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Alinea

I begin this post with yet another warning: there is a lot of abstracted, pretentious twaddle in the following. If you’re not up to dealing with it, I suggest you click out now and come back in a day or two when I might have some more humorous observations about drunks or something. Last Saturday I, along with the Mrs. and a friend of ours from Chicago had the full 20 course tour at Alinea . I wanted to write a review of the experience. Then I realized there is no point. More qualified people than I have written extensively about the place. Go on and google it and find out for yourself. Anything I would add would be redundant, superfluous, and frankly boring since I am terrible at writing about food. Instead of a review, this is a reaction to the experience. But first, we need to discuss the nature of art. (I heard that groan. Go click on this if you don’t want to hear about it). I am not an academic. I am not an art critic, food critic or any kind of critic. I am, however, a...
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Trash Bag Conspiracy

 This morning a grey Altima parked in front of my house.  It had New Jersey plates.  The woman driving the car got out, took three full black trash bags out of the back seat and carried them up the walkway adjacent to the twelve unit garden apartment building across the street. A little while later a grey pickup truck pulled into the spot behind behind the Altima and two women got out.  They walked around to the back of the truck which was one of those with the plastic cover covering the whole back part and opened the tailgate, took several black trash bags out of the back of the truck and instead of crossing the street carried them south toward the next corner and disappeared from my vantage point. A little while after a guy came down my street painting a while line to mark off the street parking.   Someone want to tell me what's going on here? 
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The Cups Are Cracked and Hooked

The Stanley Cup playoffs continue to surprise me. Not in a good way either. I expected the final a long and entertaining series full of highly skilled, exciting play. Instead it has been largely a snoozefest with Detroit embracing a boring defense-first system that is aided and abetted by referees who appear to have been instructed by the league to call it like it’s 1999. On top of that, we have the sad ballad of Evgeni Malkin. Poor Evgeni is tired. It’s so hard to be a professional hockey player. Listen to his tale of woe from between games one and two in the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review: "I'm just tired," Malkin said. "Practice is long. The season is long. I feel bad." Awww...poor guy. Imagine how he’d feel if the Pens had played more than two games over the minimum you can play in the first 3 rounds and make the final. In just a few days Malkin has gone from being the guy that some overzealous writers called “this generation’s Messier to Crosby’s Gretzky...
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