Horatio Alger in reverse

Excerpts from the obituary of a brilliantly spectacular failure:

Huntington Hartford II, who inherited a fortune from the A. & P. grocery business and lost most of it chasing his dreams as an entrepreneur and arts patron, died Monday at his home in Lyford Cay, Nassau, in the Bahamas, where he had lived since 2004. He was 97.

As a boy Huntington Hartford was treated like a prince, indulged by his mother and a staff of servants and provided with a living of $1.5 million a year. Not content merely to be rich, he longed to be a writer and, more than that, an arbiter of culture and a master builder. But his ambitions were far greater than his reach.

A famous example was the Huntington Hartford Museum, also known as the Gallery of Modern Art, at 2 Columbus Circle in Manhattan. Mr. Hartford opened it in 1964 as a showcase for 19th- and 20th-century work that went against the prevailing current of abstract expressionism, which he detested. The building, designed by Edward Durell Stone, was considered a folly or worse: "a die-cut Venetian palazzo on lollipops," wrote Ada Louise Huxtable, then the architecture critic of The New York Times. The art within was generally unremarkable. And far from becoming the self-sustaining museum that Mr. Hartford had envisioned, it cost him $7.4 million before he abandoned the building to a rocky fate.

Costlier still was Mr. Hartford's makeover of Hog Island, in the Bahamas. After buying four-fifths of the place in 1959 and having it renamed Paradise Island, he set about developing a resort with the construction of the Ocean Club and other expensive amenities. Advisers persuaded him to stop short of exotic attractions like chariot races, but, over-extended and unable to get a gambling license, he ultimately lost an estimated $25 million to $30 million on the project.

Then there was the automated parking garage in Manhattan, the handwriting institute, the modeling agency, and his own disastrous stage adaptation of "Jane Eyre," among the many lesser ventures that either bombed or fizzled.

Writing in Esquire in 1968, after decades of spending beyond his means, Mr. Hartford said the day had come when the chairman of Morgan Guaranty Trust Company was "suddenly too busy to see me." But it was not quite clear whether he was bragging or complaining. "To most Americans the worst errors are financial," he acknowledged, "and in that respect I have been Horatio Alger in reverse."

Mr. Hartford could seldom stay focused. As his biographer, Lisa Rebecca Gubernick, reported in "Squandered Fortune: The Life and Times of Huntington Hartford" (G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1991), this tendency to wander was a never-ending irritation to his associates, who might be summoned from a continent away only to be told he had no time to see them. As Frank Lloyd Wright was said to have remarked, Mr. Hartford was "the sort of man who will come up with an idea, pinch it in the fanny, and run."

In his long heyday, Mr. Hartford frequently turned up in the company of movie stars like Lana Turner and Gene Tierney. When it came to his four marriages, though, he chose each time a beautiful young woman of no fame or fortune; continued having well-documented affairs regardless; and, after each split, seemed to maintain affection for the ex-wife. According to the Gubernick biography, he even floated the idea of his mother's adopting his first wife, Mary Lee Epling, so that he might keep her as a sister after their divorce in 1939. Instead, Mary Lee made a successful new marriage, with Douglas Fairbanks Jr.

Huntington went on to Harvard, studying English literature and graduating in 1934. He signed on as a clerk for his uncles at A. & P. headquarters, then situated in the Graybar Building next to Grand Central Terminal, where his job was to keep track of sales of bread and pound cake. But he was often absent, and when present, spent a lot of time discussing the purchase of paintings and a yacht.

In November 1934 he defiantly took a day off to attend the Harvard-Yale football game. That ended his career in the family business. Yale won, 14 to 0.

In 1940, Mr. Hartford tried being a $150-a-week reporter for the New York newspaper PM, after putting up $100,000 to help get the paper started. If nothing else, the experience produced one of the all-time great excuses for missing a deadline: one day he took his yacht to cover an assignment on Long Island, and upon returning to the city could find no place to tie up and come ashore with the story.

Establishing himself in Los Angeles after the war, Mr. Hartford married the aspiring actress Marjorie Steele and put her in a film he produced, "Face to Face," which got good reviews. His Huntington Hartford Foundation supported a colony for artists and writers. And in 1954, he converted an old movie house into Hollywood's only legitimate stage theater, the Huntington Hartford Theater.

Yet his efforts to bring culture to Southern California didn't yield their full money's worth in cachet. In part, this was because of Mr. Hartford's narrow tastes. He hated William Faulkner and Tennessee Williams as much as he hated Picasso and de Kooning, their work being immoral, in his view. When he engaged Helen Hayes to star in his theater's gala first production, he cast her in an antiquated piece by James Barrie, "What Every Woman Knows."

For "The Master of Thornfield," his own adaptation of "Jane Eyre," Mr. Hartford chose a badly dissipated Errol Flynn to star. Mr. Hartford's script was panned as painful, and Flynn dropped out during a pre-Broadway run in Cincinnati, but Mr. Hartford nevertheless brought the show to New York in May 1958, where he subsidized its performance to nearly empty houses at the Belasco for six weeks.

By then the A. & P. had been suffering under lackluster management. In 1959, Mr. Hartford raised badly needed cash by selling $40 million of his A. & P. shares after a bitter battle over the direction of the company. The following year, Marjorie Steele sued him for divorce, and the settlement included trust funds of $1 million for each of their two children, a son, John, and a daughter, Catherine. Catherine, who had drug and alcohol-related problems, was found dead on a beach in Hawaii in 1988.

After selling his A.& P. shares, Mr. Hartford began shedding other holdings, like the Handwriting Institute, a pet project inspired by his belief in penmanship as a key to aptitude and personality; Speed Park, the Manhattan garage experiment, which lost $1.8 million; and his California properties, including the artists' colony and the Huntington Hartford Theater.

At the same time, he was spending even bigger amounts on fresh projects. In addition to starting the museum on Columbus Circle and sinking millions in Paradise Island, he proposed a kind of Europeanization of New York's Central Park. He himself put up $750,000 for an initial phase, a 10,000-square-foot pavilion, which was to be called the Hartford Café. When John V. Lindsay became mayor and dismissed the developer Robert Moses as parks commissioner, approval of the café was canceled.

It was during this time that Mr. Hartford began Show, an arts and entertainment magazine that went through at least three iterations and perhaps $8 million before ceasing publication in 1973.

As Mr. Hartford grew older and less active, he gradually fell out of the news except for occasional sensational stories about his personal life. His third wife, the model Diane Brown, whom he married in 1962, carried on a very public affair with the pop singer Bobby Darin, but the couple reconciled and had a daughter, Juliet, before getting divorced in 1970.

In 1974 Mr. Hartford married Elaine Kay, a former hairdresser. They, too, were divorced, in 1981, but continued to live together in Mr. Hartford's 20-room apartment at One Beekman Place in Manhattan. In 1984, Ms. Kay and a friend were arrested and charged with tying up a teenage secretary to Mr. Hartford and shaving her head. That was the final straw for the neighbors; the directors of the building voted for eviction.

Mr. Hartford moved to a townhouse on East 30th Street but subsequently lost it when he declared bankruptcy, even though he was still the beneficiary of a trust fund yielding more than $500,000 a year. He also lived in Brooklyn for a year or two before moving to the Bahamas.

"I have tried to use my millions creatively," Mr. Hartford wrote in one of the early issues of his magazine Show. But, he added, "The golden bird, coming to life, has sometimes wriggled out of my hand and flown away."

By my calculations, he lost about $1,000,000 every year of his life after the age of 10; but my oh my, what fun he must have had!

12:19 PM - 2 Comments - 3 Kudos - Add Comment

My Boyfriend Ages Like A Pricelessly Stinky Cheese, And Also A Word About Church Hats

To everyone who came to gospel brunch for Steve's birthday, OMG you guys are the best! Seriously, I had so much fun that I forgot to take pictures. On a related note, I now know definitively why drinking in church is frowned upon. Yet awesome!

So, I was disappointed by the lack of millinery among brunchers (props to Coco on that tip), but I couldn't really hate with authority since I didn't hat up either. UNTIL, the worship team lady came out in the most gorgeously impractical get up, I got a lady boner (heart-on?). Think Scarlett O'Hara on Broadway, but black and with access to a Bedazzler and, uh, a wedge of swans.

In looking up what a group of swans are called, I discovered that they mate for life but do occasionally 'divorce', especially following a nesting failure. Humans do that too; parents of a child who dies almost always divorce. Sad. But on the other hand, I read the other day that some types of swallows have strong familial structures, with grandparents helping their offspring raise their own clutch. And overall, 90% of bird species are monogamous, compared to 3% of mammals. Fish can be promiscuous or loyal, and I am not sure about insects and reptiles but they probably slut it up. Cold-blooded skanks. That would make the overwhelming proportion of living things polyamorous (not the right word because then you have to get into the nature of sexual/romantic love and whether or not animals are even capable of that - otters certainly are - and realistically, this is all way off the topic of how fabulous both Steve and church hats are, but I can't think of what the right word would actually be. So.). But then, why are birds are faithful? Tell me please, Science, but don't use big words.

OH, and I just remembered that if you own certain kinds of parrots, you have to get rid of them when you get married because they will never accept your spouse or children, and will jealously try to kill them all the time, forever. And they live up to 80 years, depending on the species. So, a good pet for WoW players. Haha, they're so lonely!

That was cruel, but also an excellent segue to the point I have successfully avoided till now: good lord, do you have any idea how great my boyfriend is? Happy birthday baby, and thank you for ensuring we will never split because of a nesting failure.

I will whisper sweet nothings to you later, because now all I can think about is an awkward combination of insect sexuality (are they slutty?) and also delegate counts (YES WE DID!).

10:59 PM - 4 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

Love Is For Suckers (Like Me And You)

Steve wrote a thoughtful piece about the fundamental shift in fundamentalists recently, and he's pretty smart so I won't repeat the excellent points he made. Go ahead and read it, I'll wait....

OK!

I think, I hope, that this big good important change in the way social conservatives and/or evangelicals see themselves and the rest of us is indicative of a larger sea change in the American population. There is a generational shift, as Dennis Hopper hawks retirement planning and the last of the WWII vets die off at a rate of 1100 every day; and of course there is the simultaneous rise of the internet age and how it has both shrunk and expanded the world. We are a wildly diverse nation, involved in the rest of the world in ways that make everyone excited and totes scared. We aren't a huge, isolated island any more, people are flooding in because they love us and because they hate us and we have gone out to a lot of places because we want to help them and because we want to bomb them and often because we consider their sovereignty as a distant second to our "strategic interests".

There is a huge diversity of thought here. I was talking to a Swedish girl the other day who dismissed American voters as "easily distracted", and that is true. On the other hand, Sweden is what, the size of Kansas? They do not boast much in the way of different cultures, or religions, or languages...our national makeup has a complexity that few other countries deal with. One man's 'distraction' is another's valid (and strongly held) opinion.

So it's not that hard to see how the fallout from the culture wars of the sixties and seventies (preceded by the civil rights struggle, preceded by the populism of the Great Depression, preceded by the rise of organized crime due to Prohibition, preceded by suffrage, preceded by abolition and the Civil War, and so forth and so on...) has continued to define our political discourse and national complexion. This country is so young! A toddler, falling on our giant head and sticking fingers in sockets and teething painfully and still occasionally shitting ourselves. In between diapers and Superman underoos; this is the pull-ups phase of national identity, if you will.

Hey, nobody's perfect. But I see, and am heartened by, an emerging self-awareness. From the Southern Baptists who embrace environmental stewardship and economic justice as the sacred duties of their faith, to the flag-waving nationalists who understand that dissent is another form of patriotism...say what you will about the failed policies of the Republican Coalition, it has taught the slow-moving heartland to question their leaders and examine their own motives.

And right now, in the quiet interiors of this country, there is a simmering introspection. It is fed by self-interest (holy crap, I am poor! I need clean air to breathe! I don't want to die because my government is acting the fool!), but the end result has transformative potential. The huge and powerful "flyover" part of the country, just maybe, is discovering a generosity of spirit previously been dismissed as strictly lib'rul. The Republican party is struggling to define a post-Reagan identity: do we hate Mexicans, love war, are we still about small government, do we speak for Evangelicals or for Big Business or both, who is our base, where did we go wrong? The Democratic faction is no less divided, over a different set of questions. It is horrid, but very interesting how the Clintons have introduced identity-politics-on-steroids to the "nice" side of politics, and how many older white people, especially women found it irresistible. Hey Dems: your Dixiecrat underbelly and defensively hysterical feminist old-guard are showing, and it's not a pretty sight. Do we really want to fight with each other, men against women and black against white against Latino and liberal against conservative? Are our differences too great to be bridged? Can such hypocrisy in the party of the underdog withstand the light of day?

Politics can't really address the nuances of our national identity crisis, but elections are when everybody who has an opinion gets to express it (albeit cryptically). We are listening to each other. We are questioning ourselves. Are we collectively who we want to be?

I am optimistic. And also terrified. The so-called "struggle for the soul of a nation" is becoming more and more apt and I am so very hopeful that we are growing up to be a better people.

Don't be assholes, America. Don't be afraid. Please don't let us down.

12:05 PM - 8 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

Girls Girls Girls!!!
Category: Goals, Plans, Hopes

Alright, this post is for everyone to start, but it's going to become more specific as it goes....

What's Up America:
First, the technical stuff: Tuesday, January 22 is the deadline to register to vote, if you are a big slacker and have managed to avoid it so far. You can do it online at
Rock The Vote
Declare Yourself
MoveOn.org

For almost everyone, your state will hold a primary on February 5, whimsically named SuperDuper Tuesday. Fun! And remember, you get a taco, stickers, and possibly a button if you vote, not to mention the beaming approbation of the old folks running the polls. Also, if you do not, everyone who did (read: me) will look down on you with profound contempt and refuse to listen to any of your whining about anything for half a decade minimum because "not making a choice, IS a choice". This line will be delivered with maximum snottiness, including but not limited to chin movement and nostril flaring. So vote, and we can dutiful-citizen high-five instead! BAM!

If you need to find your polling place, MyPollingPlace.org is under construction but promises to be ready soon; or, try Vote-Smart. In Los Angeles, call (800) 815-2666 or check www.lavote.net.

Now Just the Dems, Independents, and a Teensy Percentage of 'Pubs:

I should be a Democrat. I'm socially and fiscally liberal, but y'all have an ingrained habit of putting up the most mealy-mouthed unappetizing presidential candidates that you can find; and hence, I don't recall EVER voting for a Dem president. What a parade of weak asses.

No need to apologize, but can you for once get it right and nominate Barack Hussein Obama? Pretty please? Because I've been paying close attention since I was a little kid, and this is the first time I have ever cared about any of these jerks on either side. And I'm not good at it, it stresses me out and knots my tummy and I am seriously worried that you are going to let your grandparents make the call again, and that the most polarizing and yet least liberal candidate you have will scratch her way to a repulsively dirty primary win. This is the only way that another Republican could possibly be elected - and if you doubt that, please understand that I am already holding my nose and weighing the possibility of McCain vote. I do not want to vote for McCain, but I will if he is opposed by Clinton. Could I vote for (gulp) Romney? Huckabee? G9/u11ani?

....

Dear God. Please do not make that a genuine question I have to ask myself. And you know what? I can't even focus on the championship games today. Because of you, Democrats, and even more specifically:

Middle Aged White Lady Democrats:

You are the backbone of the party. Nobody questions it - the 'Pubs are angry, rural men, and the Dems are nice but ineffectual ladies. No offense, I know neither side is monolithic; but them's the stats. Join a third party and throw away your vote like I do, if you don't like it. Anyhoo, it has come to my attention that many of you seem to be voting with your vaginas and not your heads.

Settle down. I know. It's hard out there, and it was harder still when you had to fight for the rights that we non-boomers take for granted. Now you see one of your very own fighting the good fight and being downtrodden by the misogynistic assholes in the media and political world AGAIN and you want to flex your power and pump your fists in the air. Awesome! Except that voting for Hillary Rodham Clinton is so profoundly anti-feminist, it gives me cramps.

First. Can we talk about all this experience, this much vaunted "thirty-five years of change"? Because I know girls aren't good at math and all, but I count eight years total as an elected official. Eight. Compared to, say, eleven years as an elected official for Barack Obama. Now, experience comes from many sources, not just time in the Senate. So, let's look at resumes aside from the actual years as a public servant. Between college and law school, Obama worked as a community organizer in the worst neighborhoods on the south side of Chicago, for $12K per year. After law school, he worked as a civil rights lawyer and taught constitutional law until he entered the public life as a state senator. In contrast, Mrs. Clinton worked at the notorious union-busting Rose law firm, and sat on the board of directors for Wal*Mart. Because, you know, she is super strong for civil rights and has always been there for you. You are a rich executive, right? No? Oh.

And of course there was the Clinton presidency. My brother sent me an email forward about how Deanna Favre will be QB for the Packers next year, touting her Sixteen Years Of Experience as the wife of a record-breaking footballer. Funny! Because it's ludicrous. To me, for one, and also to every red or purple state dude out there. Fucking embarrassing.

Yo feminists: since when does being somebody's wife qualify as the source of your strength and experience? Because that really fucks me, and all the other girls out there who were under the impression that only really shallow bitches who aren't willing to work for what they have marry for power. In fact - and tell me if this is crazy - I always thought that making your sexuality (or by extension, marriage) a commodity was a really sad way to cheapen a lovely part of yourself. Like, oh, bitch-slapping a puppy.

But, as the Mrs. says, let's talk about issues. Such as why come those mean boys are picking on her and making her cry! No fair! It was so funny on "Meet The Press", she wants to talk about issues - until Russert asks her about a number f dubious choices and bad votes, at which point she wants to "focus on the future - why are we talking about the past?" Uh huh.

And the dirt! She is trying so hard to muddy the waters to the point where nobody comes out clean. It is outrageous, not in the fun Little Richard way but the 'I want to punch you in the face' way. She has learned well from her own persecution, because she is busting out all the same tricks the 'Pubs used on her. I don't want another shady president! Is she mad because he came up clean? Because her husband dragged her through the mud and now it is her turn and no starry-eyed true believer can just waltz in after all she had to go through? I don't care. I do not want to watch a good man, the best man in the race get smeared by a vindictive bitch who is having second thoughts about how difficult the 'easy way' turned out to be.

But if it WORKS, if it works because she cried and because white people in general, and white women specifically are too stupid or obstinate to see through it, or too desperate to care...I will do it. I will vote for McCain (who in all fairness does look like a chipmunk, which is pretty fun). And if it's not him for the 'Pubs, I will vote Green. Again.

4:53 PM - 53 Comments - 18 Kudos - Add Comment

Shameless, Conspicuous Consumption

X-mas Cheat Sheet

Oh man…it's that time of year again where a little rain cloud starts to follow you around, and gradually becomes more ominous and dark until you find yourself in Hallmark on Christmas Eve, elbowing gangster tweens out of the way to get some random piece of crap for your aunt and knowing that she'll hate it but what can you do? It's too late now and if you have to stand in one more line listening to that barking dog cover of "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town", there WILL be violence.

Stop. Breathe. I did the homework, and you can totally copy it.

In an intangible but very real way, I am giving you the precious gifts of free time, as well as the respect and gratitude of your loved ones. So, you know, I don't take checks. Just joshing! I totally take checks.

The recipient categories are pretty flexible. Everything is moderately priced, from stocking stuffers to "I love you, but I totally had to pay to fly out here". No lines. No malls. No fuss.

Clicky clicky!

Gentlemen, a word of advice: do not ever, ever, ever estimate her size in clothing or shoes; and don't bother asking her either. There is no standardized system, so we don't really know what size we are - but we'd lie to you if we did. If you don't already know, just don't step.

4:29 PM - 18 Comments - 14 Kudos - Add Comment

shock and awww

join my Fantasy Congress League now! it's called 'Shock And Awww', my team is The Huggernauts. get up on your legislators and legislation! you only have two days left to draft!

DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT!


DO IT!

12:00 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

phlogging

these are old photos i had forgotten about.

other people's kids











doors i wanted to go through







contextual oddities













places i have been















signs of the times























cute animals. what?













food







my family



















and of course, me





i didn't take those. or the ones of my parents before i was born.

4:32 PM - 8 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

sloth is the ultimate expression of hedonism

today in facing the fact that i am old and i don't give a crap about what recycled bullshit the kids are into these days:

take a look at the lineup. not too bad, right? there are, as always, some bands that i like. sorta. i mean, i own some bjork albums, but when did i last actually listen to them? uhh...sometime in 2002, maybe?

skimming through the program...okay, here's the deal. the bands i have heard of and maybe own the records and would say, 'oh yeah, they do interesting things' (i'm looking at you sonic youth, dj shadow, ozomatli and willie nelson), i probably don't ever need to see live. even those that i truly like (rufus wainwright, blonde redhead, gillian welch, nickel creek, the coup), totally do not justify spending a months rent and driving all day and hanging out in the desert with frat boys on ecstacy and wiry speedfreaks and drunk boomers working out their midlife crises.
this is the case every year at coachella; it kinda is something i could probably get sorta excited about, if i worked on pumping myself up and got in for free. the only time i ever went, it WAS free, both the festival tickets thanks to my then-boss and the drinks thanks to the gentlemen of the new fidelity, a sweet and quite good band which tended the VIP bar.

ANYWAY, perhaps i can't blame weezer for sucking the life out of their own dicks because, again, i'm old and my tastes have evolved to hungarian choirs and my attitudes to crotchety. but my ears still work, and i'm pretty certain they were horrid. so.

this is my public admission that
a) i don't like outdoor festivals. i don't. i hate topless chicks with butterflies painted on their tits, joker hats, vomit, sunstroke, hipster celebrities, $7 water and people sweating profusely in vinyl. it's possible that i hate young people in general, and also old people who retain a young self-image.
b) fuck your bands. if you lined up jesus, i'd complain about how i like his older, less commercial work - c'mon, the new testament was such a sellout of all the values that made him appealing in the first place. he's practically the roseanne barr of deities.
c) sometimes, even free stuff is overpriced. it's a hard lesson to learn, but i've moved apartments enough times to have learned the answer to "why do i have so much crap i don't need or particularly want?" - because sometimes you should say no, roundheels.
d) the fact that you enjoy the coup while sketching in your overstuffed armchair does not necessarily translate to enjoying the coup in a reeking sweat lodge with other, taller white people doing stupid things directly in front of you and occasionally stepping on your feet (which will either be exposed and filthy, or covered and unbelievably freaking hot).

don't get me wrong; i enjoy music, people, and sunshine. i also enjoy nutella, sea salt, and aloe, but mixing that shit is a genuinely terrible idea.

10:15 AM - 10 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

lists are for supercool people with awesome priorities

and the most important list of all is: things i want to do before i die.

1. the world's biggest food fight!

running with the bulls is for weird masochists. banana peels aren't really that slippery. shoving a cream pie into someone's face has awkward sexual undertones. but throwing tomatoes at other tourists who are totally ruining your authentic experience? YES PLEASE THANK YOU. oh, and did i mention the paella cookoff the night before? no? well. maybe i plan to eat it all and not save any for you.

2. following the serengeti migration from a luxuriously safe distance via a hot air balloon. binoculars, superzoom lens, champagne. although i am usually against being awake when the sun rises, i will make an exception.

3. speaking of airtime, hang gliding is such a perfect expression of human ingenuity that da vinci's original designs are still used. it's not a passive "ride", it's a skill that you have to perfect, learning how to manipulate the wind and updrafts like a baby bird who gets nudged out of the nest. i like da vinci, and baby birds, and skillz. i very much want to learn how to hang glide.

4. my own private idaho...
unless god hates you, you get to retire before you die. when that happens, fuck all of y'all. i want my own island. should i win the lottery or in some other way land a windfall, i will trick that bitch out - orchards, a huge greenhouse, and of course an underground bunker in case of, y'know, nuclear war or zombie invasion or if my relatives want to crash on my couch. otherwise, it will just be a modest house with a really kickass yard (and a huge moat). entering hermitage is no excuse for a lack of style.

5. southern food and music road trip

i want to drink in junior kimbrough's juke joint (although it might have burned down), drag my beloved to a back-country black southern baptist church (i swear you'll have fun, baby. the music rules, the preaching is entertaining, and the hats are fabulous!), and eat delicious food from toofless old men with highly suspect hygiene. we're white, so the cops will be cool.

6. build an adult treehouse

this can be incorporated with the island dream. i will need my brother gabe's help. i am not a hippie.

but seriously, how jealous would i be of myself?

1:49 AM - 6 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

turkey is for sandwiches

reflecting on traditional holiday meals, it is clear that new year's day whups christmas and thanksgiving.

for one thing, there are too many uncomfortable moral undertones and too much undue pressure associated with the first two holidays. how long does a turkey take to cook? seriously. and pineapples on ham are gross and weird.

i don't know about your family, and chances are i don't care, but mine had a clear menu. there were and still are dire consequences for deviation. any item listed below should be cooked with either a ham hock, honey, butter or a generous amount of velveeta. if you go with all of the above, i am not the one to judge you. prepared correctly, not even the vegetables can properly be considered "vegetarian". if you are lazy, hungover or holiday-skeeved, you can purchase the whole meal from a reputable soul-food joint (i am, and i did).

BLACK EYED PEAS.
yes, the band is crappy and makes your ears want to bleed. however, if you do not want a bad-luck year, you damn well better make sure there is plenty on hand. this is the most important food you will eat all year, the most important dish on your new year's table. the more servings, the better your luck. ham hock.

RIBS.
slather them bitches up with a good barbecue sauce. make your own for extra credit, like my dad always did. lots of honey and/or brown sugar collide in a perfect example of dynamic tension with cayenne pepper and a good quality vinegar; all other ingredients can basically be worked around to suit your taste. this dish does not require a ham hock (if you use pork ribs).

GREENS.
if you are uncomfortable with the complex and somewhat delicate preparation process of collards, spinach is an acceptable substitute. honky. saute a grip of onions, and don't skimp on the black pepper. msg in pure form comes in a little can called "accent". use it. ham hock.

MAC AND CHEESE.
bake it until the top is golden and crispy, like deliciously overtanned skin covering veins of melty velveeta below. lots of cheese, lots of butter. ham hock optional.

BISCUITS.
crisco, motherfuckers. i don't care if it's embarrassing to keep in your kitchen. serve HOT with butter and honey.

CORN.
lots of butter and pepper, red peppers optional.

BROCCOLI (optional).
steam to tendercrisp, and then smother with velveeta. seriously, if any green is visible, you have not used enough.

SWEET POTATO PIE.
i've never made one, to be honest. i do know that lots of butter and brown sugar are good buddies with sweet potatoes in any context, and you've got the crisco from your biscuits for the crust, right? work it out.

Currently listening : Redefining Music By Atom & His Package Release date: 03 April, 2001

11:39 AM - 8 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment