Monthly Archives: March 2012

Major throwback

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To high school, that is. (Cheers for the class of ’77, anyone? Anyone?)

Gino Vannelli — I hadn’t heard a peep about him in years, and suddenly, he’s on the Sirius “70s on 7” station on my way home from rehearsal last night. Wow. Anyone else remember him? He was all the rage for about three years or so, then he vanished. Honestly — he was there, then he was nowhere.

Man, did I ever sing along with these…

I Just Wanna Stop
Living Inside Myself
The Wheels of Life
People Gotta Move

He was, in many respects, the hipper alternative to Barry Manilow (and I liked Barry OK, too); a dark and handsome crooner with a progressive sound — I’d say halfway between the schmaltz of Barry and the R & B sound of Michael McDonald. I loved listening to him, and I can’t believe I went years without thinking about him. And now that I think of him, I say BoomR would sound fantastic on his stuff. Got any Gino in your rep, luvy?

I checked out his site, and he has a decidedly different sound now. But who doesn’t, 35 years down the road, ja?

Shout if you remember Gino and his incredibly tight slacks. Haha, ouch…

Two new things

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I’ve tried one, but not the other. Yet.

A couple of weeks ago, Mavis and I were in Wally, doing some grocering. We were both thirsty and talking about getting a drink on the way out of the store when we happened upon a center-aisle display of something called Sparkling Ice, in tall, slim, attractive bottles (about the size of the old fashioned Pepsi bottles we used to buy) for a dollar each. Have you tried it? We each bought one and boy, were they tasty.
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I ended up going back this past weekend and getting more — one in each flavor (except pomegranate…ick). For someone who hates plain water, this is great. Slightly sparkling, a small amount of sucralose, and jacked with some antioxidants. Fantastic. I say go get some if you’re up for a change of pace.
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Last week, I ordered some stuff for a baby shower I’m attending soon. One of the sites where I placed an order was hawking a deal on a corn dog baker — that is, you can have your corn dog without deep frying it. I thought, “Hmm. Worth a try for that price,” so I bought it. It arrived Saturday and I am looking forward to trying it tonight.
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Have you used one of these? If so, how did you like it? Amazon customer reviews seem pretty positive. Anyway, I bought some cornbread mix and a package of 98% fat free turkey dogs; we’ll see how the slightly-more-healthy version of this yummy county fair treat works out.
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Aaaaaand it’s Monday. Cripes…

Life changing? Really?

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Now I have to try it.

I mean, who says a chocolate cake recipe is “life changing?” The comment posters at Taste Spotting, that’s who. Well, we’ll just have to see about that. When my work is done today, I am going to make this chocolate cake, and post it on The Comfort Foodie blog.

Don’t get me wrong: I love cake. Almost any kind of cake. Chocolate is #1, of course, but give me carrot, spice, lemon, sponge, cheese, strawberry, white, yellow, green, purple or orange, and I will eat it. Relish it, even. I. Love. Cake. It makes me go like this.

It also makes me somewhat picky. I know what I like in the way of mouth feel, aftertaste, frosting pairing, and what the hoity-toitys call chocolate “notes.” But in a pinch, you could put two inches of icing on a sponge and I’d fight my way through it. I just love cake. Are you picking up what I’m laying down here?

So prepare your eyeballs for some chocolaty photo goodness over at TCF later on.

Shameless commercial blurb: Did you know you can be notified by email when I post a new recipe and photos at The Comfort Foodie? Well, you can, if’n you want. Just click over and register, making sure to check the box to be notified when there’s new stuff. I promise I won’t spam yer addy with anything except a change in content on the site.

Anyway, time to shut this thing down and finish some choreography (will it never, ever end?) so I can hit the grocery and bake up some yummy. Have a great Saturnday, mes amis.

Over ‘n out.

On this day…

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Nice hair

…in 1796, Napoleon Bonaparte married “Josephine.” I write her name inside quotes because her name was Rose, but Napoleon didn’t like it.

In 1987, I glued myself to a miniseries on TV called Napoleon and Josephine. I was immediately smitten with its dreamy star with the French name, Armand Assante. I’d never heard of him before that show. Even with the unattractive Napoleon hairstyle, I thought he was divine; diviner than any other actor I’d ever seen play the notorious emperor. Anyway, back to the history.

Now Nappy was no saint; aside from his well-documented megalomaniacal tendencies, he regarded adultery by a man acceptable (as did many in past societies), but grounds for divorce if a woman committed it. Indeed, his misogyny is also recorded for posterity:

Women . . . should not be regarded as the equals of men; they are, in fact, mere machines to make children” – 1817

Still, the little nutter had a soft side, and no one exposed it in its most painful manifestation as completely as the lovely Josephine. This morning (since I was up at 3), I happened to read some lectures about her, and she wasn’t a victim, either. To be sure, she was a conniving and heartless wench at times. Napoleon, away on a conflict, constantly wrote to her, confessing his love and entreating her to come join him in Italy. He was hopelessly devoted. Yet, Josephine was far too busy to bother with him, because, well…she had parties to go to and men to entertain. Lots of men to entertain. But he forgave her because he loved her. That was his first mistake, apparently.

When it finally came time for Napoleon to crown himself Emperor of Europe (a move that so infuriated composer Ludwig van Beethoven, he scratched out the name “Bonaparte” on his new symphony and named it “Eroica” instead), he brought the Pope all the way from Rome to Paris to preside over and bless the ceremony. It was at that inopportune time that Josephine “let it slip” that she and Napoleon had never had a church wedding. Back up the truck, Chuck. Party’s over, Pope goes home, and Nap has to make nice and not divorce Josephine. The thing plays out like a dime novel.

It all ended badly, unfortunately. I just thought it was interesting to read that, as happens pretty often, a powerful man can control everything in his life, except his woman. HA.

And there’s your history lesson on this lovely Finkday. Happy weekend, yay!

Life lesson #851

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Don’t drink two café mochas before and during an evening rehearsal and expect to sleep through the night.

The words to “Shakin’ at the High School Hop” and “Born to Hand Jive” are permanently seared into my consciousness. I ran through both songs about 60 times each.

All. Night. Long.

Lionel Richie, signing off