Tuesday 03.02.2010 | 1:23 PM EST

Mixology: Shitty Beers, Great In a Can

Beers in a can suck
They lose their crispness and body and deny us the eye candy of a glistening, sweaty golden bottle of lager or the thick foam of a chocolaty, full-bodied stout. (Sorry, I got carried away there, but I’m sure there’s such a thing as beer porn out there).

Now, cans certainly afford us a pseudo-manly display of strength as we punctuate our last slug with a crushing hand (shark hunter Captain Quint did it best). But the canned beers’ charm ends there. At least until recently. Three beers negate the theory:

1. The Sapporo tall boy: Housed in a tank of a can, it’s a stalwart silver monster that will defeat all but the manliest hands. It’s crisp, flavorful, delicious. Drink it from a glass bottle: Insipid and lame, tastes like ass.
2. The Heineken Mini Keg. Also quite the sturdy vessel. When offered the same beer in a bottle, I opt for wine, whiskey, gin, hell – even a Coke. But not so in the mini-kegger.It’s delicious, crisp, relatively full-bodied. But don’t be fooled – the run of the mill canned version also tastes like ass.
3. Tecaté: For some, it’s Mexico’s Budweiser, except, you know, actually tasty.
   Add a lime and it’s sublime.

Tuesday 03.02.2010 | 12:23 PM EST

Mixology: Have a (Crispy) Coke and a Smile

OCD recipe for crispy Coca-Cola
I’m from two Southern locales that revere Coca-Cola: Mexico City (the second biggest market in the world) and Atlanta (the birthplace of Coke). Neither is responsible for my love and loyalty to the best beverage every made (bourbon, another typically southern spirit running a close second, though never, ever mixed with Coke. Why ruin two good things by putting them together).

To borrow from a terrible movie (The Invention of Lying), Coke’s competitor should adopt the following marketing campaign: “Pepsi. When they don’t have Coke.” Though an urging Sir Knight (another fellow Southerner) and I would still not heed. Sitting in a New York deli one fine day, we each asked the waitress for a Coke with lime. “Is Pepsi ok,” she asked. “No!” we replied in close harmony. We order iced tea instead.

So, if you share our passion for the crispy caramel delight, here’s the proper way to serve it:

1. It’s gotta be in a can. Or at least a glass bottle if you can find it these days. Coke in a plastic bottle: flat-ish and strangely film-y.
2. You gotta pour it over ice. But not just any ice. It’s gotta be wet ice, cubed, not crushed. Plop them in a highball glass, rinse them with cold water, then pour out the water, leaving only the ice. Trust me.
3. Squeeze a wedge of lime over your freshly-rinsed ice. No self-respecting Mexican uses lemon.
4. Pour the Coke like a pro pours a beer. Slowly, tilting the glass.
5. Now tell me if that’s not the crispest coke you ever had.

Friends laughed at the fastidiousness of this approach. Till I presented them with a taste test that forever changed them. One beverage was prepared with love and tenderness. The other was sloshed carelessly into a glass smoking with dry ice, resulting in quickly-dissolving carbonation that left the beverage flat as a pre-teen and as syrupy sweet as a bad romantic comedy.

Go try it. Get back to me. Who’s OCD now?

Saturday 02.27.2010 | 2:23 PM EST

Obama, One Year In

Ok, maunet will not be a place to voice my political opinions. This forum is devoted to much less consequential topics (though I would argue and hope you agree that music, humor, film, art and literature are certainly worth a minute or two of your day).

Nevertheless, friend Miles Cliatt articulates beautifully on the subject, particularly in response to the notion that Obama did not accomplish enough in his first year. Thanks Miles, for providing a venue such as yours so I don’t have to.

Read it here

Saturday 02.27.2010 | 1:23 PM EST

Rat Race: Cats 2, Dogs 1. Cats Win.

I know there’s a whole roost of folks that are “not cat people,” or say that they’re “more of a dog person” or, at their most vulgar extreme “hate cats,” (you in particular, can suck it).

Great. Fine. I get it. Dogs are cool. They’re funny and loyal and goofy and fun outdoors. If I owned a British bulldog, I would have little need for therapy or anti-depressants. Just looking at that ridiculous face would lift the spirit. So, dog people, dont’ say I never loved you, or them. But:

Here at maunet (and our extended fold of writerly pet friends) we are most definitely cat folk. They’re handsome, independent, quirky and self-sufficient. You don’t have to get up at 6AM in the middle of a Brooklyn blizzard to walk them and–ahem–pick up their steaming little piles of poop for them. I hate getting up early. And I most definitely hate picking up other mammal’s poop.

And what about water? A wet dog smells god-awful. A wet cat? Well, first off, they have enough sense to not get wet. And if some unfortunate incident befalls them and they end up wet, they don’t leave your hands smelling like…like… hell i don’t know what like–here my writerly metaphors are stumped by that nasty wet-dog smell.

I could go on and on. But better to have Robert DeNiro’s
intimidating authority put to rest this age-old argument:

Loss, inevitable
Two years ago, my beloved Benjamin developed liver cancer. I spent one long year and more money than I could afford keeping him comfortable enough to enjoy, relatively speaking, one more quality year before finally letting him go. Now our dear Sir Knight and the Lady Kate are going through the same thing. One half of the charming duo Cosmo & The Drake has taken quite ill and may not make it through the winter. And as sad an ordeal as this is, it has at times been leavened by humor.

A recent visit to the vet yielded this conversation:

Kate: He seems to have some kind of growth near his anus.
Vet (lifting Cosmo’s tail): That’s his penis.
Knight: A penis anus.
Vet: What?

Love the Drake. Love the Cosmo. Love the cats. Long live the cats…

Wednesday 02.24.2010 | 4:23 PM EST

The Kitchen Sink:
Your Creativity Down the Drain

Those in creative fields still beholden to client demands (record labels, global brands, movie studios, corporate retailers, the list goes on…) are well familiar with the mercenary principle: you gotta make a living, the client is “always right,” (but not really, ever). So whaddya do? Suck it up and deliver often-emabarassing, sub-par work.

In the December issue, Wired presents us with a “how to fail” strategy presumably aimed at lifting our spirits and helping us turn setbacks into advantages. Gotta love the bullshit affirmation, elusive as it may be. But the piece does deliver some satisfaction in this short anecdote from Alec Baldwin:

“The Fail: Mercenary acting.
I needed to make a living. People don’t realize actors are like plumbers. When you invite a plumber to your house and say, “I want you to put this sink in my bathroom,” the plumber doesn’t say, “I’m not going to install that sink, it’s hideous. You have the worst taste in sinks!” No, he just says, “OK,” and he puts it in.

The Save: Making a terrible romantic comedy.
My Best Friend’s Girl had one of the worst scripts I’ve ever read in my life. The movie was a huge disaster. Scathing reviews.
And I realized: I’m done with doing it for the money.”

You know what it takes to make it in the creative business with your pride intact: It takes brass balls. Go and do likewise, gents…

–

Wednesday 12.02.2009 | 4:23 AM EST

Mick_23: Joy In Repetition

Sharing a numerical moniker with c23, Mick 23 iterates one simple graphic element into a remarkable variety of visual/verbal haikus. Oh, and they’re funny. Funny’ll get you every time…

micks15minutes.blogspot.com/

Monday 11.23.2009 | 4:23 AM EST

Weather Report:
Just Another Lovely Day In Brooklyn.

//photo by Arthur Leipzig

Those ‘ole Nor’easters are at it again, battering old Brooklyn with furious wind and slanting rain.
Listened to Willie Nelson all day long.

Blue skies smilin’ at me
Nothin’ but blue skies do I see
Bluebirds singin’ a song
Nothin’ but bluebirds all day long

True, Stardust suffers a bit from slick production (it ain’t no Red Headed Stranger ), but it did motivate me to finally learn why all the million references to bluebirds in songs, literature, film…

 Blue Skies

Thursday 11.19.2009 | 4:23 AM EST

Simon’s Le Chat

Last year, an excerpt made the rounds on the Internets presenting a charming account of the joy’s and challenges of co-habitating with a feline. It can indeed be like living with a fuzzy, sure-footed, tyrannical infant.

So this may be old news, but it’s Simon’s creations of expressive animated line-art warrant revisiting. They’re funny as all hell. Even those slaves to doggy poop known as dog-owners love funny.

//Simon’s Le Chat