Painting With Shotguns XXI
Ahem. Or something.
What I’m trying to say is, hey, look, it’s another edition of that thing where I paint the walls with the brains of many topics, and see what pieces of information stick.
I do it every week, c’mon. You knew it was coming.
Though it’s really starting to smell in here. All these flies. Phew.
Slowly, I Gain Power
Well, if you click here you’ll see a book, and that book is called The Field Guide To Insects, Explore The Cloud Forests, and it represents my first official photo credit. A while back, the author said, “Hey, I’m doing this book about insects, and if you let me put this photo in it, I’ll give you a bunch of copies of the book,” and I was like, “Sure, whatever,” and I get emails like that all the time and they never really manifest into anything.
Except, boom. I got a box the other day, and in it sat three copies of what is genuinely a holy-fucking-shit beautiful book. It’s all pop-up and thick pages and lovely book odor. You can open these little pockets and build your own paper insects. It’s rad as fuck.
So, I’m happy to be in that book.
Thanks to the author, Paul Beck.
Speaking Of Awesome Power
I’m totally going to do a blog post about my beard.
Beards are fucking powerful, and I want to instruct you on the ways of harnessing your beard to be successful. And don’t think I’m talking just to the men. Oh, no. Ladies, you can steal power from the beards of your lovers, or you can wear killer fake beards, or you can grow your own with proper application of intense hormone therapy. Or, I mean, you just might be Italian.
Boom! Snap! Sick burn on the Italian ladies.
Sorry. Don’t get mad.
Try to hurt me, and my beard will protect me.
Anyway. More on Beard Power soon.
Work It, Yeah, Nnnngh, Work It In And Out
It’s awesome because I feel well-placed for future awesomeness. Even if one out of the three things I have cooking finishes up and is launched into the world, I’m good. Novel is getting shopped. TV show is in the “pilot scripting” phase. Film script is looking good. The other elements on that are jostling for position.
Problem is, I don’t have any fresh projects that will pay me right away. Or even soonish. I just got paid for a project, and I’ve a couple payments still lining up. I don’t want this year to become the “feast or famine” year, though.
So, again goes the clarion call:
I need work.
You need something written, you contact me.
Send up a flare. Shoom!
Slap me in the face. Crack!
Fire a tranq dart in the meat of my cheek. Thwip!
Whatchoo got, Internets?
Chicken Borbey, The Time-Traveling Meal
I made a little something called “Chicken Borbey.”
I can find no mention of this anywhere else on the Internet, which is rare. It’s like I found one of the Internet’s blind spots. I could climb into that dark pocket and live there, unseen by the rest of society. I found a loophole. A cubby hole. I own you, Intertubes. I own your shit.
This, then, is Chicken Borbey:
3 cups cooked and chopped chicken, butter, 4 TBsp chopped mushrooms, 8 TBsp cream, one slice of ham per portion, paprika, 3 oz. sherry, and toast.
Basically, you cook the chicken, mushrooms and cream together.
Then in a separate pan you sear the ham (which you sprinkle with paprika) on both sides, and put in the sherry, and let it reduce into a thick sauce that covers the ham.
Then you mix any remaining “sauce” with the chicken conglomeration, and toss in a pad of butter.
I had to change a couple things. I put in salt and pepper because… well, you need to season your food, people. I didn’t have sherry, so I used dry vermouth. The toast I used (not actually a part of the ingredient list in the book, but still mentioned in the prep) was English Toasting Bread. I’d never heard of such a thing, but it tastes unmercifully fucking delicious. It’s like soft pizza dough formed into a bread loaf. Procured from Fresh Market, if you care.
Anyway, the recipe looked pretty dismal on the plate, but I must say, it did taste pretty spectacular.
The one real issue? It’s a bitch to eat. Hard to cut, hard to pick up in your hands, just meh when it comes to the recipe’s construction. Were I to try this again, I might actually do it as a whore-derve appetizer thing. Little crostinis with little slices of ham and a dollop of the chicken and mushroom mixture. One bite. Chomp. Num.
Dear Haters, New Rule
New rule: you get cranky about the shit I like here in my space, I’m going to walk into your house, point at the things you have there, and tell you how much I hate them. Painting on the wall? DVD on the rack? Wife? Child? I’m going to say, “I hate this,” or perhaps, “This sucks.”
And then I’m going to take a crap in your garbage disposal. Which sounds harmless, because it’s a garbage disposal. But go ahead. Turn it on. I dare you. Turn it on.
Don’t be rude. I’ll eat a lot of fiber. Prunes and what-not. I will. I’ll do it.
What I’m saying is, be a fountain, not a drain. Or I’ll shit in your sink.
Oh, and why is there a picture of a cymbal monkey?
Okay, you got me, I really dunno.
I just figure, hey, monkey with cymbals! He’ll back me up.
Ain’t that right, little guy?
(Oh, and winky smiley-face and all that, lest anyone think I’m actually going to come and void my bowels somewhere in your kitchen.)
Linkity-Links, Says The Sphinx
No, I don’t know what that means. You shut up.
Anyway. I got a ton of shit for you to look at, so, y’know, go look at it.
- Something about this website — The Crying Wife — makes me upset and uncomfortable, even as I laugh a little. It’s just… well. Just go there.
- Every week, I think I find a new Best Thing On The Goddamn Internet, and this week is no different. I give unto you: AXE COP. This just makes me happy to read it. Basic gist: five-year-old kid narrates a story, and his 29-year-old — brother? Father? I dunno — draws it. It’s awesome. Axe Cop. Fuck yeah. (My only complaint is I have a hard time navigating the site.)
- Such elegance in story-building. John August. Ten things to do with index cards. Yes.
- Godin asks: you a hunter, or are you a farmer?
- I never linked to this because I was away, but it’s time to change that: Video Games and Boobs. Brilliant because it features talking goddamn eggplants. Eggplants. Rick Carroll has a diseased brain, and you should all have a taste before he finally succumbs to whatever mind parasite is eating his thoughts.
- Will Hindmarch’s Escapist article is up: Curiosity Killed the NPC. I love this, because I think it takes a serious and honest look at how we actually feel about the protagonists we play, and about the choices “we” make as that character. I don’t necessarily believe that all game designers are really clued into this. Will is, though.
- The Lost writers room before the finale, from 5 second films.
- Doyce talks about diving back into your work after a break. Useful stuff — go read. He also has the best image over there, which involves snakes, tigers, and a train.
- A reminder that I still rock the Tumblr page, and if you go there, you will see a particularly bad-ass trailer for Bioshock 2. There you’ll also find the Banksy image (or one of ‘em) from Park City (Sundance) when I was there.