But Santa, I Actually Wanted Jury Duty!

I think I’m one of the only people who actually wanted to attend jury duty.  So of course I wouldn’t get it.  Now would I have wanted some boring tax evasion or other white collar crime case?  HELL NO!  I want what everyone wants: an OJ Simpson-style murder case!  Why?  Because they’re just so darn entertaining.  I mean, Casey Anthony and that girl in Italy were such fascinating cases that went on and on (and you get like $30 a day for going so if it’s a long trial, you can buy a pencil at Hermès in no time!  Side note: the fact that Hermès sells pencils for $95 is beyond outrageous, even if it is covered in leather, which is ridiculous in and of itself).  Plus, there was OJ and nothing will ever beat that trial.  The only thing that could top OJ would be… you know, I can’t even think of anything that might be able to top that case.  Even Michael Jackson’s freak trial didn’t come close to topping the glove-fitting moment.

The only downside to jury duty  is what you can’t bring with you.  No BlackBerry, no iPhone, iPad, iPod Touch, Kindle, or anything else entertaining.  They do have newspapers and magazines, but y’all know they get read pretty quickly.  And I get why you can’t bring things, but really, no iPad?  Yes, I’ve officially become one of THOSE people who can’t be more than 10ft from their iPad.

Meanwhile, don’t y’all just miss the good old days when people traveled with steamer trunks? I know I do.  So I wasn’t exactly around for this grand old era of traveling, but mentally I was there.  The fact of the matter is that it’s just easier to bring everything you own with you on a trip than it is to just put a few things in your carry-on and hope for the best.  My motto has always been you never know when you’ll be invited to a black-tie affair at the last minute!

Grace and Justin fully support this idea, especially Justin, who packs just as much, if not more, than I do when traveling.  Andrew, on the other hand, thinks I’m crazy and insisted I take roughly a third of what I had planned to take with me this week to Florida.  And for some horrible reason, I listened.  Justin is horrified.  I guess it’s just part of getting wiser with age.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to travel for Thanksgiving.  Instead, however, I was once again locked inside Hell’s Kitchen (I bought a shirt years ago from Scoop that has “Hell’s Kitchen” written on it and I wear it every Thanksgiving while helping Mother in the kitchen.  I don’t know what I’ll do when it finally falls apart).  I love referring to mother’s kitchen as “Hell’s Kitchen” because there always ends up being some overly dramatic problem at some point on Thanksgiving.

Well this year’s hellish ordeal involved dessert, which of course I would be making.  So the vanilla bean ice cream was done the day before Thanksgiving as was the almond pastry dough, but the rest of the Apple Bretonne Tartlets from the incredible Sarabeth’s cookbook had to be prepped, assembled and baked on Thanksgiving itself.  So the recipe was only designed for eight people, which is all we were planning on having as of Noon on Thanksgiving because they are made in individual tartlet pans and everyone gets their own.

At 13h30, with just four hours until show time, we were informed that a ninth person would be joining us.  Fortunately, I ordered twelve of those tartlet dishes.  The problem was that I only had enough dough for eight and so at the last minute, there I was scrambling to get another apple from the grocery store, marinate it in the sugar, flour, vanilla bean, and lemon juice.  But of course, because few things done at the last minute, that failed (is anyone surprised?).

Sadly, Grace had to leave early, so thankfully, we had eight perfect tartlets.  I don’t often brag overtly about the desserts I make (I only do a normal amount of bragging), but HOLY HECK this thing was perfect!  I mean, it looked just like the photo, only better because instead of some baking sheet, I placed it on a beautiful silver tray covered in powdered sugar.  If you could have tasted the one in the photo and then compared it to the one I made, it would taste the same!  It was that amazing!

(And yes, I’m aware that I’m using an asparagus-serving fork; Edith Wharton is not rolling over in her grave because of this because she and I had a seance and she said that it’s fine)

Alas, it’s now December of 2012 and if my uncle’s right, we’ve got sixteen days left to live so I’m sorry goyish people, but if shit hits the fan, I still get all eight nights of Hanukkah!  Speaking of the holiday season, I have a bone to pick with the folks at MoMA.  As usual, I ordered my religiously ambiguous holiday cards (the Hanukkah ones are so bad it’s not even funny), but unfortunately, THEY ARE COATED IN GLITTER, which was not how they appeared in the catalog or online!

Now, I hate glitter.  I hope the grave of Henry Ruschmann, the horrible man who created that hellish product in 1934 in New Jersey (of course), has been vandalized on a regular basis because there are no benefits to glitter.  It stays on your hands for hours, even days; it gets all over EVERYTHING and it’s just a nuisance.

All of that said these are some great religiously ambiguous holiday cards that I’m sending out.

Finally today, proof that Grace is a great friend: only a really great friend tells you it’s okay to buy something at 3h0 (that’s AM for those of you who don’t understand the fact that I don’t believe in America’s decision to ignore the fact that we’re the only country that doesn’t run on a 24-hour clock).  So a few nights ago, I stumbled upon this site called One Kings Lane, which is basically Gilt, but without the huge debt issues/massive layoffs and just for furniture/home stuff.

Next thing you know, I’m in one of the three Ralph Lauren sales buying the Ralph Lauren Cable-Knit Cashmere Travel Set in navy because “You travel a lot and I try to wrap as much of myself as possible in cashmere whenever traveling on any kind of public anything.”

Don’t you love it when a friend convinces you to buy something you want?  I know my credit card company does.

Well, I’m headed to Palm Beach (aka: Heaven) tomorrow on the rails of Amtrak’s Auto Train so until next time…

JD

Next Year, I’m Either Picking Up the Turkey From Daniel Boulud or Following Everyone to Boca

Despite the fact that I might actually love Thanksgiving more than I love my own birthday (for which I devote an entire month to celebrating), this year’s Thanksgiving just killed me in a way that may have rivaled the death of Muammar Gaddafi (or whichever of the 112 different spellings of his name y’all prefer).   So my grandmother is on her 900th life and isn’t really able to leave her home anymore, but she insisted that she be apart of Thanksgiving  this year, which we do at my house.  Even though we didn’t really start cooking until after the 85th Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade ended, Mother and I managed to stay on schedule, despite one of our ovens deciding to suddenly act like the electronics system on a 1980s Jaguar, until about Four when it was decided that we would move the entire dinner to my grandparents’s house.  That is when uncontrolled chaos began to ensue.  We had to transport all of the food, plus their serving platters over to their house, where we would finish cooking the stuffing, sweet potato pies, corn muffins, and the two French Apple Tartes.

The traveling and packing/unpacking may have put us behind schedule, but my younger cousin, Kevin, who this year sported a “limited edition” Black Friday 2011 tee-shirt (not kidding), wasn’t thrilled that we were starting dinner so late because as y’all may have heard, Wal-Mart, a place I’ve proudly only been twice, started its sale Thursday night, and he wanted to be there to the point that he spent most of dinner away from the table and glued to his computer screen.  I’m sorry, but it’s a holiday designed to celebrate the family—many thanks, Norman Rockwell—and not about spraying people with pepper spray in a Wal-Mart over a $249 40″ LCD television that isn’t even that good of a brand!

That, combined with some other “interesting” (that’s the best way to describe it) events has made me realize that maybe Andrew, and about twenty other people I know, are on to something by going to Bubbieland USA Boca and letting someone else do the cooking for them.  We’ve only done the restaurant gig once and that was in 2001 because we were in New York for Thanksgiving.  My only issue with being in South Florida for Thanksgiving is that it just doesn’t seem right to be surrounded by people in short-sleeves and palm trees and other plants with leaves on them in late November.  Now oddly, I have absolutely no problem with this same scenario in December for Christmas.  I don’t know why, but the whole White Christmas thing doesn’t appeal to me at all.  This might have something to do with the fact that I’m Jewish, but I may be wrong.

The other alternative I’m thinking about for next year is Daniel Boulud’s $395 pre-made Thanksgiving Dinner for eight to ten people, sans desserts (my stomach is already getting excited).  Yes, that sounds like a lot to spend on a meal, but if you do the math, it’s kind of the same amount you’d spend if you made it all yourself.  Plus, the difference is that you can avoid hell grocery stores and the lovely human satans suburban housewives that can’t competently shop in them, not to mention the fact that you get your dinner prepared for you by a world class restaurant team!  And, you just get your guests, family included, to bring the wine and dessert so you don’t have to pay for them.  Who ever thought that I would be somehow saving people money?  I blame the sleep depravation.

The rest of my time home can be summed up very quickly: I was a vegetable.  In fact, the only time I actually left my house following Thanksgiving was on Saturday night when I went with Mother and Fozzie Bear to dinner at Todd Jurich’s Burger Bar in Virginia Beach.  Todd Jurich is a local chef whose hugely successful and award-winning Todd Jurich’s Bistro has given him a bit of an ego.  M. Jurich opened and then closed a French bistro-style restaurant before deciding to jump on the high-end burger joint train started by Danny Meyer with Shake Shack (an affordable version of heaven).  I hope this somewhat out-of-the-way restaurant is a success because it was delicious!  The All American Bison Burger with Sweet Potato Fries were excellent, although I did have to basically deconstruct the burger in order to eat it was it was rather large.

The reason to go to M. Jurich’s new restaurant, however, isn’t even the food, but rather the Nutella and Burnt Marshmellow milkshake.  I can’t say that I’ve ever had a Nutella milkshake before, and while I’m curious as to how they managed to turn a product that specifically says that you’re not allowed to freeze it into a milkshake, I’m also afraid to ask because what I don’t know, won’t hurt me!  I will say that I would have preferred a little more milkshake and a little less burnt marshmallows, but it was delectable nonetheless and I highly recommend that y’all go if in the Virginia Beach area.

Justin, whose ancestors attended the first Thanksgiving, briefly went back North to Cape Cod to freeze his little tuchus off for 48 hours before getting on the first flight back to Florida because he’s now afraid of the cold.  Each time I spoke to Justin while he was home, he did nothing but complain about how it was bitterly cold even though was born and raised in Massachusetts.  My how three years in Florida can change a man.  While on holiday, Justin did mention something to me that I’ve found to be both wonderful and depressing.  Apparently, the wonderful people behind Nutella, my well-documented addiction,  have created two Nutelleria cafés, one in Bologna, and the other in Frankfurt.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m over the moon excited that these two places exist, but I’m so mad that I didn’t see the one in Bologna when I visited the hidden Italian gem back in April, especially since I was only two blocks from it at one point!  I guess there has to be a reason to go back, right?

Finally tonight, there is something I’ve been meaning to share with y’all for way too long and my earlier mention of M. Bunga Bunga himself, Colonel Muammar Gaddafi.  Following the eccentric Libyan leader’s death, the folks at Time got creative and put together a slideshow documenting the many outrageous outfits that Muammar wore over the years.  Despite these lasting images, I feel my lasting image of M. Bunga Bunga will forever be this clip from SNL:

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Okay, well I’m off to go watch The Godfather for a class so until next time…

-JD

PS: There are only seventeen more days until I board the Auto Train to Florida!

Ryanair Wants to Offer Adult Entertainment, Annie Leibovitz Prefers iPhones to Actual Cameras and Other News That Needs to be Shared

So I was reading the Times this morning in bed, which I feel everyone should be required to do on Sunday mornings by some sort of law, and I came across an article in the Travel Section, my favorite, which highlighted an issue I thought only bothered me: viewing seemingly inappropriate material… it’s about Ryanair wanting to sell in-flight porn.  Let me be perfectly clear right now and say that I have never and would never do something like that on a plane because that’s disgusting (and if you can’t wait until you get home to see graduates of the Hugh Hefner Acting School in action, then you and Tiger Woods have a similar issue).  However, the article did remind me of an issue I’ve had before on planes concerning watching movies that have some nudity in them or are a bit violent.  This first became an issue for me when I flew home for Thanksgiving during my first year at Rollins.  As y’all know, Winter Park, the charming, perfect-America town that just happens to have a college attached to it, is completely surrounded by the greater Hotlando area and so naturally there are more children on flights going in an out of Orlando International Airport than there are in other places.

I like to watch a movie on my iPod Touch when I fly and at the time of my first visit home that first year of college in 2008, I had the following options: The Queen, Something’s Gotta Give and The Thomas Crown Affair (1999, though I own the original on DVD).  Now of those three, only one of them contains no nudity or no profanity (which doesn’t matter since no one else can hear it).  So there I am seated comfortably on the aisle with no one in the middle seat and I’m watching The Thomas Crown Affair because it’s actually a great movie and there is a rather extensive sex scene-the movie is rated R-which I figured I could watch because no one was seated next to me.  Turns out, I had another viewing audience, the mother behind me, who somehow managed to tap me on the shoulder and politely asked demanded that I turn off my “pornographic movie” at once!  I have now seen The Queen at least fifty times and can basically recite the entire movie because it’s the only movie I have purchased on iTunes, aside from Whatever Works (which I can only watch when in a very specific mood), that is appropriate enough for me to watch with children around (because The Hunt for Red October is too violent according to another parent seated next to me on a flight to Florida in 2009).

While I think that what Ryanair’s CEO, Michael O’Leary, is insane for thinking that watching pornography on a plane is the same thing as watching it in a hotel room, I do think it’s a bit absurd that I’m not even allowed to watch a movie like The Hunt for Red October because it’s “too violent” for little children not seated next to me to watch.  Let’s think about this for a second.  I’m watching a movie on my iPod with the volume on a level that would make it impossible for someone else to hear and it is somehow going to terrify a child not sitting next to me?  I’m sorry, but network newscasts show more violent images than Alec Baldwin shooting a commie!  I get the nudity being an issue, but it’s a movie about a submarine during the Cold War.  I just… I don’t like this forced political correctness that’s been shoved down my throat by people I don’t know.

Moving on to other things, I saw the Brian Williams interview with Annie Leibovitz for Rock Center, which I think is a good show and much better than that stupid Dateline, and Miss Leibovitz made a comment that I found rather shocking  for a photographer of her caliber:

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I’m actually stunned by the fact that Annie Leibovitz would tell people to forgo an actual camera and just use the camera on the iPhone to take photos.  Yes, the iPhone takes lovely images, but they’re never going to be as good as those on a real camera, which is why I’m getting a real camera in a month when I go to Florida because I want a Leica and the Leica dealer here in Charlottesville only has vintage Leicas.  However, there is a dealer in West Palm Beach, The Pro Shop, which happens to be the first Leica boutique in America and so they will have my camera.  Going back to Annie Leibovitz, I just find it shocking to believe that she thinks that the someone should just get an iPhone instead of a real camera.  Now it’s about here that Andrew is going to call me to remind me that I bought the then-new iPod Touch last year because it had a camera, and while that is true, I still prefer the pictures I’ve taken from a real camera to the ones from my iPod.  And it’s here that Justin will be calling me to say that a Leica isn’t a good camera because it doesn’t do something or what not, but also because it’s not as good as his camera, which is older than he and I are.

Also this Sunday, the last before I get to play all of my holiday music (because I, unlike Walmart, Hallmark and Sears can wait until after Thanksgiving before I start thinking about Hanukkah and Christmas), I stumbled upon these two hilarious video clips for Macy’s featuring Martha Stewart and Donald Trump, respectively:

I cannot believe that these have been viewed so few times, plus the fact that Martha Stewart is in a fraternity house and talks about boys being naked just kills me every time.  As for el Donaldo, I’m not surprised in the least bit that he would have cookies with his face on them.

Finally, Grace’s Fascist landlady has finally decided that Grace’s range, which is missing two of the four burners because other apartments needed them and doesn’t even tell you the oven’s temperature, is no longer acceptable for anyone to use and is replacing it tomorrow.  This is momentous because otherwise, Grace’s food comes out burned.  It’s nice to see that it only took two and a half years for the nut to replace it.  At this rate, we will have graduated by the time she gets around to doing something about those holes in the floor next to the heaters.

Anyway, I’m off to write a paper about an infomercial’s impact on society in America, but we’ll talk before Thanksgiving.  Until next time…

-JD

And the Holidays are Officially Here Which Means I Can Finally Blast Christmas Music Nonstop!

Did I mention I was Jewish?  Anyway, Happy Belated Thanksgiving!  I know mine was just a tad bit more of a fuck-up than usual, so hopefully it was the same for y’all.  So Justin decided that since he couldn’t kiss-ass his way into the Kennedy Compound at Hyannis Port this year, he’d travel to the “Real South” for the first time (yes, Florida is the southern-most state in the Nation, but with everyone’s bubbe and zayde on the Sunshine Shuttle between Zabar’s and Boca, combined with the extreme insanity of the state:

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and

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Florida is basically the Northern-most State in Union, while Maine, with its lobsters (they have them in Florida too), basically hillbilly-esque residents (not all, but most) and the Bush Family Compound in Kennbunkport (Florida, Florida, Florida), basically should be below Georgia (which would make more sense since both states are a little… special:

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I rest my case.)

As I was saying, Justin made his first venture into the South this past week.  Since there was obscene traffic getting home, we stopped in Williamsburg so Justin could play hopscotch around horse manure in the dark while strolling down Duke of Gloucester Street.  We then had an absolutely fantastic dinner at the Fat Canary, which The New York Times said was the place to eat when it did its “36 Hours in Williamsburg” article in June of 2009.  It has to be one of the best restaurants in the state of Virginia and has turned the once unrivaled Trellis into a tourist-only freak-show complete with a kid’s menu and food not worth its price.

Following dinner and our stroll along Duke of Gloucester Street, Justin and I climbed back into Old Faithful and drove home to Virginia Beach.  On Wednesday, I took Justin to see all of the historic sites of Norfolk including the Battleship Wisconsin (from the stoplight), the Moses Myers House, my grandparents, the Chrysler Museum, ODU, their house, our Temple, the original Norfolk Academy, Ghent, the Virginia Zoo, they have original Westinghouse appliances that still work, the Hunter House, Scope, Chrysler Hall, the Harrison Opera House, and because the MacArthur Memorial was closed, I took Justin to see MacArthur Center.  In addition, I took Justin to Doumar’s, the Norfolk institution that is more important than just about every other site in the city.  By judging the small stain on his jacket after lunch, it’s clear to say that Justin was more than satisfied by his visit.

Then came Thanksgiving, which started off alright, but then it became painfully obvious that Al Roker had taken too many crazy pills and that should have been a sign right there that I should have just gone back to bed and slept through the day.

So mother imprisoned Justin in the kitchen and basically chained him to the counter so he could peal vegetables for her and help with the sweet potato pies.  I, in addition to making desert, was forced into slave labor so we could have the haricots verts with crispy fried shallots and whatever else needed to be done.  Justin got to see a side of me he never thought he would ever be fortunate to witness: me being domesticated, cleaning dishes, cooking, screaming at people for being incompetent (okay, so he’s seen that before).  The table was even a diva experience as mother was unable to find the right table cloth she wanted to use and, as usual, made it my fault somehow.  She looked like she was on the verge of tears when the turkey came out a tad bit overdone, but I reminded her that the only thing people remember is desert and that it doesn’t matter how the turkey tastes.  This year, I made three deserts: a French chocolate bark, an apple crisp and a vanilla armagnac ice cream (yes, all three are Ina Garten recipes; I love her because her recipes are designed for humans, unlike a particular nutcase:

Prison did wonders for her!).  Sadly, due to technical difficulties with ice cream maker, which was acting like an incompetent fool, it wasn’t done in time.  Twice during the course of dinner, we seemed to lose my Uncle, who lives for his sports and just went away unnoticed for a good ten-fifteen minutes.  Grace, as usual, came over, having spent part of her day out hunting for ducks.  She was kind enough to send a photo:

My cousin Kevin, crazy person, informed us that he had been online from 23h0 the night before until 7h0 Thursday morning shopping the sales before sleeping until 16h0.  After dinner, he went to Wal-Mart and Radio Shack before collapsing in a bed.  Black Friday was spent showing Justin the oceanfront’s sites: the boardwalk, the Dairy Queen that puts on a firework display for the 4th of July it’s so popular and many other touristy areas before getting dinner at Mizuno.  We then joined Grace and my cousin Holly to see the film Love and Other Drugs, which was a huge letdown.  Let me break it down: two hours of random, pointless sex (not that there’s anything wrong with it), a rich people pajama/sex party, a great plug for Viagra, and then trying to find a plot in the final ten minutes of the film.  This was a huge letdown for all of us, who were all expecting so much more from Jake Gyllenhaal and Anne Hathaway (Grace was sad that Anne Hathaway wasn’t as bitchy as usual).  The film just lacked any sort of direction, it was pointless, boring, made no sense whatsoever, and as a classmate of mine said this morning when agreeing that the film was bad, «At least someone else paid for my ticket or else I would have demanded a refund.»

Saturday morning began with brunch with Grace and Annie at Mary’s, a «favorite» local diner before going back to their house to watch Virginia Tech destroy UVa.  Justin got to meet  Walter, which was purely wonderful.  Meanwhile, I took this photo of Annie, to which she responded, «That’s why the boys like me!»

Following this, Justin got to go walk on the beach, which was FREEZING, but nice:

After this, it was time to head to Richmond so Justin could go where no sane person has ever gone before: a Greyhound bus station.  It turns out that he has completely lost all sense of sanity since he’s been out of school and didn’t understand why I was yelling at him for even considering taking a bus to Manhattan in the first place.  He wanted to get some reading done and thought this would be the only way possible.  IT’S CALLED AMTRAK YOU INCOMPETENT FOOL!  There aren’t fights that break out on a train, you don’t have to sit in fear the whole time worrying that you might get shot and there are no changes in DC.  Instead, you get two power outlets, a café car, a footrest, and a pillow/blanket!

Grace spent her Saturday night in a deer stand, but sadly turned up with no venison for me to cook.  I returned to Charlottesville to find my basil basically dead:

I’ve brought them back to life though:

And yes, I’m reading «True Prep,» which Justin, it mentions my beloved Tiffany & Co. monogramed belt buckle that you said was hideous as being very preppy, so as Jim Cramer would say, BOOYAH!

Finally this evening,  Andrew spent his Thanksgiving with his family (<3 them) in BOCA and he sent me fifteen photos from inside Donald Trump’s Florida club/private hair plug treatment center, Mar-a-Lago in Palm Beach.  I thought I’d pass a few on:

Ladies, if that pose doesn’t make y’all swoon, frankly I won’t blame you because that is kind of a scary sight.  And yes Grace, I can see he has a large bulge; they’re called socks.

I wasn’t aware that you could earn Six Stars, especially since the American Academy of Hospitality Sciences only has Five Stars on its logo.  I’m looking into this and will report back later.

So, clearly it’s been a freak week, but as Cyber Monday turns into the Tuesday after Cyber Monday, and Hanukkah is now less than twenty-four hours away (seriously, it’s starting this early?  I mean if we had moved it up a week, we could have done latkes and turkey on the same day (and I bet that would go well with the apple sauce and Costco caviar)!  Andrew and I wish to inform whatever idiot that decided Hanukkah could start this early in the season that we’re not prepared!  I’m not supposed to buy Wikileaks his annual Brooks Brothers tie with his Brooks Brothers MasterCard (which is only used when making purchases at Brooks Brothers I might add) until after New Years, when I get it for over 60% and am fighting little old ladies on Worth Avenue who tell me that I’m too young to need a tie and then I have to remind them that they’ll probably be dead before they get home!  What?  It’s part of the tradition.  Besides, I don’t even know what I want for my four gifts.  All our goyim friends get an extra month practically to pick out their thirty-six presents, decorate their trees, bake the cookies for the pedophile, and listen to Christmas music while we’re stuck watching oil burn in a candle for eight nights (and they say it’s wrong to stereotype)!  Anyway, until next time…

-JD

PS: Congratulations to Jean and Lily for managing to avoid their government-mandated fondle at Newark and for both making it to France safely!  Justin, on the other hand, experienced something like this when flying to Richmond last Tuesday: