Audio blogging is a new poss these days so one day You will return to epinw to see a little icon and, upon depressing it, you will see the Quicktime logo and then you'll hear a recorded message from Yours Truly.
Oh, why am'nt I doing this now. All-purpose because.
Was invited last night to a party and drove by the address left on voicemail by one of the partyplanning brothers. Saw some crack house action next to the house and there were few and far between cars on the block so moved along. Last night was a night of meandering and classic rock star loss of time. Watched some short movies by kine-kook Maya Deren this AM and read an online response to my online response to a post by one of my grappling classmates on the concept of manipulating models. As the sole journalist in the class of 15 I have no qualms about flexing my imagistic muscle of a differing take. Everyone needs a little art direction from time to time and that's that. Did a gig for a politico and his family and he, in front of his wife, said If X leaves me I'd like to marry you. I was perplexed. Flattered yet perplexed.
A few of my blogly brethren have been persecuted for blogging, losing jobs and being told to omit posts as they were deemed too interpersonal for public perusing. epinw is heavily edited and contains barely at times a semblance of the whole gigantic big picture, people are never named and I sure as shootin' don't post with any incrimination.
I have been too distracted by my new musical acquisitions to begin grad school reading so perhaps I should put the newbies away: Kill Bill s/t, Lost in Translation s/t, Beth Orton's Pass in Time, the nouvelle Pink and Love is Hell Pt. 1 by good ol' poet Ryan Adams.
Visions of sugarplums and endless digital video editing hours are dancing, moshing in my head.
Pre-holiday Love.

Fun Fact about Yours Ever So Truly:
I have never, in my pre-adult and adult span of years, seen Thanksgiving sans the hangover filter. But I have moved away from the pre-adult move of showing up at the fam dinner just in time for dessert, eyes a-sloshin'.
So there I was last night, partying like a rock star with the Middling City rock stars, after pronouncing my arrival (through the music joint's side door down the alleyway where I ran into a gaggle of pal smokers) by lobbing an ice cube from cocktail #1 at Marky Sparky Norris's beloved shiny red guitar. Two rows of Middling City rock stars turned in choreographed surprise to see Perfect Fan Me grinning. Onwards.
Had a great conversation with Roger Bryan who, at my and several others' urging, got out of Last Conservative to forge full steam solo ahead. Now he's got a band, The Old Sweethearts, and he rushed out to his automobile to get me a copy of their forthcoming ep - it's genius.
I told him last night I'm sure several tell you this Roger but get the band together and get the hell out of the Middling City - asap and often.
Kaslosh Kaslosh, sippin' on the venti Americano (Donny Kutzbach's pro recommendation) and moving along the getting-dinner-ready path.
Giblets and gravious love.

Boys listen.
When it comes to their rock careers and success (big money) they listen. To me. Maybe like Ozzy listening to Sharon/v.o.r. (voice of reason).
I have seen the old, the new, the mew-mew and you smell the dewy-eyed (to quote an old prof) attentiveness in the faces of the seeking, of the deserving. I talk, they listen. It's not about fucking. It's about their rock success. I opine. Those I am behind I'll do anything - for politicallty or visually... and that's known. Tonight. Roger. New cd. A copy. A listen. A word to another who is on the p.r. track. Words of encouragement. Always, always, always the softest heart spot for musicians.
I am struggling. I am full of musician-paid scotch and it's time to say bye.
Roger, you are a star. !
You are a star so pure that it is both a shaming and enflaming to the true.
Rock on Roger, baby rock star.
This new cd rocks.
I am in awe.
Love.

Because I care.
Because I am a culinary genius who can follow the Silver Palate agenda.
Because I want to help spread this tradition that I've made into a tradition and everyone sort of humours me that they dig this.
Because who the hell can have enough side dishes.
Et voilà:
Ginger Candied Carrots
(Sweet and spicy - a good way to prepare carrots any time of the year.)
12 medium-sized carrots, peeled and cut into 1-inch lengths
4 tablespoons sweet butter, melted
1/4 cup brown sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon caraway seeds

1. Place carrot pieces in a saucepan and add cold water to cover. Cook carrots until tender, 25 to 30 minutes.
2. Melt butter in a small saucepan. Add brown sugar, ginger and caraway seeds. Mix and set aside.
3. When carrots are done, drain and return to the pot. Pour butter mixture over them and cook over low heat for 5 minutes, stirring occasionally.
4. Transfer to a serving dish and serve immediately.
= 6 portions.

Everyone will love you.
Maybe not but they will not tell you.
But I will love you for your efforts.
GCC Love.

Yesterday, while shooting the Jets/Jaguars game at the Meadowlands a star from the Sopranos bit me on the ass and I didn't know who he was. Then a celeb made infamous from the Dave Letterman Show bit me on the ass and I didn't know who he was. Then various football players did the same. I can barely sit straight today with all that ass-biting and all.
I shot and shot and shot and only once came close to being stampeded by a rather scrappy Jet... I would have fared pretty well as he wasn't as gigantic as some of the lumpier players.
I skipped out back to the press lounge during intermission for some steaming hot coffee and then to make calls. I was watching the bank of television sets up ahead and realized that quarter 3 was underway so elevatored and tunneled my way back to the field.
Back to my non-sporty portion of my life.
Serious Love.