I figure I’ll go ahead and pump a few rounds of wisdom into your eye sockets earlier than normal this week, because.. well, I dunno why. Because this is my blog, that’s why. Nothing you can do can stop me. Hey. Hey! Stop pawing at me! You can’t have it! Get your greasy flippers off my keyboard! Ow!

Mom! My blog audience is molesting me!

Snow Way, Man, Snow Fucking Way

The snow outside is currently mounting, though it is not as impressive as we were led to believe. Six inches over the weekend and (at present) four inches atop it does not compare to the 30″ or so suffered by friends further south. (Odd that we moved north expecting bigger snow amounts, but the reality is, we get half of what Philly gets damn near every time.) We might get another couple-few inches through the day.

Certainly not a Snowpocalypse.

Or a Snowmageddon.

Or, as they say on the Twitters, #snOMG.

We really need some new names. Even the news uses the first two, and we have to stay one step ahead of those spoon-fed fake journalist sonsabitches.

I saw someone on Twitter say, “It’s the end of the world as we snow it.” That’s a good one.

I also quite like Rob Donoghue’s Snowverkill, which, like a sandwich, has many tasty layers.

That said, variety is the spice of life (see also: cumin), so I’d like to throw a few more out there. That way, we have a lovely selection from which to choose. So, what about:

• Snowjob
• El Blizzardo Loco
• Quid Sno Quo
• Henry David Thuhsnow
• Doomsnow
• The Four Plowmen Of The Icepocalypse
• El Blizzardo Diablo
• Ragnarocks-of-Ice-Pelting-Me-In-The-Face
• Sno-ly shit!
• The Hyperborean Gehenna
• The Winter of Our Discontent
• To Sleet, Perchance To Dream
• The Snoviathan
• The Snobomination
• Gog and Snomagog
• Cooly Yuga
• The Cold Snap Rapture (or simply “Coldsnapture”)
• THE ICEKATON

And so on, and so forth.

Feel free to pick and choose. I only ask that you give me credit. And send me money or prostitutes.

Or — add your own in the comments! Collect ‘em and trade ‘em with your friends.

Itty-Bitty Impressions

I’ve played like, less than an hour of Bioshock 2, but it’s not too early to say, me love you long time, you number one Big Daddy. I really like that they just show you some fucked-up shit right in the beginning and then — wham. It’s back in Rapture. No plane crash, no exposition or build-up — it’s simply the mystery of your presence. This is compounded if you’ve played the game before because it’s all like, “Uh, didn’t I kind of handle all this? Where did these little girls come from?” My only weirdness with the game is that it doesn’t feel like it plays the same way. It feels looser, like the controls are slightly unmoored. The Splicers run at me and I can’t seem to handle them properly — I move fast for a Big Daddy, but I also seem to attack clumsily. Whether or not that’s appropriate, I dunno, but it doesn’t feel as fun as I want.

I’ve played… I dunno, maybe ten hours of Mass Effect 2, and man, I am surprised at how much I love it. The first game had a story that (while kind of silly) was fun to see unfold, but the game itself (particularly combat) pretty much left a steaming mound of effluence on my chest. So, I’m giddy as a tickled Girl Scout to have a game that decided to eschew the half-ass shooter-slash-RPG hybrid controls and left the controls as a straight-up shooter. I find the combat pretty natural, now, and I don’t even have to drop the difficulty level to whatever lurks at the bottom for swollen-brained slugabeds like myself.

What else?

I’ve only read halfway through it, but Nancy Mauro’s New World Monkeys (great website, please click it) is stellar stuff. Funny, but not light. A couple encounters a wild boar on a back road where no wilf boar should exist, and they hit it with their car and… well. The event begins a toppling of dominoes, but the real bitterness (in a good way) of the story is how Mauro deftly negotiates a marriage that isn’t precisely on the rocks so much as it is two celestial bodies entering and exiting each other’s gravity wells — they get close, but then they ruin it, they get close, but then they ruin it. It’s this constant push-and-pull that gives the relationship its tension and its hilarity.

And, finally, hey, something I’ve actually finished! Wonder of wonders. Allan Guthrie’s Slammer will fuck your shit up. Dude takes a job in a Scottish prison, but he’s really not prepared for it, not for the inmates, not for the other guards, and he’s in over his head. It’s brutal enough as it is, but Guthrie not only ratchets the tension higher and higher, he then starts introducing some real head-fuckery, thus turning the story right on its ear in a way you won’t expect. Can a crime novel like this be equal parts elegant as an incision and brutal as a hammer blow? You bet your sweet ass, cupcake.

Watched the first episode of Caprica. Didn’t do much for me. I found it sterile. Cold. And as a result, a little dull. Characters just aren’t grabbing me. The sci-fi culture stuff is cool, but that’s never been my bag. You have to hook me with character right out of the gate, or say goodbye to me as I take another lover. I feel the show wasted precious moments between characters, and simply didn’t let me get a handle on anybody. Plus, for some reason, most of the characters speak in this almost icy monotone? If it’s on and I’m too lazy to move, I might watch a second episode. Otherwise, I’ll just throw up my hands and say, “Not my bag of chips,” and back away slowly from the table.

In film, might I heartily recommend Scott Frank’s The Lookout? I’m not just saying that because he’s the creative head of the Screenwriters Lab (and also one of our advisors). I’m saying it because it’s a tightly-wound, expertly-driven thriller. He lays out all the rules in the first act, rules that determine the course of the third act. It’s an impressive feat of filmmaking. Great characters, too. Solid all the way through.

Oh, and I really will get to my proper Finch review soon enough. Tomorrow or Friday, mayhaps.

Do This To Your Oatmeal

Make oatmeal. Not the instant stuff, but the stuff that requires the boiling of milk and the waiting for five minutes.

Stir in some brown sugar. Between a teaspoon and a tablespoon depending on your glycemic desires.

Then, raspberries. About a half-a-cup. I like golden raspberries, because you can’t even see them in the oatmeal. They’re like little delicious landmines detonating upon your tastebuds. (Originally mistyped as “tastebugs.”)

Stir them in real good, too. Mash those little bastards into oblivion, because it’ll release the sweet tartness into the oatglue.

So, yeah. Do that.

Oh! And here’s what you do to a rib-eye steak, if you care.

Oven goes on at 500 degrees.

Put a cast iron skillet in there, and let them all come up to that hideous heat together. When it’s hot enough (10-15 mins), pull out the skillet and slap it onto the stove on high-heat.

Drop the steak in there.

I like mine medium rare, and I used a very thick steak (1.5 – 2″ thick), so I did it for a minute-and-a-half on each side on the skillet. (Oh, and season the meat however you want. I go with a little olive oil, and then straight-up salt-and-pepper. Simplicity is king. No oil in the pan, though.)

Then, take the skillet with the meat and drop it back in the oven.

Cook it for three minutes, then flip the steak, and go another three minutes.

Let the meat rest. Three minutes or so.

Meanwhile, lay out some romaine lettuce on a plate.

Then you mix up some lime-cilantro vinaigrette (actually, you should probably mix it before) — half-cup of fresh lime juice, half-a-cup of olive oil, two diced cloves of garlic, a teaspoon of brown sugar, a tablespoon of Dijon mustard, some salt, some crack-black pepper, stir.

Drizzle that all over the lettuce.

Then slice the meat, put it onto the lettuce, and eat the hell out of it.

Wilford Brimley knows what’s up. Him and his g-dang diabeetus.

Tasty Links

Not too many links today –

Speaking of oatmeal — or, rather, Oatmeal — you should discover why An Octopus is much cooler than Your Mom.

This new Massive Attack video is the bee’s pajamas.

Will’s post about scotch made me drink scotch. Also, learn what “peaty” tastes like. Which is different from what “Petey” tastes like.

I do not comment there with as much frequency as I’d prefer, but I’d like to call special attention to Julie Summerell’s blog once more. So, y’know, go there. Recent cheery topics include suicide, tampons, bitterness, and more. Hilarity ensues. No, seriously. She’s funny.

You’d be amazed at what gifted artists can do with MS Paint. Holy shit.

And…

I think that’s it, for now. Stick a fork in me, I’m done.