Amoeblog

(Wherein I review rad, rainy resources.)

Posted by Job O Brother, December 20, 2010 11:38am | Post a Comment
santa claus
Merry Christmas from the homeless guy who stole your candles!

Santa, it would seem, heard my Christmas wish and brought me lots of rain. While not convenient to my compulsive walks to the grocery store for whatever culinary whims o’ertake me, I’ll trade easy access to the “Asian food aisle” for gloomy storm-clouds any old day. It’s not just the weather itself, it’s the music, movies, food and activities that I save for just such an occasion. What are they? I’m pretending you ask – Why, I’ll tell you!

top hat
Boner.


Let’s start with alcohol, as any good day does. This is the season for a cocktail staple of mine: hot toddies, of the whiskey variety. It’s so simple, I hesitate to say this is a recipe, any more than boiling spaghetti and dumping a jar of sauce on it is a “recipe,” but if I’ve learned anything about you earthlings, it’s that when cooking doesn’t come naturally, it doesn’t come at all. So here goes…

1.)  Simply boil water. If you need instructions for this, stop now and don’t ever, ever step into a kitchen.

2.)  While you wait for your water, squeeze the juice from one whole lemon, removing any seeds. Save the seeds and, in another blog, I’ll show you how you can use these dried lemon seeds to make the ugliest, stupidest necklace ever.

eGuiders.com Live -- Great Records, Real Good Whiskey, Even Jambalaya ...

Posted by Whitmore, May 4, 2010 11:05pm | Post a Comment
eguiders live
Not to sound like a complete SoCal elitist snob, but I do most of my writing down by the pool, lounging about – in the shade, of course -- often sipping some kind of beverage, sometimes a cappuccino, sometimes a whiskey and soda, Sinatra style. Anyway, this is where I met Marc Ostrick, good neighbor, family man, music aficionado, Scotch connoisseur, raconteur and co-founder of the website eGuiders.com. The site, launched in February of 2009, is in essence your TV Guide to online videos. And starting this past April 1st, Marc began adding original programming to the mix. Shows include eG Live, The Untitled Series, Two Live Jews (featuring Marc and comedian Ed Krasnick) and my favorite show, The B Side Live.
 
The B Side Live combines all the elements dearest to my geeky, fool's paradise kind of life -- great eguiders liverecords (and always 45’s), good single malt whiskeys and ridiculous tomfoolery, always augmented with a live audience, dancers and green screens, and on special nights when the moon is high and some immense, slippery funk track greases up the studio, your hosts Marc, Brian Rothe and myself serve up some real good jambalaya.
 
This Thursday, May 6th at 9 pm (Pacific Coast Time), we will be dishing out one last episode before our summer hiatus. Below is last week's extravaganza, here is episode 3 and episode 4 and yeah, on occasion it’s a bit jejune, puerile, brutish, corporeal, feral, and yes even a little ferine, but it’s a helluva good, goddamned time. Tune in.

(In which Job noshes nog.)

Posted by Job O Brother, December 22, 2008 09:04pm | Post a Comment
egg nog
Okay – I just took my first sip of egg nog. Laced, as it is, with a healthy dose of Maker’s Mark, we shall see what, if any, impact it has on my blog writing.

Today has been devoted to wrapping gifts and last-minute shopping. Guess where I went for the shopping.

If you guessed Amoeba Music, you guessed correctly. Point for your team. If you guessed the Lost City of Atlantis, you’re not only wrong, but your grasp on reality is tentative, to say nothing of your lack of knowledge of where to find bargains. No one ever saved money exploring the depths of the Atlantic Ocean. You can quote me on that.

*second sip of egg nog*

Anyone knows that Lemuria is where the good sales are.

*third sip of egg nog*

I’ve worked at Amoeba Music Hollywood for over four years now, but when I shop there, it still feels new and thrilling and yes, sometimes overwhelming, though in the same way that Disneyland is overwhelming. You know – so much fun to be had + if only I could use a bulldozer to get through these swarms of people!

I can’t tell you what I found because I was shopping for my boyfriend Corey who, for some ridiculous reason, actually reads my blog. Probably to make sure I don’t tell you about his embarrassing habit of biting fingernails. Not just his own fingernails. Anyone’s. He’ll gnaw your digits as soon as look at you. It’s a problem, and has gotten us kicked out of more than one function.


One night, while attending a performance of Puccini's "La Bohème" at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, we were escorted out right in the middle of one of my favorite arias, "Sì, mi chiamano Mimì" (which, loosely translated means "Yes, my fingers taste like chocolate bunnies") because Corey was so swept away by the music and the sentiment that he unconsciously began nibbling on the pinky of the elderly woman next to him. As we were exiting, I was so humiliated that I walked ten paces behind Corey, trying to remain inconspicuous, which was hard because of what he'd done.

The Signs Are Everywhere, the Return, Part 3…1 day left

Posted by Whitmore, November 3, 2008 08:39am | Post a Comment

“There comes a time in the affairs of man when he has to take the bull by the tail and face the situation.” -W.C. Fields.
 
I once took a bottle of Rye up there to W.C. Fields’ grave site in Forest Lawn, right down the road from here in Glendale, to mark the 60th anniversary of his death. (And contrary to popular legend his grave stone doesn’t read “All things considered, I’d rather be in Philadelphia,” it simply reads W. C. Fields 1880 -1946.) It was Christmas day and I thought somebody should have a snoot full with ol’ William Claude. But drinking in a cemetery, I discovered, is kind of frowned upon. I thought the Rye was a friendly gesture, but not according to the security guard, who seemed even more disheartened by my choice of liquor. I should have known, never argue with a man in a uniform. I was wrong. The guard was right, Rye is kind of nasty. So I promised the Security guard, I think his name was Donald, the next time I fill my flask I’ll pour in something with a bit more respect. Donald suggested an Islay variety single malt Scotch. The smoky and peaty overtones are a perfect compliment to a cold wintry day. After he returned my Rye, and put away his nightstick, we discussed the weather, W. C. Fields and oddly enough, politics. Over the course of our conversation I discovered we agreed on several fronts such as, Fields' best movie was The Bank Dick and that the last eight years have been like a long icy winter and you’re trapped in a snow cave, with only shoe leather to eat, while your soul dies from hypothermia. And we both agreed the last eight years was probably very good for the whiskey trade.

Lately though, L.A. has been hotter then hell. This October we had some ten days of ninety plus temperatures, registering the hottest October on record since the 1870’s. I’m not sure, but maybe that’s a good sign politically. Though, now that it’s November, genuine weather has made a return … clouds, rain, thunder, wind. I don’t know if that’s a bad sign or just weather in November. And I might be yanking at straws here again, but another possibly good sign -- at least for me and my life in a vacuum -- is that our next President is almost certainly guaranteed to be the candidate whose Halloween mask sold the most. For the last three decades this very unscientific, but incredibly accurate prognosticator seems to always predict the winner. This year’s top selling mask, in a landslide, was Barack Obama, out-selling John McCain masks by a 2 to 1 margin. But Republicans, don’t fret -- set your eyes to the horizon, un-furrow your brow, look north, look to the future, mark your calendars, thank god and bottle up those anxieties because you will be happy to know that the Sarah Palin mask came in second with strong mavericky sales.
 
Personally I’m just searching for political deliverance anywhere, everywhere. And I find signs in the oddest places. I’m reading newspapers and blogs and astrological charts and traffic patterns and weather reports and football scores and topographical maps and grocery receipts and paycheck stubs and my son’s first grade homework and I see signs! The signs are everywhere, but what the hell do they mean … if anything!? Now the Philadelphia Phillies winning the 2008 World Series seems significant -- I swear there’s something there! Especially since the Phillies also hold the distinction of being the team with the most losses in the history of Major League Baseball. And Philadelphia is where The United States Constitution was adopted on September 17, 1787. Philadelphia is home to Independence Hall where the Declaration of Independence was signed in 1776. Philly is home to the Liberty Bell. The City of Brotherly Love is the birthplace of the cheese steak sandwich, Betsy Ross, Grace Kelly, Margaret Mead, Robert Crumb, John, Ethel and Lionel Barrymore, Wilt Chamberlain, The Stylistics, The Dead Milkmen, The Delfonics, Stan Getz, Billie Holiday, Bob Saget, Jeremiah Wright, and W.C Fields. And last but not least, over 75% of the million plus voters registered in Philly are Democrats. Is that a Sign? All I can do is hope.

The Cyclonic 2007 Celebrity Mugshot Whirl-Around, part 2

Posted by Whitmore, January 12, 2008 09:00am | Post a Comment

Sometimes I get the impression that our old friend Orenthal James "O. J." Simpson just wants to end up at the top of an old oil refinery like James Cagney in White Heat, screaming at the top of his Hall of Fame lungs “Look at me Ma! Top of the world!” Then boom … infinity and vapor … melted down like a Heisman Trophy.






David Huckabee
, the eldest son of presidential candidate Mike Huckabee, made headlines when he was arrested in April for having a loaded Glock pistol in his carry-on bag at the Little Rock Airport. Yeah, but that’s nothing compared to the stunt he pulled as an 18 year old, when he was fired from his Boy Scout counseling job for torturing and killing a stray dog he caught at Camp Pioneer in Hatfield, Arizona. First he hung the dog by the neck, slit its throat, then stoned it to death.



You would think that the biggest story this year in sports would have been Michael Vick and his massive screw-up, but luckily for him we live in an era when athletes massively screw-up all the time.



I’m not trying to play the elitist-snob game here, but I’ve never seen an episode of American Idol … but shit, with characters like Jessica Sierra hanging around, I think I have to mend my ways and check this show out! But the first order of business, get Season Four from Netflix for a better look at this femme fatale.

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