Handbill Handout

Well, they got the goat . Couldn’t see that one coming a mile away, eh? And it happened just as the webcams were knocked offline by a denial of service attack so there’s no evidence. Convenient, eh? It was inevitable, I suppose, just as inevitable as the arrival of the hoards of tourists in midtown Manhattan yesterday. I left my office last night and there they were, thousands of slow-walkers, picture-takers and kid-toters. Giant Christmas lights! On Sixth Avenue! (Sorry, they probably call it “Avenue of the Americas” like the tourist guides say). “Garsh maw, we needs a pitcher of dat one!” echoes in fifty different languages through the freezing wind, bouncing and skipping across frigid concrete and stuttering cars. The older one gets the more one realizes that certain events are inevitable at this time of year. The burning of straw goats in Sweden is just another one of those. The bundled tourist masses are another. Self-mythologizing is still another. Self-delusion abounds

Dry cure and pork belly. What's in the dry cure? Look close enough and you'll figure it out. Combined, in a zip-top bag. Put in in the fridge for about a week or a little more until it's firm. Hang to dry for 5-7 days. After that, freeze it for up to four months. If it lasts that long.

I have always felt vaguely out of place in America. I feel less out of place in New York City which anyone who has been to both places will tell you is not America, culturally speaking, even though technically it is part of America. This is not putting down the culture of any particular place, just pointing out that I don’t feel like “one of the gang”. I've had a vague fish-out-of-water-type sensation for as long as I can remember. It wasn’t until my trip to Finland and Sweden in 2008 that I realized that at least part of my disconnect comes from being surrounded by people whose ancestry is either irrelevant (i.e. they have become “ideal”, fully assimilated Americans) or culturally very different than my own. When I traveled to Sweden and Finland I felt a strange (to me) sense of belonging in both countries likely owing to the fact that my maternal grandmother was a Swede born and raised in Finland and my maternal grandfather (who I never knew) was from Sweden. When I traveled

Don’t know what to get your special lady for Christmas? Economy got you strapped for funds? Well, nothing says romance (and not having to spend a dime) like a good ol’ love poem! Of course, not everyone can write a good love poem so here’s a handy guide stolen right from the sexiest, most romantic book in the world, the Bible! The Song of Solomon more specifically. Now we all know nobody reads the more obscure books of the Bible other than religious professionals and hardcore cuckoos and even the latter skip over the Song of Solomon because it’s just too damn prurient. In fact I’m surprised some preacher from Missouri hasn’t lobbied to have the whole thing thrown out of the Bible. Anyway, the really cool thing about the Song of Solomon is that it’s in the public domain, just like the rest of the Bible! You can plagiarize away without fear of being sued. I’m here to make this easier for you. I decided that if I took the Bible and combined it with that other great concept of my childhood

Carl was on page five of the ten page diner menu when he gave up. “How the hell do they expect us to believe that they can cook everything in this novella safely, never mind well?” he said to his Aunt Ellen who had invited him for brunch. Ellen continued perusing the lengthy document even though Carl knew damn well she was going to order scrambled eggs, sausage, toast and coffee just as she probably knew he was going to order a turkey club and a diet Coke. She insisted on going through the motions despite the fact that the final resolution was already known and immutable which made her not unlike 99% of the other human beings on the planet. Ellen closed the menu and said “You’re at a diner, most of this stuff is cooked the same way and whatever isn’t safe is probably just here for show and they’ll tell you they’re out of it if you order it. Anyway, why does it matter?” Carl looked across at his aunt. She was in her mid sixties, only about ten years older than Carl was owing to the fact

I almost skipped going to see some live music on Saturday night. I found a movie on the SyFy channel (formerly the Sci-Fi channel) that was so compelling it glued me to the couch. If the Mrs. wasn’t going with me to see the show I might’ve not been able to tear myself away. The movie? Mega Shark vs. Giant Octopus I might as well get it out in the open now: I am a sucker for monster movies. Not horror movies or vampire movies or zombie movies. Monster movies, as in a giant something or other destroys a city before being defeated by some heroic scientists or another “good-guy” monster or some combination of both. The monster may or may not be an allegory for “man tampering with nature”. The dialogue must be the sort of dialogue nobody ever hears in real life, there should be no passages that resemble actual human conversation. The dialogue exists to move the plot, such as it is, along. In other words everyone not being killed by the monster (and even some who do wind up kaput) is “Basil

The winter holidays encompass many things, not the least of which is Seasonal Affective Disorder, an affliction that some of you may think I have after reading this. I assure you I do not. In fact I think that realizing every holiday season could be your last and using said realization as motivation to enjoy every bit of the season is probably the healthiest thing one could do for oneself. There I go jumping the gun again. Well, you might as well stop reading here since I’ve given away the whole point of today’s exercise. Yes you. Shoo. Go away. I’m going to talk to myself now. They gone? Good. Christmas 1999. My parents were old, but not so old that they should have both been wheelchair bound. My mother had a bilateral hip replacement. My father had one leg. Still, they should have been able to get around better but it was easier to be sedentary and truth be told they were probably both very tired of living. I don’t blame them, my dad was 71 and my mom 69 and there are days where I’m