this is what concerns me:

Danielle Konya’s Bethlehem, Pennsylvania baked-good operation Vegan Treats gets an incredibly glowing little write-up in yesterday’s Washington Post. “The award-winning bombe, also tofu-based, features subtly flavored peanut butter mousse and is coated with a killer Belgian-chocolate shell.”

As the WaPo points out, Vegan Treats do look really amazing (note to self: buy a pastry bag instead of using repurposed [clean!] plastic bags). This is probably why Atlas is always able to pass off last week’s slices as new ones to unsuspecting customers.

But: there is no mention of the cakes’ trans fats. Unless Konya has changed her recipes, these things aren’t gonna be street legal in New York City in two weeks (and I guess D.C. will be getting the surplus). So eat up, kids!

I realize I’m lazy but it’s not like I’ve been doing nothing! check out my piece in the new issue of Anthem Magazine. (because yes, I am too lazy to scan and post it here for the time being.)

d-list celebs come in threes, homosexuality, digression

This afternoon as I was finishing my coffee and walking toward the Whole Foods in Union Square to purchase as many groceries as would fit in my backpack, I nearly walked right into comedic genius Demetri Martin. For those of you who might not know, I really, really love Demetri Martin (for several pages of reasons, please see Esopus #6).

This is the third in a short series of small-time celebrities I’ve seen in the last two weeks. First was Hal Sparks (of Queer as Folk, thanks to Kristiana for actually knowing his name) at Kate’s, then Jai from Queer Eye for the Straight Guy on the downtown C train to West 4th. (He only went one stop - wtf? But I digress.)

A pattern, perhaps? I sure hope Demetri isn’t into guys (or at least not to the exclusion of females), but I also hope he isn’t dating the unfortunately unattractive horse-faced woman he was walking with. You deserve better, Demetri.

Then again, I have to admit that he was not looking so hot: awkward jeans, strange tiny red backpack, puffy chipmunk cheeks, unfortunate haircut. Maybe Jai could’ve helped him out. Actually, maybe one of the guys from that show who does more than teaches the importance of eye contact. I digress again.

In conclusion: please get it together, Demetri Martin.

ncs debauchery, liquor, mr. ralph steadman

So back to that National Cartoonists Society Annual Weekend of Debauchery I mentioned so lovingly a couple posts back. The NCS never fails to let down this Young Cagle, but this year was particularly interesting in its own grown up, fucked up kind of way. Or perhaps this is all normal and I’ve just finally (finally!) been allowed to sit at the adult table this family Christmas (and my parents are just thrilled!).

This was the third anniversary of the Friday late night karaoke debac- er, festivities. This is, of course, the only evening where some might argue I over-imbibed - and, appropriately, the only evening of which I personally have photographic evidence. Songs were sung, - or screamed, in the case of Mr. Lifetime Achievement Award Winner Ralph Steadman - drinks were drunk and much fun was had.

Mr. Steadman was the biggest news of said Weekend, pissing off the red-staters with an acceptance speech in which he trashed Bush and “the belly of the beast,” presumably Chicago/middle America. It amazed me that this was not completely expected - the guy was best friends with Hunter Fucking Thompson for christ’s sake. I, of course, gave him a standing ovation, if only for his Thompsonesque walk up to the stage.
Other details: winners included the prolific and talented Mr. David Silverman and the patient and sensitive Mr. Gary McCoy, who may use his heavy award for effective cock-blocking cum next year. Unfortunately Mr. Lucci/Piraro lost out to this year’s Editorial Cartooning Pulitzer winner Mr. Mike Luckovich for the Big Reuben Statue Of Golden Naked Cartoon Characters, but fortunately we all know he’s going to win soon, because he’s (some clever and insightful comments that boil down to awesome! here).

As for Chicago: overall, I can’t say I’m much of a fan. I greatly enjoyed the Art Institute and of course the Weekend’s events, (and yes, I’m a total fuck-up and didn’t go to Quimby’s, please taunt me forever) but on the whole, I found the city to be too big shouldered, Midwest, meat-and-potatoes for my sophisticated vegetarian coastal sensibility. I’ve been told by several people that I just “didn’t go to the right places,” but I’ve come to the conclusion that these people are crazy, and I reject their opinions outright. So I say: screw Chicago.

brooklyn, hipsters, brooklyn hipsters

Last night I went to a fundraiser for Urban Glass in Fort Greene, Brooklyn. Fifteen dollars for glass blowing demonstrations, three musical acts, a glass mug and all-you-can-drink-until-they-kick-you-out keg beer! My lovely friend Jason’s lovely band Pirate Satellite opened, rocking especially hard considering it was their first show ever. Good job, dudes.

Headlining the show were the Harlem Shakes (no, not actually from Harlem; yes, lame), who tapped into the very-popular-with-the-kids-these-days post-electroclash dancey hipster shit that makes these kinds of young people go wild and dance like robots on crack (their only resemblance to Harlem). Kind of reminded me of Clap Your Hands, minus twins who gaze longingly at girls playing Scrabble in Smith Street bars. But now I’ve said too much.

All in all, a good time, and I’d highly suggest you check out the Urban Glass (57 Rockwell Place, 3rd floor) if you have money to burn on fancy hand-crafted things, or if you just want to see people wearing metallic space-age fire-proof suits and helmets do impressive spinny tricks with big metal tools and molten amorphous silicon dioxide - which is, I’m sure, exactly what you were looking for at this point in your life.

columbia j-school, radio documentaries, community gardens

I did indeed graduate from the Columbia Graduate School of Journalism a little over two weeks ago. The speakers were boring as hell, but there was much fanfare and shredded New York Times/New Yorker throwing (for more info, see the lovely Kristiana Heap’s thoughtful musings on the connections between Columbia J-school and being held hostage.) We really pissed off the B-schoolers when the wind shifted and blew all of our trash into their faces. Well-deserved, I say.

My last class before this messy sky blue graduation was a final installment of This American Life’s Alex Blumberg’s Radio Documentary course, which took place on a Saturday morning for complicated reasons of Wednesdays, Showtime cable television shows and the laziness of congress. Regardless, bagels were eaten, fun was had, and many documentaries were, um, listened to, not least of which the class’ collaborative effort, Flowers From The Dead Earth, produced and voiced in majority by Lawrence Lanahan and Bruce Wallace. A testimonial from Mr. Ira Glass, addressed to Mr. Alex Blumberg: “I loved this so much. Those kids are so amazingly funny. And you taught them well: it was like a catalog of all the things we hate in public radio stories.”

To listen to that “amazingly funny” piece and all the documentaries from our sweet class, simply click here. It’s so simple, you have absolutely no excuses not to.

-S

P.S. I swear I’ll be updating this more now that I’m underschooled, underemployed and undersocializing. So, like, stay tuned and stuff, for it will be awesome. Or at least more frequently updated. Hopefully both!

moving, boxes, heartless ivy-league fascists

another overheard appropriate to my eleventh hour packing:

Female student: Do you guys have any empty boxes that I could possibly have?
Clerk: No, I’m sorry.
Female student: What about all of those empty boxes over there?
Clerk: We sell boxes, so we’re not allowed to give out boxes for free.
Female student: Okay. How much are the boxes you’re selling?
Clerk: Actually, we’re sold out.
Female student: Okay, if you don’t have any more boxes for sale, can I have some of those empty boxes over there?
Clerk: No.

–Columbia University Bookstore, 115th & Broadway

brooklyn, ncs debauchery, columbia j-school debauchery

I’ve been a little frantic with packing up all my useless shit for the impending move to Brooklyn, not to mention the quick sojourn to Chicago for the annual National Cartoonists Society Weekend of Debauchery, so I haven’t been keeping up on my responsibility to you, kind public, in providing a blow by blow (ha-ha) of the Semi-Official Annihilation Method Reveal. No cause for concern, kids, I’ll get on that right away — I swear! — but in the mean time, please enjoy the best ‘Overheard in New York’ I’ve seen in a long, long while (and I can guarantee you it’s all true - that’s how we do [did!] it at j-school):

Guy: I said to myself ‘he’s never going to make it’: he’s a drug freak, he has three STDs. But you proved me wrong, my friend.

–Columbia Journalism School Graduation Reception

the misogynist game, naked swedish 10s, the annihilation scam

So being the worldly young master of science that I am, I signed up for Neil Strauss’ (”The Game”) mailing list a few weeks ago to keep updated on the goings-on of the male pick-up artist community. I figured, perhaps naively and perhaps underestimating my own worldliness, that I need to know these things to protect myself on the rare occasions that I might actually leave my apartment. And plus, I find this PUA world quite interesting. I find “The Game” far less hateful than “The Rules,” but it’s still frightening that women (girls, that is) fall for this my-friend’s-wallaby back-handed compliment crap - but I guess that’s why I’m a girl-hating feminist. Then again, their behavior is just a creation of the male hegemony. (Though according to Nick Sylvester’s lies, New York women are too smart for the Game! The Village Voice’s shoddy editing has set us back to the mid ’90s! But I digress.)

columbia j-school, liquor, lies

http://www.gawker.com/news/columbia-journalism-school/columbia-jschool-teaches-its-kids-to-drink-172573.php

It’s true, it’s all true. All events “open to the public” on campus have free alcohol. And at the beginning of the schoolyear, in August, they promised us this last party would have free alcohol. Lies and lying liars. I guess that’s what we get from a school that for all intents and purposes is inexplicably run by Newsday.

I said it before and I’ll say it again: new T-shirts.

“no education, no money, no future”

or the other favorite.

“Columbia Graduate School of Journalism: It doesn’t have to be good.” Plus now we could add “Or true.”

Sweet.