Attention Deficit David

Popcorn for the troops

Teddy Bass (Foster's son) is a Boy Scout, and they're raising money with a popcorn drive. (The Girl Scouts get the cookies, Boy Scouts get popcorn snacks.) I usually buy a bunch, but I'm going to buy a ton this year because the company's sending tins of popcorn snacks to our troops if you buy the Support Our Troops pack. You pay for the tin, a soldier gets it. Awesome idea. Doesn't matter your political leanings, the troops deserve a snack and some love. Go to orderpopcorn.com AND USE ORDER KEY TEKGN36 so Teddy gets the credit.

The Good, The Bad, The Awesome

Today was one of those rare days when things kept happening right. To start off, I got to hang out with my godson Damien, who I haven't seen in a while. He just turned 13, and is handling the first week of teenage life very well.

We took him to the Bronx Zoo to meet up with my former college roommate Chris, who I haven't seen since around 1993, and who I've been looking for since then. He sort of vanished from the planet (do you know how hard it is to find someone with such a common name?) and I was really upset I lost touch with him. I started hanging out on Facebook a month or so ago, and about four days after I joined up, he friended me there.

It was really wonderful to see him, and to meet his wife and his two awesome kids. We spent the day at the Zoo, mostly noticing how very few animals there are and how far it is between them. Really, one tiger in the pavilion. Yawn. Oh look some bison. Yawn.

Even the muti-gazilion TV-show and movie inspired Madagasgar area had just a few animals. As usual at the Zoo, I enjoyed the bats and the butterflies the best, and was amused by how many pea fowl there are wandering the zoo. Mostly the fun was hanging out with kids and friends at the zoo.

Speaking of Tigers, while over at the tiger pavilion, Chris pointed out that a couple had just gotten engaged that very moment and so I stopped photographing the bored-looking tigers and started shooting the excited-looking couple, which is soft of cool because really how often do people get engaged in front of a photographer with a few grand in pro photo gear?

The only bad part of the day was that the zoo exhibits seemed even less inspiring than I had remembered, and even farther apart. A good portion of our day was spent looking into cages with no animals, then walking to more cages with no animals.

Lots of time spent over at the butterfly pavilion, which is perhaps my favorite place on earth. If I were doing the engagement thing at the Zoo, I think I'd do it there. Butterflies are astounding close-up, and I brought along a lot of my macro gear to shoot them.

Back home and Abby and I weren't in the mood to cook at home or order in, so we hopped in OpenTable and found a last-minute reservation at X20. If you haven't been there, go. Really. It's one of Peter Kelly's restaurants (Freelance, Xaviers...) and Peter is one of my champs for beating the obnoxious Bobby Flay on Iron Chef. The food is sublime, the views of both the TZ Bridge and the George are fantastic and the service is top notch. Get the red velvet cake for desert. Really, I don't care if you're full, get it.

We were also lucky enough to run into Keila's friend James there (he's the wine master? What's his title there K?) while we were sitting at the bar, and he had an amuse sent over to us on the house when we were seated. How great is that? An upscale shrimp toast with lobster bisque.

After stuffing ourselves obnoxiously on food and wine and desert, Abby and I rolled home and since she was wearing an incredibly chic late-50's inspired outfit, I set up the lights and backdrop and started to photograph her. Some really great images, including these:

A great ride through a great city

<img src="http://img.skitch.com/20080818-x5s5ydfi24cyubixhccc3xtrp.jpg" alt="Ascent"/>

Beijing has a reputation for being difficult to bike in, despite its long history as a cycle-centric city. The recent influx of cars (millions and millions) has made it nearly impossible to get around the city for most. However, the bike lanes that are a part of the entire city's infrastructure are for the most part massive, well marked and easy to navigate.

Separate from car lanes in almost all areas, the bike lanes here are massive. Sure, there are cars parking in them and pulling out from corner spots (the lanes double as parking access and local turn lanes) but they're really easy to follow.

In fact, I'd say that Beijing is one of the most bike-friendly places I've been, even to some degree topping Amsterdam, as there are fewer cyclists to clog up the arteries.

I rode down to the Forbidden City and Tienamin square today. Turns out that tourist attractions are hot and boring regardless of the country or location. I didn't spend a lot of time there. I did, however, ride around the Hutongs, the small tenement-style dwellings that date back almost as far as this city's been a city, and are narrow, winding corridors of humanity. Most are in utter disrepair, with the residents all sharing a single public bathroom. When I say these places are single room dwellings, I mean just that. They are comprised of just four walls, a bed and some items laying around. No bathroom, no kitchen, nothing.

In one of the just-slightly-more-upkept areas I came across a row of vendors and a terrific looking noodle shop where the chef was slicing bits of dough from a large block of it into a pot of boiling water to create a noodle dish that was amazing looking. All the tables were full, I was getting stared at by the locals (orange bike jersey, helmet, folding bike will do that) and normally I'd be too shy to butt in, but in I went and waited for a steaming bowl of noodles. The woman sharing the table with me insisted on showing me how to add vinegar, and then sort of chided me for not mixing it in, taking my chopsticks and stirring it for me. That got a bit of a laugh from the group.

A man sat across from me and spoke a bit of English with me. He said his name was Tony (I think perhaps that was translated) and asked what I was doing in China. I told him I was working at the Olympics, he translated for the group. Then I raised my hands up in the "showing off my muscles" pose and told him to tell them I was an Olympic weight lifter. That also got a laugh.

Tonight is another stint at the Media Center, hopefully it'll be more active tonight than yesterday, we had maybe five people to talk to in the course of four or five hours, and the shift went very slowly. I like getting to talk to people much more than saying "do you need help?" to people who only speak German.

Die Hard with a Tulip

You'd think after the exemplary care I got from Herr Doctor Preggnantsthein yesterday that I'd have been a bit more forceful about not going back to the clinic. Really, a $150 office visit to get no treatment? I can do better just laying on the cold floor of the bathroom.

But doctors orders are doctor's orders, and the good doctor told us that I should come back to the clinic if I were to get a fever.

I got a fever.

A mild one, mind you. Just 38.7, but still, Abby got me a cab, and took me over there. This...was a mistake.

We'd figured that the quality of care could not possibly get worse during the day, perhaps the odd semi-treatment I'd received was just because they were closing and the Hippocratic oath machine was empty for the day. But no, it seems the standard of care remains the same—lousy.

We entered the clinic to be told to sit in the waiting room. So we wandered over to the big area with lots of comfortable looking chairs near reception. This is not the waiting room we were told by a nice Dutch EMT who told us to follow the signs to the waiting room. All very well and good except we don't speak Dutch.

Finally finding

the cramped icky space, we took a seat and very soon were seen by Doctor Casual, dressed in a nice turtleneck and jacket—not at all like, you know, a Doctor.

In the exam room he looked up my records from the night before and made some faces when he read the description of my condition. I see here you were very sick, he said. I'll skip over the conversation here about my bowels and vomiting and get to the point where we tell him the Doctor the night before said to come back if I got a fever. He asks what my temperature is, and then says he wants to feel my pulse. Oh, yes, you have a fever he says while touching my arm.

Uh, is that how "pulse" is supposed to work?

Then he says he'll check my abdomen again to make sure it's still not appendicitis (still not) and tells me that they don't give out antibiotics even for bacterial issues. So, no antibiotics.

He also tells us that it's not possible to get food poisoning from a good restaurant or a hotel. This is of course in a country with Mad Cow and e Colli outbreaks on occasion, so I sort of had hoped he'd have had some idea of how cross-contamination works—hell the desk staff at my hotel had a better grasp.

Did I mention that he didn't wash his hands either? But that's okay, because you can't get sick from the feces I was smart enough to cover my fingers with before entering the clinic. That'll show him.

After telling me that there's nothing he can do for me, he says either "be patient" or "be a patient." We're not sure which he said, but the general gist was "well, suck it up." Which is fine and all, and was my plan except we were told to come back here under these circumstances, and really if I were going to spend another 80 Euro I'd rather have done it with a nice meal or a prostitute over in the red light district.

We went back to the not-waiting room, where they were unable to use the printer (saying the Dutch version of "PC Load Letter?!? What the fuck is PC Load Letter" while putting paper in entirely the wrong part of the printer. There are monks sequestered in cloisters in Outer Mongolia who are more capable at putting paper in the printer.

Then she couldn't use the credit card machine, putting our card into the slot where the Dutch SmartCards go, but credit cards do NOT. So we paid cash.

While walking away it occurred to Abby and I that this could not really be a medical clinic, that the real doctors and staff must be tied up in the basement, while an international gang of criminals pretend to staff the center as they drill through the bank vault next door via the ancient bomb-cellar at canal level. They only didn't expect John McClain to come through the door with food poisoning and save the day.

Yippie Kay Ey Mother Fucker.

Bicycles, Canals and Food Poisoning

Well, what an interesting 10-hours or so it's been here in Amsterdam. Started with an upset stomach at around 7pm local time and then escalated into full-blown food poisoning. Worst I've ever had too, and that includes a bout with it in San Francisco that left me in the care of the hotel doctor, full of antibiotics and meds.

While Amsterdam has a lot of great things, one thing they are sorely lacking is a good 911 system. When one calls it, after having passed out from low blood pressure, they find you a nearby doctor to go to. That is NOT what I want. Taking a cab to a clinic when I can't stand up? Priceless.

But off to the clinic I went, where they didn't give me antibiotics, didn't have any anti-nausea drugs on hand, didn't give me fluids and mentioned that it was 11pm, and they were closing so... you don't have to vomit and poop at home, but you can't do it here.

Another cab ride back to the hotel, more moaning and laying on the cold tile floor of the bathroom. Abby's a frigging saint, running around to get me stuff, dress me, undress me, put me in bed, help me off the floor, and so on. We exchanged a few "this clinic sucks" looks as I lay under my coat on the exam table with my teeth chattering, while I was told I didn't have a fever, and that it was impossible for someone of my build to have been dehydrated enough to pass out.

Course I was, and I did.

The pregnant doctor was nice enough to shake my hand and say "good luck" while I left (not nice enough to have washed her hands anywhere). Now my body clock is off from so many hours being in a semi-conscious state, so I'm writing in the bathroom, trying not to wake up Abby.

Not exactly how I expected the vacation to go. Now I'm starving and thirsty and trying to hold out till sunrise to go get some crackers or something somewhere.

The sort-of great Mojo bar taste test

Jenni is fucking nuts. No really, I know she's nuts, because she and I have been in a friend-induced Mojo Bar taste test, and she likes things I don't like. Clearly since I'm much better than her in all regards, her tastes are broken.

Well truth be told she and I had similar reactions, but I know she reads this blog so I thought it would be good to rile her up first. Also for fair disclosure, Abby threw out some of the wrappers, figuring that a pile of ripped paper wrapper in the kitchen were junk, not science. So I'm not 100% sure of what I ate.

Due to voluminous amounts of travel and reduced amounts of bike riding, I tested just a sub set of these bars, provided by Daniel, based on this thread: http://turnings.phrasewise.com/2008/02/18/the-great-mojo-bar-taste-test/

So here's the deal— I got both dipped and non-dipped bars. I've been eating Clif Mojo bars for a while, all the non-dipped bars taste just about the same, so I started with the dipped.

The Peanut Butter and Jelly bar started off being awesome, what with the dipping in chocolate and all, but I soon found it cloying. Something about the "jelly" stuck to the roof of my mouth. It's not jelly. Its a jelly-ish paste of fruit. It's like fruit cement. And after a bit, it became too much for me.

I also had a chocolate dipped flavor that was not peanut butter and jelly, but was some other fruit, and that I liked. In fact I liked it so much I, as Jenni did, went right to the Vanilla dipped ones, figuring "hey, Vanilla is good." Vanilla, in this context is NOT good. It's bad. Very bad. It's like eating mucus, hard thick mucus, with a slight vanilla tang. It's like a sinus infection of confection.

I then went for the non-dipped bar with pretzels. I LOVE pretzels in things, I mix them with peanuts, chocolate, lamb, asparagus, rice, ice cream, coffee, and orange juice. (I am lying about some of the mix items.) I do NOT it seems like them in this bar. Or perhaps I don't like the bar that surrounded the pretzel. I can't tell because it was a mouthful that went right in the trash. This bar has called my mother a whore, and I shall never speak of it again.

I also liked the honey nut ones, they're fine. The rest are still in my kitchen waiting for a nice long ride.

Oh yeah, unlike Jenni I'm also not really impressed the product are 70% organic. If your label reads "70% non-carcinogenic" it's not such a bonus. 30% is a lot of volume in a bar. E for nice effort, T for nice try.

Mouseflot goes awry

So our attempt to relocate the mice has had a bit of a tragic setback. After successfully moving a number of mice to the garage (or the same few over and over) we left the humane traps out for a few days while on vacation with what the Internet assured us would be a good amount of food.

However (you knew there had to be a however, right) we came home and I found one dead mouse in the trap, and the completely eaten carcass of another alongside him. It was like a very small horror movie. I've taken to calling the traps Moushwitz.

I was actually really upset last night when I found them, I did a lot of cursing. If I had wanted to kill a mouse, I'd have left out an inhumane trap. I can't imagine however much more inhumane death than, you know, being snacked upon by your brother.

Abby and I were trying to find something funny in all this tonight as I re-set the trap, putting some more peanut butter into it. Abby mentioned the cartoons where two people are trapped somewhere, and one of them turns into a big turkey in their mind.

Flashing back though to the Reeses Peanut Butter Cup ads of old I said "you got your mouse in my peanut butter" then added "and you got your peanut butter in OH MY GOD YOU'RE EATING ME!"

Announcing my new blog

One blog's not enough for a guy as scatterbrained as I am. Announcing

http://www.frequentflyergourmet.com/

A big bone of conversation

The restaurant was exactly what I was looking for, yet another great OpenTable.com pick. Wil and I were in New York City, the night before our first AUPN Aperture Road Tour date. We'd finished packing in the morning, loaded all the gear into the truck, gotten it all brought to our rooms (that requires some hefty tipping) and he hit the shower while I went to look for candies or something to put in to the gift bags for the 75 people schedule to attend our class.

I wanted to find a nice place to eat, to thank him for all his hard work. The original plan was to also include one of our instructors, Brett, who flew across the country to pick up the class system so he could use it in the coming weeks, but he was grounded at Dulles, the result of bad weather.

So we went to BLT Steak (BLT stands for Bistro Laurent Tourondel), an upscale steak joint on 57th street with magical specials and an impeccable wine list. (They also have Hendricks gin, which I think makes the perfect gin and tonic.)

The specials seemed tempting, and while I would normally have gone for the seven-pepercorn crusted strip steak with a tomato citrus relish, my eyes instead alighted upon the Kobe beef. For a moment I was tempted to order the actual Kobe, the Japanese variety that's head-and-shoulders about US breeds, but a $26 an ounce, I wasn't quite up for it. Instead I opted for 10-ounces of some of the most incredibly perfect Top Cap steak ever. Probably overdoing it, I also ordered the grilled octopus salad which featured a set of grilled octopus tentacles that were illegally-good. Like a small crime had been committed in my mouth.

We were pursuing the menu when the Wil asked about the Portherhouse for Two that was on the menu, 40 ounces of beef designed to be shared by a couple (or a small Colombian family). "Do you have a porterhouse that's just for one?" he asked.

"Well," joked the waitress, "if you can finish it, I suppose it's for one." She had done it, thrown down the gantlet. It was on.

Before anything is served though we get an amuse/appertiser, which was an incredible tourine of duck liver paté followed by the most delicious popovers I have ever had.

Let me digress here, a romantic time-travel aside while I mention that the popovers served at one of the fancy restaurants my grandfather took me to in Florida when I was in grade school often served popovers. I fell instantly in love with them and to this day they still signify comfort and a first understanding of what it was like to fall in love with food.

Anyhow, when the massive (it's like the size of my thigh) steak comes it's accompanied by two sides, hasbrowns and onion rings (essentially a massive pile of onion rings shaped like the old toy for infants where circular rings are piled up around a wooden dowel).

The Kobe beef was beyond descriptoin, and the excessiveness of the meal was surpassed only by the sheer prettyness of most of the people in the room. Out of habit of years of giving the comfy wall bench seat to my wife I made the mistake of letting him take the view of the room, leaving me to pivot around in my seat on occasion and gawk, less subtly with each sip my my Syrah-Grenache.

During our meal a pair of men and a woman who turned out to be the Czech born wife of one of the guys, began to talk to us about the best steak places. The closest man, who looked like a cross between someone in the Sopranos and someone at a jewish family reunion mentioned that he used to go to Peter Luger's when he was a teen, and eat steak there four nights a week, so Wil's display of bravado did not phase him.

After we finished our meal, they got theirs, and I asked what the man was having. "Veal," he replied. "I cant' do steak any more, I"ve had two heart attacks."

"I wish you'd mentioned that before" said Wil, obviously having missed my requests that he perish from this earth after aiding me in my presentation classroom setup.

Misadventures In Advertising

Misadventures In Advertising, originally uploaded by davidjschloss.

Here I present to you what has proven to be one of the most egregious mis-advertisements I've seen in a long time. This is an unaltered, untampered with bowl of Raisin Bran, poured out of a box of very expensive (relative to the stuff from Post or Kellogg's) cereal from Whole Foods.

Notice the pretty picture on the box. Notice the raisins in the pretty picture on the box. Now, notice that there are almost no visible raisins in the bowl?

This was the fourth of five bowls I got out of this box. The average number of raisins per bowl? Two. That makes this cereal more like a box of Bran than a box of Raisin Bran, eeh?

On the front of the box, under the picture it says "Serving Suggestion." My guess is that Whole Foods is suggesting that I go out and buy some fucking raisins to put into their worthless bowl of Bowel Flakes.