Anthony Bourdain

There needs to be no more proof.

I love this man.

Silver Fox.

The West Wing

I've had a pretty quiet social life this summer, which can only mean one thing:

I've been watching a LOT of "The West Wing."

This show is so. awesome. (So is Leo McGarry.)

Donna went to UW Madison for a while.

Ainsley Hayes and Sam Seaborn for sure both worked for the Santos administration and got together post-series. Such smart, cute, legal-eagle children!

I'm pretty sure that C.J. Cregg and Leo were really running the country the entire time. And C.J. looked really good and did an amazing lip sync to "The Jackal" while doing it.

Josh Lyman, you renegade, being all Deputy Chief of Staff and insolent and not getting together with Donna until the very end.

And hey, before going undercover as Gus on "Psych," Charlie Young was the BEST presidential aide ever.

Englishman

Part of being a Fly Hunnie is recognizing when things are awesome.

Though we all have excellent taste and are able to discover good, new music without help, sometimes it takes a little push in the right direction to listen to something that may have otherwise been missed.

Case in point: Englishman.

I can take no credit for knowing about this band, but they are excellent.

I think the immediate draw they have is the fact that they are able to embrace some of the most appealing aspects of current indie releases while not conforming to expected sound. They are lyrically solid, and the vocals are stellar and easy on the ear, 

which seems to be a trait found less and less in "authentic" music.

(By the way, I hate when people say things are authentic. Really? Really?)

I might not be able to take credit for all kinds of being aware of the emerging music scene and knowing what's going to be getting big, but thanks to other people noticing that this great little band is opening for Deer Tick, Elf Power, and Bonnie "Prince" Billy. and playing for Daytrotter, I'm going to agree that Englishman is going places.

And hello, they played at Transylvania University. That is awesome. And in Kentucky, but whatever.

Illegal Download of the EP "Taxidermy"

Grapple with morality on your own terms.

Red Vines

Candy can be a divisive issue among friends. Several of my close friends do not like licorice, but I find licorice to be a good thing. I would not dedicate a whole post to licorice in general, but there is a particular variety that I eat constantly, even though I'm not sure if I actually like it.

Red Vines.

Red Vines have the fairly unique quality of functioning as a high quality straw, which can then be eaten after use. Not all beverages are conducive to the Red Vine-straw; milk for instance would be a huge mistake. Dr. Pepper, orange juice, and your preferred cola are all great options to drink through a licorice straw, as is, of course, Mr. Pibb, as recommended in the classic SNL digital short "Lazy Sunday," promised to be "crazy-delicious."

Warning: In high quantities, Red Vines can begin to create the sensation that you are eating mildly-flavored wax. Don't let it get to that point, trust me.

Smitten Kitchen

I'm trying to become a more marketable housewife (along with Claire). This includes me learning how to embroider and how to cook. I think in order to be a domestic goddess, I will also have to come to terms with the fact that my future husband will inevitably cheat on me with his busty secretary and that I must keep hush about it for the kids. But that's another lesson for another time.
Not long ago, I came upon this Smitten Kitchen site. I'm a sucker for food photography and this sated my needs. I soon decided that, hey, I'm a smart cookie, I ought to be able to make some of this fancy stuff.


So I began my journey today where I made Deb's (crazy simple) German pancakes. They are finishing up in the oven as I type. All bubbly and golden brown, they'll be delicious with some Southern peaches I bought yesterday.
Also on my list to make: Brown Sugar Brown Butter Shorties and Bittersweet Chocolate and Pear Cake.

Update: Delicious.

Cue someone (Brigid) commenting on how awesome of a cook they supposedly are.

Pablo Neruda

This FlyHunnie loves poetry and first encountered Pablo Neruda in eighth grade.

I was sleeping over at a friend's house and her older brother had left his junior English book out, and being my nerdy self, I decided to read it when said friend fell asleep before me.

And what lay within? 

A whole BUNCH of great poetry.

The first poem I read was "Ode to My Socks," and I was struck. Anyone who could write like that

- about socks of all things -

had me on their team. I continued on in my search for Neruda and stumbled upon "Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair."

(Holy mackerel, did I hide that from my mother. 

An eighth grade girl's first encounter with passion and sensuality is a very memorable thing, let me tell you.)

I will also always be thankful to finding Robert Bly's translations of Neruda because they led me to Bly's own poetry, another staple of the Brigid poetry arsenal.

And the thing is, they are still as fully moving and heart-breaking and pit-in-my-stomach-inducing as they were in the days before I had even been kissed.

Being fourteen and fascinated with the idea of love, I devoured those songs and odes and sonnets

like I could never be satisfied.

I'm still not satisfied. I could eat those words for the rest of my life and not be finished until ink is running down my chin.

Universality. Pablo Neruda graffiti:

These are poems I can read forever and only hope to someday understand.

I wonder sometimes if it is possible for mere people like myself, no poet, to feel things so beautiful and so deep.

Hopefully someday, I can let you know.

Some Neruda for you.

Jam

I love Jam.

Something about it's down-home goodness really warms my heart.
I was inspired to write this ode to jam because a few minutes ago I spotted a jar of strawberry preserves that my grandmother had sent off to me just after Christmas. I was instantly transported back to the wonderful early summer days of my childhood. I would always go at the beginning of the season with my mother and grandmother to pick strawberries to make into jam for the rest of the year. I was a sneaky little child. I would pick a few strawberries to put in the pallet, but every so often when I found the perfect strawberry, I would secretly eat it while my mother and grandmother weren't looking. I'm sure they knew, but at the time, it was my little secret- those strawberries and I. After the jam was made, I would have a piece of toast with strawberry jam nearly every morning for a month after. And so, as I return from my childhood daydreams, I would like to show my appreciation for the wonderfully comforting and deliciously delectable memories jam has preserved in me. (Pun.)

la Confiture
par Hannah Boldt

Confiture, oh ma confiture
toutes que tu possèdes
toutes que tu étais
que tu serais
que tu avais été
que tu sois
que tu auras été

Tout ça- Rien ne me fait plaisir
comme tu me fais plaisir.
La jouissance de tes fraises,
tes framboises.
Le goût sucré de tes fruits
qui avaient mijoté à la perfection.
Oui. Tu avais atteint la perfection.
Oui, la perfection.

Funfetti Cake

Literally the best cake mix in a box. The concept is simple: vanilla cake mix with sprinkles in the batter.

Personally, I like to just eat the cake batter.
Taking the time to actually cook it requires patience, none of which I have. The sprinkles are crunchy, the gooey batter- delicious. Complete with raw eggs- salmonella is the last thing I am worried about... Sitting down with a spoon and a bowl full of funfetti cake batter can complete any Saturday afternoon.


However, on the rare occasion when I do take the time to actually bake the batter, the outcome is glorious. The fluffiest and most delicious looking delicacy on the face of the planet. Topped with frosting, this cake can cure any disease, malady, or horrid mood. It's a journey back to childhood coupled with an explosion of flavors, a symphony of taste in your mouth.

So, on those days like today ,when the clouds roll in and the rain cascades down from the heavens, blanketing everything in the soggy moistness of water, bust out the Funfetti and Mulan. Your day will turn around in no time...

Baby Mammals

Let's be quite honest. Small things are extremely cute. Furry things are extremely cute. And everyone loves new things.

Mix these three together, and you get baby mammals. I was going to say baby animals, but human babies are too adorable to leave out of the classification. (And I feel bad calling babies 'animals' in the same way I feel bad for referring to a baby as 'it.')

There is a modern fetish of obsessing over cute things, and I am completely prepared to buy into it right now.

If you are prone to cavities, you should stop reading here.
If you have a super-sweet tooth, continue on, dear reader.

Baby hedgehogs are quite possibly one of the cutest species of baby mammal. I love the big floppy ears next to his little face and impossibly tiny nose. He looks ready to snuffle, which is both the sound hedgehogs make and also an adorable action of the baby hedgehog.

The universal appeal, though, may lie in the contrast between the spiny back and the impossibly soft little tummy.

Yes, I said tummy. So sue me.

Yes, there is a little baby mammal in this photo. It's like the "Where's Waldo?" of cuteness.

See it? See it? Adorable.

Too bad most cats really don't like me very much.

Puppies, on the other hand, puppies love me. These puppies are snowy, too, which adds an entirely new dimension of heartwarming love to this photo.

Can't you just imagine them frolicking in the snow under fir trees, chasing snowballs that disappear when they hit the ground and being confused? Eating the snow, maybe? Rolling around, nibbling each other's ears with their sharp but harmless milk teeth?

Have you noticed how much I love puppies?

This is my protegee/goddaughter. Check out those cheeks. And that pout. And her eyes. And her eyelashes - sorry, you can't really see them here. She's a snuggly little joy of a toddler.

"Aristocats," anyone? This one is about the tiny paws and the fact that the kitten's fur is all over the place.

Farm animals can also be extremely cute. These particular lambs were at The Farm in Door County. If you know what I'm referring to, you understand that The Farm is where cute reaches extreme levels that are slightly overwhelming to amateurs (i.e. people who weren't desensitized to the cuteness by going to The Farm every summer since they themselves could be classed as baby mammals).

The appreciation of cuteness in baby mammals by other baby mammals may be the purest and highest form of cuteness in baby mammals. This photograph may have more love in it than any other in the world. And also more cuteness.

(Disclaimer: I took some of these pictures from various websites, stole one from an acquaintances facebook and one from my dad's Shutterfly, and took a few of them myself.)

ETA: A very cute song for all of you to download. Be Gentle With Me - The Boy Least Likely To.

Her Morning Elegance

There is something about this video and song combination by Oren Lavie that just gets me.

The song is honest and poetic in my favorite way - the most is said between the lines, in what gets left unsaid. This is sounding super pretentious, especially because it's not some ground breaking musical or lyrical work. It's just a good song with an intriguing video.

The video, which is really the reason for this post, is striking and simple, complementing the song and actually adding quite a bit to it.

I'm not articulating within this post very well, but hey, I've been pretty verbose in the last few, so I will just leave you with a link to full details on the video from Oren Lavie's MySpace. I read them for you first, and I would say they are worth your 5 minutes.

Then be like me and spend a significant amount of time watching the video.
Again.
And again.
And again.

Here's the song: Her Morning Elegance - Oren Lavie.

After Dinner Mints

After a delicious meal out on the town, I am always craving that little something extra. And luckily, the high caliber restaurants that I frequent know exactly what I desire- an after dinner mint. Now, we're not talking the standard after dinner mint which I do occasionally enjoy: the pastel and fluffy delicacies with their light and airy mint flavour. Sometimes, however, the situation calls for a real mint. Straight up.


So many varieties, so many options.

Depending on the level of class your chosen restaurant possess, your mint options can range from the quotidian miniature peppermints all the way to the ever elegant chocolate mint. Don't get me wrong, the delectable melt-in-you-mouth velvety sensation of the chocolate mint is hard to outshine, but sometimes the good ol' down to earth peppermint is just what I am craving.

It is at these moments where I find myself incredibly grateful for these little packaged wonders so graciously bestowed upon us, the customers. Basking in the after-dinner glow, the time is right where a minty sensation can only perfect the essence of an already excellent meal.

It is therefore fitting to conclude that the after dinner mint is one of nature's most precious and glorious gifts; to be enjoyed to the fullest extents of our human powers and to be savoured in the majesty and magnificence it deserves.

Bagels

No need for me to join eHarmony anytime soon, as long as I have bagels in my life, I have plenty of love and warmth and carbs.

I've always had a spot in my heart for baked goods but never realized my infatuation for bagels until I went to Einstein Bros. Bagels for the first time. I mean, there are a near infinite amount of combinations for bagel and schmear choices and they toast your bagel, how could you go wrong?! Some favorites of mine: blueberry bagel/honey almond schmear, good grains bagel/blueberry schmear, and, a reccommendation by ZoidBerg, potato bagel/tomato basil schmear.


I know, I know. Nationwide chain. "What about those little Ma and Pop stores, D. Bade,what are you, are an unpatriotic heathen?
Simple answer: uh-huh.
Einstein is the closest bagel supplier to me. I'm sure there are other bagels worthy of a home in my tummy from homegrown shops, but until I accidentally go to one or someone gives me a good bagel tip, I will continue to blindly follow the Einstein Bros.
Maybe even drink their Kool-Aid.
Or rather, eat their Kool-Aid bagel with cyanide schmear.

At some point Sir Cross talks about bagels (squagels, actually).
Listen to him, he's godly.

Orangina

Orangina. What can I say?

I have a feeling that the reason Orangina is so tempting and delicious is the pulp. It may also be that the bottle is so pleasing to my tactile senses. To what does it compare? Orange juice? No. Fanta? No. Hi-C? Definitely not. The closest thing may be a mimosa or orange juice and club soda, but they both lack the bottle and sometimes also lack the pulp.

I cannot qualify or quantify my love for Orangina, rather like my feelings about the color gray. So instead I will just leave you with pictures, which cannot capture the essence of the delight I find in Orangina. They will have to do.