November 2005 Archives

...over at Ribcage today. It's called Bat Cookies.

I think I've figured out why Caroline Rhea is the host of The Biggest Loser. Because she, herself, is a scale for which to compare the weightloss of the contestants. You have bigger than Caroline and you have smaller than Caroline.

On the finale last night, most everyone was much thinner than Caroline. (Not that she's obese or anything.) It was pretty impressive, I must say. I'm just wondering how two seasons of this hasn't made Caroline Rhea anorexic or something.

Even I felt like a tub of shit watching that show earlier. Granted, the winner lost 46% of his body weight and I lost over 50% those years ago and kept it off, but these three finalists were in such damn good shape. This guy Seth didn't even win...

I'm going to have to start hitting the gym now because of this finale, I swear. Start lifting weights and cardio and all of that again. I think I'm having some kind of sucess story jealousy or something.

I've got a 24 hour gym by my mailbox and I should really start using it. Because I'd like to have some muscle for a change. And because I don't ever want to be on the fatter side of the Caroline Rhea scale again.

Still working on Ribcage... sometime before Wednesday's up, I swear.

If you notice next week that the photos on my blog look decent all of a sudden... look like they haven't had an hour of Photoshop done to them... that would be the new camera. An SLR alternative that was ridiculously cheap over at Newegg.com.

Elise and I are sharing it for Christmas, because she wants a good camera to take prints of her future paintings, and to replace her old film SLR that broke. And I want a camera that can at least take a picture of a Christmas tree. Or a camera that can at least take a picture indoors at all.

My essay, Nine Lives for the Fat Kid Frame of Mind is now available as a digital download at Lulu.com for $.99.

Digital content delivery is something I've been wanting to do legitimately for some time, so I've decided to test the waters with this 4,200 word essay.

It's a fifteen page, fast paced retelling of the story I'm covering in my book, but from a different angle, touching on some things I've never touched on before.

And if I don't have much of a future in e-publishing, Lulu just introduced hardcover printing, with full dustjackets and gold embossed letters on the book's spine--so I'm pretty excited about that.

I'm sure there are plenty of people out there that use phone books, but I'm not one of them. The internet works just fine for me, without taking up a big ol' cabinet in my kitchen. That's an exaggeration, you say. No.

What do you think BellSouth would do if I called them up and asked them to please come and remove their litter from my doorstep? Because, even though I am not a customer of theirs or any other home phone company, today they dropped a gigantic bag of their books for me.

Growing up, there were The Yellow Pages in one big volume and then another, thinner volume that was the white pages.

Today, I'm looking at TWO volumes of The Yellow Pages. A-G and H-Z. And then a completely seperate, Spanish language Yellow Pages. And then the thickest book of all of them, which is called The Yellow Pages Companion. I have no idea what that is, except that it looks like just the two other volumes consolidated, making them obsolete.

Also, the cat wouldn't stop eating the Thanksgiving flowers as I took a photo of the phonebooks, so...

I didn't take any photos of the actual dinner, just the appetizers, but chalk one up for Alton Brown because it was probably the best turkey I've ever seen and or eaten.

I found a continuity error in Ribcage today! Hooray! I guess that happens when you race the weekly deadline clock. Surprised I didn't notice it when I was putting the first book together.

In The Color Yellow it is clearly stated that their kitchen doesn't even have a garbage disposal, yet only a few stories later in He Who Shall Remain Nameless, the puppy is almost named after their garbage disposal!

Okay, so I have a new story, exclusive only to my blog here, that goes in between those two in the Ribcage timeline.

{ we have a disposal now }

Today, I installed a new garbage disposal. Emily would have helped but she was busy inventing licorice sandwiches, which were delicious after such a long day of installing a garbage disposal. These licorice sandwiches--I ate four.

Anyhow, I should have a real story that is maybe almost as absurd up at Ribcage sometime after midnight. Why I was busy re-reading The Color Yellow may make sense then.

I got this big plastic container to brine the turkey in, lest you think me to be some brineless crybaby. Alton Brown uses a five gallon bucket, but this turkey is ridiculous. It's too big for the full fridge, so I have it in a cooler with my new, wired thermometer probe. The alarm will sound if the air in the cooler goes above 38 degrees.

The wired in-oven meat thermometer is the best innovation in cooking ever. I can't believe my father doesn't have one yet.

What I'm putting out on Thursday is:

Wheat-free pasta salad with asiago.
Gigantic cheese platter with proschiutto rolled mozzerella, herb cheddar, regular cheddar, swiss, Laughing Cow wedges, cheese ball and I don't remember what.
Veggie platter with Boursin cheese.
Olive tray with collasal almond stuffed olives, black olives, pickled okra, artichoke hearts, banana peppers and Splenda gherkins.
Lit'l Smokies
Summer Sausage and four kinds of crackers
Four damn pounds of different grapes.

Turkey and gravy
My mother's cranberry recipe
Redskin mashed potatoes
Yams
Fresh green beans with toasted almonds

My mother's Praline Pumpkin Pie recipe
Puffed pastry squares with brie and raspberry preserves and damn I wish I could eat them.

Sometime between now and Thursday I have to prep all of this, including the brining--while also finishing a Ribcage story and polishing my original essay for the Random House contest. It's currently a little long. 4,200 words is a little too close to their 5,000 cutoff for my tastes.

If I am not posting on here that often, it is probably because I am all over the place. We'll be holding Thanksgiving dinner for eight in our apartment on Thursday and much like my father, I plan on going overboard. I've had both of his cookbooks open, trying to figure out how to make some of the stuff my parents make every year: the Praline Pumpkin Pie, my grandmother's meat stuffed pumpkin recipe and so on. I'll probably let Alton Brown and Good Eats tell me how to cook the turkey. He'll be so anal about that turkey that it will just HAVE to come out perfectly. Even if I have to cook it in a water bath with electric diodes in all of the orifices to monitor the progress--even then, I will have to trust Alton. He is the only Food Network personality left to trust.

In my written world. Progress is more than steady in my book, The After Fat. (That would be the current working title.) I've written over 10,000 words (or 40 pages) in the past three weeks and surpassed what was my original word goal for the book as a whole. Still, there are three chapters to be written, a few more to be tied together and then the epilogue and appendix which is tentatively titled, A Glossary of Food Truths, Conspiracies and Other Things You May Wish That You’d Never Read.

Ribcage: Volume 1 is now officially entered into the Lulu Blooker Prize and the Ribcage site has even been linked from the official Lulu Blooker Blog.

I did a new round of story submissions, something I haven't done full tilt since I was accepted into Facets and Look-Look Magazine. Hit up McSweeney's, Small Spiral Notebook, Pif and Fail Better, but the Ribcage stories are getting very tight knit--much harder to submit as something that stands alone.

Finally, I've been writing an original essay in the vain of my book for this Random House contest. Up to twenty-nine essays will be featured in a book out next year, titled, Twentysomething Essays by Twentysomething Writers: The Best New Voices of 2006.

According to the contest's site...

We are seeking essays about, but not limited to, the following subjects: Family, Career, Sex, Society, and Self. Be specific. Be unique. We want you to tell us—and, by extension, the entire world—something we haven’t heard before, something that defines you as a member of this burgeoning generation. Make us laugh, make us think, make us mad—just don’t make us yawn.

My essay is tentatively titled, Killing the Fat Boy.

It’s maybe in the make-up chair that I realize what I’ve done. I’ve come as close to killing someone as you can come without the blood or the evidence or the body. My body vanished and no one will ever find it. It’s hard enough to convince someone that it happened. Save photographs, there is very little proof.

I don’t keep the photographs in my back pocket, but I should. I don’t carry the evidence on my person. I don’t carry it at all.

I also got my billing in this week's Publisher's Weekly.

Their review of the book is good, if not slightly backhanded.

Eating Stella Style: Low-Carb Recipes for Healthy Living

George Stella with Christian Stella. Simon & Schuster, $17.95 paper (250p) ISBN 0-7432-8521-2

The host of the Food Network's Low Carb and Lovin' It turns his popular show into text, punctuated by many exclamation points. He has a lot to be excited about: in the introduction, Stella offers his own case history as encouragement, explaining how he lost 260 pounds and helped his wife and children trim down, too, by avoiding sugar, flour and other insulin elevators. The first chapters share tips on building a strong support system and eating until you're satisfied, reading labels and shopping the outer aisles of the supermarket. Most of these will be self-evident to anyone who's tried to diet before; what Stella brings to the equation is a folksy optimism and a Dad-like sense of humor. Building on the Atkins diet, Stella's plan emphasizes fresh whole foods, and most of the recipes are starchless versions of casual restaurant cuisine, like Chicken Fajita Salad, Chili-Rubbed Baked Salmon, and Lemon Meringue Pie. Stella acknowledges the importance of moderation and shows readers how to prepare the occasional sweet, plate of pancakes or cocktail. While neither the diet nor the food are innovative, this work will surely resonate with some readers. (Jan.)

I finally got a co-author billing for my father's new book, Eating Stella Style. Granted, it's an online bookstore in the UK, but it's nice to see my name up there.

Today is a Wednesday and there is a new story over at Ribcage. I am quite content with it. Happy even. Beautiful.

The second wacky soda taste test was a bust. The comedy wasn't golden. The flavors didn't even resemble their solid food counterparts. They weren't even disgusting enough, save the Smoked Salmon Pate Soda, which seemed to have some sort of white chum floating at the top of the sealed bottle.

According to my notes, the catchphrase for the night was, "Let it sit in your mouth." Which I was apparently suggesting we do with the Pecan Pie Soda,to prove a point that all 9 holiday soda flavors all have the same, faint and unexplainable undertone that could only be called the "Jones Holiday Taste," a taste that made each and every new soda remind me of each soda before, making them consistently worse and harder to swallow. So I would insist, "Let it sit in your mouth." Then that undertone would hit you and the Brussels Sprouts, the Pumpkin Pie, the Broccoli Casserole, it would all come flooding back and you'd want to puke. But Adam swore that he genuinely enjoyed the Pecan Pie soda, so maybe I'm just crazy.

Other than that, there wasn't much funny. Or even funny pictures. Mostly there was just vulgarities. Us finally fed up with disgusting soda liquids.

Perhaps the reason that I am not going to transcribe the full-blown taste test of these sodas, is best exhibited in Adam Wekarski's review of the Smoked Salmon Pate Soda--

"It's really bad. Terrible. And let me clarify that there is indeed some sort of Haley Joel Osment semen-juice floating amongst the pink abyss that is this smoked mystery. Why did Christian sip this twice?"

Once Adam goes on to explain how the soda makes him want to commit a vile act of domestic violence, it became evident that we had nothing left to say about these novelty sodas.

So, until next year's festivities, I'll leave you with some advice, that if you actually find and try this soda for yourself, "Let it sit in your mouth!"

McSweeney's 17 is an ordinary bundle of mail, of which each piece is addressed to a woman named Maria Vasquez. It's clever and cool and makes you wish that you had thought of or had the means of creating it.

I have not read through every piece yet, but I wanted to post pictures of it, because I am proud of those bastards that made it.

I did have expectations that some of the more ridiculous items, such as the mail-order catalog of "plural clothing", clothing for more than one person to wear together, would open up to reveal real content inside. That the fake junk mail wouldn't actually be pages of fake junk mail inside, but instead the quarterly's semi-regular letters section or a really great short story or anything. These things are fun for a second... like the envelope that you open to find four pages of dozens and dozens of color photos of red cars and with the occasional photo of perch fish thrown in for no reason. It was funny. It made no sense. It's back in the envelope until I'll show it to a friend or something.

The Yeti Researcher is damn near a book and very cool, if you're really into Hominids and all of that.

Unfamiliar is probably the first literary magazine to come inside of a disguised literary magazine. I guess you can say that it is the backbone of the whole package and I wish it were real. I mean, more than for just this one issue. Because it claims to be a twice monthly magazine of "different fiction" and I would love to have new and interesting stuff in my mailbox that often. (It's been almost half a year in between issues 16 and 17 of the McSweeney's quarterly) Not to mention, the stuff in this Unfamiliar is the McSweeney's stuff that is right up my alley. The short, fresh, fiction.

Finally, Envelope is a big manilla envelope with the word "Envelope" printed on it. Inside are 13 beautiful art prints from new artists or new paintings or both. There's also a card inside explaining their intent to make Envelope into an actual periodical, which would be fantastic. Some of the prints are boring or bad, but others were amazing and wonderful and I am going to frame them. Especially this baby.

...over at Ribcage tonight.

And here is a true story...

I stood and watched a gecko poop for an entire minute earlier. I had never seen a gecko or any kind of lizard poop before. And now I know what all the brown pellets outside of our apartment are.

Apparently there is a website at www.evilkillerplasticbags.com for the movie we made when I was semi-fat, The Bags. Also apparent is a brand new trailer that's probably funnier than the actual movie. The actual movie is available for download in full on a Myspace page that is linked from the site. My brother doesn't sleep.

What I've been writing about lately is nudists, werewolves in shackles, Fluoride and Bill Clinton's Presidential Fitness Campaign. So yes, I've been working on the weight loss book. Obviously. It's funny, the shit that comes rushing back to you when you start writing about your past. To think that I almost forgot about the nudist colony and my first date!

There has been much progress, but I have to take a break to work on tomorrow's Ribcage story. Should be up at midnight.

My post on the new Jones Holiday sodas is probably the most popular post I've ever made. The amount of Google traffic pouring in is incredible. So now I see that to achieve a real following on the internet, you shouldn't just come on and bitch about Steve Martin movies, but instead review disgusting soda pop.

So imagine my surprise.

This...

...is the Holiday Pack 2005 that you can find at all Target stores. And this...

...what in God's name is this?!

It's the second, harder to find, Holiday pack, that Jones is calling the "Regional" Holiday Pack. Only found at smaller grocers around the country. Here in Florida, it can only be found at Cost Plus World Markets, a chain that I've never ever heard of. But will find. Thursday, I am going to hunt these sodas down.

And Adam Wekarski... it isn't over yet. No sir.

On the menu this run around-

Turkey and Gravy Soda (again)
Broccoli Casserole Soda
Smoked Salmon Pate Soda
Corn on the Cob Soda
and Pecan Pie Soda

I thought Shopgirl would be a good movie. I thought wrong. It was average in everything but perceived length. I perceived it to be sixteen hours long. It was based on Steve Martin's slim novella, leaving me to think that I could have read it in less time than I spent in that theatre.

The preview for Woody Allen's new movie was far, far more engaging. For serious.

The Jones Soda Company's Holiday Pack 2005, only available at Target, contains five festive flavors of sugar-free sodas. Turkey and Gravy Soda, Wild Herb Stuffing Soda, Cranberry Soda, Brussels Sprout Soda and Pumpkin Pie Soda.

Thankfully, proceeds from the sale go to St. Jude's Childrens Hospital. This is, I would think, because otherwise you'd want your money back. Because it wasn't as funny as you thought it would be. It was just disgusting.

Still, Elise, my good friend Adam Wekarski and I did an independant taste test, writing down our reactions.

These are the results.

Turkey and Gravy Soda

CHRISTIAN: Like licking the roasting pan of a turkey, right after you ate an entire can of Play-Doh. Also, very sweet. It shouldn't be so sweet. Like a turkey that's been stuffed with honey roasted peanuts and Play-Doh.

ELISE: Like a turkey dinner of doom--leaves a peanut butter mouth aftertaste.

ADAM: Bitter, bitter, bitter. Somewhat of a butterscotch. Salty, Sweet=Completely Bad. Oh, I can't smell anything apparently.

Wild Herb Stuffing Soda

CHRISTIAN: Smells exactly like the inside of the World's Only Corn Palace in Mitchell, South Dakota when I was there and getting sick from all the rotten, dank old corn smell. Tastes like club soda that's been fermenting in an old boot. Also, Flintstones Vitamins.

ELISE: Smells like my beloved Welch's fruit snacks. Tastes like--my mouth is made of ass now. Thank you, Jones.

ADAM: I can smell this. Smells like a nice candle? Christian thinks it resembles the Flintstones Vitamins--I agree. Also, smells like a morbid gingerbread cookie. A Flintstones Vitamin Gingerbread Cookie. But it tastes like paint-water. The Skeletor of bad-tasting bitter.

Cranberry Soda

CHRISTIAN: This flavor isn't wacky enough. It's cranberry. It's not even sauce. It is exactly how I thought it would taste. Not bad. Adam is drinking it all.

ELISE: C-R-A-N-B-E-R-R-Y J-U-I-C-E C-O-C-K-T-A-I-L.

ADAM: Smells like an expected cranberry scenario. Tastes like--You know when you have a pack of red Jell-O and you eat one single serving container? Well, when you lick the bottom of the peel-off top or when you let the spoon of Jell-O sit in your mouth. It's METAL AND JELL-O, MY FRIEND.

Brussels Sprout Soda

CHRISTIAN: Sweet. Buttery. Ass. We've all decided that it's butter. We've all decided that it's ass. But not a good ass.

ELISE: Tastes like my worst nightmare!

ADAM: Smells like my worst enemy. Like brussels sprout and rectum. Tasting it, it goes back to the stuffing and the turkey and gravy. If the two were mixed in one bottle and someone took a nasty shit in the bottle and whisked it around--this disgusting vomit water would be the end result.

Pumpkin Pie Soda

CHRISTIAN: Citronella Pie. Repels insects. I taste burning lighter fluid too.

ELISE: This should be warm, judging by the smell. Tastes like a two month old pumpkin-spice candle. I still taste the brussel sprout.

ADAM: A sad moment for pumpkin pie. Tastes like I'm drinking a candle. Someone successfully juiced me pumpkin pie candle.

Connecticulture: Adam, we need you to come over right now and drink some turkey soda.
Connecticulture: And brussel sprouts. Brussel Sprout Soda.
Saturn Explodes: allright but i gotta change my clothes
Connecticulture: heh!
Connecticulture: Seriously, this shit is gross, but interesting
Saturn Explodes: haha
Saturn Explodes: did you seriously want me to come over and drink it
Connecticulture: YES
Saturn Explodes: hahaha
Connecticulture: There's stuffing
Connecticulture: and pumpkin pie
Saturn Explodes: you have FOOD?
Saturn Explodes: WHOAAAA
Saturn Explodes: I'M THERE!
Connecticulture: NO... just soda
Saturn Explodes: fuck
Saturn Explodes: I'M STILL THERE
Saturn Explodes: just without enthusiasm
Connecticulture: Cranberries
Saturn Explodes: allright but give me some time because i need to change and powder my nose or something haha
Connecticulture: But that's all. Turkey, cranberries, stuffing, brussel sprout and pumpkin pie soda.
Connecticulture: Sugar-free.
Connecticulture: No carbs and no calories and all the taste.
Connecticulture: I just burped up Thanksgiving.
Saturn Explodes: oh, sounds delightful
Saturn Explodes: allright i'm signing off and i'll be there
Saturn Explodes: ALLRIGHT?
Connecticulture: Yes, I am totally serious too. I'm doing a taste test for my blog.
Saturn Explodes: oh okay cool
Saturn Explodes: i'll probably be there in 45 minutes or so
Connecticulture: The brussel sprout soda tastes like sweet, buttery ass.
Saturn Explodes: OOOOH
Saturn Explodes: sounds DIVINE
Saturn Explodes: okay goodbye see you soon

I have dependable friends.

I've written some new stories and they are right on over at Ribcage.

It's a three short short week again.

Trick or Treating Hours
We're Looking for Sticks
The Ant People