vices throughout the years, but after thinking about all of them again one sticks out in particular. It’s a rather embarrassing ritual that (until now) I’ve only shared with one dear friend, but it’s pretty telling of who I am. Anyway, once a week I allow myself to go get a nasty, greasy, delicious cheeseburger. I call it my cheeseburger allowance. Sometimes I go all out and get bacon and cheese fries and all that nasty stuff, sometimes I just get a cheeseburger. Or turkey/veggie burger. Location doesn’t matter; I frequent new places as often as my favorites. The only unwritten rule to this habit is is that I get some sort of burger and I must go by myself.

You can make your own conclusions about what this says about me. Am I a closet fatty inside? Duh. Do I enjoy the company of myself more than others? Not all the time, but whether or not you agree we’re all our own best friend. And despite what you may think about it, my cheeseburger addiction is a great thing for me. Somehow, someway, a greasy sandwich of sorts gives me more happiness and mental clarity than a lot of things. And it’s only because I allow myself to enjoy it so much. So learn from this children; embrace your vices and love yourself for them. And if I ever become schiavo’d in any capacity, have the dignity to not give me death by drugs but death by cheeseburger.

Not the biggest Chromeo fan, but I dig his moves.

I would rock the hell out of this sweater, PLUS I look good in a splash of green.

This morning I found the perfect place for my restaurant/brewpub/resort. It’s an old Knights of Pythias Castle and there’s no zoning, meaning we can do whatever we want with it. After seeing it I freaked out then realized it’s probably close to impossible to secure a mortgage without a job. So if anyone has any seed money, you can get in on the ground floor with me. Hell, you can even turn your half into a titty bar, just halp mehh.

If you know me, then you know one of my favorite things to do is bake. Depending on the context baking can be construed as a couple of different things, but for now we’re talking strictly about mixing ingredients together then heating them in an oven to make something chronic.

Being somewhat of a scatterbrain, baking is more challenging for me than cooking. I’m prone to improvise/experiment on the fly, so I’ve learned the hard way there’s no quicker way to eff up a bread or pastry than to try and play it by ear. It’s a lesson I’ve learned multiple times and has led to a greater appreciation of my stove for being more forgiving than the oven.

What’s odd to me is that I find the process of baking most enjoyable. There’s a method to it, and while it does take intuition and experience, following a recipe exactly usually yields something tasty. I tend to rely on a balance between logic and guts for making decisions (ENFP for sure), and the baking gods give you a spanking if you don’t follow instructions. For most things improvising often gets me better results than following a process or method, so having something turn out awesome from a recipe is probably why I like it so much. Maybe I should change some habits?

Maybe I shouldn’t, because that’s why I love baking and lessons learned in baking probably don’t apply to writing. I could spend three hours hammering at a keyboard and come up with something I love, something I hate, or nothing. I could spend three hours messing around in the kitchen and have a pizza. Who doesn’t like pizza?

Add to list of skills: thin crust pizza dough. White pie with pesto, roast chicken, cherry tomatoes and spinach. From scratch.

Heyyyyyyy sissy

jeanbean:

Prague, from Petrin

Dear Jeanne,

This is weird. Today I was feeling nostalgic and went through a box of old shit. It was mostly unsorted photographs, mementos and letters from people I don’t remember, and odds and ends, but my old Czech workbook was in there. Going through it, I remembered what a bitch of a language it was to learn, and how my already awful speaking skills took a dire turn for the worse after three weeks in Italy. But I do remember how to order a hot dog on the street (in perfect český!), how to count to one hundred (by tens), and of course please, thank you, and I love ____. I’m sure we all remember how to order beer.

As awful as learning a Slavic language shotgun style in two weeks was, I miss it.

Mám rád Praha.

Yes! I mean, no!

Last May I graduated from college and, as everyone else did, attempted to find meaning via full time employment. After a year and a half of working a number of jobs (some career related, some not), I find I’m still back at square one. Despite my own ennui, some of my friends lucky and talented enough to enjoy gainful employment seem just as unhappy, despite having what most deem amazing jobs or careers.

Day in day out everyone waxes on, on, and on about the current economic climate and how hard it is to get jobs. Which is true, particularly for recent graduates. Yes, it sucks. No, we didn’t ask for this. Nor did anyone our age or of our (admittedly narcissistic, whiny) generation expect our mid-twenties, the “best years of our lives”, to be so taxing on our egos. But I have to ask: is anyone actually doing anything to make themselves happy instead of trying to stack paper to feel better about themselves?

Last week I figured I’d had enough of it. Why wait until retirement- or worse, deathbed-to start on or even make a bucket list?  Everyone has a list of things they’d rather be doing or would at least like to try their hand at, we just don’t have Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson tagging along with us. Who knows- maybe you do. Maybe you’re even Morgan Freeman, in which case I have to say, I loved Prom Night in Mississippi. Either way, there’s no logic in working until we’re old to be satisfied if we’re young, working and unsatisfied.

In my own effort to cure our generational malaise, I baked Galette today (for the children, of course). Maybe I should call it Chronic Galette, because I ate half of it while the sugar was still cooling and had to hide the rest. Sure it’s a French cake, but more than that. More importantly, it’s a small step towards marrying my love of putting pen to paper and fork to mouth. So please, enjoy a sneak preview of what is going to be one of the seminal moments of my food writing career. If you’re out there hustling, doing what gives you a boner (more on boner theory later), we’re cool. High five, terrorist fist bump, bro grab, whatever; just don’t forget to hit me up for a celebratory slice of Galette.

In a little over a week I will be at Faulkner’s house and enjoying Chicken on a Stick. The fact that I didn’t have to pay for a ticket makes my trip so much better (and the chicken on a stick so much tastier). Schwing!

Last week in Dallas the weather wasn’t completely awful so instead of my weekly detox bike ride I opted to cruise garage/estate sales.

Unfortunately I didn’t find any kitchen novelties or Le Creuset, which was kind of a bummer. I did find a George Straight tape, and a pasta maker thing that looked like it had been sexually abused. But what I found most compelling were the books people put on sale.

At one house, and I shit you not- there must have been three different books on solving marriage crises, and at least twice as many books on diet techniques. I took a look at the books and a look at who was selling them; maybe I even nodded in smug approval. It forced me to recall the time I found a book in my brother’s room on flirting, complete with each chapter’s quiz filled out in detail, and thinking “God do I need to have a talk with my brother? I mean he is my brother. Sheeeeitt…”

Now there’s nothing wrong with self help books. In fact, reading self help books that I have no need for is a guilty pleasure of mine. Speaking of: if you need any bizarre recommendations published in the 70s, hit me up. I guess the point is that it was a strangely personal thing to be looking at someone’s library and finding a book on something as serious as fixing a marriage- like finding theology books in your pervy friend’s bedroom, or stress tapes in a childhood playmate’s tape player when you’re six. You just end up feeling weird as an unintentional voyeur.

After thinking about it though, I hope the woman running the garage sale resolves her marital problems and feels happy about herself. As far as my lil’ bro goes, we can talk if we need to.

(via jeanbean)

God this song makes me want to move to LA and ride my bike on the beach and go get Korean BBQ from a truck and then head to the Farmacy on my way home.

I’ve always preferred Los Angeles to San Francisco. To me it’s the perfect combination of West coast personality and East coast sensibility. Imagine San Francisco and New York had a baby but were latch key parents, leaving it to figure itself out. That’s LA. People in SF seem too high and already have it made, while New Yorkers are always on the grind in the effort to hustle their way to the top. Angelinos have found a comfortable medium; they still want to be something but they also take the time to enjoy life. When not in traffic.

On this note, stay tuned California bros and hoes; I hope on doing another LA trip (the remix?) soon.

October is a great month for Texas; the weather starts to not suck so hard, the State Fair is on, and Pug owners from the DFW Metroplex convene at an Arlington convention center for Pug-O-Ween.

No, I’m not shitting you. It’s like a gun show, but instead of hundreds of guns you get hundreds of pugs. In costume. It’s almost as good as my birthday and Christmas combined; last year I got overwhelmed I almost went into a seizure. I’m thinking about bringing a camera this time, but if I do that I’ll probably be kicked out. With only ten days left, I’m starting to get excited. And if the idea of hundreds of Pugs in humiliating costumes doesn’t get you excited, then maybe this abortion of a flyer will.

Next weekend can’t come soon enough.

A couple of weeks ago I was in Wilmington for a night before heading to Bald Head Island. The place had awful nightlife- it was like 6th street but with Guidos. What the hell North Carolina? Clearly this can’t be the same state that gave us Petey Pablo and Little Brother.

Now, I’m not adverse to the idea of going out alone if I have to. Many a night at 615 ended with me at Nasty’s when my “friends” disappeared. And sorry North Carolina, but you probably don’t even have a place called Nasty’s. Anyway, I finally knew I had found the right place when I stumbled upon an art gallery/wine bar where certain patrons were singingThe Nightman Cometh. It didn’t hurt that the bartender was cute and didn’t make me pay for anything.

Anyway, a couple of days ago I got a text message from a mysterious contact in my phone known only as Day Man. Clearly I bonded with someone there. I also have to give props to Day Man for reminding me of the season premiere (B-, it focused too much on Dee).

I’m thinking this person might be a good third party life coach kind of mentor. My plan is to ask them, via text, what to do in certain situations. First question: should I stay in Dallas Halloween weekend to see R. Kelly, or should I go to Madison for what will likely involve hot tubs, PEPPAR, and prison sentences?

From IMDB:

Coffy is a nurse whose younger sister gets involved in drugs and is severely injured by contaminated heroin. Coffy sets out on a mission of vengeance and vigilante justice, killing drug dealers, pimps, and mobsters who cross her path.

The plot alone just sounds too good to be true. Throw in Pam Grier and a Roy Ayers directed score? I doubt I could watch this without getting a boner.

This is what I need/want to be when I grow up.

I baled 125 bails of hay on labor day. Hope all you children sitting on your ass by the pool eating hamburgers and sipping Shirley Temples had fun.

It’s a Paul Hardcastle kind of day. Thanks for ruining my fun youtube.

smarterplanet:

How Different Groups Spend Their Day - Interactive Graphic - NYTimes.com

The American Time Use Survey asks thousands of American residents to recall every minute of a day. Here is how people over age 15 spent their time in 2008.

Interesting how the unemployed spend their time..

I have to say, Pugsitting is the second best pug thing in existence. The first? Owning one. Check out that smug ass look on Pooky’s face; it’s like she owns the camera.

dn3austin:

User-generated content. Consumer-generated media. Mashups. Whatever the buzzword du jour, it’s starting to become the cornerstone of the Internet experience.

Every day, people put their spin and creative touch on existing content, stitching and mashing it together to create one collective piece where creativity and collaboration unite in perfect harmony.

A prime example of this interactivity comes from a Japanese artist, Sour. In Sour’s latest music video, the song itself takes a backseat to the visual story. In this case, dozens of fans use web cams and video chat to interact with each other and participate directly in the creation of content. Sour’s completed piece is not just created for the fans; it’s created by the fans.  

A couple of years ago, mashups weren’t something the public could easily create. Thanks to cheaper and more accessible technology, open source software and broadband, creating content is as simple as a few mouse clicks. Also, the cost of releasing and distributing content online is extremely cheap if not free, making the process even easier.

Since consumers now have a means to participate in the branding efforts, some companies are taking advantage of their creativity to champion their brand. Companies like Axe and Microsoft use the site current.tv to encourage conversation. The partnership is simple; clients brief consumers and give them the opportunity to create and release their own ads. Viewers democratically pick their favorite ads and the winners receive cash, airtime on current.tv, and Internet fame. The result? Consumers get a voice, brands get the work done for them, and everybody wins. 

Still, some companies fail to acknowledge the voices of consumers. Snckrz.com was a highly successful interactive fan site that allowed users to customize their own Snickers logo. When Mars Inc. discovered that the creators were not just fans but actually employees of a different ad agency, Mars issued a cease and desist. Refusing to allow consumers to personally connect with a brand is baffling, as content creation is a sign of a healthy brand. By killing the site, Mars killed the fun and the momentum consumers were building.

Now, perhaps more than ever, it’s a necessity to involve consumers in the conversation by letting them actually drive the dialogue. By taking advantage of user-created content, brands let the consumers do the talking for them. What could be easier than that?

At home with Cotton. HEY COTTON.

Bored at the Food Network Star auditions. I hope that I don’t knock Adam Roberts in my interview seeing that I’ve only been here, oh, 6 hours.

dn3austin:

The 2008 Presidential election was historic, to say the least. But there was even more to it than the election itself.

During coverage of the primaries, CNN demonstrated some powerful new technology that flew under the radar. On-air correspondents demonstrated possible elections live and on the fly. The reporter wasn’t just standing there like a confused weatherman; he was interacting with a map like a touch screen. But it wasn’t a touch screen – it was augmented reality.

Augmented reality merges computer graphics with live video. The concept isn’t entirely new; if you’ve seen a football game on TV where a yellow stripe marks the first down line, you’ve seen AR in its infancy. However, looking at a stripe and interacting with potential election results are very different experiences. While developers are still figuring out uses for the technology, AR has the potential for creating immersive interactive experiences.

All AR requires is some sort of camera or video recorder. Enter the smart phone and web cams. Between smart phones and web cams, objects take on new roles in reality. A few weeks ago the USPS unveiled its virtual box simulator: print out a special icon, scan it with your web cam, and your sheet of paper becomes a 3D box on screen. Beats running to the office store to see if the contents will fit. It’s hard to visualize until you see it; try watching this demo.

Not all applications promise to be so single use. A Dutch company just released an application called Layarz for smart phones a few weeks ago. This software adds a variety of data on the screen when looking through the camera. Say you pass a house for sale; a tag could pop up showing how much it costs. Lost? A simple iPhone app using augmented reality can get you back on track.

As of now, no one has devised an advertising model for augmented reality. Once someone does figure it out, you can guarantee branded content will have a place on a virtual shelf in the real world.

More genius from yours truly. Gotta stack that paper.

Today my creative director asked to me to send him a picture of my hair. I don’t know if it’s because we’ve been working on Hockey non-stop, or what. But I need a job. So no questions asked.

A couple of weeks ago, I went home to Dallas to spend some quality time with Sonic before he “went to sleep.” Sonic was 20 years old, making him a more senior family member than my sister (and thus more important). Like any old man refusing to change his habits, he would use my bathroom carpet like a urinal and shit in front of my sister’s door twice a day. Like clockwork. Seriously, some septuagenarian would kill for this kind of regularity.

When I return to Dallas this weekend, it will be a little weird not having the old guy around. However, I’ll take happy memories over showering and toweling myself off, only to find I just rubbed cat piss all over myself. Real talk.