four loko vs. goldschlager

having drank both of these last night, i feel as if i must compare them.

namely because both made me feel like i was a very susceptible young woman named “cindy with two i’s" who was at her first big high school party and was being fed candy drinks by a guy in a varsity jacket who had plans to get me drunk and then rape me behind the bleachers.

and i had the watermelon four loko. then some very enthusiastic fellow took the bottle of goldschlager with him. that man, dear reader, was not me. 

the life lesson from this: drinking candy drinks means you will pay horrendous consequences and have to live with these memories (or lack thereof) in the back of your mind for years to come.

also both leave a very stale aftertaste in your mouth that you will carry over into your next day no matter how many times you brush your teeth or eat peppermint gum. tho four loko does make it easier to hi-jack a party’s speakers and play plumtree’s “scott pilgrim" very loudly and then an upset fellow will say, “dude why did you do that?"

and you’ll respond, “this is the new kanye."

"oh? dope. who’s the vocals?"

"that’s nikki manaj."

"dope."

"yes. dope."

It tastes like fruit punch and malt liquor and like something you’d drink because you like aqua velvas.
— my friend after he and his girlfriend had four lokos the night before and couldn’t drink today because they lingered in his mouth.

The first iteration of a film festival gives one a chance to reflect on really basic components of the universal template. But I should admit I’m skeptical of the film festival model in the first place. I don’t leap at every screening opportunity—I often turn down requests for screeners. This unpopular policy was the centerpiece of a three-day conversation I had with filmmaker and critic Dave McDougall before and after my time in Anaheim. McDougall pointed out that I’m reverse gatekeeping, actively preventing people from seeing my films. I realized that this instinct is paternalistic—instead of protecting my film from insensitive viewers, I’m protecting viewers from what may be a dissatisfactory viewing experience. I do not believe in methodical promotion. I make a lot of noise on Twitter but I don’t make Facebook event pages, I don’t send posters or promotional materials to fests screening my work, I rarely cut trailers. Am I lazy? Superior? Do I deserve to screen at festivals if I seem indifferent to the ritual requirements of the institution? I should mention here that I’m grateful for every screening opportunity I’ve been offered, regardless of my seeming recalcitrance.

Alejandro Adams on the Film Festival Experience.

Also an aside: I asked for and received a screener of his second film, Canary, which made the festival rounds in early-to-mid 2009. Graciously received one and kept it for a bit with no real deadline. Another film critic who had a wider outlet than me was doing a piece on Adams but hadn’t seen the film yet. Adams knew I lived down the street from the critic based on an aside I made on Twitter and asked if I’d drop it off. So, I did. 

What am I getting at? Is there a more interesting way to establish a press/screening relationship with filmmakers at the DIY level? Can a preview screening culture exist if done a~la Dead head mix-tape? Is Twitter God?

Fuck if I know. 

Ben Craw, a friend of Ms. Gumbel’s, lives with two friends in a four-story walk-up on Lorimer Street in Williamsburg. Mr. Craw, who is also 28, earns about $40,000 a year as a video editor for The Huffington Post. He chose the smallest of the three bedrooms, just 6 by 8 feet, because at just $534 a month it was the cheapest.
— Same story as linked previously. But better question—there’s a four story apartment building on Lorimer? Really? Holy shit. What’s been built since I moved away?

Mr. Cavin Quezada often works until 2 a.m. or later, and the first few nights after moving here, he considered asking one of his roommates to meet him at the subway after work and walk him back to the apartment.



Does his mother, who’s paying his rent, worry about him? “I don’t think I’ve given her enough details for her to worry,” Mr. Cavin Quezada said.

AW SHIT SON, NOW YOUR MOTHER’S GONNA REALIZE $500/MONTH DOESN’T MEAN SHIT IN THE NEW YORK RENTAL MARKET. [NYT]

but really—being afraid of “hearing" motorcycles and gunshots in new york does not compare to “waking up on a staircase with a gun in your face." so. i’m glad you’re still young, mr. quezada. bonus points for the paid-for apartment.

How To Make: Faux

No photo because it was goddamn delicious.

This came from an idea because I really like pho, my mother has also finally learned she really likes pho and she was born with some innate ability to reverse engineer anything she eats it. 

You will use:

1.5 chicken breast

7 whole white mushrooms

2 boxes of chicken broth

box of angel hair pasta (we used whole grain.)

lime

a few more cilantro. sprigs? does one measure cilantro by a sprig? i don’t know. grab a goddamn handful if you want. go wild. you deserve it.

how do i make this motherfucker?

no. stop. my mom was totally next to me and cussing is not allowed. anyway, there is minor prep here. this is tackled by taking your wok (or your sauce pan or whichever type of pot you happen to own) and throwing in some olive oil. 

slice up your chicken and mushrooms. throw them into the pot/wok/metal device you should have already placed on your stove and turned the magical fire valve on. at this point, you should aim to “brown" the chicken. by which i mean cook lightly so it isn’t raw. do all of this on mid-to-low heat depending on how you want to cook your mushrooms. the big point here is you don’t need to overcook the chicken; we went with finishing the chicken in the boil.

now when you’re ready, add 1 box of chicken broth to the wok/pot and raise the heat a bit. take your 1 lime, cut and squeeze into the pot while stirring lightly. add in shallots/onions and scallions. you want to bring this bad boy to boil. add in your pasta in the most over-the-top way you know how while singing beck’s ramona from the scott pilgrim vs. the world soundtrack. now don’t freak out: the angel hair is going to soak up a ton of the broth.

this is why you have a second box. that second box is a choice. if you want more broth, simply add it in after and lower the heat for a few minutes. if not, you’re almost done. 

now add in your cilantro before you’re done. by now the broth has receded but can still add more if you want. just remember to keep it to a low simmer in order to keep warm.

from there we’re basically ready to eat. the whole process should take around 25 minutes. 

if you have questions about the nature of boiling broth and pasta, please visit youtube. people film that shit all the time on there.

now eat. based off this, you have enough for 3-5 servings. also my mother and i made a giant cupcake based off something she bought at world market because she thought it looked adorable. the giant cupcake, however, is now imploding under it’s own weight and failed instructions. it’s like a gigantic example of why things promised to you by the television are ultimately horrible and will fail yet still be sugary and delicious enough to sit and eat.

to wit

the people who complain about Four Loko being “taken away" are the same assholes who claim Sparks was “taken away" from them.

You know where you can find Sparks now?

In the goddamn Harris Teeter. 

No one is coming for your shitty alcoholic caffeinated beverages. Though to be fair, Four Loko Watermelon does sound delicious. And I speak as a person who routinely advocates for the Aqua Velva, the most delicious drink ever to be made popular thanks to Zodiac.

edit: via lindsey, "Sparks is different now. Has a different recipe."

well, now i look like a jerk. 

Every week, save all your papers that you’re printed in. On Sunday, sit down with a strong cup of coffee, your paper clips and a decent pair of scissors. Just take a few hours to make sure you label and file all your clips. But don’t worry—worse comes to worse, they’ll always be saved on the Internet.
— a journalism professor of mine. he was being sarcastic about the last part.