You were all bitches.
Archive for December, 2007
As is my tradition, I’ve copied this post directly from the person who is hosting the happy hour, in this case, Jon:
Um, Blogger Happy Hour?
Okie, dokie, happy hour time.
A couple of us were together on Wednesday this week and the notion of doing a happy hour before the year is out came up, and I Jon somehow got fingered to “host” it (ie ACW I pointed at me Jon and said “You do it!”). I’ve Jon’s got a couple of preliminary “definitely in”s, but I’m Jon’s expecting this to be a pretty low key affair, with people busy for the holidays and plus it being last minute.
Please come out if you’re game. Invite friends. I Jon sent out an email, but the email addresses I have Jon had on hand is was a somewhat random assortment. Just drop me Jon a line if you’re interested.
THE EVENT: Blogtimore Blogger Happy Hour
THE DATE: Friday, December 28th
THE TIME: 7:00pm sound good?
THE PLACE: Illusions, the magic bar in Fed Hill
May your belly be full of nog, your day be full of cheer, and your wallet be full of singles for stuffing into g-strings and banana-hammocks.
Merry Christmas from ACW, Mrs. ACW, Wookie, and Sherlock
Every year for work I make cookies for people. It’s a cheap and easy way of saying, “I recognize my societal requirement to give you a gift at this time of year, but I don’t like you enough to get you anything different than I got for the other twenty people in this office, and I also don’t care about you enough to pay more than a few cents for a gift, so here is a plastic bag with some cookies in it.” The best part is that people go wild over these fucking cookies. I give them cookies and they’re like, “Cookies? COOKIES!!!!” It’s bizarre.
Part of this might be due to a small misconception fostered by me at some point a few years ago when I originally distributed these cookies. Someone was eating the cookies while most of the office was sitting around chatting and that person said, “I know you like to be healthy, are these cookies low fat?” And I laughed a little and said, “Oh, yeah. They’re totally fat free.” which is probably one of the worst lies I’ve ever told because the cookies have visible chocolates chips in them and an extremely buttery flavor. Then I realized they were being serious, and I’ve never taken the opportunity to correct their misunderstanding.
These cookies are made with butter flavored Crisco. Pure lard. Fat. These cookies are made with fat. They’re not even as healthy as cookies made with huge globs of fresh creamery butter. Any idiot can look at these cookies and see that they are crammed with fat. By touching these cookies it becomes clear that the primary ingredient is artery-clogging deliciousness. One bite of these cookies and your guts go, “Holy shit, these cookies are fattier than a baby pool full of bacon grease.” And yet people continue to praise the deliciousness of my fat free cookies. They keep asking for the recipe, but I refuse to tell them under the guise of it being a secret family recipe. A secret family recipe that you can find on the side of the Crisco container. I’m thinking maybe I should sell these cookies and call them, “Cookies for people who want to eat cookies and think they’re eating healthy because they’re too stupid to realize that cookies are never good for you and should probably be consumed in moderation rather than strapped to your face like a holiday feedbag.” The printing costs would be killer though.
People continue to think they’re fat free, and I’m not going to say anything about it, so they can indulge without feeling guilty, and I only make enough cookies for everybody to get 7 or 8 so it’s not exactly like I’m spooning Crisco directly into their faces. Though I would if I could convince them it was fat free.
There’s a theory that holds a bit of popularity on these here intertubes, and it’s called the Uncanny Valley. If you’re familiar with this concept, please feel free to skip ahead to the third paragraph. If you’re not, I encourage you to read on, because my point hinges on this concept.
The uncanny valley is an explanation of human reaction to human-like objects, primarily robots. Common sense suggests that as robots begin to look more human, the more receptive we should be to those robots, giving them a more positive response. For example, an industrial car-building robot has a few human traits like dexterity and hinged-joints, so we have only a slightly positive response to it. On the other hand, a fully human-looking robot like the T-101, T-1000, or T-X from the Terminator movies each elicit a very positive response because of their humanness (as long as they aren’t trying to kill you, or turning their hands into swords or guns). So, between those two points we should see a straight line, right? Not exactly. At a certain point the robot begins to look human, but does not look human enough so we reject the robot with a negative response, much the same way we reject zombies, corpses, and fake-looking artificial limbs. Here’s a graphical representation of the uncanny valley, as well as a lot more science talk, if you’re interested in that type of thing. If you’re still having trouble grasping the concept, here’s a real-life example:
Orville Redenbacher was a purveyor of popcorn, and also acted as the face for his company in the commercials, as can be seen in this ad. He died in 1995.
Recently an ad agency decided to resurrect Mr. Redenbacher to help sell more popcorn for the Orville Redenbacher company. The horrendous result can be seen here. Despite the CGI being pretty damn good, almost everyone who has ever seen this commercial has been repulsed by it, which is why the ad was pulled in most markets shortly after it began to air. The CGI Redenbacher, or Deadenbacher as he is referred to on Wikipedia, is located somewhere in the uncanny valley; a zombie-like approximation of a once-living icon, close enough to do the job of selling popcorn, but not close enough for people to keep that popcorn down for very long. This is the also case with powdered nog.
As you can see from the carton, the Aspen Mulling Company promises nothing more than “Egg Nog Mix” but their illustration suggests they’ve packaged something drinkable; a claim, I can assure you, that surpasses the vilest of lies, crafted by Satan’s lawyers in the deepest pits of flaming torment.
I’ve included the directions here to illustrate the sheer paucity of verifiable claims. “Let stand two minutes to thicken” into disgusting undrinkable clot. “For a special treat, pour egg nog over fresh fruit.” I agree, just don’t use this eggnog. “Smoothies: Add 3 teaspoons per serving into blender.” and what else? Milk? Eggs? Diarrhea? “Bundt Cake: Add 2 tablespoons to your favorite recipe.” if you want to ruin it and make people hate you forever.
See those little yellow-orange dots floating in the off-white mixture? Those are the parts of the mix that refused to integrate with the milk even after furious stirring. I could already tell that I was about to submit my innards to some horrible abuse, equivalent to internal punching from tonsils to tailpipe.
Uggh. The first sip tasted like off-brand sugar-free vanilla pudding got knocked up by soy-nog and their baby was this screaming, head-spinning, chunk-spewing, demon-infested horror. That orange line is one of the first accumulations of unmixable nog powder that would eventually ring my glass.
See that? It’s an empty nog glass; unmixable and probably undigestable nog powder clings to the bottom. For you people I drank this. For you. So you don’t wander into the store and think, “Hey maybe I should put some powder into some milk instead of putting powder up my nose for once,” take it home and DIE when you try to ingest something that was clearly invented for someone who loves nog as much as I do. For you people I drank the equivalent of the uncanny valley of eggnog. For you people I drank the metaphorical Deadenbacher. For you people I traveled to Hell’s gates, knocked on the door, and then yanked on the chain of the three-headed demon-dog that eats souls and salivates liquid-hot magma. And for you people I let that demon-dog hump my leg. I hope you’re happy.
For now, this:
I went to the Showalter/Black show last night at the Ottobar and good grief was it hysterical. I hadn’t expected a comedy show to be so well wired. If I see Michael Ian Black with another giant fuchsia cartoon penis in his mouth (as illustrated by Michael Showalter on his laptop while Black was telling jokes, no less), I’m buying it.
Long-time reader and commenter, first-time nog benefactor (benogfactor? yes, I think that’ll do quite nicely) Savage Bliss was kind enough to recently send me some Oregon Chai nog. This is an extremely nogteresting product; very versatile, and yet at the same point, nogsquisite in its nogplicity. Basically, it’s concentrated nog-flavored chai tea that you mix with milk and BAM! you’ve got a lawsuit from Emeril. Wait, no. I mean, BAM! you’ve got Chai Nog.
You’re supposed to mix it with one part chai and one part milk, but I’m the Anonymous Coworker. I freeze nog so I can drink it in July. I don’t need to mix any nog concentrate with milk. Hell, I’ll put in in a syringe and inject it directly through my eye into my BRAIN, letting the creamy texture wash over the wrinkles and folds of my cranium, thus becoming more powerful than any of you! Right, yes, so, anyway. I drank the chai nog straight from the carton and couldn’t handle it. “Ha!” you’re no doubt thinking to yourselves, “He couldn’t handle it.” Yes, but what “it” exactly was I incapable of handling? “The nog?” you say diminutively. No, you addle-pated twiddle-dick! “It” was too sweet! Somehow they had managed to cram a metric-asston of sugar into the chai nog, and I couldn’t handle how cloyingly sweet it was. The nog flavor was perfect. In fact, I’ve started using it as cologne.
For my next experiment, I mixed it with milk like I was supposed to in the first place. It tastes sort of like regular tea with eggnog added rather than milk or cream, or eggnog flavored tea with milk or cream added, thus revealing the simultaneous strengths and drawbacks of this particular product. Here are the various permutations I’ve created (but not yet tested) to see how this nog might combine with other products:
Chai nog with milk
Chai nog with eggnog
Chai nog with milk in regular tea
Chai nog with eggnog in regular tea
Chai nog with regular tea
Chai nog with milk in eggnog tea
Chai nog with eggnog in eggnog tea (I think I may have just discovered the greatest drink in the world)
And those are just the products that could be legitimately mixed with chai nog without people getting all grossed out. I haven’t even begun to contemplate the various uses in baking, with cereal, and with alcohol. I’m hesitant to say this, because I’m not really trying to challenge the internet, which always results in weeping and a full diaper, but this may be the greatest nog product anyone has ever sent to me.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not by any stretch of the imagination a true nog, and it cannot and will not ever replace nog. However, credit must be given where it is due, and this is one helluva product. I urge everyone to try it if you can get your hands on it.
Also, once again, I’d feel remiss if I didn’t thank my patron of the nogly arts, Mr. Savage Bliss, for providing such a fine product to this unabashed nogthusiast.
ADDENDUM’d! Chai nog makes everything better! I added some chai nog to the Target nog and it removed 95% of the horrific flavor of 6-packs of socks for $1.99. Chai nog is the Jesus-butter of egg and milk products!
Let’s see, it’s December 10th and I haven’t nog-blogged a single time yet this month. Sure, I have four posts about nog so far this fall, including one post in October about pumpkin nog. And sure, even when not blogging about nog I’m still pretty much the greatest blog on the internet, so you’ve got that going for you. But Supa reminded me that all of that doesn’t matter when nog is on the line.
In a comment on the last post that I’m sure wasn’t intended to crush my soul and completely take the wind out of my sails, but did anyway, she upbraided me thusly:
Anyway. Came for nog, was disappointed.
I kind of just looked at the screen and went, “But… but… oh. Okay.” and then resolved to post about nog today in some sort of conciliatory gesture to correct past nog-related wrongs. So here you go, Supa, a nog post. I hope it does not disappoint.
During one of our frequent and unnecessary trips to Target to cram every cranny and nook of our home with cheap, plastic, disposable crap, I wandered away from Mrs. ACW (who was jabbering incessantly about how I tune her out or something like that), into the dairy section, as one is wont to do when one wanders aimlessly.
I came upon a dairy case that housed abortion after vile abortion of the unholiest products. Things that should never be mixed with something that comes out of a teat. Cherry-flavored milk? Pardon me while I vomit on the small child standing next to me. I would rather eat the Devil’s underpants. But, as luck would have it, at the end of that row of edible death was exactly what I was looking for: eggnog.
I was a little excited to see that it was Archer Farms branded eggnog because I’m pretty much in love with Archer Farms snack foods. I’d willfully stab a man to death for some of their flavored potato chips, and if it were legal in any state besides Wyoming, I’d quickly divorce Mrs. ACW and marry a bag of chips instead. But there’s no way I’m moving way the hell out to Wyoming just for some potato chips. Are we clear? Murder- enthusiastic yes. Moving- lethargic no.
So we get home and before Mrs. ACW can open the door I push her down on the ground, take the eggnog, and go inside. I think she came inside after that. Or not. Whatever, I don’t care. I had eggnog to drink. I poured myself a glass of the stuff (and have you noticed that when you’re pouring eggnog it’s impossible to pour it any way but silently? Eggnog doesn’t make the vulgar sloshing sounds so typical of other beverages. Oh no. Eggnog is like an outfit made of pure velor while drinks such as soda are all corduroys-and-vinyl-windbreaker-obscene. Eggnog is the ninja of beverages, and it will stab your taste buds with it’s nutmeg katana and you will be lucky if the ONLY thing you do is have an orgasm and relax your bowels.) and took a sip.
“That’s odd,” I thought, “this tastes… like Target.”
Now, I’ve never “tasted” Target. I’ve never gotten down on my hands and knees and licked the red and white linoleum tile. I’ve never tongue-kissed the endless displays of movies that cost $5.50. I’ve never orally ingested… well, that’s probably enough. That smell, though. You know that smell? The smell of row upon row of cheap plastic crap, industrial cleaning solutions, heavily recycled air, 75-pound dog-food bags, and those distinct-but-subtle notes of vacuum cleaner bags? That’s what Target nog tasted like.
Don’t get me wrong, the primary and overwhelming taste was of nog, but there was a background which tasted like Target itself, and that didn’t make me happy. No, that did not make me happy one bit. I finished the glass (it was nog, after all) and put the carton in the back of the fridge. I hoped to go back to it after a few days to find that it had mellowed somewhat and the undeniable taste of big-box commerce had dissipated. Alas, it was not to be.
Drinking Target nog is like drinking capitalism, distilled. For the most part it’s okay, but every now and then you get hints that what you’re consuming is the lowest common denominator of what it could possibly be without it being something totally different altogether. Get it? No? Let me put it simply:
Target nog almost tastes like Communism.
