"Based on a Cro-magnon skinning chant..."

This brands me a music nerd now and forevermore. If you couldn't guess before.

These pieces are mostly for those of you who can read music. But really, even if you can't, these are still pretty amusing. I mean, a piece that instructs the player to pick up small pepperoni? Insert peanuts? Add a bicycle? Release the penguins?

I would LOVE to hear some really, really brave and accomplished pianist crack their knuckles and give any of these a try. Or actually...a full-fledged band or orchestra. Someone's gotta cool the tympani with a fan, and it sure ain't gonna be the pianist, who will suffer certain carpal tunnel syndrome, ulnar tunnel syndrome, and spontaneous psoriatic arthritis upon attempting these pieces.

All compositions by John Stump, who gives P.D.Q. Bach a real run in the masters of absurd music dept.

Prelude and the Last Hope in C and C# Minor from the opera Marche de L'oie (March of the Ducks)

Faerie's Aire and Death Waltz (from "A Tribute to Zdenko G. Fibich")

String Quartet No. 556(b) for Strings in A Minor ("Motoring Accident")

Atushi Ojisama and Ijigen Waltz (from "A Tribute to Yamasaki Atushi")

Lament of the Introspective Turnbuckle (actually by Andrew Fielding, aka Bicuspo N. Behemouth.)

Glee songs, for your consideration...

I know there's people out there who hate on Glee. And I can kinda understand it. I started off feeling kinda weird about the whole Glee thing, myself. It was just too geeky to succeed. But thanks to the mystical powers of the World Wide Webiverse, my friends ended up piquing my curiosity. And damn it all, if by the fifth episode I warn't hooked.

But why in the world ever? I mean, aside from the utter BRILLIANCE spewing forth from one Emmy-bound Ms. Jane Lynch, who makes Sue Sylvester one of the most hilarious curmudgeons ever seen on TV. Oh, and then there's Brittany, who somehow brings new vistas to the overplayed dumb-blonde stereotype. From a comedic standpoint, the show could rest on the shoulders of these two. But that's not Glee's big raison d'etre, nor is it how it established a name for itself. It's the music.

And so, at the risk of boring my readers with yet another list o' songs that simply must be heard (hey, at least I don't do the "Top 10 Songs To Bludgeon Your Hamster By" stereotypical titles, right? Oh, yeah...guess I do), here we go again. Why's Glee worthy? Here ya go.

To Sir With Love - Originally done by Britpop starlet Lulu, she of the doey eyes and the vibrato that sits just short of Judy Garland's earthquake-rendering tremolo. Lulu did make a charming run of it, and consequently the song hit #1 way back in the early 1970s. Glee does Lulu two better. First, it's great to hear the song sung with very little vibrato, but full of emotion. But second (and this is why you really need to watch the show), the glee club basically sings its gratitude to Mr. Schuester, the director, through this song. It's poignant in the most amazing way...just ask Sue Sylvester, who was actually brought to tears when she accidentally stepped in the auditorium during the glee club's tribute. Sue Sylvester. Tears. No, I'm not kidding. (And if my description falls kinda flat, that's because I'm sidestepping a spoiler. In other words, you really, REALLY need to watch the show. Last episode of the first season, specifically.)

Don't Stop Believin' - Who'da thunk that Journey, of all groups, would have lent one of their songs to a show with as daring a conceit as Glee? Let alone make it the linchpin for the pilot episode? But there it is, a song about lost souls in the guise of barflies and prostitutes, being sung by a high school glee club. Over the course of three minutes, this song made believers of anyone who watched that pilot. Then it formed the basis for New Directions' entry in regionals. (For fun, stand up and say "New Directions" as loudly and as quickly as you can when you find yourself in your next cubicle jungle.)

Don't Rain On My Parade - Look here. I am NOT a fan of Barbra's. I just don't get her. And I saw the original version of this song on Funny Girl. (Would it have killed her to break a smile while she was singing?) But OH MY GOD. Strap me in a chair and force me to listen to Rachel's version during their sectional performance, and man, I'll be a happy kid. Hell, I'll be busting out of the straps so I can vamp and lip sync along with her. Another one where you really need to watch Rachel's performance.

Single Ladies (Put A Ring On It) - Well, this one could cut either way. You may love it, you may hate it, but you won't forget it - at least in this context. I'd never heard the song before Glee, and my first exposure to it was Kurt Hummel, in a unitard, performing Beyonce's breathless tartlet on video before his dad unexpectedly showed up and caught him. (A very straight-acting, blue collar, seemingly homophobic dad, too.) Somehow, Kurt managed to, uh...let's let Kurt explain it. "My name is Kurt Hummel, and I'm auditioning for the role of kicker." On the football team. And with his Beyonce routine, he not only landed the "role," but managed to get the whole football team to dance to this song during the last play of The Big Game. Cheesy beyond belief. (Oh, and about that homophobic dad? Not so. Kurt comes out to his dad during this episode, and he is waaaay beyond cool about it.)

Alone - Raise your hand if you actually loved Heart back in the mid '80s. That's it. Don't be shy. You're not alone. I was there too. Now give this one a listen. Will Schuester, the director, joins forces with April Rhodes (the astounding Kristin Chenoweth) in an impromptu karaoke performance at the local bowling alley. Actually sent chills up my spine the first time I heard it.

Proud Mary - Now, I can't go through this list without paying my props to Mercedes, the requisite black diva with all the high notes and all the sass. She does a respectful slow duet with Artie on the first part, a la CCR. Then she blasts away everyone around her with a blistering version that would do Ike and Tina proud. Mercedes is given WAY too little screen and stage time, suffering the role of bridesmaid to Rachel. So moments like these are particularly welcome.

And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going - Yeah. What I said just now. Only ten times more. More Mercedes, please.

My Life Would Suck Without You - Me, actually liking a Kelly Clarkson song? Good God, the end is truly nigh! But New Directions sold it to me and I swallowed it whole and asked for more. I can't resist a song that goes "I know that I've got issues/But you're pretty messed up too." Hurray for dysfunctional people in warped relationships that stick together just because of love!

Vogue - The video. But only if you're a Madonna fan. A fine homage to one of the most iconic music videos of all time, with some amusing, subtle twists.

Sure, there are plenty of songs that are merely okay, and if I were to blog about the worst songs on Glee, that post might be three times as long. And ten times as boring. So there ya go. Enjoy. (And I swear my next post will not be a bunch of bullet points about music.)

Because being positive takes just too much energy.

People, events and facts of 2010 (thus far) about which I could really give a shit. And then some, for good measure.

Tim Tebow - So the Donkeys...er, I mean, the Broncos...recruited this poster child for Good Moral Christian Fambly Values. And he writes Bible verses under his eyes when he throws the pigskin, y'all. Because he's so hard-core. People, I cannot ABIDE. Is it bad enough that this state of ours is saddled with Focus on the Family and one of the most conservative Christian cities in the whole damned country? I am NOT joking. (Aside: I drove through Colorado Springs with the radio on scan about ten years ago. For a city that at the time was about 360,000, there were four - FOUR - Christian radio stations. Again, I cannot abide.) Incidentally, a guy I know who is the most muscle-bound and chiseled man I have ever met is apeshit for Tebow, the quarterback. Not just Tebow the kinda-hot guy. I will admit that Tebow is a bit easy on the eyes (not in the pic here, though), but those muscle supplements must be working better than beer goggles on my friend here. (Who, incidentally, cannot write a correct English sentence to save his life...and he's a doctorate-level health care professional.)

Daniel Schorr - Who? Sorry, folks. I do have a literary streak in me, and I once contemplated a career in journalism, but, uh...the sorrow for this guy's passing just eluded me. Not the biggest fan of the etherized news broadcasting that is NPR, I. (Then again, take that with a grain of salt. Sometimes, even Dan Savage's podcasts bore me.)

Lady Gaga - Please. If you're going to push buttons, do it the old-fashioned way...with sex, not outrageous costumes. (With props to Madonna. But only through Erotica. She's been dead to me ever since, with a few spurts here and there.) Gay bois (and can I tell you how much I HATE that spelling?) LUURV her. And consequently, I have never been more thrilled about my advancing age. Oh, and I love this argument: "Oh, but she's really a good musician/songwriter." Someone...a barf bag? NOW.

Bears - Let's dive into this subbacultcha of gay life. I once loved me some bears. And to be honest, certain parts of my male anatomy still twitch if a particularly perfect specimen happens my way. (That's if, not when.) But damn my luck to be as hairy as a recently-shorn chihuahua. Hence, my utter invisibility in the eyes of bears. If ever there were a more perfect example of high-school cliquishness, you could hardly do better than the bear scene. I've lost friends to bears, seldom to be heard from again. And when they do acknowledge me, it's with a held nose. So...very little respect.

Tiger Wo... - Fuck it. Not even worth my time.

Arcade Fire - I tried to...um...tolerate these guys. I really did. Branding your first album Funeral is not a way to win over the populace, despite the frightening adulation of your adoring...uh...tens of critics. But hearing Funeral once - maybe twice - put me on permanent notice: these guys are not of use to me.

Anything vampire-related (almost) - Perhaps - perhaps - with the exception of the fount itself. And I admit I did wrong by it. I slogged through Bram Stoker's Dracula in high school over the course of one year. Shoulda taken me 1/12th the time. Oh, and there's Bloodletting, which cements Concrete Blonde into eternal greatness. But those are all pre-2010. So maybe I should really title this "anything Twilight-related."

Lindsay Loh... - What did I say above? Yeah. Goes double for this moron.

The 2010 World Cup - And thank you very much, South Africa, for 1) introducing the world to the fucktacular phenomenon that is the vuvuzela (despite being one of the coolest words ever), and 2) as a result, dampening my sincere desire to see the summer Olympics in Cape Town, whenever that may happen.

Rue McClanahan - I'm not a huge fan. She never did anything wrong in my eyes. But her death this year sent some of my friends into a tailspin the likes of which I couldn't grasp. Whatever.

More than anything...more than jewels...more than life...

What I wish on this watershed of a day...

- that I could go to Hawaii
- that I could be bigger and stronger without health repercussions
- that I could have the libido I had half a lifetime ago
- that I could have the energy I've so often lacked
- that my office were fully packed up and I could leave for the day
- that I could be in a relationship where I don't feel like we both are keeping each other from being who we really could be
- that I had a big ol' soft-serve orange and vanilla twist ice cream cone
- that I didn't have to act as professionally as I do
- that I could just open my goddamned mouth and let fly whatever comes out and not care about the consequences
- that I could know who my birth parents are, and subsequently...
- that I could know what my health history is
- that I could paint my reality with broad strokes, instead of obsessing over the pointillistic details
- that alcohol and sex, sex, sex weren't so important to gay men (one sex is fine, thank you)
- that I lived closer to a beach with great boogie-boarding and body surfing waves all the time
- that I didn't have these damned voices in my head telling me what I can't do or can't have
- that I could be one kickass DJ and bring in at least some good coin from it.

Well...gotta keep packin'...

RRRGH...can't...write...can't...think...

With apologies for the time being for you, my thousands of readers hanging on every word. Writer's block is a bitch. Well, that, and the fact that I'm preoccupied with leaving my place of work this Saturday and moving on to a better, more appropriate place for my skill set. (GAAH! Did I just say that? "Skill set"? Corporate-speak, get behind me!)

Just to let you know that, yes, there is someone still manning the controls up here. Coasting on autopilot for a bit, though. Life will calm down, inspiration will strike, and regular blogging will resume momentarily.

"There is no aspect, no facet, no moment of life that can't be improved with pizza."

I have just finished watching the last two episodes of Daria: The Complete Animated Series. Oh, and the two hour-long movies, "Is It Fall Yet?" and "Is It College Yet?". And the Mystik Spiral video "Freakin' Friends." And the cast interviews. All in one night. Obsessive? Owned.

My ultimate judgment? Given that it's a cartoon about the trials and travails of high school, it's only appropriate to seal the whole thing with the most symbolic of high school judgments.

A+.

Seriously. This subject matter is timeless. High school angst? Sibling rivalry? Heartless lifemanship? Cliques at their worst? Teenage friendships at their best? First loves (and loves lost)? All handled with the skill of an expert swordsman.

Maybe I'm stuck in a permanently pre-adult, purely puerile (say that five times quickly) point in my life. Maybe I'm just clamoring for the teenage years I wish I could have back, just so I could do them right this time, dammit. But Daria is utter brilliance. I never thought I could be so riveted to a teenage girl's monotonous angst. And I really feel that although it encapsulates the angst of the 1990s high school scene, its theme is truly for the ages.

But then again, I have to think: in high school, I really was Daria...only on the male side of things. My voice was as monotonous as you could get. I was dripping with angst and self-doubt with every hallway corner I turned. I tried to sabotage my first real relationship (first unsuccessfully, then...well, is there a successful way to end a relationship, really?). I never had a faithful sidekick as devoted and cynical and witty as Jane Lane (damn, Daria was lucky), but the friends I did have definitely all fit the bill in one way or another. So I'm really, really biased. (Check that: my first real relationship? She was my sidekick. And I kicked her to the curb. Damn you, sexual incompatibility!)

Looking at the whole series in chronological order, I can definitely see things I never recognized in the past. To wit:

• You NEVER would have seen Daria run up to hug Jane at the beginning of the series, when their standoffishness was central to their characters...yet there you see it, at the end of the series, after Daria nearly gets into a car accident. Daria is human!
• Bribing. Fucking UBIQUITOUS at the beginning of the series. But for some reason, the Morgendorffers grew up, and at some point, money was no longer considered a means to achieve selfish ends.
• Quinn. My God, but Quinn evolved. The snobbiest, most selfish, most superficial kid who always fit in perfectly in the Fashion Club grew up. She found out that learning and being smart is cool. She learned respect and - dare I say it? - sisterly love for Daria. (This, after years of disowning her as some distant relative or other.) She even stood up to one of her peers, calling her on having a drinking problem, even when it meant the end of their friendship.
• Daria herself. I mean, she was so uniformly cynical, antisocial, sarcastic, a loner...you know the type. She totally encapsulated it. At first. But as the series went on, cracks showed up in the wall of cynicism she built around her. She began to acknowledge the love that her parents had for her. She began to show - in more overt ways - her devotion to her friends. She even (begrudgingly at first) reciprocated her sisterly love toward Quinn. And my GOD...she even maintained a relationship with a BOY for awhile!
• Ms. Barch's utter HATRED for the male species - because of a heartless, cruel divorce she endured before the series started. No blaming her here. But it was totally cool to see how the endlessly hypersensitive Mr. O'Neill unwittingly and effortlessly melted this crone's heart...to the point where she was making out with him at any opportunity. By the last episode she was wholeheartedly accepting what she misconstrued as a marriage proposal. Take home: if the man-hating Ms. Barch can fall in love again, ANYTHING is possible. ANYTHING.

But some things that were established firmly at the beginning also remained stalwart to the end.

• Jane. In all respects: her cynicism, her slicing wit, her (nearly) undying dedication to her friendship with Daria. (Aside from that whole boyfriend quasi-stealing mess. Justifiable and forgiven.) LOVE me some Jane Lane.
• Kevin's utter stupidity. Duh! He was the QB, right? And of course, he flunked his senior year. (Yes, this attitude contributed to an anti-homecoming/football screed I published in the school paper my freshman year that all but guaranteed me a pummeling by our linebackers.) (If only...)
• Brittany. Kind of. She did actually grow some semblance of a brain. Somewhat.
• Jodie. God bless her. I really felt for her. So pressured to be the best of the best. Oh, and let's add the pressure of being one of only two minorities at Lawndale High. And she graduated valedictorian, natch.
• Sandi. President of the Fashion Club. Always and forevermore a bitch of the highest order. And no, that is not meant as a compliment. But I will grant her this: she can manipulate better than anyone I've ever known.

Seeing Daria (both the character and the series) just affirms my position in life. I'm intelligent, cynical, somewhat antisocial, somewhat reclusive, yet constantly evolving and learning stuff about human nature. And the fact that a network as influential as MTV found a character and series as non-mainstream and subversive as Daria (see also: My So-Called Life) and could support said series for five seasons gives me hope for persons such as myself. (Of course, MTV has since devolved into a state of putrid swampstank the likes of which Daria represents its absolute antithesis. I mean, MTV hardly shows music videos anymore, right? It's time to pull the plug. Like about a decade ago. We can all live without The Real World, which is, like, so real, btw.) But if Daria can thrive, I can too, right?

Then again, we may never know. The final movie, "Is It College Yet?", showed everyone going separate ways. Daria broke up with her beau, Tom. Brittany promised Kevin she'd wait for him...while crossing her fingers behind her back. All the main characters wound up going to completely different colleges. But a silver lining of sorts: Daria and Jane ended up going to different colleges, but in the same town: Boston. But there ended the season. Maybe continuing to pursue Daria: The College Years might have been pretty tough. Still, given the caliber of what the team behind Daria had turned out, it would have been possible, and possibly very compelling. But the world will never know...just like that damned Tootsie Roll commercial.

God bless Daria Morgendorffer. And God bless pizza.

Michael Jackson, one year later

For any of you chipper whippersnappers stumbling across this here blog who don't remember Michael Jackson circa Thriller, don't understand his appeal, or perhaps weren't born yet, check this video out. It's made of unadulterated marvelous white-sequined AWESOME. Here's what an amazing, unifying force of nature he was, shot just a few days after his untimely death. I'm hard pressed to think of any other pop star who could cause this sort of spontaneous celebration amongst complete strangers. (Oh, and for the record...the geeky tall white guy in the center of most of the video? That'd be me, making a complete fool of myself and not caring one bit...if I were on that subway.)

The Disco Box

2001 was a banner year for me. I had broken up with my ex that January, and moved out a month later into a studio off of NW 21st Street in Portland. The ensuing six months was the best time of my life up to that point. So that spring, as a present to myself, I strolled down to the local music store and picked up this hunk of fun.

I rediscovered it a few days ago, and have been listening to it nonstop since. Maybe it's that summer has FINALLY, irrevocably arrived. Maybe it's that Pride is this weekend. Whatever...something in me is celebrating and aching for sweet release of some sort.

And this four-disc box set delivers. Uneven in places, especially during the last disc. And as you'd imagine, 80 tunes spread out over only four CDs does not lend itself easily to extended mixes - the way you'd hear them in the clubs. But if you want to hear some of the most hedonistic music ever created, condensed down to radio-friendly bite-sized chews, you owe it to yourself to listen to a few of these gems. A few of my all-time faves:

Born to Be Alive - Patrick Hernandez: My absolute favorite of everything here, and that's major praise. The title says it all: kinda corny and self-evident (yeah, you're born, you're alive, duh-hickey), but damn, defiant ecstasy has seldom been so catchy and exciting.

Rock the Boat - The Hues Corporation: I hadn't heard this one ever before 2001. No real reason to like it other than it's catchy, it swings, it's got a good beat, you can dance to it...I'd give it a 88, Dick.

Young Hearts Run Free - Candi Staton: Man, something about the horns in this song just do me in. Horns in disco in general, yes, but here they're just perfect, toe-curling. And then Ms. Staton uses her beautiful but weary voice to tell the story of the man who left her and her young baby to fend for themselves. Irresistible but heartbreaking.

Turn the Beat Around - Vicki Sue Robinson: Crazy, sassy and classy. Sung with whiplash intensity.

Get Up And Boogie - Silver Connection: Stupid, stupid fun. Makes me want to lace up my roller skates.

Boogie Nights - Heatwave: Another song I just like, just 'cause. It's underplayed and deserves a new audience.

I Feel Love - Donna Summer: Bow down to the ultimate queen of disco, bitches. But even more so, pay respects to HRH Giorgio Moroder. His throbbing synthesizer here filled a million discotheques and inspired countless DJs. Techno and its myriad offshoots (for better or worse) wouldn't exist without this one.

The rest of Disc 2 - I can't list them all. This disc is golden.

Y.M.C.A. - Village People: I know...this song's too obvious. Still, it cracks me up that this homage to clandestine M2M fun at the local gym is still a perennial favorite at weddings. Besides, I heard this one recently at a club here in town, and it worked the crowd into a froth even more than "I Gotta Feeling."

Knock on Wood - Amii Stewart: Tribal, before tribal was even considered a concept. (Trying not to use the word "fierce," it's so overused, but it really does apply here.) And the video is classic '70s kitsch.

Good Times - Chic: This one comes right after "Born to be Alive." It's a dangerous pairing...by the end of these two, you're bounding out of your skin with unspeakable joy. Need I bring up the immortal bass line?

Lost in Music - Sister Sledge: I love "We Are Family," which is also here. But man, talk about your statements of purpose. "Responsibility to me is a tragedy...I won't give up my music - not me, not now, no way, no how!" Cue me falling in love.

Funkytown - Lipps, Inc.: So fun. And I miss those Star Wars-like synthesized voices. SO 1980, but so timeless.

Cruisin' the Streets - The Boystown Gang: Not much as a piece of music. But I gotta give it up for a band that ain't the Village People that name-checks gay meccas and waxes rhapsodical about finding...not a love interest, but a hunky guy and your next conquest, boys. The shorter version is here; I desperately want to find the extended version, with its VERY explicit lyrics.

It's Raining Men - The Weather Girls: Of course. One of the greatest gay anthems of all time. But by this point, the term disco is being diluted quite a bit - this is more straightforward pop than disco.

And now, for the few clunkers that just don't work for me.

Honeybee - Gloria Gaynor: If you can make it past the first 3 seconds, you're stronger than me. How annoying can a honeybee's (imitated) buzz be on record? Check it out...but you probably won't be back.

In the Bush - Musique: A bevy of oversexed women panting "Push, push in the bush. Do you like it? Do you like it like this?" I generally have no problem with sex in songs, but this is just me: I don't care to think about vajayjay in any of my music, disco or otherwise.

Last Night A DJ Saved My Life - Indeep: What a brillant title. What a great premise. Such potential for a kick-ass song. And this dud falls SO flat. A plodding beat and a lame, lame rap by the DJ make me want to flush this down the drain. (Cue - I kid not - a toilet flushing. Because that's the sound sensation that's sweeping the nation, right?) Also: not disco.

Other quibbles: Far too little Donna Summer, no Bee Gees (!?), no Earth, Wind and Fire. They could have fleshed out the set with more of these artists and thrown some of the non-disco stuff out toward the end. And extended mixes would have been fun, perhaps even segued one into the next. And saddest of all...it's out of print. Still, you can buy it if you search around, and the prices are pretty comparable to what it was originally sold for.

This set makes me wonder if there's any demand out there for an old-time disco-era DJ, and also if there's still time for me to hone my craft. I loved doing the college radio DJ thing, but to be able to play songs end to end - with no breaks and no commercials - and to be in control of a party's mood just gives me the best kind of chills. And I ain't a fan of the soulless machinelike overwrought beat playing in the clubs nowadays.

Bacon, too...but that's too obvious.

Or: Foods that make my life worth living.

Cinnamon. Like coffee for Seattleites. I'm pretty certain that without cinnamon, I might shrivel and become a shadow of myself. Cinnamon and chocolate. Cinnamon and honey wrapped in a tortilla. Cinnamon rolls. Cinnamon crumb donuts. Cinnamon and yogurt. Cinnamon and smoothies. Cinnamon and black beans. Cinnamon and peaches. Cinnamon and apples. My infatuation may very well protect me from ever getting diabetes.

Orange and vanilla. When you combine these two and consume, magical things begin to happen. I fondly remember a joyride in southern Minnesota as a college kid, wherein I purchased and ate a whole box of Creamsicles. Well, almost. I was kind enough to give a few bites to one friend, and let a second one eat a whole one. But the other 10 1/2 were all mine, and slid down my gullet like honey. That was my dinner, and I felt great afterward. It's all been downhill from there. (See also: Stewart's orange cream soda, orange/vanilla soft serve in ice cream cones, ice cream floats with vanilla ice cream and mandarin orange Slice..and yes, it HAS to be mandarin orange Slice. Accept no substitutes.)

Carbonara. Here's my theory. Some glutton with cast-iron arteries decided that alfredo sauce just wasn't decadent and unhealthy enough. A parmesan cream sauce only goes so far, amirite? So said glutton decided to add more butter, cream, fatty pork (pancetta, guanciale, bacon...take your pick), egg yolks (and yolks only, because the egg whites were just too...I dunno...South Beach omelet-esque?), and voila! But then the health food mavens screamed bloody murder. So M. Glutton threw in a few peas or caramelized onions to appease them. Good GOD-amighty, eat some of this, and you're as good as comatose for the night.

Borsch(t). I'm not kidding. But first: I grew up with You Can't Do That on Television on Nickelodeon. Remember that disgusting chef who always put boogers and loogies in the burgers? Apparently he also made borsch; the kids asked him why it was called that, and he joked that it was what everyone did when they ate it (cue kids charmingly puking at the table). But then I went to Russia and discovered that this much-maligned soup could be SO heavenly. The key? An ingredient that I've yet to find over here: smetana. Loosely translated, it's sour cream, but sour cream just falls apart and curdles in borsch. Smetana (accent on the second syll-AH-ble, please) is like thin yogurt in consistency, has a smoother taste, and mixes perfectly with borsch, turning it a delightful pink. Oh, and lots of dill, please. Lack of these two ingredients will render this soup inedible to me. By the by, spelled correctly with or without the "t." In Russian, it's spelled without the "t," while Yiddish adds it.

Coconut. And you probably don't like it. That's fine. More for me. I'll happily get sick on macaroons, add coconut milk to smoothies and cereal (with rice milk), frappefy it with ice, orange juice, and vanilla (see above) for a heavenly mock-orange julius, slurp hot Thai coconut milk soup, follow it with coconut curry chicken, and snarf down gargantuan slices of coconut cream pie (that are over 1/2 whipped cream).

Pho. The Vietnamese have given us this humble beef-and-rice noodle soup to nurture us through frigid, snow-bound days. You get a huge bowl of the stuff, bring your nose down to the bowl and inhale the lime, beef broth, and basil combination as your glasses steam up. Smile with the deepest of gratitude for something so pleasing. Add some Sriracha, and slurp away. Comfort food that blows chicken soup out of the water.(Although it kinda makes you wonder: why such a hot soup from such a hot country? Wouldn't it seem more appropriate for, say, Norwegians to come up with something like this to warm you up in the winter?)

Khachapuri, khinkali, and Khvanchkara. Don't sweat the pronunciation. Three Georgian (as in Caucasian) foods that are just heaven on earth, and that's meant more literally than you'd think. Georgians like to say that God traveled around the world, distributing food to each region. God decided to keep the best for him/herself, but underestimated how high the Caucasus mountains were. God tripped and fell, and the best food fell upon Georgia. After enjoying a few Georgian feasts while in Russia, I totally get it. Georgians know how to party and EAT like there's no tomorrow, and Georgian food as a whole is the best I have ever had.
Khachapuri is a simple light baked bread with melted cheese as an appetizer, served hot. Khinkali are luscious, juicy, almost buttery meat dumplings. And Khvanchkara is some of the sweetest and fruitiest red wine you've ever had, just this side of wine coolers. (Also recommended: Kindzmarauli, if you can't tolerate the really sweet stuff.)

Random thoughts...

Meanderings through the synaptic clefts of yours truly on this fine late spring day...

- "I'm Not In Love" (I just have the song in my head, not the sentiment.)

- This bee kinda sucked, no? Major props to Anamika...she done well...but as a whole, the scene this year reeked of unfairness. For once, I'm glad I wasn't a part of it.

- So, really...what AM I gonna be when I grow up? 'Cause this stint here isn't the right fit, and at 35, I should really get to figuring it out already.

- Totally digging my new rebounder. Fun stuff, and I feel all sorts of body parts moving and flexing that I didn't know could before.

- When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks? (Heh. Thanks, Allen.)

- This makes me happy. (Again, thanks, Allen.)

- This also makes me happy.