Day of the Living Bread

Since I had some time on my hands last night, I quickly put together a batch of sourdough starter for sourdough rye + flax seed bread. I mixed the starter and other ingredients this morning, and a few hours of fermenting, maturing and baking later, I had two loaves of bread:

Pac-Man Boule


Smiling Torpedo

Typically, bread bakers try to avoid such irregular results by scoring (or slashing) loaves before baking. The slashes break surface tension and allow the bread to rise, each perfect score a testament to a baker’s steady hand and his or her great technique.

Apparently, I don’t have either, which doesn’t really stop me from trying new recipes. (I did try to learn how to score bread but with sad results.) Plus, I rather like my misshapen bread, especially when it comes out looking like a baker’s version of Halloween food.

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Quick Hit: Txt Me Win U Can Spel

An update for all you McTexting idiots out there who brutalize our language more each day: I know texting devices do not have spell-check in all cases, but there are a number of things that every single word processing or online application marks as misspelled (red underline) or grammatically incorrect (green underline) but your lazy ass is too stupid or stubborn to fix.  Here are a few examples:

Site favorite: “definitely” is not the same word as “definately” or “defiantly.”  The word does not contain an “a,” dumbass.

“Sounds like, but ain’t” double-shot:  there are no such things as “intensive purposes.”  Similarly, you “should of” leaned by now that “of” is not a verb.

Finally, irregardless of what you think, its sure that your going to think there are more important things to do then catch the 4 errors in this sentence.  LOL.  IMAO.  ICYMI.

F U.

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Vampires suck.

Yes I made that pun up. Totally by myself.

I hate vampires. I don’t mean just the Twilight-y mopey vampires. Hating them would be redundant. It would be like saying something over again unnecessarily. Or repeating it a lot. I hate vampires. Trash talking the Twilight-y vampires is too easy of a target. I mean they aren’t really even vampires any way. Vampires don’t sparkle. And Vampires shouldn’t be hundred year old dudes hanging out in high schools. And they shouldn’t be all passive aggressive rape-y. And they sure as hell don’t play baseball.

I had heard about how bad Twilight was before I watched the movie but no one told me about the baseball scene. No one told me!!!!!

more like whore-er, amirite???

The horror...

No, regardless of how bad Twilight vampires are, they aren’t why I hate vampires.  I even hate old school Dracula-style vampires.

old school

old school

I think the main reason is they talk too damn much. They are always getting chatty and being mysterious and shit, trying to seduce women or some bullshit.  Here’s an idea, why don’t you just kill some people, already?

People say, “oh they are all sexy and broody.” Well, that’s nice. However, if I want something sexy  I’ll look at something sexy. Sexy vampires are all the rage. If you do an image search on google for vampire, what you mostly get are pictures of sexy vampire women. You know what else is sexy? Sexy women. And if I want broody? Then I’ll just look at myself in the mirror…

Another reason I hate vampires is that they have too damn many powers and too damn many rules. A vampire can turn into a bat. Or it can turn into a wolf. Or mist. But they can’t cross running water. Or come out at night. Or come into your house without being invited. Or have a reflection. But they don’t like crosses. Or garlic. And they can be killed by a wooden stake through the heart. Or sometimes you have to cut its head off. And sometimes it doesn’t like silver. Or mirrors sometimes.

Which is another problem: no one agrees on what their rules are or powers are. Pretty much every other monster is simple: Zombies eat people. You kill them by shooting them in the head, and if you get bitten you become one. Werewolves are killed by silver and change during the full moon. Mummies are dead Egyptian dudes who shamble around. But vampires? Who the fuck knows? The rules are always different.

Even the most famous vampire cliché points to why vampires are terrible. When someone does a vampire imitation, what do they say? “I want to suck your blood.” Well that’s nice. I want a million dollars. Or just a job. Here’s an idea, instead of talking about what you want to do, why don’t you just do it???

And let’s think about it, who is the vampire saying that to? The person whose blood is desired. So the vampire, instead of just sucking the person’s blood, is telling the person what the vampire is going to do? That’s some stereotypical James Bond villain shit, right there.

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Artistic Assassinry

Recently we at Eat, Prey, Hate have been watching MacGyver.  Why, you ask?  Shut up!  If you have to ask why, you clearly have not seen this show.  The brilliance, the artistry, Dana Elcar holdin’ it down at the Phoenix Foundation office, despite his diminishing eyesight: this show has it all.

Of course, the show’s primary thrust comes from the highly adaptable MacGyver, a one-man invasionary force who eschews traditional means of subdual like weapons and fisticuffs in favor of paperclips, shoestrings, and of course, his trusty pocket knife.  This Richard Dean Anderson character has enjoyed renewed interest in the past few years, after the satirical MacGruber of SNL brought the ABC show back into the cultural imaginary.

However, the high point of the show’s 7 seasons were the 9 episodes featuring Micheal Des Barres as Murdoc, a villainous hit-man intent on ending MacGyver’s  resourceful career.  Truly, these episodes comprise a moment in televisual – nay American – history that will be looked upon with awe and reverence for centuries to come.  Murdoc is the epitome of super-villain, and his predation must be acknowledged.

Murdoc, an agent for 8/9 episodes at HIT (Homicide International Trust), ironically does not acknowledge the laws of nature regarding death.  It is this trait that establishes him as arguably more predatory even than his nemesis, MacGyver.  You see, in his encounters with MacGyver, he is hurled off a cliff twice, caught in explosions, thrown down an elevator shaft and in various other ways exposed to forces that would kill any ordinary man.  “Oh,” he seems to say, “I fell off a sheer 4000 ft cliff with no rope or parachute?  No worries.  Caught in a fireball?  Merely a bit warm.  I will scar a bit, but even those will end up disappearing without explanation.  That’s how I roll.  I’m straight up Twinkie, bitches!  You cannot destroy me!”

This is Michael Des Barres (the Marquis Des Barres, BTW), the actor who portrayed Murdoc. I mean, just look at this guy. C'mon.

Even more deserving of recognition (I know, how is cheating death to be bettered??) is Murdoc’s strident refusal to simply kill MacGyver.  In every single one of their intersections, Murdoc has the drop (or multiple drops) on MacGyver.   He has gun in hand, and it is aimed at MacGyver’s face.  A squeeze of the trigger, and mullet-man hits the ground, stone dead.  However, Murdoc will not sink to the level of mere killer; no, he is a homicidal artist, a villainous van Gogh, a pernicious Picasso.  His pursuit of MacGyver is but an expression of his craft, and he will not simply double-tap Mac’s head and be done with it.  Instead, with supreme aplomb, Murdoc concocts murderous situations that would make the most creative Bond or Batman villains green with envy.  And, like those visionaries, Murdoc, too, is so confident in his elaborate death traps that he leaves the scenes, giving Macgyver the space and time to deftly escape.

Here, Murdoc calmly waits for MacGyver to enter his trap, so that he can use his trusty bazooka.

Despite this seeming failure to ever carry out his contract, Murdoc’s continual resolve and dedication to exalting murder to a new plateau of artistry, and his blatant thumbing of nose at Death himself establish the killer as the epitome of predatory animal.  Sure, a case could be made for MacGyver in similar fashion, but Murdoc apparently has an exoskeleton and assuredly has the mentality of a true genius. Oh, and did I mention that he consistently cross-dresses to get the job (almost) done?

Game recognize game.

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The Predator in Chief or Real Preds do Real Things

I don’t care where you stand on the political spectrum, one thing is clear – President Obama just predated the shit outta e’rybody.

Let us recap:

April 27th, 2011
Obama releases the official long form version of his birth certificate.

After weeks of Donald Trump dominating the news cycle promoting “birther” conspiracy theories, Obama released the long form birth certificate. He chastised the nation, “We are not going to be able to solve our problems if we get distracted by side shows and carnival barkers.” He concludes his statement with “I’ve got better stuff to do, bitches.” (Okay. So, I added the “bitches.” But, it was clearly implicit.)

April 30th, 2011
At the White House Correspondents Dinner, Obama takes the podium accompanied by images of his birth certificate intercut with classic Americana media imagery – the Karate Kid leg sweep, Rocky at the top of Philadelphia Art Museum Stairs, Optimus Prime (nice).

Obama then mocked the birther movement, saying that in addition to his birth certificate, to put to rest any doubt about his citizenship, he was also releasing his birth video.  And then showed Simba’s birth from the Lion King.

Note the time stamp. That's attention to detail

Then Obama went in on Trump. Speaking of Trump’s “credentials and breadth of experience” Obama tells the crowd,
Just recently on an episode of Celebrity Apprentice, at the steak house, the men’s cooking team did not impress the judges from Omaha Steaks. And there was a lot of blame to go around. But, you, Mr. Trump, recognized that the real problem was a lack of leadership. And so ultimately you didn’t blame Lil’ John or Meatloaf. You fired Gary Busey. And these are the kind of decisions that would keep me up at night.

OH! Face! Allow me to translate Obama’s sentiment – Real predators do real things [bitch]. Oh that’s right Mr. Trump.  The leader of the free world just pointed out that your most high stakes decisions are between Latoya Jackson and Starr Jones.

How does he handle the crushing pressure?

May 1, 2011
President Obama announces that after a decade of hiding, Osama bin Laden was shot and killed in a covert military operation in Pakistan. Which would explain why Obama looked like this at the Correspondents Dinner at the mention of bin Laden’s name.

Apparently, Obama did have “more important stuff to do” than deal with Donald Trump and the birthers.

Obama might not be the most obvious predator. Though subtly is necessitated by his office and station, I believe the underlying message Obama is sending to his critics is clear —

Real preds do real things.

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Quick Hit: Fuck Royal Weddings

This is some bullshit.  $13 million dollars they are spending.  Because some dude who is in line for a throne that is purely symbolic is marrying some woman.  Nice, England.  Way to raise the bar for useless spectacle and irresponsible spending.  Yeah, I just wrote last week about pouring ridiculous amounts of food down my gullet and sticking it to the Third World, but this is taking it too far!  Do you know how many people could be helped with a fraction of that money?  Plus, we’ll have to hear about this shit for like two weeks.  Every Seacrest-clone out there is gonna be talking about what color the Duchess of Fuckbury’s ridiculous hat was and how big the Earl of Fieldcestershire’s gotten.

Look, Kate's got an African country's GDP on her finger!

Blow me, royal weddings.

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Potluck Gorgin and Bein Awesome

Often the EPH contributors get together and gorge for gorgin’s sake.  It is the opinion of our cohort that eating 6000+ calories in one day is a form of predation— in the looser “bein awesome” sense of the definition.  In the refusal to yield to gastric and intestinal imperatives to stop.  In the ignoring of the fact that people are starving in the world and we are eating until it is no longer pleasurable.  Because we can.

Never mind the fact that by the end of one of these marathon days of eating we are miserable, writhing about with stomachs distended, cursing the last egg roll or mound of mashed potatoes we poured down our bloated gullets.  Never mind the lack of any balance in the meals, our menus consisting mostly of starches, sweets, starches, spicy something, starches, and more starches.  Never mind that we often shout “suck it, third world” and eat so much that we need not eat for days, despite the fact that our energy-guzzling refrigerators are over-flowing with the un-earned benefits of American imperialism.

Single serving appetizer.

Yes, never mind all of these things, because these gatherings are the best kind of socialization.  These experiences represent the height of bonding, the straw that stirs our drink.  Did I mention that we often have cocktails as well, just to top off the meals?  Yes, vodkas, rums, beers, wines– the world is our wet bar. Is it our fault that other nations are poor and have little to no food?  Well, maybe, in the strictest sense, in some cases.  But hey, we have internalized the true spirit of America– we gots to get ours.  Our rappers speak of “gettin those ins,” and we are little different… except perhaps we are more concerned with getting our intakes.

This notroious ins-getter could use a few gorges. Eat a sandwich, Broadus.

So, faithful EPH reader(s), I encourage you to gather with friends and share a meal (or 6 meals that you choose to call one).  Because really, once you get down to it, what is life but a flaunting of excess, a display of conspicuous consumption?  Plus, when you are constantly cramming your face with food, you don’t really have time to notice the many, many flaws of your friends, and that is the true gift.

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