Monday, March 19, 2012

Dim Wit






Like so many of my terrific yet consistently delusional ideas, this one too, was a colossal failure. Like the time I moved to London to seek my fortune, only to return two years later 25Lbs heavier with a cheese addiction and a significantly lighter wallet.


Anyway, lunch the other day was no different. Except that it was lunch and not a Pan-Atlantic move. Specifically it was Dim Sum. A great idea in theory. In practice however, pretty disgusting, except maybe for the shrimp dumplings.


I went with a work colleague (let's call her Trixie). On our lunch break we dashed across the street to Trixie's restaurant of choice. We sat down and she asked me what I like. I answered, shrimp dumplings and BBQ pork buns. I said "I do not care for chicken feet." And helpfully pointed to the table next to us and began mock gagging. Trixie asked if I ate meat. I almost said "I eat meat, not gristle." But sadly didn't. Should have, but didn't.


As the first selection of gristly knuckles on a bed of greasy rice arrived, I realized I had made a terrible mistake. My other mistake was saying "I'll try anything!" True, but a dreadful idea.


Turns out, save for custard tarts, the thrice mentioned shrimp dumplings and gallons of tea, Dim Sum is wholly, and on most levels disgusting. I don't know why I think I like it. I really don't


Dim Sum is an unsavoury medley of textures, of which I am highly sensitive. Taste I can tollerate. Texture I can't. Most everything was slimy, except for what can only be described as deep fried scrotum. If only it tasted as good. As someone who has in fact choked down (muffled snickering) prairie oysters, I can tell you, I'd take actual scrotum over this any day.


Taro: A root (I hope), had been mashed up into some pinkish paste, closely resembling sick, then moulded into a bizarre football/ball-sack shape, only to be flash fried to within an inch of it's life and in such a way that delicate, if not far too realistic hairs formed over the whole thing.


The only things I've eaten that were possibly more nauseating were . . . . and it's a toss up here (pun intended). Both French and both horrific. Traditional Andouillette (intestine wrapped vein "sausage") at the same time offal and awful. Secondly, Gristle and Mustard salad which did and exceedingly convincing impersonation of potato salad, but may actually be groins d'âne salad (literally, "donkey snout" salad). You can see my dilema.


Gross food is fine. As long as it's not on my plate masquerading as a meal.















Wednesday, March 7, 2012

Tumbleweed.


Another Oscars has come and gone. And all I got were these lousy pillow marks on my cheek. What a snore.


First. Hugo. Who cares? I sure don't. In fact I could give a rats ass about the nominees and winners. As usual it's about what people are wearing and the expected witty banter thrown between presenters and host. Billy Crystal was not good. The only amusing presenters were Robert Downey Jr. partnered with Gwyneth Paltrow (who by the way looked delightful) and the unlikely duo of Emma Stone and Ben "enough already" Stiller. For the 5 minutes those four appeared on stage I was entertained.


There's always the death montage? Oh right that. I was more than a little surprised to have found out Cliff Robertson had died. But I suppose that happens when you're old. Speaking of people knocking on deaths door, a spry and charming Christopher Plummer made a delightful acceptance speech. That was a good part. As well he looked dapper in a velvet smoking jacket.


Which brings us to men's fashion. In general the men were adequate, if not a little bland. Christian Bale's patchy beard from last year seems to have come in nicely, and he's returned to his smoking hot self. Everyone else was a barely worth looking at.


With the not so helpful fashion commentary supplied by the irritating Nina Garcia and the predictable Tim Gunn, we were walked through their un-inspiring opinions of the night's couture. I lost all respect and interest in those two when in her dreadful accent Nina Garcia referred to Roony Mara's look as "Audrey Hepburn gone punk" Meanwhile Givenchy is rolling over in his grave.


My commentary would have gone something like this: "Peplums are rubbish." Both Tina Fey and Michelle Williams tried on this terrible idea for size. It did not fit either of them. Yet the press seems to be droning on about how phenomenal Michelle Williams looked. I don't see it. That tired old bleached head of hers detracts from everything she puts on. Right. We get it, you cut of all your hair, you're a serious actress. Other hair that looked dreadful was that of Penelope "mutt-ly" Cruz who's head did an unfortunately convincing impersonation of a 1950's housewife who's hot rollers shorted out.


As I recount the evening's events I realize that the only thing worse than looking awful is being totally forgettable. Sadly 80% of the evening has been lost in the depths of the cotton and unicorns which happily reside between my ears. Apart from a few misguided attempts at glamor, the Event Of The Year was wholly UN-eventful.


J.Lo - The Cell came out in 2000. The dress should have stayed on set.


Sandra Bullock - Jane Torvill and Christopher Dean looked better in their startlingly similar 1986 Olympic Ice Dancing costumes.


Stacey Kiebler - (Kimmy Gibbler) I can't get past your name, I dont care how tall and blonde you are.


Angelina Jolie - Who gives a crap about her leg, when her complexion is waxy and her arms are skeletal? Where exactly are those 10lbs the camera is supposed to add?


Emma Stone - Giambattista Valli couldn't save you this time. Uninspired.


These snap judgements brought to you from my High-horse. The one I'm sitting on while wearing Ugg boots and eating rice krispie squares.