The other day in the office we were talking about some old movie stars and music giants from days gone by. Not the far gone-by, mind you, but the near gone-by. People who were wildly famous in the 60s and 70s. And I couldn't help but notice that one member of our under-30 set was just sitting there looking bright and attentive but with the glaze of social disconnect skinning over her eyes.

She had no idea who we were talking about.

At first we kind of teased her a little, but all the while we knew we couldn't blame her. First of all she had more of a life going on than being the kind of person who sits there and concentrates on famous celebrities of the past. But the more we delved on the subject the more it started to occur to us that it was we who were suffering from a kind of blindness. While we were lightly teasing the poor twenty-something it dawned on me that her condition was quite normal. In fact it was akin to the very thing that happened to us when our parents talked about The Great Radio Stars and all of that.

Makes you think about what "fame" really is. You look at someone like Britney Spears or Paris Hilton or whoever the hell the scoop du jour is at the moment and it never really dawns on most people that as famous as they are now one day they'll be as forgotten as any one of the old time stars pictured above. All of whom were wildly, fabulously famous in their day; but now a lot of people will have to work at conjuring names to go with the images .

And I'm sure here and there some folks will recognize this or that face. But I'd call this an object lesson in the meaning of fame and memory, and how much importance we decide to place on this or that icon.

There being no point in this except to say that as the Roman poet said... that "all glory is fleeting", and it is just wrong to make fun of the next generation for not knowing who your icons were - because that seems the way of the real world. Once, that twenty-something was you.

Sucks gettin' old... ain't it?

Some people blog half naked on Thursday. Who needs halfway measures? We Eat to the Beat. We give out tongue lashings. We sweat and grind and pump and give with the faces and sweat some more. Ooo Donny shoobee doo. Moaning. Drums.

Aspirin stops the drums. Whew.

I'm 52 years old. I'm a grandfather. I have been off drugs for 29 years. I have built this blog off of another after years of refining the idea. I have an expensive and personalized template crafted by a professional. I took a $4,000,000 regional specialized millwork manufacturer and sold my guts out to make them a $10,000,000 national specialized millwork manufacturer in 6 years. I'm relatively happy. I have read everything from Dickens to Mahfouz. I am a shareholder in the Jones Soda Company. I drive a MINI. I do not need your approval...




...and I am pimping a shirt that I bought from another blogger and directing all my traffic to him because of it.

I am a big fancy idiot.

Ah! Home at last. Our new look - mightily crafted with a fine tooth chisel by my own blogdaughter Sadie aka Agent Bedhead (my secret contact over at Apothegm Designs).

Gives me to suggest you take a look at getting a re-design yourself if the spring cleaning bug has hit you but the best code you can personally muster was learned from FrontPage 8 years ago.

Now we're cookin'.

Hat tip to you, Sadie.

Is Primitivo The Godfather of Zin?

The connection between primitivo and zinfandel has been well established now amongst wine geeks for some time. In the link cited, however, you will note that David Lynch does remind all that even the primitivo grew from an older origin in the Balkans as we've stated before.

I've decided to take an objective look at these two wines and see what that familial connection actually means - LIVE - to help you get a good sense of this comparison. In the first photo we have, on the left, an Italian Terragnolo Primitivo (2000). To our right a 2004 Zinfandel (old vines, organic) from the Sobon Estate in Amador County. I shall now open the bottles and pour out...

Keeping our left/right perspective we can see the Primitivo(left) is a bit darker and ruddier than the more rubied Zinfandel (on the right). The Zin is much more aromatic with the expected shot of berries and a touch of new leather, while the Primitivo wants you to reach in there to get its aroma. But when you do - I want to say very strong on the butter. Earth and garden. No berries at all.

At first sip the Zin tangs the mouth with a nice short finish but you can sense the usual raised level of alcohol so prevalent in the species. The Primitivo is heavier but hides the alcohol better. Seems very syrupy to the tongue.

Hmm. Let's go again. As you go on the Zin evens out and the Primi seems to get a bit aggressive. Meaning the Primi asserts itself a bit more.

Let me try another. As I go on it is obvious the Primi is holding true to its heavier, darker color. Its got guts.

Let's try some more. The Zin seems to be lighter, a bit more well-behaved. The Primi is earthy. Bulkier. Fuller. Buckminster Fuller.

So they are relateded? (sip here) I suppose at some goranic level wine is wine but the quesytion is is if like if you refine Primitivo again and again do you end up somewhere down the generations with a Zinfandel? And what traits from the family remain? Facial features? These end up being two very distinct flavors. In fact, the more I drink as I go along, I cat'n imagine what the hell Primitivo should be paired weth. It is probably more a sipping wine than a dimmer wine. Anywah who cars?

The Zin has shaved legs while the Primi is all like muscle and bones and blood and stuff and like the relative from Eurpe who is just captivating and bright but could also use a little deordorant and a shave. Or maybe its jush me.

The truth is this speneriment probbly needs an even more developed sense than mime. I can discerna somethingy like something like a something in a common raucous gene in that pool and and end up you're feeling that if the Primi was just a little less heaby you'd get the lighter and sunnyer outlook of the Zun in your face and the wind in your hair. I... I love California in the sun. you know? You worry me old fella... what did you say your name was/

Its like clake to clandy. Cane shugar to pro cessed sugar. MutttoJeff. One is Archibald Leach an the ther is CaryGrant. So yess, the famkly resmeblance is there. Somewhere or tother a bitch maybe got over the wall butt instead theres a pedigree - viola!

I like eh. Em. Them...

The latest entry into the wacky worldview of MSN comes from Mr. Dan Bova of Redbook fame. His extensive article ponderously titled "Weird Guy Behavior Explained" seeks to clear up all the questions women have asked about male behavior through the ages. The problem is that starting with the title we remain confused. Are we talking about the Weird Behavior of Guys? Or are we talking about the Behavior of Weird Guys? I for one hate staying confused, so let's clear up what Mr. Bova is saying in our own macho-expected ultra-cool, insightful way.

Forth with...


Why won't he stop and ask for directions?
The effort in the article is to pawn this all off to the male ego but that is a mistake. After a million lectures from women telling us to take time and smell the roses, to live in the present and enjoy what we have, SUDDENLY NOW it bothers them when we finally surrender to the notion that the journey's the thing just like they've been telling us for all this time. I mean for God's sake...

Why is he obsessed with the Discovery Channel?
Because it might help us figure out where we are when we're lost and won't ask for directions.

Why does he love quickies so much?
Because sometimes Half Time is boring.

Why can't he be bothered to wrap a present?
This is a dumb question because they have plenty of stores offering to wrap stuff for a few bucks, and in the process we get to act dumb in front of giggling young women who think we're so cute because we're getting stuff wrapped. Sheesh.

Why can't he throw out those junky T-shirts from college?
You can't ask this question. It is like asking "what is the expanding universe expanding into?" No. It is a T-shirt gene. Women have the shoe gene, guys have the t-shirt gene. This is all you need to know.

Why does he call his friends by rude nicknames?
Shut-up fuckface. I love you man...

Why does he suck at chitchatting on the phone?
The article says it is because men are Martians or something. I dunno what the hell that means. We suck at chitchatting on the phone because we don't actually give a shit about what Janet said to Phil about what her Mother said to his Uncle.

Why must he repack the car when you fit everything in fine?
I'm not familiar with this trait because I actually don't have this problem. If my wife is going to pack everything in the car I take full advantage of the free time that gives me to watch the Discovery Channel so I don't wind up getting turned around and have her nagging in my ear that I should stop and ask some dipstick for directions.

Why does he always think it is 20 degrees hotter than it really is?
Because women are from Venus or something.

Why does he have a garage filled with power tools he never uses?
I actually am the wrong person to explain this. I have always figured that if you had a collection of power tools you will eventually have to use them. And since I'm not interested in doing any actual work I avoid this weird guy trait. Or weird trait of a guy. Or whatever.

Why doesn't he want to talk about his day when he gets home?
I don't think it is all about the capacity for words women have over men. I think it has something to do with the fact that we aren't interested in living through that crap twice. Get dinner, I'm tryin' to think.

Why can he remember the score of a baseball game played 10 years ago, but forgets his own mother's birthday?
Because the White Sox won the World Series in 4 games last year and I can't remember if your birthday was in June or July. They both start with the letter "J", but there's no way you can get the Sox confused with the stupid Cubs. And the season is just around the corner...

Why does he get jealous about a boyfriend from seventh grade?
Because he grew up to be the President of an aerospace company with billion dollar defense contracts and I'm sitting here tightening bolts on a twelve year old car I don't know. Leave me alone.

What's up with all the lesbian fantasies?
Where? Where??

I hope this helps.

This week's Saturday Salad is a concoctive fresh from Caputo's produce stand. For those of you not in the greater Chicago area... oh well too bad. This great but small Italian chain is still a hands-on operation and has probably the best commercial produce stand in the region.

Notice this one. A MOUNTAIN of stuff (hey - I'm hungry). We're looking at fresh red onion and South American tomatoes (still on the vine when purchased). There are also shredded carrots and the greens are Boston Lettuce, Dandelion, Curly Endive, and a smattering of broccoli. There's enough in there to feed a horse. The dressing is my own Walnut Tarragon Oil.

The featured wine is the Hess Select Chardonnay '04. I'm not a big fan of Chardonnay in most cases because it is often too - I don't know - acid and thick. But this one is relatively inexpensive (around $10 a bottle) and is a less aggressive than a lot of bossy Chardonnays I have known (and the women that came with them). Tips off the bitter greens and vinaigrette right nicely. It was the best thing that came out of the Prime Steakhouse experience we had last week.

I've been on the road so much lately I'm finding that I've reached a certain comfort level with it. So that instead of my brain being in "travel-mode" it has settled back into Daily Use mode, as if the airport full of total strangers I'm looking at are all just people in my living room and excuse me while I just take a nap in front of you all. Make yourselves at home.

And the same thing that happens in my living room - barring a few personal positions that are none of your business - happens in the midst of the throng. Namely a sort of comfortable, detached observation of human behavior. An ability to shut the part of the brain down that is keeping an eye on the clock and the schedule and simply, quietly, watch.

You start to notice that everybody seats themselves with a chair between the next guy. That chair remains open even when the gate starts to fill up, and some people would rather stand than invade that "border." And it isn't until there is no option left that people finally sit in them. And even then you can see them ask permission from the two people who will be on either side of them or get a disapproving glance from their new neighbors as they squeeze themselves in.

And the problem with all the new-fangled toilets where it flushes for you is that we have seen the end of the "courtesy flush." Meaning airport bathrooms stink more than they have to anymore, unless you want to stand up with your pants down and move around so the light hits the sensor and the toilet flushes just so you aren't grossing everybody out any longer than you have to. I hate light-sensor flushers.

And people who cough or sneeze without covering their mouths should be freakin' SHOT.

I still can't get used to people walking around talking to themselves just as happy as a jaybird. When I was a kid growing up in Chicago people who walked around the streets talking to themselves were avoided, or beaten up, or taken away. They were weird. But these days hundreds of people are allowed to talk to themselves right out loud without fear of being jumped. And all because they have these airplane pilot earphones on their head. Are they all flying an imaginary spaceship to the planet 1XstanBOOTY?

When the people at the gate desk announce that we will soon be boarding - nine dozen people get up and mill around the doorway like a pack of hungry dogs. Then they say "we'll now take Group 1" and four people have to squeeze through the crowd (most of whom are from Group damn 6) to board. Like - most airlines have assigned seating (I won't travel Southwest, too much seat-jockeying mayhem), so what are you edging closer and closer to the gate for? No one is going to take your damn seat and they aren't leaving without you! Jeez.

But any way - just so you don't think my calm observation mode only allows me to notice what assholes everybody else is - lately that ability to rationally view my uptight travel-mode fellows has turned inward. And not so much in airports as much as in hotel rooms. For instance - how come I can't use the hotel john without closing the door? Ain't nobody else in here. No one is going to see me. What's that all about?

Then there's always that blaring early morning gaze into the hotel mirror. Hotel mirrors never lie and when there is a full-length mirror it is always put in a place bound to destroy your ego. Hotel mirrors are more brutal than the ones at home.

I have got to start getting in shape...

Thing 6 - The Damn Check

Now to get to the nitty-gritty; and so far we've only been half kidding but the time has come to get real. We're not talking about twosomes here as that is another issue altogether. This is about the full house. O enigma final. De definitieve grens, as it were. It's all about the money boys.

Two or more couples at a table.

How do you handle the check without looking like a pack of hyenas? THAT is the question.

The gentleman squire in me says the men handle this issue before the dinner. But that isn't to say - especially if the couples are established relationships in themselves - that the women should not. Whoever handles the money in each couple are the two or more that should brainstorm this openly before the event. Perhaps at the bar before being seated, or discreetly while moving to the table.

The best of all possible worlds is to have a pre-arranged method. Our group has a little pair of Dutch shoes that passes round-robin amongst the couples. Whoever holds the shoes chooses that month's venue. And the money-center of that couple determines how the restaurant handles the table. The server is told before the proceedings begin that there will be separate checks. If the restaurant has a policy opposed to separate checks (and smart restaurants do not) the default position is for that month's host to pay and to be reimbursed by the others after.

And here's where some people go wrong.

Snatching the check and treating the crowd is perfectly fine if you've just won the Lotto and want to celebrate. But that is usually established beforehand. Doing this when the agreement is already established to Dutch the meal is total idiocy. It makes everyone uncomfortable and impresses no one. You just end up looking drunk and stupid. Stick to your agreements.

When people are paying their own way everyone orders what they want without wondering what the host can afford. If that meeting's host has to put the whole table on his/her card and can't he/she should tap one of the other money-centers beforehand and make what arrangements are required.

And why are we going through this? It should be obvious.

You're out to have a good time. You already understand and are going to a place where you all accept that the dinner is the theatre. The people who are not the money-handlers of a couple shouldn't have to be exposed to the machinations of the arrangements. It distracts them from their enjoyment. Handle it off the scene, away from the conversation, preferably ahead of time. Have a backup plan if the restaurant won't play ball. And don't engage in any silly last minute check-lunging crap.

There are nuances to this, but the main thing is that if there are agreements already settled - stick to them.

People dickering over the check from one extreme or the other are amateurs. Avoid looking anything but suave. It is all appearances. So get with it.

Labels: 27 Things

...and the libertarian in him is rearing its ugly little head.

This week's Roundtable begs the question - spare change?

Today is the first day of Spring and also my wife's birthday. Last place I need to be is in front of a dang computer! So a short pop-in to say hi/bye and a note to the six or seven regulars (see how we're growing?) that I leave for Philadelphia in the morning. Back to you this Thursday late, so don't think I have abandoned you. Yeah I can tell you're crushed.

Coming up is another Roundtable on Thursday and - even more exciting - we hope to unveil the new look in the next week or so. The prototype I'm being shown by the aces at Apothegm (in my case Sadie!) looks like a winner. Stay tuned.

So off I go. Sorry we can't take you to dinner tonite. No reviews - just fun.

Later!

You can get online and find out a lot about this particular Chicago suburban venue. Get into Chicago Citysearch, Local Yahoo (yeah - I know a few local yahoos...), and Chicago Centerstage, and you will get a sense that Prime Steakhouse in Schaumburg has good food and a nice wine list. Here and there you'll see a few negatives on the service but by and large you could always put that down as incidentals.

If our visit last night was the typical Prime Steakhouse experience I think I can say that I see what "it" is about this restaurant that helps it get some less-than-stellar reviews over time.

For one thing it is tremendously over-priced.

I'm not saying the decisions about what to charge for what are greedy or the food isn't worth paying for - far from it. I'm saying the food overall is grand, but that you don't have to spend $68.95 on a 10 ounce filet and a 10 ounce lobster tail in order to assure you get a good 10 ounce filet and a 10 ounce lobster tail. Though lobster can often be influenced by market conditions, and the price asked for could certainly be within standard restaurant margins, for $70 I expect my meal to tend a little more to the saffronous rarity. There wasn't a damn thing wrong with my steak and lobster - it just didn't need to be $68.95. And - yes - you could say "if you didn't want to spend $68.95 on surf and turf nobody has a gun to your head," but when I see steak and lobster at that price I have to wonder if they've rarefied it so much as to be near ambrosia. I wonder if they put a tag on it like that because it happens to be a killer and they know it. It is kind of like a challenge. And, yes, I recognize the difference between prime and not. I'm just saying I didn't taste the big deal.

It was perfectly done per my specs, but I've had lobster I waved at when I walked in before and was wondering if that was the case here. I didn't see a lobster tank. One would hope that was "newly minted" lobster one was paying 70 bucks for.

Comparing the appetizer, Oysters Rockefeller, to my intro to the dish in our last restaurant outing I'd even have to say this $12 teaser was a step below Vigilucci's. The cooked spinach in it overwhelmed the creamy oyster - both to the nose and the taste. Cooked spinach is not always a pleasant smell. Like broccoli sometimes - too green. It needed more creamy, less spinach.

The salad came with a feisty little vinaigrette just to my taste, but the greens seemed to be the standard fare one can get at any of the great little Greek-family owned diners in town, only less on the plate. Good, but hardly noteworthy.

The best part was discovering a nice little Chardonnay I am going to have to find and add to my cabinet. I took the least expensive by-the-glass offering and was nicely surprised. The Hess Select Chardonnay, Napa '04 was a stand out performer. Though the recommended Melbec was a little too heavy for the entree.

So what can I say? They brought a big scoop of untopped vanilla ice cream with a sparkler on it for Lynne's upcoming birthday. Thankfully they didn't sing. And at least our server was a pro throughout.

But with drinks (the two of us did champagne a birthday toast at the bar ahead of being seated) tips and ONE dessert the entire evening left me $250 lighter.

And though nothing was poorly done, I kind of expect to be knocked-over for that kind of juice. I wasn't.

So it is your call.

Prime Steakhouse is at 1370 Bank Dr. in Schaumburg, IL. It is open Monday thru Thursday from 3 PM to 11 PM. And Friday & Saturday from 3 to 12 AM. You'll need a reservation, though we called an hour ahead on a Saturday and got one. (847) 969-9900.

Labels: restaurant reviews

DONE

Also known as "Just How Bad Has It Gotten, RW?" I seem to spend half my life in airports these days and more of that coming. So a short note here to any fellow travelers and apologies to those to whom this is of no use whatsoever.

If you can do anything to sway your office to do so, or if like me you are still lucky enough to have a hand in your own booking; here's a couple of ideas to put in your hat.

There's nothing I can do about the airports in Chicago. Because I live here they all look good to me half the time because seeing them (half the time) means I'm going to be HOME pretty soon. So I can't give an unbiased review of Midway or O'Hare. I can, however, tell you about two airports that might help back down on some of the mammoth proportions of mindless scurry you have to face in Los Angeles and New York.

The little white art deco terminal (yes that's the whole thing) pictured here is in Long Beach, CA. It is a throwback to the 40's and it is very easy to imagine movie stars getting on big silver prop-jobs in high heels or three-piece suits. There's even pictures of that inside to help your imagination along.

There's only a handful of airlines that come into Long Beach but if it is something you can manage it sure beats the congestion and constant paranoia of LAX by about a million miles. And it is virtually right there within striking distance of anything in LA - since there is no such thing as LA anyway, really.

And then there's the other side of the coin...


I have to admit the first time I flew into JFK in New York I was totally overwhelmed. I still remember landing, waiting for my bags and hearing over the public address; "Dahktah Morey Fiensteen, Please pick up henny white soivice phone." Yep - I was in New York alright!

I found out later that better - and sometimes even less expensive - is to take the plane to Long Island Islip (McArthur) Airport.

First of all you aren't immediately hit with traffic on your way out the airport - or at least not as much as you'd face leaving JFK or LaGuardia. You can ratchet down the noise and static a few levels and sort of ease your way into New York from the east instead of being plunked right down in the middle of it, so to speak.

I would take these two as alternatives whenever possible.

Barring any bad experiences you may have had at one point with either of these, I've been pleasantly surprised for myself. Both of these put you in the area without half the problems of congestion and manic bustle that can make airports so un-nerving.

Anyway, another public service announcement from the skymasters at Chasing Vincenzo.

Yeah, well it wasn't really a Quiz but it sure left everybody stumped. Best that happened was somebody got the sidekick once the main character was revealed.

Woo hoo.

This was already mentioned. Clyde Crashcup on the right, Leonardo on the left.










Oh come on... Nobody? How young is this crowd? This of course is the king of cartoon Bleh Roger Ramjet and the American Eagles. It helped to be in 6th grade when it happened, what can I say?





And who could possibly forget QT Hush (the original) and Shamus?

Well. Obviously everybody!












Geez, that was a 10 on the Lame Meter.

Sorry...

Hi my name is RW. I'm selling links to people who are selling magazine subscriptions. If you click THIS LINK you will be directed to Sereena's effort to make like she's really popular set a record for comments on our regular Thursday Blogger's Roundtable.

I don't know - I think the advice and aid given to the lovelorn by MSN is really terrific. They must have an editor who just sits there all day long, lonely, coming up with great ways to meet chicks/guys and what to do once you've met them.

The latest combines dating and St. Patrick's Day. And in that light Ms. Kimberly Dawn Neumann (that's Irish ain't it?) gives forth with that treatise. And you can read it, or just check out the short synopsis to follow in what Ms. Neumann calls "an array of dating blarney we'd like to see permanently obliterated." In other words - misconceptions about intersexual relations that deserve the bomb.

First Blarney - There's no such thing as love at first sight.
Reality: There is not only such a thing as "Love At First Sight", but there is also something known as "Irish Alzheimer's." The first is where you love anything you see after a few beers, and the second is forgetting everything except your grudges.

Second Blarney - Men should always pay for a first date.
Reality: This is a lie told by the British.

Third Blarney - Single women rearrange their schedule to see a guy they like.
Reality: Not true. Irish single women rearrange the guy's schedule.

Fourth Blarney - If a guy doesn't immediately show his interest, he doesn't really like you.
Reality: Irish guys make you think it is a roll of quarters they are taking to the bank. They are clever at disguise.

Fifth Blarney - Women should play hard-to-get to land a man.
Reality: Wrong. The best way to "land a man" is to take off all your clothes and show him your shamrock. Tattoo.

Sixth Blarney - It's always a mistake to date someone at work.
Reality: This was a lie spread by British owners to keep down unions.

Beyond The Seventh Blarney Sex is just an animal urge for men.
Reality: This lie applies to all men - not just the Irish. The problem is it is not just an animal urge for men. It is also our total motivation, goal, and purpose. The mistake women make is in making themselves believe that "he loves me for myself." I mean... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA......... urp.

Open The Eighth Blarney - Women can't deal with it when a relationship ends.
Reality: This is not exactly the case. It is actually Irish men that have the hardest time of it when a relationship comes to a close. This is why they can't ever actually get over anything. At all. Ever. Why do you think they always want to resort to rum, sodomy, and the lash?

Hmm... I suddenly have an urge to turn on the Pogues...

If you can name these ancient "Golden Age" television cartoon characters you are either born before 1960 or we have just discovered why people stare at you with their mouths hanging open whenever you talk.






And if you can't name these ancient television cartoon characters how can you call yourself an expert on American culture you upstart!?








If any of you know some old farts out there tell them to take a look... if they can pull themselves away from the porn for a minute.






Thank you... all for now.

It isn't often that, when on the road, I can take up my hobby and make notes about restaurants. Most of the time - sorry to say - my Lone Guy Dining Technique consists of finding the nearest place with a bar I can get dinner served at and - so long as there's a TV above my plate - I'm satisfied.

I have listened to far too many blowzy women talking to their brand new boyfriends about how they'll never leave you because you're different just three stools down and so a TV becomes paramount when in that situation, you see. You would think people would behave themselves in chain diners. Au contrare. Anyway - I've seen enough of that crap to last me a lifetime.

So it was with great joy that this past Wednesday, I contacted a friend of ours temporarily living in California so we could go have a decent meal and some good conversation. We settled on a place right on the ocean in Carlsbad called Vigilucci's, and while the food was well above-average the talk was even better. Thanks Jim.

We began with my host introducing me to something called "Ostriche al Forno", which - as he explained - was a version of what is basically known as Oysters Rockefeller in the rest of the world. A chardonnay sauce covered baked oysters, spinach, bacon, onions, garlic and Parmigiano-Reggiano. I have to remind you that I am particularly partial to appetizers and salads, and so my comments usually go too much toward that part of the meal but - for me - this is where the conversation is meant to be as fresh as the food and the importance of the lead-up to the entree should never be discounted. I wasn't disappointed. My mistake was ordering a glass of Zinfandel ahead of everything. So I went to water with the appetizer (a complimentary Chardonnay would have been best, but my planning was bad - I thought I would take the salad and Jim would do his favorite appetizer, but there was plenty to go around & I couldn't resist the offer). Still, the oysters were lovely. Very creamy with just a hint of fresh salt water in perfect balance.

My Spinach Salad (with a honey pancetta raspberry dressing) that followed is highly recommended. The little tang of the house-made dressing here offset the Zin perfectly. Now we're talking. But okay - all you people who are all pleh on Zin may now come out from under the table.

That's when I did what I find myself usually doing whenever I have the chance. My Midwestern background rears its silly little head and I find myself with a plate of steak in front of me. I simply can't stop. I think it is a case of letting the wine dictate the choice of the entree. And since my slavic devotion to red Zinfandel is, by now, boringly legendary, steak always seems the natural out.

So okay - it was perfectly done exactly as ordered. The vegetables were warmed nicely and still crisp, and the baked potato was begging to be consumed skin and all. And like the Midwestern barbarian I am - I took up its silly little challenge.

What to say? California resterauntuer Roberto Vigilucci - a native of Milan - seems to have established a fine line of accessible upper-end locations. This one, in Carlsbad, must be a wonderful venue for lunch as it is right across the way from the ocean. As we were there at night it was difficult to discern, but I am certain with the windows as they are the views must lend themselves to some cache. I have had the same food in not nearly as nice a setting for much more (the two of us got out of there for around $130 with drinks, desserts, and tip), and I must say the service was efficient and unobtrusive. The young man who had our table respected our conversation, provided service the moment it was needed, and timed everything perfectly. He proceeded without much notice except for the effect of his work. And that's a professional server. Much appreciated by a guy on the road with a chance to catch up with a friend.

Vigilucci's in Carlsbad is open Sunday to Thursday 11AM to 10PM; Friday and Saturday 11AM to 11PM with the bar open till Midnight. It is located at 3878 Carlsbad Blvd. and can be reached at 760-434-2580. We went on a Wednesday and did not need reservations, but I would imagine you should make them on the weekend. For midweek - the place was still packed.

Go ahead!

Labels: restaurant reviews

...I looooooove LA...

Where else but Los Angeles can you have a hostage crisis in the middle of rush hour on the 710 Wednesday, a mysterious package stopping traffic both ways in the middle of rush hour on the 210 Thursday, and still experience the daily 405 death race complete with palm trees on Friday?

I admit to being a little timid in traffic during last year's trip but my rental was a Buick this time out and I noticed a change in myself. For, as they say, when in Rome...

As you may know I am a MINI owner. So getting a Buick for a rental is a bit of a culture shock. MINIs are exceptionally responsive. Comparatively, the Buick seems to move three days after you turn the steering wheel. I'm just sayin'. The local MINI tribe seems to disappear from the roads during rush hour. When the rest of the crowd is into the BRAKE-GAS-HONK-GAS-BRAKE-HONK routine, the MINIs are long gone.


Smart MINIs.

I, on the other hand (being in a Buick) was forced to slug it out with the rest of the underprivileged. But, because this was a return trip and you don't have to hit me over the head with a hostage crisis to get me to put two and eight together, I figured out the three basic laws of survival on the LA Freeways...

1. DO NOT USE YOUR SIGNAL TO CHANGE LANES, TURN, OR BROADCAST YOUR INTENT.

All this will do is mark you as fair game. Somebody who isn't from here. Long ago the ultra-spiritual nature of California endowed the locals with total clairvoyance. You don't have to tell people what you have in mind because everybody can already read it. In fact they know before you do what you're going to do. Just make your move. Why waste a valuable part of your life-energy moving the turn signal switch?

2. GENERALLY NOTICE THE SPEED SUGGESTION

The posted speed limits are of no concern to you. Take a note - the only time the local constabulary will pull you over is if you are driving in the car pool lane by yourself or you are going too slow with your turn signal on. The first example is Californian democracy and the latter example means you are not from here and are a source of revenue.

3. KEEPING CALIFORNIA PRETTY

(This guideline is more for street-level movement but may still apply) Pedestrians have the right of way, but it is perfectly Okay to run over and kill people if they have wrinkled faces which are the result of smoking and/or alcohol use. This is called the "wrinkled face rule." It is part of making Southern California a fit place to live. Don't worry about properly identifying these people. When you see them - you'll know them. Just kill them. LA will thank you for it.

The idea that the People's Republic of California is a haven for the politically correct, or is a Mecca for all the positive spiritual life-force-flow connection to the soul of the universe isn't quite the correct picture for this much-maligned state. This view may apply to the San Francisco area where kharma is a soft drink; But in LA the idea is to release your Inner Buick. Here, there is no other means of survival.

My work is going to take me to Los Angeles as of Wednesday and I won't be back until very late on the Saturday morning Red Eye.

But the Roundtable will still be held and I want you all to go over to the next presenter on Thursday who, I'm sure, will be wearing a dress the fashion-mongers won't be able to say a thing against, my dears.

Yes I can see it now... the flowing saffron strapless and drop water pearl ear rings...

How could any red-blooded appropriate gender refuse it?

Why do they call it an asteroid when it is beyond the hemisphere, but call it a hemorrhoid when it's up your ass?

I didn't realize MSN was such an oversexed organization. They're just FULL of ideas to help you get laid with your relationships! The latest is an article by Phineas Mollod and Jason Tesauro called 10 Ways to Wow a Woman. Well, I'm down with Phineas. Uh... bro.

But, as part of our ongoing effort toward customer service, rather than have you bother wading through their article, I'll just summarize for your convenience here...

1. Surprise, surprise. "Pull off a surprise party with a full cast or plan a cozy weekend getaway" Planning a surprise party for her birthday is something I have become proficient at. I know where you can get some really cheap belly-dancers too. She'll love it.

2. Plucking heart strings. "When the ordinary is tinged with personal touches, the results will make her blush." In the throes of passion, make sure you say the right name. A simple and easy touch every guy should master.

3. Paging Dr. Love. "Attraction and a naughty imagination are never amiss, but a bedside manner is more than just kisses between the sheets. Amaze your gal by playing doctor and nurse when the flu hits." Now here's a new idea! Next time your girlfriend has viral pneumonia, suggest doggy style. Why didn't I think of that before?

4. Supersize it. "A weekend getaway is lovely, but what about being whisked to Paris? Going overboard, when used quite rarely, will leave your honey utterly gob-smacked, as the British would say." That plan you had to see a game in every National Football League stadium before you die? Take her with. Somebody has to get the beer.

5. Kidding around. The ultimate masterstroke in this arena of wow-ing a woman is demonstrating a knack with kids... she'll go gaga when you goo-goo." There are plenty of kids at the local parks especially as the weather warms up. What could be easier? Go grab a random kid at your local school yard and take him/her over to see her on your next trip in! Voila!

6. Knight in shining Amex. "A magnanimous showing of sacrifice and support wows her and confirms your commitment to a budding relationship." I read this one a couple of times. The only AMEX I'm aware of is the American Stock Exchange. I think they want you to give her stock in exchange for sex. HA! Yeah well we can pretty much skip this one I'm thinkin'...

7. Ode to joy. Confessing your true feelings can make quite the indelible impression." When at a wedding ceremony whisper your idea for a new position that will increase the intensity of your orgasm. This will always get a reaction.

8. Slick moves. Hidden talents... will elicit the "I had no idea!" awestruck grin. Women appreciate it when men aren't always thinking about just themselves. Opening the lids of stuck olive jars so she can make your martini, getting a pan from above the stove so she can make your dinner. I mean come on - show her you're a man of broad talents for Christ's sake!

9. Meet the parents. Be the rare bird that charms the pants off her usually hyper-critical, nitpicking parents. I always found that fixing her Dad up with a hooker usually works wonders.

10. Love me tenderized. How well done is your medium-rare? Preparing an extravagant multi-course meal replete with all the trappings is a wow-able moment. And while she's doing the dishes you'll have enough time to stop by the local for a quick beer or two with the boys.

I'm pretty convinced doing these things will WOW your woman in a heartbeat. She'll never forget you!

It's great to be a guy, ain't it!

Dave, I finally got the shirt...

Um... about the picture on this shirt...Are you mocking me??

Thing 5 - Doing the Wine

Part Five in our ongoing study course that will make you "Bistro-Ready" and it probably behooves us to review the lessons so far. Remember - the idea is to make you more comfortable in social settings and clean you up enough (inside and out) so that we can, after all, take you anywhere, and you can relax and enjoy the finer things in life before they bomb the hell out of us all / or religious fanatics (pick a religion) shut down places for grown-ups altogether.

In our first lesson we introduced you to Joan Armatrading and said that - to approach some level of appreciative sophistication and personal ease - it was necessary to at least be familiar with her music. Then we introduced a history-deficient world to the example of Oscar Levant, who must always be our spirit guide into the jungle of social events. Thirdly there was the reminder that your servers are human beings and you should take care of them in your gratuity and never be boorish to them. And the last thing we did was an extension of Part Three called "Class and Grace" - and was an extrapolation on how to not act like a shithead... basically.

Thing 5 is going to be fairly cut-and-dried but the purpose is to clean up any confusions about what you do at table with the wine.

Outside of a few basic rules you should make an effort to teach yourself (get a wine that comes from the same place of origin as the entree, etc.), you can default the whole thing to a Sommelier (the wine guy) if the restaurant has one (best choice), or get a suggestion from the server if there isn't one (this is always more hit-and-miss). But pairing isn't the issue here.

People ask - isn't there a "wine ritual" people go through in these situations, and what the hell is that all about?

Before I learned about it it was a mystery to me. I had no idea what was going on. So here's a short list of hard-won knowledge, the mastering of which will take you one step closer to at least looking like a snob who knows what the hell he's trying to do.

1. No cork sniffing. I mean what the hell? This originally came from the server showing the bottle was fresh and there was no mold or gunk - but somewhere along the way some doo-dah must have picked it up and smelled it. And I admit in my twenties when presented with the cork I always took a good whiff. Mmmmmm... nice cork! Bull. Disregard it totally. Don't pick it up and move it three inches back toward the server (that's the move of a true snob, you snob) - just ignore it.

2. Don't be afraid to stick your nose in there, that's part of the fun. Look - when I drink beer I drink beer like beer - a lot all at once and fast. When I drink whiskey I drink whiskey - either sipped or swigged depending on what kind it is and the occasion. So when you drink wine - drink it like wine. The aroma is part of the deal. Now remember, you aren't being asked to give the server or Sommelier an eight-hundred word discourse on the proximity of pine trees to the north face of the vineyard. Just swirl the damn stuff once or twice, stick your nose in there and take a whiff. Here's the trick - nothing is worse than doing the smell thing half-assed. If you're tentative about it you'll look like the amateur you truly are. GET THAT NOSE IN THERE SOLDIER! If it smells like vinegar or unpleasant in any way - say so. Otherwise you're only allowed to move an eyebrow, shut up, and go to the next step.

3. Taste it already willya? And here's the thing - At this stage it isn't about changing your mind. You are tasting it simply to be assured the wine isn't "off" (Don't worry about that detail - telling a bottle is "off" is a lot like pornography - you'll know it when you see it). Turning away a perfectly good bottle just because you've decided your expert opinion has changed its mind is a major gaff on your part. The restaurant or bistro has every right to refuse your request if the wine is perfectly fine. And the better establishments - especially ones where the Sommelier is a true professional - will tell you (nicely but firmly) where you can put that high-rise nose of yours. And if we're at the table next to you - we'll laugh at you. So watch it.

4. Tell your table they'll like it. "I think you'll like this, Marla dear" is good enough. Nod and smile to the server and thank them for standing there patiently while you did your shtick.

I guarantee you if you do this crisply and without a lot of flummery you will endear yourself to the staff, make your guests or companions more at ease, and contribute to the positive atmosphere of the room.

If you carry on like a prima donna you're going to look like an idiot. Nobody is watching you, but everyone can see you.

It isn't any different than test-driving a car, and people do it all the time. If you have these four things down the rest will follow and there will be no need to be all self-conscious.

Now - drink up!

Labels: 27 Things

Just a little something on the spur of the moment...

With the impending doom of the Oscars (copyright, registered trademark, $4 fee for typing the word in the mail) upon us I at first thought it might be a good idea to run around the table and get everyone to give their picks but then I said - you know what, I didn't see any of these stupid movies and the bare naked truth is I really don't care anyhow.

I just imagine we'll see the usual crap: Somebody drunk or high (80%?), somebody in the dumbest dress on the planet (and the bitchy bitches who will hound it), somebody hating George Bush (there's a novelty), somebody wanting to save whales stupid enough to beach themselves (sniff...sob), some old actor who didn't get the award crying about being forgotten... Yadda Yadda Yadda.

Only this time the whole miasma will probably be covered in the trendy aura of heterophobia - which is the in thing this year, since the thrusting of the burning member known as Brokeback Mountain into the warm and welcoming haven provided by a dazzled society became the phenomenon of the year. This, at first, was a welcomed event. Society has waited hard and long for such a glistening occurrence and actually needed it bad in many ways. Too many old suppressed-Queens have run things for too long anyhow. They had it coming to them. It was a liberating thing for The Gay People to put themselves front and center into the icon of the American West and open a few eyes in the process. Good for them, I thought.

Originally.

Unfortunately the bloom, as they say, is off the rose by now. It is no longer just the homophobic who are starting to dish the dirt on the film, but also those who are allies to the gay world.

It doesn't help that there have been a few reviews out there by respected people who think the film is just stupidly boring no matter what else is going on. "A lot of dead spaces" is a critique I've heard a lot.

And to make matters worse the influx of "gayness" into social consciousness is starting to have a backlash. In the 60's, we knew the Revolution was over when mommies were dressing their little boys in suits that had bell-bottoms for Easter services. And Rap had to get raunchy in order to outdo the influx of stupid beat rhymes by aluminum-siding commercials. Same, too, with gayosity - I'm afraid. Bring that too much into the mainstream and it'll be as impotent as a McDonald's cheeseburger.

Even the term "Brokeback" has become part of the parody. Including word of the emergence of a Brokeback Mujahideen.

And it isn't helping that there seems to be a movement afoot to proclaim every last icon of American life as a representative of the magnificence of being gay in the context of gay people's contributions to the glory of the world and the beauty that surrounds us in every virtuous nuance that ever gave a positive influence into the awful world spawned by the hated heteroslav. It isn't really a new thing, but certainly more noticeable because of the movie. And this is a problem.


There is a problem here because of the law of unintended circumstances. We can investigate the private lives of all the icons we want. But when we start coming up with things like J. Edgar Hoover, the question is begged: If you believe America to be an evil force in the world, and its influence too broad and menacing even into the nether regions of the planet... and you are gay... do you really want to own the icons?

And whatever next...?