He's small, but mighty.
A short post today, but there is something I absolutely must share. My lovely friend Deb and I have spent many a happy half hour when we should be working, reading each other Twitter posts by a dude named Justin, who just writes down ‘$hitmydadsays.‘
Samples include, “You’re gonna run into jerk offs. But remember, it’s not the size of the a-hole you worry about, it’s how much $hit comes out of it.”
And the ever popular, “No, you can not borrow my t-shirt…How about instead of standing there looking shocked, you do your f*cking laundry?”
This man could (and should) be a guru for an entire generation of whiny kids (mine included, Gen X) who can’t be bothered to actually DO anything, and his skillful wielding of the f-bomb rivals my own father’s for creativity and frequency.
Click, read, enjoy. Happy hump day!
Elbow, elbow, wrist wrist wrist.
C’mon, you know you want it.
This delicious wrist confection comes from LA based designer, Devon Leigh Sedlacek, who apparently outfits celebrities and other folks in the know. Is it me, or does the tiny brass bowl look like it’s filled with something decadent and edible, like you are so rich that you travel with a wrist capsule of caviar in case you feel peckish?
A bracelet like this can cost upwards of $700, but these gorgeous moonstone earrings, as featured in October’s InStyle Mag, are a mere $289. Who needs silly little things like food and electricity when you’ve got the light of the moon?
Moonstones over my hammy.
I heard about Devon via a website my pal Han told me about, called Rue La La. It’s a bit fancy and you have to be INVITED to join, like a site behind a velvet rope. The sale prices are fantastic — Theory dresses marked down from $225 to $99. Want an invite? Let me know.
CUTLER FOR PRESIDENT.
BEARS WIN! BEARS WIN!! You go ahead and cheer, Jay. You done Chicago proud. As he packs for Denmark and plans his speech on Chicago’s behalf to the International Olympic Committee, the leader of the free world is smiling today thanks to a Bears victory at Qwest Field on Sunday.
The 12th man was in full force pulling the Bears offsides, but for once the other team’s second string QB was NO MATCH for our first string. And this post wouldn’t be complete without acknowledging a debt of gratitude to Seahawks kicker Olindo Mare, for missing a few easy ones:
Blinded by the light of his own neon green jersey.
Thanks, dude! And though he is not pictured here, Robbie Gould — you are the perfect Chicago player. You’re the guy who never misses a day of work; who quietly, humbly and without fanfare keeps us in the game, again and again. The city of broad shoulders rests a good portion of its playoff hopes on your skinny ones — you’re better than Gould, you’re platinum. GO BEARS!
Maybe I should call it a coconut explosion.
In celebration of my dear friend David Anspaugh’s birthday, some gals and I made him a party at the Wilshire last night. Per his request for coconut cream pie, I made the epicurious.com version pictured above, and merged it with Bobby Flay’s recipe for coconut pastry filling.
You can make the pie crust as the recipe states, substitute your own like I did or buy one (especially when baking a shell, sometimes the foolproof store version is the way to go). For the filling, I used Bobby’s recipe (I prefer cornstarch to flour as a thickening agent) and added the 1 1/2 cups of sweetened flaked coconut.
So all was well and good — crust, golden and crisp. Filling, creamy and coconutty. And then I tried to whip the cream. In my 100° apartment, in a warm bowl, with warm beaters. TWICE. It looked like curds and whey — the cream all bunched up like fluffy cottage cheese and puddled with what looked like milky water. I tossed out both batches, stopped by the store and bought cream-in-a-can, worked just fine but melted FAST. Good thing we all gobbled it up so quickly!
Poor Wilshire seems to be suffering in the recession (that’s what you get for charging $15 for a martini, I guess) and even though the LOVELY barstaff was as affable as ever, I’m worried that there just aren’t enough people there. Kate grabbed a pic or two with her iPhone; hoping to update this post with a nice picture of the birthday boy and his bitches! Happy Friday!
Even cuter at 20% off.
I was going to post about Cafe Wa s in Hollywood today, but in keeping with the overall lameness of this week (i.e. eating salami/cream cheese roll-ups alone while watching Top Chef — GO ASHLEY!), I haven’t actually been there. YET.
Instead, I’d like to give a well-deserved shout-out to Banana Republic, where I purchased several birthday gifts for my sister online, including the cute coziness pictured above. The day AFTER I dropped a fat wad of cash on their electronic doorstep, they put every online purchase at 20% off! The horror!
So I called, fully expecting them to deny me my extra savings, and like the class act that they are they gave me my $30 back! Bless their sweet corporate hearts. Yesterday I went to visit the above cardigan at the actual store, and it is indeed sweet and cuddly and wonderful, in a lambswool blend with a touch of cashmere. Perfect for chilly fall weekends in Chicago, or anywhere, really. And love the price!
Bienvenidos a Miami Beach, CA
After a lovely evening with Ashley at the Shangri La hotel pool bar, I had to look up Shangri La this morning. I learned that it’s an imaginary land depicted in a 1933 novel called Lost Horizon. Its current definition — thanks, Merriam Webster — is “a remote, usually idyllic hideaway.”
And that about fits the bill at this Miami Beach-inspired idyll, that also brought to mind a more relaxed, West Side version of Sky Bar in WeHo’s Mondrian hotel.
You’ll find the same overpriced drinks ($13-18) you’d see at Sky Bar or Miami’s Delano, and the same teensy cut-out dresses and wobbly heels. But there’s something in the air here — maybe it’s the breeze off the Pacific — that smacks of youthful optimism and maybe even innocence.
It’s refreshing not to see beautiful people trying so hard to look so bored. And there ARE some beauties here, ladies. GUY candy everywhere! Hurry, before the ratio becomes less favorable.
And do you know what else? FRESH GRAPEFRUIT JUICE. Shangri La di da!
Doin' Rosh Hashanah like they do in TX. Wait...
It is so hot in LA right now — even here on the windy(er) West side, that I feel like I’ve got a fever, and the only cure is beef brisket. Especially if it comes from Dr. Hogly Wogly’s Tyler Texas Bar B Que in Van Nuys, CA. (Also the porn capital of the U.S., but that’s a cure for another kind of fever.)
If you are unfamiliar with this cut of meat beloved by Jewish grandmothers and Texas BBQ enthusiasts alike, I like this description from the Chicago Tribune test kitchens: “Brisket is a chewy, cheap cut of beef redolent of the gristled basket from which it takes its name.” (That would be the gut basket, I think, of a cow. YUM!)
I was lucky enough to attend the Mother of all Rosh Hashanah dinners at the home of uber-hosts Betsy and Eric last weekend, and Hogly Wogly brisket was also in attendance. It’s fall-off-your-fork tender, with a smoky, subtle sweetness and just a hint of vinegar to keep things interesting. Eric (the goyim, no less!) made textbook-perfect kugel and potato pancakes WITH fixins — oy gevalt you should all eat so well. L’shanah tovah!
Oh and just FYI — I had a hard time seeing anything on the Wogly website while using a Mac, had much better luck with a PC. C’mon Doc Hogly, that’s hardly democratic. Mac folk are BBQ lovers too!