Bacon infused vodka, Part 2

So, Phase 2 involved removing the hunks of bacon and skimming off the fat. Again I note that "skimming off the fat" isn't exactly a phrase that makes me think "tasty cocktail," but I'm still hopeful.

Appearance:

The vodka: You're looking at it, I guess, but I'll be honest. Disgusting. Truly. Not so much the chunks of bacon, but the globs of fat. The skimming helped ALOT. The vodka is now tan, which isn't that problematic really... sortof whiskey-colored.

The bacon: I expected it to look more pale and sad than it did. It pretty much looked the same. So that's nice. Weeks of soaking in

vodka does not seem to have phased bacon. I suppose this makes bacon a mightier product than my college-freshman-year-liver, which did not respond quite so well to the weeks-long vodka bender.

Smell: Pretty much what you'd expect. The a little bit bacon, a lot vodka. I was pleasantly surprised at how stomach-turning it wasn't.

Now, you may be asking yourself a question: Did she taste the bacon? If you are... you don't know me too well. Of course I did. Really, it was better than I expected. I've consumed worse. It opened strongly bacon and only thereafter went VODKA. I have to say, if I hadn't chewed it, it might've seemed all bacon. I didn't have a second piece to find out, though. On balance, probably not as great as the vodka watermelon we made for Shawna's birthday at Brighton Beach, but honestly I think it was tastier than this edible martini looks.

Now it heads into the freezer. I'll keep you informed.

The Oscar goes to...a cat.

I would have to say that the highlight for me of this year's Oscars ceremony was part where the end--you know, the suspenseful part where they give out Best Picture, Best Director and Best Actor, and is really the whole reason you sat through awards for sound editing and montages about whatever--was preempted by the Corpus Christi local news.

With a story about a cat.

Salty Characters I've met in the Great State, #8-9 in a list

8. The guy who stood alone at the bar with a book (novel, Palace Dogs), turned face-down so as to show the picture of the author, who was the guy himself.

9. Strange 50-year-old man at a nightclub Saturday, who grabbed my leg and said (Seriously), "Them's some calf muscles. You a wrestler?"

Bringing sexyback to Corpus

You know, I'm not much of an optimist, though I do try. One point, though, at which I succeed: Every time I see a preview for an obviously terrible movie, I think, "Wow, some guy in L.A. had the most awesomely successful day ever when he managed to pitch this concept in a way that convinced someone to actually fund it.

So anyway, I enjoyed one such moment today, thanks to the front page of The Caller Times. Short story shorter, Justin Timberlake is starring in a movie about the Corpus Christi Hooks (minor league baseball team). How someone determined that this is a good idea... I can't say. 

The article suggests that Corpus Christi is a good setting because we have two minor league baseball teams, the Hooks and the Beach Dawgs (seriously). Not clear on what this adds, but I like to think it means that there will be a bunch of rivalry between the Hooks and the Dawgs until they get mocked in a bar (preferably Dr. Rockit's or Woody's, but I'm flexible on that point) by either a major league baseball player or a hockey player for the CC Rayz and then the Hooks players and the Dawgs players are on the same side in the barfight. 

Anyway, there are nonetheless several questions raised by this article (above and beyond that Beach Dawg thing, cuz wow): 

• They're filming in Hammond, Louisiana. Guess that means there won't be any scenes walking along the Bayfront, which is an obvious weakness in my opinion.
• JT claims to have wanted to meet some people and get a feel about what was going on while he was in Austin but he couldn't get around to it. What on earth he thinks he could learn about Corpus Christi from Austin is utterly unclear... actually, no it's not, the answer is nothing. 
• "Billed as a comedy/drama, the movie is the latest in a string of cinematic efforts from the moonwalking, denim-designing Timberlake." 
• Quality journalism here: "It's hard to tell if this will be his career grand slam, but one thing's certain -- Justin Timberlake doesn't need to sing and dance anymore for his fans." Actually, I think it's ever more certain that he should sing and dance for his fans. I mean, Sexyback? Pop genius. Alpha Dog? Not so much.
• The comments are, of course, awesome, centering primarily on what musicians are (not) good actors. Occasionally there's something sprinkled in about how they're filming in Hammond because Corpus sucks so much. Good times.

You read it here first. (Or should have.)

On Wednesday, Puppygate hit the front page of the New York Times. Yes, almost a month after you read it right here.

And that really means something, because I'm not exactly known for my timely grasp of current events. (This morning, for instance, in the story about the Illinois shootings, I learned that it was the fifth campus shooting in a week. This was quite shocking, not only for the obvious reasons, but because I knew nothing of the previous four. I blame my local NPR affiliate's twelve day fundraising drive during which no news was delivered, because they were too busy trying to convince me to give my hard-earned money to support Walter Furley's editorials.)

We can measure its importance by noting that Puppygate got frontpage billing on the day that Hillary Clinton spoke in Corpus, probably the first relevant political figure who's done so since the time Taft came to visit and the only hotel in town had to install an extra large bathtub.

The Times, being the Times, offered dismayingly straightforward coverage, lacking any "Shi Tzu" jokes or comparisons of the mayor's mansion to the Waco Compound. Sigh. Instead they offered erudite historical perspective on how the last notable thing that happened in Alice was ballot stuffing for LBJ. Fine.

Now with the mayor of Alice appearing on the Today show, this story has officially blown the f up. That's all I'm saying.

Oh Caller Times!

Caller Times, your shitty reporting is awesome, but I think I'll miss your batshit comments the most!

It's true, I keep a count and thus far the Corpus Christi Caller Times has never run more than 7 original stories the same day. But the reader comments are phenomenal. (Thanks for the tips, Adam and Andy!)

We'll note, CCCT never provided original coverage of Puppygate. But now they published a brief follow up and even that offers some great reader tidbits: 

• I can't beleive how much media coverage this stupid mayor and this dust mop for dog gets. CC is really starved for news.
• Let me get this straight... My time and taxpayer money are being wasted by a DOG custody hearing?!?!?!? A FREAKIN DOG!???!!?!? And some mayor who's being accused of DOGNAPPING?!?!?! What in the world is the point of all this?

• The mayor of Alice is a thief.  The mayor of Alice is a thief.  The mayor of Alice is a thief.  The mayor of Alice is a thief. Where is the law. In her pocket. Shame, Shame. Shame.

  The dog needs therapy now. Call Dr. Phil No! Call Dr. Ruth No! Call the "DOG WHISPER"

  Yes!
• He dog is not a mut / mutt. The dog is a living being with feelings and endures pain and has a will to live.
  
• Hotdog! This is so doggone funny!
• LOL She'll get her's for sure!!!!!!!
  
• FREE PUDDLES!!!

Recently, the Caller Times offered the longest original story of my 5-month time here. What was it about? Man-salons. The bold, bold idea that men could go somewhere other than Supercuts to get a trim, or God-forbid have other procedures done. The comments were gems: 

• What a Joke... A hair cut is a hair cut. Who wants to be a foo-fee and get little lotions and a manicure? Real men let their girlfriends cut their hair with the clippers from Wal-Mart. Now THAT"S love. One time when I was cutting my hair at home, my clippers went out so I had to use my dogs clippers and I have to tell you, those worked a heck of a lot better than the ones that are made for humans!! I dont need to go get my hair did to be a "Papi Chulo." I guess I'm one of the lucky ones that doesnt have that unibrow or the neckhair that is almost braidable. You guys go spend your 50 bucks on that hair-do, I'll be waisting mine on some beer and a really good cigar.
• I'll just stick to my Fade City Hiarcut place... I know ya'lll know what I'm talking about... The one that has the commercial with the vato trying to be like lil' john. Has the kids at the sunrise mall saying you need to go to fade city, and then the vato lil john says "wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwhaaaaaaahhhht." We'll note that this comment actually continues at some length, but this bit gives you the drift.
  
• My personal favorite ever: This is why our @sses will be kicked and the United States will be lost to....Well take your pick...China, Former USSR, Iran, etc.. With women & Dr. Phil complaining about how stupid and terrible men are, they're getting their wish....A world without men. It's all great for them, until some guy in a turbine starts slapping them around and basic feminine hygeine products are banned. No more maxi's when your aunt comes to visit. Um, WHAT? SO AWESOME. 

These are cut and pasted. I just couldn't put the [sic]s where they belong. I would be too visually cluttered.

Things I thought I wanted, but didn't

So this weekend was the hottest event in Corpus Christi since Bayfest--that's right, Mardi Gras in D-town! (I cannot explain Corpus Christi's strange habit of imposing abbreviations on things that don't need them. We'll note that "D-town" saves no syllables over "downtown." How do you get to D-town? Take the B! You may know it as "the bus.")

Anyway, we were celebrating Mardi Gras in D-town. The event was a pub crawl and we were told that the first 100 people to get stamps from 8 locations would get a prize. Obviously, we wanted a Mardi Gras in D-town t-shirt, because, well, who wouldn't. So we dutifully go from bar to bar (we'll note that only one of them could qualify as a pub in even the loosest construction of the term) and get our 8 stamps. Do we get the prize? No. No one can convince me that there were even 100 people participating in this nonsense, but whatever.

If it was a legitimate delay that prevented our t-shirt consummation, I can pinpoint the cause.

Yes, it was the D-town tram. "The B?" you're thinking. No, a special tram, just for Mardi Gras in D-town purposes. You doubt me, but I have a photo. 

"Ok, that's a ridiculous tram," you're thinking, "with open sides and designed to drive you from bar to bar, even though no bar in D-town is further than a block from any other bar in D-town and considering the one-way streets in D-town, it will take at least 3 times longer to ride than to walk, and it still won't prevent drunk driving because you have to drive to and from D-town." Fine. "But," you're thinking, "how do I know that you rode it, Em, and that it was the cause of your delay?"

Well, for that proof, you would have to see a photograph of me on the tram. And me being myself, I was unable to take such a picture. Fortunately, someone else did. For said evidence, you'll have to visit the Mardi Gras in D-town Myspace Page (seriously, it exists, and seriously, my picture is on it).

So that is the story of my failure to obtain a Mardi Gras in D-town t-shirt. But all is not lost. Anne, genius that she is, still got us some t-shirts. She saw a woman handing out shirts, she beckoned, she made it happen. Little did we know. 

This woman was a Malibu representative, so we got Malibu t-shirts.¹ As soon as we saw them, we wanted to return them, but that seemed gauche. 

What do they say? "Check out our coconuts!" splashed across the chest. (1) There is no appropriate context for this. (2) Any wearing of this slogan would be self-deprecatingly ironic, me looking like me. (3) Other issues aside, it's slightly weird to talk about your tits using the Royal We. Sigh. But now I own said t-shirt and for reason I think are clear, I can't really be rid of it, though I can also not wear it.

¹You're noting an ambiguity, so I'll clarify immediately. I'm talking about Malibu the coconut rum, not Malibu the American Gladiator. Because obviously, any t-shirt endorsing Malibu the Gladiator, that's a shirt I would be proud to wear. (And honestly, if you ever follow anything I link, it should be this. Thanks V.)

Bacon-infused vodka, Part 1

What sorts of weird crap does Emily read about online, you may wonder?How much time does she have on her hands, you may sometimes wonder?

Well, among other things, I read about bacon-infused vodka. This definitely has a strange-but-fascinating appeal, I must say. Because, really, I was thinking that vodka is just too healthy. As is bacon. And the idea of a Bloody Mary with bacon vodka... psychotically good.

And I'm always interested in being on the cutting edge of anything generating buzz online. And the comments I've found during my research--true gems:

• I am allergic to most deodorants and therefore, soak whole nutmegs in everclear to produce a clear brown alcohol which I put into a mister and mist my armpits with it. Works great! Questions abound: How would you ever think of this? Wouldn't it be WAY cheaper to use rubbing alcohol?
  
• From the same commentor: For warts, I put arbor vitae leaves and seeds (it is a tree) in vodka, and put the tincture on the warts. So basically, every time this chick has a problem, she opens up her bar and splashes something on it. Obviously, I take this approach to emotional and social problems, but the "alcohol as panacea" approach has never taken on external physical manifestations...
• From http://www.wikihow.com/Infuse-Vodka-With-Flavor, V and I have found our new favorite sentence: "If you find your infusion too strong, dilute it with more vodka." Yes, I will bear that in mind.

We'll note that the above site of info on infusing vodka has instructions on using fruit, spices and berries. No discussion of meat products. Sigh.

So obviously, I'll keep everyone updated on this matter. I couldn't determine the best amount of frying to give the bacon, so as to avoid the slight ick factor of too raw, but avoid any possible burnt taste. Right now, I have to say it looks kinda gross. (See photo above.) And it doesn't smell that awesome either. But vodka generally doesn't (to my nose), so whatever.

I'm also announcing a contest to see who makes the most interesting infused alcohol--no restrictions on whether it should be for consumption or external application. I will post your photos and then you'll get rich and famous like me!

.

.

Editorial note: Sorry the picture sucks. Also, the formatting on this post is weird, but I swear I wasn't bacondrunk when I wrote it.

New (to me) foods, #5 in a list

OR, 

Things to Like about Corpus, #9 in a list

Santa Fe eggs! Oh, Sante Fe eggs, where have you been all my life?

Anyone with whom I've discussed the topic of brunch, especially the New Yorkers because brunch is a huge topic of conversation there, can affirm that for years I've been questioning why you can't get BBQ brunch. 

Now, I don't mean the mere consumption of BBQ as the first meal of the day. Child's play. What I have wanted, and can't figure out why it's not possible, is a plate with scrabbled eggs and a pile of BBQ. I'm not picky--brisket or pulled pork would be fine. Obviously, in heaven with plate will also include a biscuit.

So I haven't gotten all the way there, but Santa Fe eggs are a good start. It's an egg sandwich with chopped brisket. MMmmmm. 

That is NOT what she said. Part 2

Oh, T9, why do you continue to mock me?

Pantechnicon? Are you freaking kidding me? 

Would anyone ever text that over just van?[I had to look it up. It's British for a furniture moving van.]

No, they would be more likely--though admittedly maybe not that likely--to be typing "Santa" as in Santa Claus or (in my case, for reasons that will become clear soon) Sante Fe. 

Pantechnicon! 

I'm not THAT tall, OK? Part 2

OR, 

Overheard at a recent wedding rehearsal (where I actually made bridesmaiding look fun)

Macaulay Culkin look-alike that walked down the aisle with me: Wow, I may need a pair of circus stilts. 

Now, I'm not known for my tact, but even I know that a good way to break the ice with a stranger is NOT to call them a circus freak. That's Emily's Manners Tip #1.

To conclude, I'm still not that tall, ok?

Thank you, gmail.

Normally I pay little attention to those tidbits that gmail posts above my messages. I ignore them, eager to get updates from my high school friends about the shoes they've just purchased, or the crazy missives from my exboyfriends that make my days special, or the rants from V about her internet dating exploits. But today, I must admit, I enjoy the funny quote:

"I distrust camels and anyone else who can go a week without a drink."

Now I don't really know about Joe E. Lewis. Wikipedia tells me he's an American comedian, but the quote leads me to suspect he's my kinda guy.