Recently, The Dude and I have been making an effort to do new things in the city. It’s so easy when you work as much as we do to fall into a rut with your free time. You end up spending any nights when you’re not stuck at the office just sitting on the couch or, if you can motivate to leave your apartment,* going out to the same old restaurants and drinking beers at the same old bars. Which is fine, sometimes! (For example, football season.) But it can get boring after a while, especially when you realize that your existence has basically become a prolonged late adolescence, with better clothes and worse hangovers.
So, last week, after flipping through the pages of Time Out New York that nobody ever actually reads, The Dude found a couple of events that we were really excited about attending. Both of them were concerts, because, contrary to all of the hate mail I received after I posted about going to Governor’s Ball, I actually really like music! Just not teenagers.
First, we saw the Dirty Dozen Brass Band at Blue Note. Not only were they incredible, energetic, and unbelievably fun, but they reconfirmed to me the power that musical ability has on one’s attractiveness.** For example, the lead singer, pictured holding the trumpet below, got a group of 25 year old women who I’m pretty sure were models to ecstatically dance on stage with him and (I think) exchange phone numbers with him after the show. And I don’t blame them — the guy was awesome.
Next, we went to Prospect Park on Saturday night and saw Deltron 3030. The show was GREAT, complete with Dan the Automator wearing a tuxedo with tails, Kid Koala spinning in a koala costume (he lost a bet, apparently), and Del the Funky Homosapian ending the encore with a rendition of “Clint Eastwood” backed by a live orchestra. More importantly, however, I had perhaps the most nutritionally balanced dinner of my life:
Yes, that is a giant chipwich, yes, it cost $7, yes, it was worth every penny, and yes, it paired beautifully with that Bud Light Lime.
“why the fuck would you eat the gluten-free cake if you are not intolerant? have you ever tasted that shit!? those poor fucking people; if i had celiac disease all my cakes would be made from sharp cheddar cheese. man, fuck rice flour. unless that shit makes you lose weight. because most of you liars are just doing that shit to be skinny, right? is it working? because i love bread but i’m also totally lazy. come on, girl. you can tell me. i promise i won’t force any whole wheat on you.”—
Last night, I made Pinch of Yum’s Honey Ginger Tofu and Veggie Stir Fry. (The photo above was obviously taken by them, and not me, because there is no chance in hell a reclaimed wood farmers-style dining room table would fit in a downtown Manhattan apartment.) LET IT BE KNOWN: this was excellent, filling, and most importantly, healthy, especially after a weekend where my consumption was limited to following:
Gin & tonics
Duck fried rice
Multiple pints of Carlsberg, because that was what was on special at the bar where we watched the World Cup Finals, even though it isn’t Argentinian or German ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Probably some more cheese that I’m forgetting
So, feeling bloated and disgusted with myself, I cooked this for dinner, and soon all was restored in the world. I used quinoa because I think brown rice tastes like shit and Whole Foods was out of farro (my god, what a bougie sentence), but it still tasted very good. Also, please note that this makes a literal metric ton of sauce. I recommend using the specified amounts of sauce for the stir frying and then pouring on the sauce as needed once you’ve assembled the dish. Otherwise your healthy tofu and vegetables will be swimming in what basically amounts to liquefied sodium, and although that sounds *delicious* it may not be the best way to recover from an over-indulgent weekend.
I’m only two weeks into my half-marathon training program but I’m already so bored of my running playlist that I think my ears may spontaneously start bleeding if I hear Girl Talk one more time. Anyone have any recommendations for me? Preferably from this decade, but I’ll take anything. THANKS DUDES.
I am not exaggerating in the least when I say that this humble taco shack played a seminal role in the formative years of my relationship with The Dude. There’s nothing like blue corn tortilla tacos to bring a burgeoning couple closer together. It’s closing on July 31, so if you happen to be wandering around the East Village late at night, potentially after being sliiiiiightly over-served, please visit it before then. I’m partial to the Johnny Boy, the chorizo taco, and the quack-n-cheese.
I was recently assigned to a new case with a senior partner that I’ve never worked with before. I just got revisions on a memo back from him, and it’s clear from his markup that he uses the Oxford comma.
This weekend, The Dude and I hosted a Fourth of July party. It was supposed to be on our apartment building’s terrace, and part of it was, but given the midday thunderstorms, we had to move most of the party decorations inside. Don’t worry, though, because the look that I was going for totally worked indoors as well as out:
Yes, on every level, the conservatives in this country have given more rights and more privilege to corporations controlled by a few wealthy individuals than they have to those companies’ workers or to the general public. It predates this birth control tizzy.
Today’s decision is disappointing, but so is everyone’s ennui about government until it affects something they personally care a great deal about for symbolic purposes. WATCH YOUR FUCKING SAUSAGE GET MADE ALL THE TIME, PEOPLE. Policy is not soccer where you can shout about it once every four years and call yourself an educated participant. How so many of you ignore this part of the world every other day of existence except for today, that’s just as infuriating to me as the dipshits at Hobby Lobby who pushed this through… because this ignorance and inattention to the actual process of policy in government (not just the headline politics) is ENABLING this to happen as much as their lawyers, money, and government corruption enable it.
i'm a first year at an nyc firm and I fucked something up for a partner and all my other work is suffering too because i'm so jammed up on this assignment. kind words, stories of your fuck ups, hugs, photos of joe biden, etc. would be helpful.
Everyone in big law fucks shit up. We all work way too hard (and way too many hours) to not fuck something up eventually. However, I have 100% been there and it is The Absolute Worst Feeling In The World. (Your partner has been there, too, by the way. Try to keep that in mind.)
The best things you can do to get past it are to:
Be honest about your mistake (meaning, don’t try to throw other people under the bus or come up with excuses).
Figure out what you can do to fix it, which may mean anything from just double and triple checking your work next time to volunteering to help the partner take whatever steps need to be done to mitigate the damage.
In the meantime:
(Follow this whole tumblr, while you’re at it. I wish it existed when I was a first year. It helps.)
The Dude is currently on day 5 of a 12-day business trip. I’ve lost count of how many trips he’s had to go on so far this year.
The thing about knowing that you’ve found your person is that you can spend your time with lots of other people, and you can fill your days with activities, but when that person is gone, you come home at the end of the night and you still feel empty.
You want to get a bunch of privileged gentrifiers to finally care about the insane rent hikes in this city? Start closing some of their favorite restaurants because the rent is too damn high. Then maybe they’ll start paying attention.
This morning, someone from IT came to my office to replace the AAA batteries in my wireless mouse. Before she left, she asked what type of batteries my wireless keyboard took, because she brought a bunch of extras and could leave me with the spares. So I picked up my keyboard to flip it over to check, and underneath it was a black bean. A single black bean. It looked like a bug and we both jumped and then she handed me the batteries and shuffled out of my office and it was so awkward and now she thinks my office is filled with old, stale, bug-resembling legumes.
Also I have no idea when I last ate anything with black beans in it at my desk.
In a recent story in The New Yorker, Stephen Sondheim revealed several plot changes for the upcoming Disney film adaptation of his Tony Award-winning musical Into the Woods, which will arrive in theatres Dec. 25.
Not only are they cutting one of the best songs in the musical (and one of the best songs in Sondheim’s entire catalog), they are removing all of the motivation for a central character’s actions throughout the entire second act. All because Disney doesn’t want to offend the delicate sensibilities of anyone who, apparently, has never read a single goddamn fairy tale in their entire life.
This is going to be an outright, unmitigated, categorical DISASTER.
I HAVE A LOT OF THOUGHTS ABOUT THE INTO THE WOODS MUSICAL.
“The United States Patent and Trademark Office has canceled six federal trademark registrations for the name of the Washington Redskins, ruling that the name is “disparaging to Native Americans” and thus cannot be trademarked under federal law that prohibits the protection of offensive or disparaging language.”—
USA: You realize we’re a lost cause, right? Not just our soccer team. They’re gonna lie down like Obi Wan this month. I’m talking about the whole country. I’m talking about the IDEA of America. It’s hopeless. That whole thing about being a shining beacon of freedom to the rest of the world? GONE. Never coming back. You don’t live in a free country. You live in a paranoid surveillance state oligarchy where people gun each other down in broad daylight completely at random.
And you know something? It’s never going to get better. Ever. The violence will escalate. Income inequality will widen. Twenty years from now, there will be one trillionaire (Donald Sterling) and 350 million people working as his personal wage slaves. Local infrastructure will deteriorate. People will forsake work and the duties of citizenship in favor of fighting unwinnable flame wars—digital arguments that increasingly have NOTHING TO DO with how people actually deal with one another in real life. Good ideas will be discarded because they’re too expensive or because some dipshit company already has a vague patent on it and will do nothing with it but sue forever. Your house will be swept away in a Category 12 Nor’Eastercane.
It’s OK to admit that it’s over. Go ahead. Say it to yourself: America is no longer worth the effort. Feels good, doesn’t it? Feels freeing. Finally, we can stop HOPING. We can be adults about this and accept the fact that AMERICA WILL DIE. And the worst part is that your cable bill will, like, double when it happens.
Ghana: Hey, they knocked us out of the last two Cups! THAT IS BULLSHIT AND THEY WILL PAY. Don’t you warthog-eaters know we’re the greatest country on Earth? USA! USA! USA! USA!
This pretty much sums up exactly how I feel about the World Cup. We are terrible but we are going to KICK EVERYONE’S ASS AND WIN YOU FUCKERS!!!
(Also, if you are generally opposed to ethnic slurs directed towards Germany and/or Portugal, I’d stay away from my blog until June 26.)
A decision by the Food and Drug Administrationto question the use of wooden planks to age some cheeses has produced a stink that rivals Limburger, prompting an uproar among the artisanal cheese makers and consumers who fear they might lose access to products like obscure blue cheeses from Vermont and imported Parmigiano-Reggiano.
The agency recently interpreted a decades-old regulation requiring that cheese-making equipment be designed and constructed of material that is “adequately cleanable” in ways that made it appear that wood, which has been used for centuries to help age cheese, was no longer sanitary enough.
He said a ban on wood also would affect the taste of cheeses that rely on it for aging and kick off an international trade war. “Many European cheeses are aged on wood, so if the F.D.A. enforces this rule, it will mean those cheeses cannot be imported into the United States and that will surely lead to retaliation,” Mr. Welch said.
You went from favorite fun chick read to nasty nag in that music festival post. Legit annoyed over the level of Grandma's Get The Fuck Off My Lawn Kids grump. Why'd you even go? Or stay? Maybe you should go get laid, or buy yourself a flower crown. Lighten the fuck up. Shittttt.
Reflections on Attending an Outdoor Music Festival in the Year 2014
Oh my god I am so old.
Everyone looks bad.
When it’s a hot day, everyone looks terrible.
The people who try to look good actually look the worst.
Seriously, stop trying to look cute at a music festival. No matter how many fringed accessories you buy at Forever 21, and no matter how many Instagram filters you apply, you aren’t going to look like Vanessa Hudgens at Coachella. Do you know how to look like Vanessa Hudgens at Coachella? You have a styling team traveling with you at all times, and you only sit in the air conditioned VIP tents. If you are not doing either of those things, you are going to look bad. Deal with it.
See? I told you I was old.
I don’t know if the person who showed up with the cardboard cutout of Jeff Goldblum as Dr. Ian Malcolm knew the person who showed up with an inflatable dinosaur balloon. I’d like to think that they didn’t, though, and that life found a way.
The whitest thing that has ever been said in the history of this planet is the following: “I want to see Earl Sweatshirt and Tyler the Creator because I read a New Yorker article about Odd Future in 2012.”
But it’s true, that is why I wanted to see them.
They were okay. Tyler was better.
Young women are paying actual American dollars to purchase flower crowns. There are official, festival-sponsored stalls, with lines longer than the lines for beer and the restrooms combined, full of girls who think they are going to look like a soft focus Zooey Deschanel traipsing through a field in a cotton commercial if they buy a handful of daisies with their own (read: their parents’) money and weave them into their head. Everything that Woodstock accomplished was for naught, and I’m glad Janis Joplin isn’t alive to see this.
No but for real, The Dude and I started playing cornhole with this random couple who worked in finance, and when we told them that we were both lawyers, the guy said, “Oh thank god. It’s so nice to see people here who have real jobs. Everyone else is making me feel so old.” He was 4 years younger than me.
Among the many things social media has ruined, it is food at music festivals. Rather than just getting, like, a hot dog, everything now has to be from a trendy restaurant, and then be artfully posed and photographed before you eat it and put on Instagram, because nothing says “I’m living a well curated life” than a picture of Mexican street corn with a bunch of dirt from a gust of wind blew up and stuck to it because you just held it in the air for the last 20 minutes while you were trying to get the best shot. Of a fucking ear of corn.
However, no matter how much people try to create a fancy, “foodie,” Instagram-approved dining situation, there will always be something like this:
A hand-drawn sign for meatballs drawn on pink posterboard and tied to a random chain link fence. Bless you, meatball-provider-and-sign-artist.
The thing is, though, when you’re surrounded by neo-flower children and the sun has been beating down on you for hours and you’ve eaten meatballs out of a trough that you washed down with cans of Miller Lite, you eventually have to give up on the fact that you’re the oldest people there and just embrace it. Which I suppose, is what we did:
This is the first photo of The Dude I’ve ever posted. It will also be the cover of our upcoming alt-rock album, SunburntCrown,dropping in 2015. Check it.