Nuyorican Obituary

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It may be time to consider getting a new server.

Update: The problem was fixed in a few hours. This did not require any attention from the Tech Morlocks. Apparently, the %#@$%^ server was doing some sort of update.

If I had a Christmas wish list, this little marvel of technology would be on it. A phone jammer transmits a low power radio signal to cut off communications bewteen cell phones and cell phone base stations. So, when I’m standing in line waiting to order a burrito and some dude is chatting on his cell while looking at the menu and holding up the line, I activate this and vvvvt!, there goes his signal. So maybe then the line can get moving. Sitting in a cafe or on a elevated train trying to read while some lady chats loudly and at incredible length, then vvvvt!, and I can get back to my new issue of Justice Society. I know it’s mean, but I want it!

I had an idea to write a cookbook for Han Solos like myself. Tasty, easy-to-make, single-portion meals. To go with the ennui and the DVDs of Stargate SG-1. Of course there are a thousand of these books out already. So here’s mine, for no good reason, based on the things I cook for myself. This was my dinner tonight–

Grilled Portobello Mushrooms
* 2 portobello mushrooms
* 1/4 c. olive oil
* 2 cloves garlic, minced
* 4 Tbs. balsamic vinegar

1. Clean mushrooms by tapping them gently against the table till all the dirt falls out. Remove stems–or else the ’shrooms won’t sit flat in the grill. Save the stems for something else. Like putting them in a rival’s sneakers. Place the caps on a plate with the creepy-looking gill parts up.
2. In a small bowl, combine the oil, garlic and vinegar. Pour the mixture over the mushroom caps and let stand for about an hour.
3. Heat up your grill pan. Don’t tell me you don’t have a grill pan, because then I have nothing to say to you. Go! Get out of here. Now when your grill pan is hot, place the cap creepy side down. Grill on each side for 10 minutes. Serve immediately!

Warm Spinach Salad
6 c. fresh spinach leaves (this does NOT work with frozen spinach, trust me)
1/2 c. olive oil
3 cloves garlic, finely chopped

Rinse that spinach 50 times. Even then there will still be dirt. But by then it’s hopefully microscopic. Heat the oil in a medium size skillet over medium heat. Add garlic. Season to taste with salt and pepper and maybe some herb de provence, what the hell. Toss the spinach with the warm dressing and sprinkle the salad with Parmesan cheese, if you want. I didn’t, but that’s because I didn’t realize I could’ve. See what you get — spinach warmed by the heated dressing. Very classy! Serve immediately. Pour yourself some wine. This is about 6 servings, although I ate the whole thing just to stifle the pain and because I hate leftovers. Other ways to really dress this up, for the rare occasions you actually have someone else there: Add some basil to the spinach. And/or add 1/2 cup of toasted pine nuts and or some prosciutto or turkey bacon to the oil as it heats, diced.

All in all a very healthy meal that I enjoyed with some wine and a rerun of Rocky IV. ”I must break you!” Then I got hungry and ate half a bag of apricot turnover cookies.

I have a problem with turkey grease. This is why I do not dress up too nicely when I visit my mom for Thanksgiving. I am the one who carves the turkey–which I do before we bring it to the table. At some point, as I remove a drumstick or slice through the white meat, there is spillage. Hot, greasy turkey juice. One year all over my frayed shirt and least favorite jeans. Another all over my beaten sneakers. But this year was good. Just got a little on the old khaki pants I was wearing. I take this as a good sign for the following year.

Turkey Day 2007 went very well, actually. Each year I make at least one dish for the meal, usually extemporaneously from whatever Ma has in her fridge. This year I threw a selection of frozen broccoli, cauliflower, and zucchini into a pan with garlic, just to flavor, then tossed that with breadcrumbs and grated parmesan, then tossed that in the oven. The kids loved it. My mother made turkey gravy–something she never made for us when we were kids! That lady has been watching Food Network.

So that was my Thanksgiving. How was yours?

I am about to embark on a ride to New Jersey, to the familial Thanksgiving meal. Turkey! Canned cranberry sauce! Arroz con gandueles! Just like the Pilgrims. Back later, with a full report.

You might enjoy the Thanksgiving Asinine podcast from last year. I’d found a .WAV file of real turkeys’ keyuking but when I put it in GarageBand, their volume was too low. You can hear the genuine birds near the end, but most of that ridiculous gobbling you hear is mine.

I had a very healthy weekend, no binging, but rather jogging, no cheeseburger deluxes, but rather a large amount of salads. I felt all in all like a rabbit, but in a good way. However, come Monday at lunch I could not fight the craving for a huge, American meal. Studies show that food cravings are sometimes indicative of the body’s actual need for something. Salt, protein, sugar. My body obviously needed a stack of pancakes, eggs over easy, and six impressive slices of bacon. So I went two blocks over–whole worlds over–to the Sunflower Diner, on Third Avenue and 26th. I chose it because it distinguishes itself by being competent, not something to be undervalued in these times, and hey, I dig sunflowers. I also like the fact that few of the customers are refugees from Park Avenue South, as I am; they are locals, teens, senior citizens, sometimes a nanny with child. On Monday, a cold day, I sat at the booth nearest the door, so got the brunt of in-rushing air every time someone came in or left. But being an adult child of alcoholics, I am not likely to complain. Anyway, once my meal came, I was absorbed. The pancakes had not been smashed under a cruel spatula to dryness, as often happens in diners. And the bacon had generous amounts of both meat and fat. The eggs were delicate as lace, just slightly underdone. The orange juice was generic, but fine. If I had a digital camera I would have photographed it for you. I felt like a glutton, of course, which is what modern America is about. If only those kids in Ethiopia could order in. Sorry, Angelina! No offense! In any case, the meal, as comfort food meals by definition do, filled me and fulfilled me. This was by no means the best of such meals I have ever had. It was just what my body–what I–needed. We must find what comfort we can in life, when we can, understanding that it is fleeting, and not always good for our arteries. I waddled back to my cattle pen, warm and sated.

This week I recorded another of our monthly podcasts at AsininePoetry.com, this one featuring Thanksgiving poems by the holiday-happy Fenway Parker and the genius Gregory Lawrence Stewart. Please give a listen. Let me know what you think. Note that we used a drumbeat as background music. Drums, get it? As in drumsticks. Damn clever, wot. Yeah.

So friends came over on Saturday for dominos. By this I do not mean, “Get the door. It’s Domino’s” dominos. Nor do I mean multiple viewings of the 2005 movie with Keira Knightley starring as model-turned-bounty-hunter Domino Harvey. (Yeah, I was suspicious, too, but “model-turned-bounty-hunter” probably happens more often than you’d think.)

Nope, I mean the game. With the tiles. Zero-to-six dots on them. None of my friends had played before, not even the half Cuban. And at least two of them asked if the game involved lining the dominoes up and tipping them over. Which, with one set, would have made for a very short, or repetitive, evening. No, the game itself, invented probably by the Chinese in the 1100s, is a kind of like Uno, Bridge, Mahjong, and poker. Kind of.

At 8, E– arrived with fancy wine he’d won in a petanque tournament. Petanque is a whole other nonmainstream game. You want to know more about that, go to his site. T– arrived an hour later, what with having to make sure his teen kids were safely on their way home. He’s a good dad. And G— showed up the latest, delayed after some canoodling with his fiancee, I suspect.

The game got underway, with my trying to communicate what little wisdom I have about the game. I have played since I as a child. I do not want to exaggerate the importance of dominoes in Latino culture, since it verges on the stereotypic. But it is pretty important. In general I emphasized to my friends the importance of smacking a winning Capicua tile down and saying “Capicua!” with gusto. Other than that, there was, as in any other game where a bunch of guys are involved, much talk about literature. We killed the wine. T– went for a beer run.

The game went on, slowly. And, as in most evenings with a bunch of guys involved, it ended about the same time the beer did. Alas, we did not finish the game. It was 1:30 in the morning, E– was in the lead but was half asleep, T– had to get home to his family, G— to his fiancee. They left, and I stayed up, cleaning, mumbling a Van Morrison song. Actually, I may have just brushed my teeth and topple over like a tile onto my bed.

I have been very fortunate to have been invited to contribute to three poetry journals and a online crime fiction zine, all due by the end of the month. This is the home office, where I will be sweating it. While I’m very good at procrastinating, I could always use help. You should really visit. I have gourmet chocolate and fancy gin!

By the way, a story of mine’s appearance in Thrilling Detective has been rescheduled till early next year. Stay tuned.

Sojourning in the world of advertising is much like being dropped in a foreign country and trying to learn the local language, the lingo, the argot. You sit quietly for long periods, staring at the natives, watching their mouths move, hoping to make sense of some words and phrases, hoping to translate it in your mind to something familiar. Some words and phrases I’ve heard in my first two weeks:

awareness modules
consumer-facing
data analytics
deliverables
discovery phase
loyalty module
quick and dirty (a better idea for sex than business)
sharework
upsell
value-added (a vile, vile term)
versional

And acronyms, they love acronyms in this country: AD, BOP, CD, CP, CTN, GDP, TSO. Apparently my job here is copywriter (CW). Here is a chestnut of prose I wrote this week: “With this durable, versatile briefcase, your office travels with you.” Eat that, Shakespeare.