Movin', Part 1

Spending my day loading all of Girlfriend's stuff into a Uhaul and trucking it a very short distance up the road to her brand, spankin' new apartment. The move... honestly... shouldn't be too bad. The biggest bonus? No carrying stuff up flights of stairs; she's moving into a ground-floor place. What still sucks? We have to get everything DOWN to the street from our current, 4th floor walk-up. Gravity will be our co-pilot, but running my chunky butt up and down three flights of stairs for an hour or two... well, let's just say the Vegas odds on my heart exploding in a greasy cloud of Cheez-It dust and brown gravy are very, very high. (haha, I'm fat!)

Anyway, pray to whatever magical deity you're down with that things go smoothly for us. Catch y'all on the flipside.

Top Chef: New York - Finale, Pt. 2

Previously on Top Chef...

New Orleans! We all think Carla is going to win! Arrivederci, Fabio!

OPENING REMARKS

-At one point during tonight's episode, Stefan CLEARLY said the word "twat" (in reference to Hosea) and it went unbleeped which just totally blows my mind. What the hell are the censors doing over at Bravo? Seriously dudes... either bleep all the naughty words or bleep none of them; when you let one in, it freaks us out and that's really distracting.

-Also, Hosea is a twat. More on that later.

THE FINALE

Going to do things a little differently with this recap... the LAST Top Chef recap, mind you, and I know you're all just sobbing uncontrollably like a war widow over that fact. Tonight wasn't a traditional show, as is always the case with each season's finale, thus the recap must change to follow suite.

The challenge is this... to earn the title, Top Chef, you must prepare a three course meal; the three course meal of your life. In other, less !!!DRAMATIC!!! words... it's just a reality show, after all... you have to cook three course that kick the other chef's three courses dead-on in the nuts. That's really all there is to it...

Well, okay, given the nature of the beast, there is one final twist: The chefs each have to make a small appetizer with a New Orleans-centric protein; alligator, redfish, or blue crab. Who gets what is decided, in typically convoluted fashion, by having each contestant choose a third of traditional Mardi Gras King Cake. They eat it, hoping to not choke on the (again) traditional golden baby trinket that lurks inside one of the pieces. Whomever has the trinket, gets to NOT ONLY choose their appetizer protein, but also chooses the proteins for the remaining contestants.

Hosea ends up with the cake-dwelling baby and choose redfish for himself, crab for Carla, and alligator for Stefan because he thinks it will fuck him up.

Oh, and ALSO... the contestants each get to work with a "mystery" sous-chef. In past seasons it's been recently axed contestants and/or heavy-hitters from the restaurant world (Eric Ripert comes to mind). THIS season, however, it's the three also-rans from the past three seasons... i.e. the people who came in second. That seems to me a shot of bad mojo, but whatever.

In Hosea and Stefan's case, it doesn't really matter... their sous-chefs help them out just fine and it's terribly undramatic (for the record, Hosea ends up with last season' Richard, while Stefan gets the wrongly-hated 2nd season's Marcel).

Carla, on the other hand, follows her assigned sous-chef right off a fucking cliff. She gets Casey, who is best remembered for SPECTACULARLY flaming out during season three's finale... if memory serves, she didn't produce a single dish that the judges liked... and the pairing is an unmitigated disaster.

So now we know the terms, now we know the players... here's how it all shook out.

JUDGEMENT

Carla - Simply put, Carla completely screwed herself right out of winning. Her first two dishes... a crab soup appetizer and a red snapper with grilled clam... were entirely her design, start to finish, and were much loved by the judges. HOWEVER, on her final two dishes, she allowed herself to be talked out of her original ideas by her sous-chef; instead of cooking her meat in a way with which she was comfortable, Casey urged her to try sous-vide cooking... a funky modern technique that Carla had never done before. AND THEN, for the final dish, Casey talked Carla out of doing the planned-for bleu cheese tart; instead convincing her that a souffle was the way to go. Both dishes were terrible; the meat tough and unpleasant on the former, the souffle burned and curdled on the latter (the souffle was so bad, it wasn't even given to the judges). By not making the food she'd been making... the food, it should be pointed out, that has been loved by everyone... she went down hard. And I guess, in the end, it's for the best... if you're going to be a so-called Top Chef, it shouldn't be so easy for a complete stranger to talk you out of your own ideas.

Stefan - Continuing the problems he had last week, Stefan went into this challenge assuming that the title was in the bag, arrogance just dripping off him like he'd been standing in the rain. Due to that, and due to it generally seeming like he just didn't give a shit, his dishes were all over the map. He started out with an alligator soup that proved his ability work well on the fly with funky ingredients. Then me made a fancy-looking fish carpaccio that... due to the fact that fish was frozen when cut... was totally watered down by serving time (ice melts; a fundamental principle). THEN he made a roasted squab dish that everyone agreed was the best dish of the night, period. All he had to do was close it out well and the lousy carpaccio could be overlooked; the title would be his. Instead, he made a dessert. Here's where the arrogance comes in... he looked around, saw that no one else was making a dessert (safer to stick with what you know), so he figured, "Well shit... if I put out anything that's even vaguely dessert-esque, I'll win for having the balls to do so." So he basically made ice cream three ways and every single judge thought it was boring times a million. Even if no one else is doing it, half-assed is still half-assed.

So that means your new Top Chef is...

(sigh)

Hosea - That's right. He won. By cooking amazing food? Not really. As with the entire season, he cooked food that was good enough to get by, then he sealed the deal by flat-out getting lucky (and not just with Leah)... his fellow finalists took themselves out of the running. During the deliberations, you can tell that they're trying to find a way... any way... to give the title to Stefan. He's the winningest chef in the show's history, after all, and he's CLEARLY Hosea's better. However, the rules state that a contestant must be judged on a case-by-case basis as opposed to cumulatively, and... on this particular night, in this particular case... Hosea's dishes were the most solid of the night. Again, not spectacular, not terribly wow-worthy... he even had a dish (his second course, a sashimi thing) that was generally DISLIKED by the judges. But everything else was steady enough to earn him the title.

So I guess all of that was just a long-winded way of saying that, really, Hosea didn't win Top Chef. The reality of the situation is that Stefan and Carla lost. Hosea was just there to catch the fumble.

And there you have it. As anti-climactic a season finale as this show has ever seen. Sad, really. Oh well, there's always next year.

The Countdown to Radio Silence Has Begun

Hello my lovelies... got another programming notice for you. Really, I just want to give you an idea of what's going to happen with ZFS! for the next couple of weeks.

The short version: Not much.

The slightly longer version: As I've mentioned, we're moving out of our apartment very soon; Friday, to be specific. From then until next Thursday, I'll be crashing at Girlfriend's new place, which, sadly, will not have the internet (rather, it won't be hooked up yet). On the 5th of March, I'll be flying back to Texas and will immediately be consumed by finding a job, getting myself set up in the new digs (more on that at a later date), and various other moving-back-home miscellany.

So... tomorrow I will post the recap of the Top Chef finale. After that, barring a few odds and ends, I would expect a week or two of radio silence (as it were) until I get myself fully settled in Arlington.

This will be the longest break I've ever taken from writing on this site and, for reals, it will hurt me more than it hurts you. But please, be strong... try not to make a scene... don't cry out loud, just keep it inside, learn how to hide your feelings... etc.

Anyway, that's the plan. As I said, Top Chef tomorrow, and then... gone like a cool breeze. At least for a little while. But I shall return... OH YES... I shall return!

When I Move Back Home, I Hope I Get To Solve A Bunch Of Murders

You know, like in the movies... prodigal son returns to his small, quaint hometown just as the local teenage population starts to get hacked to bits by a masked killer in a variety of creative, crowd-pleasing ways. Maybe with a scythe, because you don't see scythes used a lot in movies these days. Anyway, the cops will all think it's me at first... I did coincidentally arrive into town on THE VERY DAY that the head of the cheerleading squad was decapitated (scythe) after necking with her boyfriend at the teen make-out spot. But eventually, after some clever sleuthing at the library and maybe a training montage set to an old Journey tune, I manage to track down the real killer... a disgruntled shop teacher, say, or drifter that had been posing as a member of the Student Council. We'll have a big climactic battle down at the Old Mill... maybe I'll find his spare scythe and we can have a scythe-duel... but eventually I'll push him off a cliff (the Old Mill is on a cliff) and he'll fall to his death. BUT THEY NEVER FIND THE BODY!!! So there's sequel potential for sure.

There are, admittedly, some problems with this idea...

For one, my hometown... Arlington, TX... isn't particularly small. And I don't think you can be considered "quaint" if you're supporting two big league sports franchises.

Also, there's a LOT of teenagers in Arlington. If a few got hacked up, I'm not really sure if anyone would notice. Plus, why would I be hanging around the teenage population in the first place? I'm 28... far too old and creepy to be attending their parties, much less skulking around the local make-out spot.

Oh, and there really isn't a make-out spot. There's a lot of grocery stores that you can park behind, but it's hard to be creepily atmospheric with so many dumpsters back there.

Other problems:

-I don't know where the library is, though I'm sure I could Google it.

-I'm not really all that bright, actually, so even if there were a bunch of murders, I probably wouldn't be able to solve them. Even if I did find the library eventually.

-I'm really only the prodigal son to my family; the Arlington Chamber of Commerce doesn't know who I am.

-There isn't an Old Mill. There IS an old General Motors plant. Again, not terribly atmospheric, particularly not for a climactic battle.

-If I had to fight a killer, I would most likely be horribly murdered. I'm not very strong and the sight of real blood makes me woozy.

-I don't know how to operate a scythe, or really what one even is.

-The police are far too busy dealing with our city's ever-growing heroin problem to focus on one measly masked serial killer.

-No cliffs.

So, okay, I guess it's pretty unlikely that I'll solve a bunch of murders when I get home. Man... that fucking sucks. I mean, okay, I'm glad people aren't going to get killed, whatever. All I'm saying is that it would just be nice to have something occupy my time while I'm there.

Hey... maybe I could be the one murdering everybody... certainly give me something to do... and I am good at murdering... alright, that settles it: When I move back home, I'm going to be the cause of a bunch of murders!!!

Gotta work on my scythe skills, though.

The Oscars or Celebrity Halloween?

Adrien Brody as...



...a speed-metal roadie delivering a toast at the wedding of the guy who runs the light board.

Tilda Swinton as...



...a Bulgarian avant-garde performer dealing with his/her dad's alcoholism by dressing up like a Black & Tan.

Melissa Leo as...



... your mom at her fourth wedding, the one's that's finally gonna take, she's got a good feeling about this one, he drives a truck for a living so... you know... those guys is good people.

Robert Pattinson as...



...all the STDs in the world, but if they were a junior high art class sculpture carved out of formal grease.

Lisa Rinna as...



...a cautionary tale parents tell their kids about what happens to you when you move to Los Angeles and use plastic surgery to remove your soul so it can be gently stuffed into your lips.

Miley Cyrus as...



...an old lady's prized collection of Victorian lace swatches that are way out of their league.

Mickey Rourke as...



...the ghost of a cowboy who legend has it appears late at night on a cruise ship to wait tables and try to sell you the stereo from his uncle's Trans Am.

Beyonce Knowles as...



...the walls of a classy Chinese restaurant run by a drag queen who uses it as a front for a rub-n'-tug parlor that will one day be caught in the middle of a political scandal involving a congressman who likes Chinese food, drag queens, and "happy endings."

Sophia Loren as...



...that song by Cake off their 1996 platinum album Fashion Nugget, "Italian Leather Sofa."

Philip Seymour Hoffman as...



...a cunning thief who just pulled off the heist of the century at a food court Mrs. Fields.

Jessica Biel as...



...herself in fifteen years, desperately trying to get someone... anyone... to label her a "MILF" so she can keep on working in Hollywood because lord knows the 7th Heaven acting chops ain't cutting it anymore.

Whoopi Goldberg as...




...a 1001 easy jokes for bloggers just getting their start making fun of celebrities.

The Agony of an Old, TGI Friday's Mudslide

While packing up the apartment last night, we stumbled across an unopened bottle of TGI Friday's pre-mixed Mudslide pseudo-booze sitting on top of our refrigerator. It was all the way back in the corner, other junk put in front of it, unnoticed for the last three years. It looked... for lack of a better word, scary. Okay, this is how they're supposed to look all fresh and clean from the liquor store just aching to be drunk by girls at a frat party:

Inviting, no? Now, imagine that bottle covered in a thick film of dust, spiderwebs, grit, filth, and the various leavings of the assorted wildlife that occupy any and all NYC dwellings. Also, the liquid inside was kind of swirly, like a puddle of gasoline, and there may or may not have been chunks floating around just beneath the surface.

Reason dictates, at this point, that one should throw the bottle away. It's old, it's been sitting out through at least three brutally hot Brooklyn summers, it's most likely turned to the Dark Side and drinking it would cause nothing short of an epic Old Faithful of diarrhea and it might even go so far as to kill one dead with a strain of botulism heretofore undiscovered by science.

However, I am not a reasonable man.

"It's got booze in it, so... you know... that's like a preservative... besides, it's probably made with so many chemicals and whatever, I bet you could use it for embalming fluid in a pinch. Let's just put in the fridge and then we'll just see what we can see."

Note that I'm willing to drink extremely ancient novelty drinks, but I'm unwilling to do so if they're at room temperature.

So I popped it in the fridge and, after a few hours, when it had reached a nicely chilly state of being, I prepared myself for a delicious Mudslide-y treat and/or a carnival ride into the depths of Hell that ends with my insides on the outside.

I wiped off the collected scum. Somewhere, I heard alarm bells. I stripped off the plastic protective seal. Dead relatives showed up as floating ghosts trying to warn me about something. I unscrewed the lid. The Earth died, screaming. I took a sip...

You know how when you get a soda from a fast food place and there's something wrong with the syrup lines so it's mostly fizzy water and you take one drink and go, "Ew, this tastes like barf" and you complain to the manager and they fix it and you get a new soda and go about your carefree existence like nothing bad ever happened to anybody in the whole wide world? You're using hyperbole to express your displeasure with your drink of choice. It doesn't ACTUALLY taste like vomit. That would be absurd! Nothing tastes like vomit except for vomit.

And, it turns out, bottles of TGI Friday's Mudslide that have been sitting on top of a fridge for a few years. It literally... and I'm using that word correctly, i.e. without exaggeration... tasted like a mouthful of slightly sweet, very cold vomit. Bilious, rank, like decay and rot and stomach acid and sorrow.

I dumped the rest down the drain, my head hung in inevitable shame, my lesson learned. For now. Because what is life without chances taken? How can one experience the highest highs without risking a dip in the murky waters of the lowest lows? Dare I not dream of a world where pre-mixed, franchise-sponsored beverages remain fresh and delicious across the span of time???

It is better to have lived on the edge than to not have lived at all. But seriously, you guys, it really tasted like barf. Not cool.

Friday Morning Hodgepodge

Our once wonderfully multi-colored apartment is now entirely asylum white. Bummer, dudes. Particularly since we had to do all the painting ourselves. Because... and I mean this, sincerely, and from the bottom of pork fat-clogged heart... OUCH. So fucking sore. Not just from the painting... though climbing up and down ladders and stretching for the ceiling and bending and lifting and doing all the other assorted tasks required in slathering goo all over a 3-bedroom railroad are certainly enough to bring on the pain... but no, we ALSO lugged roughly nine bajillion pounds of garbage down to the curb, as well as couch that was made of, by my estimation, steel, thick-pour cement, John Goodman, and the gravity from a black hole.

So yeah... my muscles and bones, etc... they think I'm a bastard. And I sort of agree with them.

Anyway, this concludes the "complain-y" portion of our Friday Morning Hodgepodge. Please be advised that I fully recognize that things could be way worse for me; I could have homeless heroin babies to deal with, I could accidentally drink Ebola, I could be the victim of a spontaneous alligator attack while taking a shower... I get it, I get it. Life ain't so bad. Still though... OUCH.

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In an effort to score a little extra cash, I'm going to be working an event Monday night for a friend of mine... waiter-y type stuff, I think, though there's the possibility of some light stripping as well (whether they want me to or not). This is all well and good... money be money, after all... but there's a small issue I'm having with the dress code and I thought, hey, maybe you fashionable, stylish people could help a brother out? I've been told to "wear anything I want, as long as it's Upscale Casual."

Huh?

How exactly does one define Upscale Casual? Because my first thought is a leisure suit and surely that's not what they mean. So what then? Top hat and khakis? A monocle and a shirt with no visible stains? Prom dress over flannel pajama pants?

I'll wear any of those things, mind you... I need the money, plus I already own several amazing prom dresses (what can I say, I like to crash awkward dances in hotel ballrooms)... I just need to know what's the right look. Eh... maybe I'll just Bedazzle the shit out of my jeans and go as the concept of "A Fun Night Out." Ah, planning outfits when you're drunk sure is... am I right?

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You've probably seen this already as I believe it's been ping-ponging all over the net this past week, but if you HAVEN'T... well then, ready yourself for a heart-hurting adventure in stomach destroying awe/terror. Kiddos, I give you...

This Is Why You're Fat

This link was sent to me a couple of weeks ago by former, fellow Oakridge Owl and future, Arlington-based drinking associate Scott H. and I literally don't think I'll ever be the same again. It's a gallery of the most extremely awesome, extremely disgusting, EXTREEEME foods you'll ever see... The Corn Dog Pizza, The McNuggettini, the Mega Double-Stuff Oreo, a bacon cheeseburger that uses Jamaican beef patties as buns... you get the picture.

Glorious stuff, for reals. If you have a weak constitution, it will all probably make you want to barf yourself into oblivion. However, if you're like me... well, it will just make you very, very hungry. Enjoy!

Top Chef: New York - Finale, Pt. 1

Previously on Top Chef...

Last meals! Broken Italians! Hey Leah... SUCK IT!!!

OPENING REMARKS

-I'm going to tell you up front, this is going to be a significantly shorter recap than what I've previously presented to all you fine, food-savvy folk. As many of you are aware, I'm in the middle of moving my life from NYC to Texas and, well... you know... that kind of thing can take a lot out of a person. Even one as resilient and handsome as myself. So, point is, C-dog is tired. Thus, recap is short. I'm sure y'all understand.

-Emeril is the guest judge this week... they're in New Orleans, after all, so to not invite him on the show would have upset the natural balance of things... and he was actually pretty fantastic. Good critique, an apparent appreciation for the food, AND he did it all with out being "clever" like SOME judges on this show. It was enough to make me forget how bad his whooping, easily-pandered-to audience on Emeril Live makes me itch.

-Speaking of Toby Young... his baldness and anti-way with words were nowhere to be seen tonight. He was not missed.

THE SHOW

So, as I mentioned, the whole production has pulled up stakes in New York and headed down to The Big Easy. Why? Because why not. I've never seen the point of switching cities for the finale, particularly... as with this season... when they didn't even do all that much with the show's main city to begin with. Was there anything particularly "New York-y" about Season 5? A few challenges very early on made mention of NYC, but that's kinda it. So whatever, I guess... now we're doing it in New Orleans. Throw a topless skanks some beads.

QUICKFIRE CHALLENGE

Ah, the topsy-turvy roller coaster of Top Chef. For the QC this week, our four remaining contestants WILL NOT be competing. Instead, the last three contestants to be eliminated... Jeff, Jamie, and, (sigh) Leah... will get a shot at reentering the game. (I'll pause for a moment so you can collect yourself and/or wipe up any shock-diarrhea)

They each have to cook a dish using crawfish; the chef with the best dish is back in the competition. So they cook... Jeff handsomely makes some sort of crawfish and grits affair, Jamie does something gross with eggs, and Leah whines about everything and you can kind of tell that Emeril wants to punch her, no matter the damage it would do to his reputation.

And the winner is... The Cutest Chef In All the Land, Jeff. Which I'm pleased about, actually, as I think he was eliminated too early and also... and I mean this in as hetero a way as is humanly possible... yum.

BUT THERE'S A CATCH: For Jeff to stay alive and make it to the finale, he has to win this weeks Elimination Challenge. Not just do a good a job or place in the top three; he has to outright be the winner. Long odds, for sure, but hey... a second chance is a second chance.

ELIMINATION CHALLENGE

They're catering a bullshit Mardi Gras masquerade ball that's notable only because all the judges arrive in masks and it's VERY Eyes Wide Shut for a minute. Each contestant has to make two dishes... one of them incorporating Creole flavors... and a cocktail as well, even though the cocktail won't really factor into the judging at all, so what's the point? (this is true EVERY time the contestants are asked to make drinks)

Also... this close to the end... why another fucking catering challenge? The skill sets are different! Sometimes, I swear to god, Top Chef, I don't think a court in the world would convict me if I popped you one in the mouth.

Anyway, I guess it doesn't really matter because, for once, all the contestants kicked ass. Across the board, there wasn't a straight-up bad dish. Which means the judges have to get super-picky about shit, but really that's how it should be. If someone serves fried turds on a plate, CLEARLY they're going to get sent packing and that's way too easy. And, frankly, pretty boring television. When they all do a good job, though... when every one of them brings it hard... well that there is some high drama.

JUDGEMENT

Carla - Oyster Stew, Beignet of some sort, and an alcohol-free beverage that was awesome even without booze (which is apparently possible; who knew?)

She didn't just win; she knocked a walk-off grand slam in the playoffs while shooting the game-winning basket at the buzzer and hitting eighteen holes-in-one and some other sports metaphors too. The judges freaked out about her dishes, said they were flawless, kind of humped her legs a little, then gave her a new car. All in all, it was a good day to be a crazy-pants bird lady from the fashion runways of Mars.

Jeff - Fried Oysters w/ Sausage, a Crawfish Pot de Creme (whatever that is), and a Cucumber Mojito

The truth is, Jeff almost won. Had Carla not just flat out clownstomped everybody, he WOULD have been the winner. The judges really didn't have anything bad to say about his dishes, plus his cocktail was the best of the night. Although, let me just say this: The thought of cucumber mixed with any sort of liquor makes me barf hard enough to travel through time. Sadly, as he was only there on a provisional basis, he was eliminated. Goodbye again, you blond vision of loveliness in check-pants...

Hosea - Gumbo with various shit in it, Pecan-Crusted Catfish, and a Hurricane

Somebody last week asked me why I don't like Hosea, so let me answer that question first: I don't like him because the dude complains like a little bitch, fucking constantly. The whole thing about how everyone hates Stefan and thinks he's an asshole, etc.? That was mostly from Hosea. You really get the feeling that he's just threatened by him, thus he feels like he has to talk lengthy novels-worth of smack to make himself feel better. He, as well, shares some of Leah's whiny-ness... which I guess is why they knocked boots or whatever. Anyway, his dishes were all fine and he will be in the finale, which means I'll have someone to root against.

Stefan - Another Gumbo, Another Beignet, and a Black Cherry & Rum drink.

Dude nearly lost it this week. It's pretty clear that he's started to believe his own hype; he could not have given less of shit this challenge because he already assumes he's going to win. He knows it already, if you catch my meaning, so he's not really trying all that hard. His dishes were all technically proficient, but... to quote the judges... there wasn't any soul or love in them. All skill, no heart. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, but that's going to make it hard to beat out Carla, who's apparently got the skills AND those mystical, intangible ingredients that are hard to describe, exactly, but seem to certainly make their presence known in the food.

Fabio - Grits w/ Sausage and Rabbit, Pasta of some sort, and a Bell Pepper Martini

First of all... a Bell Pepper Martini? REALLY? Because that sounds like a war crime. But beyond that, his dishes weren't bad. Not exactly. They were more just missing something; a little heat, some properly layered flavors, the ever-important LOVE, man. Had someone fucked up royal, he would have been fine... however, his little mistakes or whatever you want to call them were enough to send him packing. Sad face for the funny foreign man.

Next week on Top Chef...

The final showdown! Stefan v. Hosea v. Carla! Honestly... and I never thought I'd say this... my money's on a dark horse Carla victory. She's only getting stronger and it appears that Stefan may have plateaued. But really either of those two is fine with me. If Hosea wins, I'm going to roll my eyes so hard all the cars on my street will flip over.

Things are absolutely cuckoo-bananas around here, kiddos. Our apartment currently looks like a bomb made of tornadoes had a rowdy kegger, there are construction crews working night and day building what appears to be a scale model replica of Kon-Tiki in our living room, and I'm covered in so much paint, I've been upgraded on the Sherman-Williams color chart from "Caucasian" to "Eggshell White."

Needless to say, blogging hasn't been happening at a rate with which I'm particularly pleased. And, sadly, it appears it's going to stay that way. We've done so much in the last few days and yet... and yet... we're only part of the way there. Thank god for fistfuls of trucker speed.

Anyway, sorry in advance about the forthcoming lack of posts. All I can offer you in the way of compensation is this video that features NOT ONLY obese men in unflattering sweaters, but also Freddy Krueger rapping. It is delightful:

See you on the other side of this nightmare. (see what I did there... NIGHTMARE... because it's Freddy... haha, I still got it!!!)

Let's Catalogue all the Unsettling Things About This Picture of J. Lo & Marc Anthony

Take a look at this picture for a minute or two and tell me the hair on the back of your neck doesn't stand on end, that your pets don't start to freak out a little bit, that your bowels and bladder don't loosen and now you've ruined your favorite computer chair.

Something is going on here, you guys... something wicked this way comes and it's vaguely Hispanic. Let me catalogue for you the ways that the above picture is deeply, deeply unsettling and is, perhaps, a portent to the end of the world (or at least an interesting day for the scummy folks at TMZ):

-Her face stops about an inch before her hairline. You can try to tell me all day that it's just poor make-up application, but C-dog ain't no dummy; that's her human face/mask not being properly attached to the top of her inner robot casing.

-He looks like he's about halfway through the process of that Jesus spell that the Nazi guy got in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade that made him age all quickly and then die. It seems Marc Anthony chose... poorly.

-She's smiling too wide, like she just ate a hitchhiker to death with her bare hands; there's madness behind her eyes, too, and I'd bet real, American dollars that that heart-shaped purse actually contains a real, human heart (for later snacking).

-They're not holding hands... they're pressing their palms together like two aliens who are a little hazy on the details about how humans interact with each other. J. Lo and Marc Anthony are aliens, y'all.

-His jacket is just a pencil sketch floating around his whithered body. How does he do that? Did he find it in the cave with the Holy Grail?

-Behind them, the bald visage of all our disapproval watches them... waiting... or maybe it's just their publicist or something. If so, he needs to tell them to stop looking like big ol' freaks.

Hey, Look, It's Some Kids Dressed Up Like Presidents Because It's President's Day

This picture is supposed to be inspiring... you know, like every kid can grow up to be the President if they eat a healthy breakfast and study math or whatever... but really it's just kind of creepy and sad. It makes me think about the parents who pimp their kids out as Halloween catalogue models and it makes me think about how these same kids are going to find their old costumes in a closet one day, years later, while searching for anything they can pawn for more drug money. They'll be brought to their knees by the concept of innocence lost and then... oh, then... their old costumes and dreams of success will drown in a river of heroin-laced tears.

Too bad, man... such a waste of life.

Anyway, happy President's Day! These kids, retroactively, hope you choke on your day off from work.

I Found a Fake Mustache!!!

It was in a drawer. Forgot I had it. Well... time to convince all my friends that I've got an evil twin named Clifton. Shenanigans!!!

Programming Notice

UPDATE: By "next week," I mean, "this week coming up; as in, starting tomorrow." Just wanted to make that clear. Or whatever, you probably knew what I meant. Y'all smart.

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Hey kiddos... hope your weekend has treated you well. And I hope your Valentine's Day was a magical glitter-dream of chocolate-covered sex in a fancy restaurant where afterwards you read each other heartfelt card that really expressed your true feelings but also had pictures on them of the Transformers holding big, cartoon hearts.

Girlfriend and I don't really do the whole Valentine's Day thing... not that we don't have squishy emotions for each other... we do, of course. It's just that Valentine's costs a lot of money and, particularly this year, we're in the middle of a big move and it's just not smart to waste cash on a fancy meal when we should be applying it towards truck rentals and paying off landlords to help dispose of the bodies. So many kidnapped drifters in the crawlspace...

Anyway, that brings me to the main point of this post: Posting next week, though regular in it's frequency, will most likely be a little screwy in it's scheduling. See, Girlfriend is off all next week... the teachers up here get a "winter break," apparently... so we'll be using the time with both of us in the apartment to get the bulk of the packing, cleaning, re-painting, and so forth done. I'm sure I'll be able to find time to get my bloggin' on, because we can't do that shit ALL DAY, but I don't yet know when specifically those times will be.

So yeah... bear with me, is all I ask. I appreciate your handsome/gorgeous patience, you fabulous-smelling people, you.

NOTE: There's going to be some schedule disruptions, posting-wise, when I actually... you know... move across state lines, obviously, but we'll cross that bridge when I try to drag five years worth of my stuff over it.

Smell Ya Later, NYC

It feels weird making a big, hairy deal about this... particularly in light of last night's horrific plane crash, it feels like very small potatoes... however, as we're all cyber-BFFs and whatnot, I figure you might want to know what's going on in the life of your ol' buddy C-dog. And if not, well... hey... in the immortal words of the great biographer Plutarch, "up your nose with a rubber hose."

So... here's the scoop:

I have decided to move back home to Texas.

I'll give you a minute to compose yourselves; if anyone feels like they're going to faint, please go to the back of the internet and lie down for a bit. Profuse sorrow-vomiting is not only acceptable but expected.

NOTE: As C-dog waits for you to recover from his shocking announcement, he Googles the phrase "over-sized belt buckles are sexy" and makes a note to, later on today, when he has time, remember the Alamo.

Alright, pull it together people. You, the one openly weeping at their desk so dramatically that your office called security... sir, you've got to get a hold of yourself. It's not the end of the world. It's not even an inconvenience to the world. The world could give a shit about my city-hopping ways; it has polar ice caps to keep frosty and tectonic plates to shift around (the world enjoys scaring the crap out of Californians).

Now, I'll answer some questions if there's any details about my economic stimulus plan and/or my leaving New York City that you'd like further illuminated...

When are you leaving?

Soon. About three weeks or so.

Where exactly are you going?

Well I'm not going to give you the street address or anything, but I'm moving back to the town of my birth, Arlington, TX. If you're familiar with sports, it's where the Texas Rangers play and, soon, the Dallas Cowboys as well. If you're familiar with awesome metal bands, Pantera is from there. And if you're a fan of chain restaurants, we have a vast selection to choose from.

Why exactly are you doing this?

A few reasons. A lot of it has to do with me having been unemployed since mid-October, it looking like that's not going to change any time soon, and me currently being just about broke. My family... despite the fact that I really don't deserve it... have been kind enough to support me through this dark time and, as said time doesn't appear to be letting up, I'm tired of being a drain on both their finances and their well of patience and love.

Does it also have anything to do with the fact that you're pushing 30 and have done nothing whatsoever with your life and are, in fact, basically still living like a spoiled teenager?

While that's an oddly specific question for you to ask, the answer is yes. I'm going to use this time in Texas to go back to school. Get my sweet ass a degree that's actually useful. I'm thinking Philosophy, but I might get a BA in Poetic Theory if the teachers all promise to only speak in iambic pentameter.

Will ZFS! remain the world's premier source for poop jokes, easy attacks on celebrities, and pictures of an unpleasant fat guy jamming food in his face?

Of course. Blogs can be written from anywhere and, from what I understand, Texas got the internet last year so we should be all good.

Are you sad to be leaving?

Yes. I've lived in New York for about five years now and the city itself, not to mention those that also call it home, mean a lot to me. The people I've met here will hopefully be friends for life, even if they DO find out that it's been me stealing money from their wallets and purses to support my online gambling addiction. (live, streaming monkey fights hurt EVERYONE, kiddos... not just the monkeys)

What about Girlfriend?

I really shouldn't get into that, as it's a situation that doesn't just involve me. Let's just say that we're handling the whole thing as well and as maturely as can possibly be expected. Or at least SHE is. I constantly have mascara running down my face from all the crying.

Will you ride a horse while you're there?

Absolutely. There are no cars in Texas; everyone rides horses and works on a ranch and makes comical use of a spittoon. Except for J.R. Ewing; he lives in a mansion and is a bastard. Man, I hope somebody shoots him someday...

Is there anything about moving to Texas that you're looking forward to?

It will be cool to hang out with my family; I've lived away from home since I was 18, so getting the opportunity to reconnect with them sans the stress of major holidays will be nice. Also, living in Texas means there will be unlimited access to cheap, amazing BBQ. When I get really sad about leaving, I just think about eating my way out of smoked meats avalanche with only a bottle of sauce and a canteen full of potato salad at my side. That usually chases the blues away.

That about it? We're getting bored of your problems.

Yeah, that's basically all I wanted to say. Thanks for attending my thinly-veiled pity party, you buncha crazy kids.

Do you have a thematically appropriate Ozzy Osbourne song on which you'd like to end things?

Why, yes... yes I do:

Top Chef: New York - Episode 12

Previously on Top Chef...

Eric Ripert! Le Bernardin! Eric Ripert! I love him! Oh, and Jamie's tattoos were asked to leave!

OPENING THOUGHTS

-Way to start the show off with a monstrously obvious skanky down-blouse cleavage shot from Leah. Oooh... you're whiny and have boobs... yeah... make that bed all leaning over way more than is necessary... Mmm... excuse me, I need to go die from puking..

-Jacques Pepin, who is tonight's culinary Jesus du jour, looks like a beefy Peter O' Toole. This has no relevance on anything; just throwing it out there.

-Carla used to be a MODEL, you guys! Crazy, bird-lady, mystic spirit-follower... THAT Carla. Was a model! You think you know the order of the universe and you think it's a place where cuckoo-banana hippies aren't strutting down runways while learning French cooking techniques and then BAM... world upside down, black is white, dogs and cats living together, MASS HYSTERIA. Carla is officially the most interesting person on this show.

THE SHOW

Great stuff overall. ZERO product placement, unless you count the schmancy bottle of wine given out to the winner at the end of the episode (which we don't). ZERO "witty" lines from judge Toby Young. AND... the show's ending finally delivered some relief for those of us who've long been hating on a certain contestant who sucks worse than the Devil and might just be featured in a photograph at the top of the page. But we'll get to that in due time and, oh... my children... it will be GLORIOUS.

QUICKFIRE CHALLENGE

You know eggs? Cooks some eggs.

That's basically the entire challenge. No drawing knives, no using only canned ingredients, no incorporation of a football betting pool and/or a gospel choir... all they have to do is cook an egg dish. Something fancy. And they've got an hour to do it. Truly, I do so enjoy the rare times when this show stops dicking around and just lets the chefs COOK.

Since there's only five of them left, here is... briefly... what they came up with (going entirely from memory, as taking notes interferes with shoveling bowls of cereal into my mouth):

Stefan... Eggs "two ways." One was this panna cotta thing with mango inside it. It looked like poached egg, but wasn't. Trickery! The other way was just a gussied-up Eggs Benedict.

Fabio... He had like three things going on and they were all kind of bullshitty. Don't really remember what they where, although I do recall him having some kind of gross soup poured into an empty eggshell and perched atop a mini-Greek column. (I think he thought the secret ingredient was organic, farm-fresh What The Fuck)

Leah... She made some sort of dense potato ravioli thing that sucked in several languages and also some Fail Benedict with Disappointment Sauce on a toasted Crap Muffin.

Hosea... This was gnarly: He did something weird with egg whites that turned them into a thin sheet, then he used it to wrap up asparagus and ham in a freakish imitation of sushi. It looked kind of arty and interesting, but think about how that would actually TASTE! All wiggly cold and greasy and that's not even getting into the whole asparagus issue. Blargh times a very high number.

Carla... Every year, there's some sort of breakfast-y challenge and every year someone thinks they're oh-so-clever for making green eggs and ham, like the... hey... you remember?... that book?... Dr. Seuss? It never goes over well.

Um... except for this time, when it won Carla the Quickfire Challenge. I don't know man; I really don't get how the world works anymore.

ELIMINATION CHALLENGE

It's all about the concept of the "Last Supper;" i.e. what would you want to eat as your last meal before you laid down for the eternal dirt nap. It was actually pretty straightforward: the contestants are asked to draw knives... each one denotes a different heavy-hitter in the world of cooking. Whoever they draw, that's who's idea of a Last Supper they'll be cooking... to be judged, it should be noted, by said heavy-hitter at a weirdly-lit dinner where everyone kind of looks like a soft-focus ghost (that last part wasn't explicitly part of the challenge, but it IS what happened).

As is so often the case with big-time chefs/restaurant industry professionals, the Last Suppers chosen were all fairly simple dishes. Roast chicken, Eggs Benedict, shrimp scampi, etc. No farting around with truffle oil and basil foam or any such nonsense. Because when you're about to die, do you REALLY want to eat a food-based science project, say, or a plate so elegant you feel like you're going to get challenged to a duel by a prince if you touch it? Of course not. You want comfort food, man... something soulful and warm, something that stirs up memories of days gone by. Of course, as Top Chef has proven time and time again, it's usually the simplest things that are the easiest to fuck up.

Before we get to the dishes and the judgement, there was a bit of pre-service craziness...

While doing... something (it's never really explained)... in the kitchen, our man Fabio manages to break his pinky finger. Like, badly. As the medics are bandaging him up, and as he swears in Italian, you can see his traumatized paw involuntarily shaking... never a good sign. But what's awesome is, when the medic asks him if he wants to go to the hospital, he just looks at her like she's crazy and laughs.

Dude plays through the pain, even saying that if it came down to it, he would just chop the pinky off and cauterize it on the flat-top grill... deal with it after the dinner service. That sort of thing shows an ENORMOUS amount of character; I guaren-damn-tee you that Leah would have cried for three days and demanded the competition be stopped forever as a tribute to her huwt widdle fingie...

JUDGEMENT

Fabio, cooking for Lidia Bastianich - Roast Chicken w/ a Leafy Salad

Despite working hurt, Fabio managed to crank out a kick-ass roast chicken. Everyone was pleased, even though the accompanying salad was kind of lousy. It was enough, though, to win him the challenge... however, I do wonder if the fact that he did it all essentially one-handed played into the judges decision. Certainly upped the difficulty factor for him.

Carla, cooking for Jacques Pepin - Roast Squab with Fresh Peas

Once again, Carla brings it hard. Her squab was a little overcooked... the detail that most likely ended up costing her the win... but it was nonetheless enjoyed by all that tried it. It was her peas, though, that really smacked everyone upside the head. Again, nothing too fancy or show off-y... just fresh peas in a butter reduction with tarragon. But apparently the were the bomb diggity. Pepin flipped for them and, no joke, the dude knows what he's talking about. If he thinks it's awesome... it's awesome.

Hosea, cooking for Some Lady from the James Beard House - Shrimp Scampi w/ Tomato Provencal

As with 90% of the food he's cooked thus far, his dish was squarely in the middle of the road. Not horrible, not wonderful... just kind of bland. Also, because I haven't said it yet this recap, I don't like him.

Stefan, cooking for Marcus Samuelson - Salmon w/ Spinach

Leah, cooking for Wylie DuFresnse - Eggs Benedict

I'm doing these two together because they were the main source of drama for this episode, PLUS their situation brings up an interesting point about Top Chef as a whole. Basically, both of their dishes kind of sucked. Stefan overcooked the salmon... no one liked it... and he made a weird decision to cook two kinds of spinach (one with cream and one without) that left everyone confused. Leah's Eggs Benedict was a mess as well... watery hollandaise, runny eggs, etc. The dish basically has three components and she fucked up two of them.

So who should go home? Clearly... at least judging by the edit we saw... Stefan's dish was the least liked by all the panelists. And, as that's the case, the grammar of Top Chef... which has long-stated that you live and die by each challenge and that there is no curve given to a cumulative effort... dictates that he should be the one sent packing.

HOWEVER... he has clearly, since the start of the show, been the front-runner.

Especially when compared to Leah, who has made it clear from at least the halfway point of the season that she could give a shit, is bored with the competition, would just like to go home and have good, long whine to whatever nerdy guy happens to buy into her shtick.

Mercifully, blessedly, the judges decided... just this once... to bend their own rules and give Leah the boot. Of course, they never came right out and SAID they were doing this... that would call into question any further choices they make with regards to judging the competition. But really it was their only option. It's an issue of credibility when you get right down to it; cutting an exemplary chef for one bad night and keeping on a spoiled, talentless dipshit like Leah would have brought Top Chef to it's knees in the eyes of the viewing audience. No doubt in my mind about that. I know I, for one, would have stopped watching.

Anyway, LEAH IS GONE!!! Way overdue, bitch... way overdue.

Next week on Top Chef...

The final four! New, unfortunate haircuts! New Orleans! (Which, of course, means Emeril)

What If Celebrities Were Sandwiches

NOTE: Artwork by Lioux; used without his permission.

The Kevin Bacon - Tasty enough as far as sandwiches go, but tends to remind one of six other sandwiches featuring some of the same ingredients. Eating The Kevin Bacon makes one want to dance crazily to saxophone-heavy radio pop in a dramatically lit barn. Ironically, it features no bacon.

The Scarlett Johansson - Desired by men everywhere, though strangely unpopular with women. Despite repeated requests, The Scarlett Johansson has never been served open-faced.

The Paris Hilton - Not a sandwich; The Paris Hilton is actually just an empty, plastic plate that costs an outrageous sum of money and appears on menus only as a joke.

The Miley Cyrus - While extremely popular with the masses, actually eating The Miley Cyrus will land you in jail, even if it's creator says it's okay.

The Jay Leno - Stale white bread with ham and cheese; greatly enjoyed by old people, but mostly consumed by everyone else because it happened to take over the spot on the menu previously occupied by The Johnny Carson.

The Stephen King - This sandwich will scare the shit out of you.

The Eddie Murphy - Used to be delicious, but now tends to get served with large slices of rubbery fat that make the whole sandwich unappetizing and extremely unfunny. However, it should be noted that The Eddie Murphy is still very popular with those who have no taste whatsoever, as well as with little kids that never had The Eddie Murphy it's classic form... served raw in Beverly Hills for 48 hours after coming to America, live, on a Saturday night.

The Courtney Love - Just a bag of heroin hidden between two slices of old, dirty bread; this sandwich is actually what killed Kurt Cobain.

The Tom Cruise - For a relatively small sandwich, it sure packs in a lot of crazy flavors and unusual opinions on aliens and modern psychology. Of all the sandwiches out there, it's the one most likely to ruin your couch and kidnap a former teen star as it's pretend sandwich wife.

The Barack Obama - Everyone really hopes this sandwich tastes as good as the menu copy claims it does.

Responding to Your Comments From the Previous Post, But In ANOTHER Post...

NOTE: Because why not?

lacochran said...
Dear C-dog,Thanks for your missive of this February 10. Salt & Vinegar chips are the best chips evah. I'm not so interested in any of those topics. Sorry. Could you do something on athlete's foot? Oh.-lacochran (feel free to reply on my blog)

C-dog Says... Salt & Vinegar chips rock my ass, consistently and thoroughly. They're just so sharp and sassy, like an 80's sitcom neighbor but all up in my mouth. That's why I love them; they're like cultural time travel that's delicious.

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youaretigerbait said...
CELEBRITY SANDWICHES. i would eat the shit out of Scarlet Johannsen's sandwich.

C-dog Says... That sounds kind of dirty, but also I totally agree with you.

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Anonymous said...
I vote for the long promised conclusion to the zombie/liquor store in basement tale.....plus the clean-up of the blogroll as well....

C-dog Says... That story will be completed one day, but it might be many years from now and, given the state of things, it might be written in charcoal on the side of a burned-out building. What I mean to say is, THE END IS NIGH!!!

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ML said...
C-Dog,I'm sorry to hear about your feet, but dude, we've been telling you to put on a clean pair of socks for weeks now. You really shouldn't be surprised.I'm doing alright. I could stand to be a little more awesome as well, but I suppose that if my biggest problem right now is deciding how I'm going to incorporate bacon into my next meal w/o having to make it, then I'm doing just fine.If you could make a celebrity sandwich with bacon on it, I would eat it. I would probably hit the Scarlet Johannsen sandwich as well. I don't do girls, but let's face it, she's hot. And we look alike according to some people I used to work with, so it's okay if it's kind of like doin' yourself right? I mean eating. Yourself. ...right?So I'm voting for celebrity sandwiches. It will give me an idea of how to incorporate bacon into lunch every day.-MLo

C-dog Says... I like it when my socks try to walk under their own power. Their own stanky, stanky power... Also, dude, bacon doesn't need to be "incorporated;" that's for fancy businessmen and people that own land. Just fry it up and dump it on or in or even sorta near whatever you happen to be eating. It's bacon!!!

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The Unbearable Banishment said...
I go with idea #2 because it looks like that will require the greatest effort on your part and I’m not one to let folks off easy.Re: your athlete’s foot (feet?). It’s like when I go back to Ohio. The only ones wearing running suites are the people who have never jogged a day in their lives.

C-dog Says... Effort and I, historically, have never really been friends. HOWEVER, I feel that I am drunk enough to be up to the challenge!!!

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popomaticjeff said...
I'm voting for the interview with Lord Humongous. I'm sure he has a lot of helpful hints on surviving the apocalypse.However, celebrity sandwiches sounds good also but that's probably because I'm hungry at the moment. I'm going to have lunch and think it over.

C-dog Says... Lord Humongous TOTALLY has a lot of helpful hints, particularly the way I write him. I do still like the Celebrity Sandwich idea... so many delicious comparisons and subtle ways to infer that they're total douchebags...

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Bill From Gainesville said...
Celebrity Sandwhiches are my vote. Thanks for asking it makes me feel like my voice has been heard and that people out in the world care about what I think!--Life is going okay, I have this thing I want to talk about but it would take a long time to just give all the background so that you could be up to date when I finally got to the whole point. I thought about blogging about it but it involves my Ex-wife and she sometimes reads it --- This is the stuff you would tell a Girlfriend but I dont have a girlfriend so it has to be bottled up. That's how I am doing .

C-dog Says... Hey dude, I hear ya. I constantly have stuff bottled up inside me and one day it's going to explode all over a bunch of people who so didn't need the drama, were in fact just trying to have a quick meal at a Whataburger and seriously aren't cool with the fat guy crying on their fries. That's just life, I guess. Anyway, I hope you're doing alright and I hope that the thing you need to talk about isn't an STD.

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The Imaginary Reviewer said...
Hello, first time reader, first time commenter. I like the second option. Oh, and I'm not going to steal your ideas, but the phrase "I will kill you in your face" has been noted in my Big Book of Things I'm to Start Saying All the Time. Hope this is okay.

C-dog Says... Hey, by all means dude. Enjoy the phrase and, if you ever happen to make any money off of it, know that I will indeed kill you in your face. Thanks for reading and sorry I threatened you just now!!!

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Lioux said...
Ummm. #2. Celebrity Sandwiches.Doye.I'm also enjoying all the '#2' talk in the running commentary.

C-dog Says... That's our Lioux; a man that digs his poo-centric humor. This is why he's beloved.

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Jack Burden said...
Given a choice between anything and Lord Humongous, I always go for Lord Humongous. The man's got style.

C-dog Says... He rocked a hockey mask and sweaty muscles better than just about anyone, there's no denying this.

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jason quinones said...
i'm still waiting for you to finish your liquor run story....but if i had to choose...the Lord Humongous gets my vote! if for nothing else than to imagine you in assless chaps.

C-dog Says... I look spectacular in assless chaps. Know this much is true.

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Sapphire said...
I love the celebrity Sammichez idea XD haha (and lol @ tigerbait's comment)About your athlete's foot, I hope you're using cream and/or spray for it , cuz it's very contagious and you don't want it in other places... *a-herm* ... spray all your shoes and socks and wash all your socks. Don't walk around barefoot :( . I cought it when I was 15 at cadet camp, and it's a bitch to get rid of. Remember, it's a fungus, so you gotta kill it. As for my life? I had to go bring my 14 month old boy for his shots today :( I felt like a bad person lol. good thing I drugged the shit out of him with baby Tylenol before we went, he didn't really know what was going on lol. I want more sleep... story of my life<3>

C-Dog Says... I assume you're referring to the crotch? The crotch is, thus far, un-tainted (ha!) by any sort of itch. Thanks for the concern though! Also, dude, I can't even imagine dealing with a 14 month old kid right now. Good for you for rocking out the Mom-jams. I can talk all day about silly pop culture junk and how I'm awesome but... for reals... you're the one kicking all the ass there is to kick.

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Lioux said...
Hey everyone!....Come check out my new post on Celebrity Sandwiches!!!

C-dog Says... I WILL DESTROY YOU!!! Lord Humongous, go kill him in his face!!! Watch out for his blistering rock fury!!!

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Sonny Amou said...
Dude. Do the sandwiches. It's your wheelhouse. It beckons, o it does.SA.

C-dog Says... That's kind of where I'm leaning, but honestly I'll probably just end up doing all of these at some point. Though I'm kind of surprised there's been no love for the romantic mummy. The thought of that ALONE is enough to give me the giggles.

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Big Daddy said...
Sammich FTW!As for me personally, I am contemplating making a stop by Mickey D's for a Cheeseburger Happy Meal™.

C-dog Says... I hope your Happy Meal truly, TRULY made you happy. That's all I want, folks; I just want us all to be happy. God, I'm so benevolent.

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October said...
While I am one of the noted horny middle schoolers with a thing for fictional vampires, I'd go with the celebrity sandwiches. Can it be several celebrities stuck together and covered in onion dip? 'Cause that would be the best thing ever.

Onion dip can be arranged, but I do need to talk to all the celebrities various publicists and handlers. Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston can't be in the same foodstuff because of how he shanked her and, also, the Desperate Houswives ladies all hate each other and Miley Cyrus has crabs so she really shouldn't be in the onion dip with anyone else.

(hope Miley Cyrus doesn't sue me!!!)

Bloggin' - A Behind the Scenes Peek (and some other crap too!)

Kiddos, here's the scoop: I've been working on a few different blog posts lately that I just... for whatever reason (lack of talent and/or drive)... can't seem to finish. All three of them have the potential to be, to varying degrees, pretty amusing and I think you'd probably like them if I were to actually wrap them up and post them on this blog that you're reading right now. (ZFS!)

Thing is... I'm unmotivated to finish ALL THREE of them. I am also uninspired. And unwashed (but that's always). Unpantsed, too. Oh, and I'm always un-not-handsome. (that means I'm totally handsome)

(LADIES...)

So, I'm going to tell you my ideas and then you can tell me which one of them you'd MOST like to see. We'll do a poll! Or something not so lame. A raffle? That's not quite right.

Well anyway, here's my three post ideas... U Pick-'Em:

1. A post that spoofs the current, creepy Twilight trend of turning monsters into hearthrobs that junior high chicks want to nail; it involves a romantic mummy.

2. A post about what if celebrities were sandwiches.

3. A post that's a hypothetical interview about the upcoming Apocalypse with Lord Humongous from Road Warrior.

The third one is the one that's the most done, the second one is really just in the conceptual stage, and for the first one, all I've done is pick out a bunch of pictures of mummies.

Also, let me say this: IF ANY OF YOU STEAL MY IDEAS FOR POSTS, I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN IN THE DESERT LIKE A CRAZY BILLIONAIRE. I OWN SEVERAL GUNS (well, I can throw a rock pretty hard) AND I WILL KILL YOU IN YOUR FACE!!!

So that's kind of where I'm at today. Also... and this is a wild topic-switch but fuck it, it's my blog, I can do whatever the hell I want... I've got athlete's foot.

Athlete's Foot... me... the least athletic person on the planet that's not currently the subject of a freak show documentary on The Learning Channel. I don't know how this happened. I haven't been running wind sprints with plastic bags around my feet. I haven't been trudging through the swamps of Vietnam. I haven't recently let my toes rest in a rich slurry of top soil, sleet, and manure.

So what gives? Why you fucking with me, my feet? Just who exactly do you think you are???

Man, I don't even know what's going on anymore. The world is just crazy. Feet be hurtin', blog be giving me troubles, there's a dead guy in my hallway that I'm pretty sure I killed in a dream BUT NOW HE'S REAL!!! (don't want to get into it)

Life, man... am I right?!?!

But how are you doing. Let's have a conversation. About the aforementioned blog posts, yes, but about YOU as well. How's your life in this, these troubled times? Let's get a dialogue going! Let's connect on an emotional level, guys!!! We can DO THIS!!!

I'll start...

"Hello, readers... I'm C-dog, as you know. I am pretty awesome, but could stand to be a lot awesomer. I'm eating Salt & Vinegar chips right now."

Now you go. I eagerly await your reply.

Cruel Shoes

Not sure why I'm JUST NOW finding out about these, but whatever... you know... I guess ol' C-dog just isn't meant to have the most awesome limited edition shoes ever shat out by an evil, sweatshop-wielding, multinational sporting goods monolith. That's just my life.

I give you, longingly, while weeping...

Freddy Krueger Nikes



It looks like his sweater, and there are blood splatters!!! But that's not even the best part... check out the soles:



IT'S JUST LIKE HIS BURNED FACE!!!

I can hardly stand it, for real you guys. I might shit myself.

And here's the real suck... apparently they were only released in Europe. Like Europe REALLY appreciates the genius of Nightmare on Elm Street like I do. Europe is a bunch of dicks. (unless you're European and read ZFS!; then you're a-okay)

Alright, so technically I could still get these if I wanted to; they have some on eBay for about $150. But, shit, that is SO money I don't have... not to spend on sweet-ass shoes, anyway. Unless the shoes are also a job that pays the rent and they come with a year's supply of Easy Mac. Then maybe I could justify the purchase.

Otherwise... I can only dare to dream.

HAHAHAHA... GET IT?!?! Because Freddy appeared in people's dreams!!! God, I'm so fucking good at blog writing.

The Grammys or Celebrity Halloween?

Paula Abdul as...



... a science fiction high priestess of a religion devoted to a god that proves it's existence by turning pee into clothes.

Kim Kardashian as...



... a desperate piece of plastic that got stuck in a cloud.

Bai Ling as...



... a piece of candy from your grandmother's purse that gives you herpes and tries to steal your watch.

The Jonas Brothers as...



... date rape at the Senior Prom after-party.

Katy Perry as...



... a real-life Betty Boop raised in the retro trailer park where crystal meth was born.

John Mayer as...



... a foreign exchange student named Miklos who loves "American party" and hopes to "make anal with braces girl from Color Guard."

Jay Mohr and Nikki Cox as...



... an embarrassed Accounts Receivable manager showing off an old, leather boot he found at a garage sale.

Cyndi Lauper as...



...a recovering alcoholic substitute teacher going on a third date while trying to shrug off a jellyfish attack.

T-Pain as...



... a coordinated version of the homeless gentleman that performs gospel tunes on the subway for spare change if you got it, or perhaps just a piece of fruit or a granola bar.

Whitney Houston as...

... a "what-if" Greek myth about the dangers of smoking rock.

Help Your Favorite Blogger (Your Favorite Blogger Is Me) (C-dog)

I have decided that I want to learn how to use Photoshop. However, I don't want to... you know... PAY for the software. Anyone have any idea where a cheap-yet-magnificently-handsome bastard such as myself might happen to stumble across a free download of the aforementioned image-manipulation program?

It would also be nice if the free download didn't melt my computer from the inside with viruses, spyware, and/or sexually transmitted diseases. My laptop SO does not need crabs again.

Thanks for your help, you wonderfully pleasant people, you!!! I will reward you all with attractively-Photoshopped images of my dong.

Employment: FAIL

So, hey, remember earlier this week when I made a big hairy deal about how I was finally employed and everything was amazing now and then we danced to a rap video?

Well... turns out... I was a bit premature with that announcement.

Had a big meeting with my potential employer, yesterday, to hammer out the details of my new job. It was at this meeting that it quickly became apparent that said potential employer had not been upfront with me on a few key points. For one thing, this job was to be completely "off the books," as in, "illegal." I've worked that kind of job before... Kim's Video in the East Village, which was run by the Korean mafia... and, trust me, it wasn't an experience I'm too keen on repeating. The other issue... and this one is my favorite... my potential employer wouldn't give me a salary quote. Meaning, he wouldn't tell me how much I was going to be making. What he specifically said, which is priceless, was this:

"I don't really know how much you're worth, yet, ya know? Why don't you come work for a couple of weeks so I can judge for myself, then we'll discuss it."

I know, right?

So... yeah... not going to be taking that job, obviously. Too sketchy. A fact that I wish I had discovered a week ago, before I got all excited and shot my mouth off on the internet. That's the worst part... I feel like a fucking idiot for getting my hopes sky high, for bragging about my new-found employment before I actually had all the facts at hand. A dumb move on my part and, believe me, I'm paying for it now in disappointed tone-of-voice phone calls from family members and sad-face icons in Instant Messages from friends.

So... what now?

Well, shit... kiddos... I have no idea. I suppose I'll keep looking for jobs here in New York, at least for a little while. Complicating matters, we're moving out of our apartment at the end of the month. So... I've basically got to find a job AND a new place to live in about three weeks. Which is just so awesome, I can hardly stand it without barfing all over myself.

To tell you the truth... and I never thought I'd say this... but the thought of moving back home to Arlington, TX... where things are NOT perfect, I know, but where things ARE at least a little cheaper and the job market isn't quite as dire... is beginning to hold a lot of appeal. Not saying I'm definitely going to do that, mind you. Just sayin' it has crossed my mind a few times in the past 24 hours or so.

But that's for the future, I guess. Only thing to do now is pick myself up, dust myself off, and get right back on the bucking, snorting bronco that IS job-hunting in a grim economic climate such as this one. Fun times, my friends... fun times and happy days.

Top Chef: New York - Episode 11

Previously on Top Chef...

Super Bowl (but not really)! The phrase "All-Stars" got redefined as "Mediocre Ex-Contestants Who Were Available!" The handsomest chef in all the land got banished back to Miami!

OPENING REMARKS

-Leah just grates on my nerves more and more, man. Hosea too. They both remind me of people I went to high school with... her, the slutty student council Treasurer who's across-the-board incompetent and communicates mainly through pouting, and he, the future frat boy jock who's never actually played a sport and cries when he breaks a sweat... and the fact that they are both STILL on this show is Exhibit A in the ongoing trial of why Season 5 generally sucks nards. More about these two chuckleheads later.

-Judge Toby Young hit a new low with his "witty" wordplay tonight; despite generally giving good criticism throughout the episode, we as a nation cannot let his quip that referred to a well-cooked piece of escolar as "Pablo Escolar" just slide on by. DUDE... how can someone be so unaware of one's own self to not recognize that everyone wants to stab them in the neck with a butter knife?

-Eric Ripert is the guest judge tonight, as well as the axis around which the entire episode turns. And as you might have gathered from the picture above... I love him. Despite being one of the best and most highly-regarded chefs on the planet, he comes across as just a regular French dude chillin', enjoying life and being handsome before taking the concept of seafood and ramming it up your ass with class, beauty, and elegance. Dude is the shit and you DO NOT speak ill of him. It will only lead to your downfall... (this is foreshadowing)...

THE SHOW

I know that I said this last week, but this time I really mean it... best episode of the season so far. The more I've thought about it, even though it was entertaining, last week's Super Bowl-themed challenge was a bit of a conceptual mess and it really highlighted the gimmick-y excesses on which Top Chef tends to lean. THIS WEEK'S EPISODE, however, showed exactly how good Top Chef can be when it stops worrying about being clever and focuses on the actual skill and craft of cooking professionally at a high level. What a concept. Let's get to it, shall we?

QUICKFIRE CHALLENGE

It's another Knife Skills challenge... this one involving the filleting of three different types of fish (well, two fish and an eel)... and, as always, it shows who's got their chef-ly talents locked down tight and who among the contestants be straight trippin', boo.

The start off having to fillet sardines... which looks crazy difficult... and Carla fucks it up so bad, all she can do is crack jokes in a flopsweat puddle of crazy. It's actually pretty charming though; big freaky bird-lady is kind of growing on me. Her and Jamie are both knocked out, then it's on to the Arctic Char (which looks like salmon to me, but whatevs). It's here that we see, finally, the real Leah and why exactly she's awful. About halfway through the filleting job, she just gives up. There's still time on the clock, the other contestants... even those that aren't doing a spectacular job of making their fillets... are still grinding away, trying to do the best they can. She, however, goes into full-on pouty cheerleader mode and decides it's TOO HARD and walks away. Um... I'm sorry... that right there should be grounds for immediate elimination. If you quit on a challenge, even if it's only a Quickfire, you should pack your knives and whatever is left of your dignity and get the fuck out. That is bullshit, plain as day.

Even Hosea, who's basically her show husband, is like, "Leah, I'm just not that into you now." Seriously, and with only a mild amount of hyperbole, she's the worst person on the planet.

Anyway, it comes down to Hosea and Stefan. Hosea makes a big hairy deal about how he's a seafood chef and, thus, has to win this and all other seafood challenges or he, himself, will be deboned and filleted by his staff upon returning to his restaurant. This, of course, means he's about to get clown-stomped by Stefan. And wouldn't you know it... they are asked to skin and fillet an eel; a task which, it turns out, Stefan has been doing since he was but a tiny, bald chef in his native Germany. (side note: I thought he was Swedish... hmm...)

Stefan is declared the winner by a million miles and, though not given immunity, will be given a valuable leg-up in the Elimination Challenge.

ELIMINATION CHALLENGE

Eric Ripert invites all the chefs over to his restaurant... foodie mecca Le Bernardin... for a casual lunch. This is a trap, naturally, but apparently none of the contestants have ever watched the show before. They get all giddy and excited, "we're going to eat good food at a super-expensive restaurant, we're so lucky, what could POSSIBLY go wrong???" Here's a tip: Whenever the reality program you're on is suddenly nice to you for no reason, you should immediately go on Full Alert. Unless they are regularly being plied with the finest foods New York has to offer, the fact that they're being let out of the condo cage at all should be enough to set off alarm bells.

But no. They are all idiots. Idiots who get to eat Eric Ripert's amazing-looking food. For about ten minutes, Top Chef turns into the Food Network version of a porno; long, lurid shots of luxury foods all perfectly sauced and sexy looking, HOLY SHIT, I'm going to rob several banks so I can eat at Le Bernardin.

Ugh. It's like staring into the sun. At any rate, the contestants are served a six-course meal and everyone ooohs and aaahs appropriately... except for Jamie, who snottily proclaims (in the interview aside, not at the table) that his kind of food bores her and she's not impressed. OH NO YOU DIDN'T!!! Listen, Ms. Tattoos-Instead-Of-Personality, you bow and scrape when you're in the presence of greatness, whether you like it or not. Sometimes, you run into people who are just flat-out better than you. Way it goes. Respect it or you will get steamrolled... (this is foreshadowing)...

So, post-lunch, it's revealed that the chefs will each have to try their hand at recreating one of the dishes they've just eaten. Because DOYE. They're all shocked, but that's because they are all just so painfully stupid. Stefan, having won the QC, gets to pick which dish he wants to recreate. The others have to go by luck of the draw. After each dish is assigned, they're sent to the kitchen at Le Bernardin to give it a whirl. Here's how it all broke down...

JUDGEMENT

Stefan - Baked Lobster w/ Asparagus and Hollandaise Sauce: Not that this is a shock AT ALL, but Stefan was able to... almost exactly... recreate the aforementioned dish. His only slip-up was making the Hollandaise sauce a little too thick. Otherwise, it was spot on. He of course wins the challenge, bouncing back from last weeks Bottom Three appearance like a motherfucker. This victory, by the by, now makes him the winningest contestant in Top Chef history.

Carla - Oil Poached Escolar w/ Potato Crisps in a Bearnaise Sauce: So, apparently, Carla has decided to bring it. It's starting to look as if, under all the layers of insanity and hippie-mysticism, there's actually a talented chef ready to kick some ass, which I find absolutely shocking as I think we all had her pegged as an early-out. She's obviously too unstable to win the whole thing, but... if she's got some game left in her... she's certainly picked the right time to bust it out. She impressed Ripert with her French-cooking knowledge and made, by all accounts, an excellent recreation of her dish.

Fabio - Sourdough Encrusted Red Snapper w/ Tomato Basil Consomme: They refer to Fabio's recreation in terms of art. Well, art forgery. As in, on the surface it's an exact replica, but when you start looking closer... examining the details... you can see how different it actually is. However, despite that, they decide he got it mostly right. He, along with Carla and Stefan, obviously comprised the Top Three this week.

Hosea - Spiced Monkfish w/ Black Garlic: Too much seasoning, he didn't let the monkfish rest before he sliced it, etc. Lots of little mistakes that made his dish pretty underwhelming, particularly coming as it did from a seafood chef. He was the best of the worst, but still...

Leah - Bake Mahi-Mahi with Miso and Matsutake Mushroom Sauce: Since Leah has basically given up at this point, it's a fucking miracle she was able to make anything at all. Her recreation of the dish was completely different, flavor-wise, from Ripert's original; a fact that the judges chalk up her basically not giving a shit anymore. This, under normal circumstances, would be enough to get her sent home. However, there's...

Jamie - Sauteed Black Bass w/ Braised Celery and Serrano Ham Sauce: Ah, bitter irony. Previously, during the lunch, Jamie had bitched in particular about this dish and how she thought it was awful, so OF COURSE it's the dish she ends up having to cook. See what happens when you talk shit about Eric Ripert. Fate has got a wicked sense of humor. Jamie, of course, fucks things up royally. The fish was done okay, it seems, but the real issue was the braised celery... she over-salted it, rendering it... and by extension, the entire dish... totally inedible. And when you serve something inedible, particularly this late in the game, well... it's goodbye, farewell, and amen. (totally foreshadowed this)

So Jamie is cut. Team Rainbow is no more. And if anyone knows Eric Ripert, please... give him my number.

Next week on Top Chef...

The final four are chosen! An Italian is injured! Food is, presumably, cooked!