Don't feel bad for Frank...

Just look how badly THIS woman is being Lamb-pooned!

AP article etc.

Phew! what a weekend, huh? The Digest and little ol' Jules make it into a gazillion papers. The best part? My first hate mail!!! Actually, out of hundreds of emails, I only got 2 mean emails, but here's the best one.

Look what some crazy person gathered from this photo:


"I surfed your page for a few minutes and founds oodles and oodles of things
you wrote, which could be spun into critiques of you as a person. Much much worst [sic] than your insipid critiques of Mr. Bruni.

Not to mentioned [sic] all I could write about your butchered nose. Have you considered that your blog may simply be misdirected anger? Something tells me that if you called your plastic surgeon, and yelled at him for what he did to your nose, you would no longer feel this anger towards poor Mr. Bruni."

!!!!!!!!! Can you believe??? I mean, my nose, technically speaking, looks like three ping pong balls stuffed in a thigh-high, it's like those mogul ski slopes. But I'm far from angry about it. It just makes me a better boxer.

This kind of boxer, natch:

WHAT WENT WRONG????? Part II: The Trout Disaster

Will someone tell me why this was so nasty? It was conceptually so perfect!

• First, I browned some bacon and garlic and shallots.
• Then I took 'em out of the pan and fried a fresh trout filet in the bacon fat + some olive oil. GOOD SO FAR, RIGHT? Please note that already at this juncture something started to smell like burrito night in a pig pen. But I soldiered on.
• Then I added some fresh spinach, which wilted perfectly in the heat, atop my happily frying trout, and then I dumped the bacon and shit from step one back in the pan. GOOD THINKING, RIGHT?

I recognized that the acrid fart-waft had only become worse, but like a WASP pretending an awkward moment isn't akward, I hummed happily and popped my stinky crap into tupperware for tomorrow's lunch.

As the clock struck noon the next day, I stretched, pulled away from my computer and whipped out my lunch. "I'm so industrious and thrifty! Healthy fish! Bag lunch!" were my thoughts as I tucked a napkin into my collar and rolled up the sleeves of my mannish officewear.

I opened the tupperware and something that I can only describe as a cousin of gasoline with some definite nail polish remover and possibly burning trash somewhere back in its lineage. It stung my eyes, even behind my enormous red-framed 1989 government-employee glasses.

WHY? Fresh fish, fresh spinach, fresh garlic. Fresh...well the bacon was old, but does bacon rot? isn't bacon a preservative? WAS IT ROTTEN BACON? I called Matty, my boyfriend, who is a cook.

"Babe, you know that bacon in the fridge?" I asked.

"Yeah, I just finished it."

"Well it was rotten"

"Bacon doesn't rot."

"It made my fish taste bad. I really think it was rotten."

"Babe, it's just really, really smoked."

I hung up.

Has anyone ever had experience with bacon that is sooooooo smoked that it tastes like sphincter dipped in gasoline? Or does bacon rot? Or am I just the world's officially WORST cook and it's a known fact among the informed that bacon and trout interact like bleach and ammonia to form a deadly gas? I'm confused.

Geoduck: Nothing to do with maps or ducks

A geoduck, as I recently learned, is a delicious crazy sea clam. But you're gonna wanna check out this amazing link to a Google Image Search Results page for "GEODUCK". It is literally BONKERS.

Thanks to my friend Phil for bringing this beautiful gem into my world.

I'm deliberately NOT posting an image on this page so that you can be visually assaulted by the Google image results. Thanks again, Phil!


This bird's vagina is definitely frowning, right?

Beans Beans: my own private Nevada

I'm just testing some new image-sourcing crap that I probably downloaded wrong. let's see if this worked.




IT WORKED!!!! genius.