Guest Collector: A Message From matthew K

Greetings Danger Seekers,

While our dear Stacia is away crushing the freedom fighters of Quintana Roo, she has foolishly left me, matthew K, in charge of her blog. Now I, normally a mild-mannered and modest person, have gone mad with power and have extended my domain to include Stacey's desk at work. This turned out to be a much more boring venture than originally expected. Sure abusing Stacey's limited power at the office was fun but years of group therapy left me questioning this hollow existence. What was I doing to help humanity? How would rifling through her desk drawers honor her fading memory? How could I broadcast her final words to the world? Incidentally, her final words to me were: I'll see you next week. Don't touch my stuff. How could I commemorate Stacey's gifts to the world without having to work hard or spend any money?

Three hours and one grant from the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation later, I was finally able to open the Stacey L. Brook Memorial Living Museum and Gift Shop. Here visitors can come and see an exact recreation of Stacey's workspace circa 2006. Our team of speedily trained yet historically accurate reenactors will guide you through a day in the life of the people of Stacia. From basket weaving to butter churning to microwave cookery, our historians have paid painstaking attention to every last detail of this people's storied culture, which seems to have mysteriously disappeared in late December of 2006.

While information is sketchy at best, our archeologists have been able to piece together bits of first hand accounts scribbled on 3M brand Post-It Notes to create a more complete idea of the final days of the society. Near as we can figure, this society's solitary export was year-end "best of" lists. Ranging among every single mentionable subject, the most prolific listographers mapped the best and brightest of the year in simple, concise columns. However, the only lists we have been able to reconstruct completely show a very different side to this well-cataloged social order; Lists that herald culture's disenfranchised, forgotten and finally-got-around-to's. The mysterious author of these lists signed only with "your pal, matt."

Five Cool Things from 2006 that apparently no one liked but me
(In No Particular Order)

1. Stranger Than Fiction
2. Built to Spill's You In Reverse
3. The Strokes' First Impressions of Earth
4. Arrested Development's Third Season
5. F Minus

Five Cool Things I found in 2006 that I was later told came out last year or earlier
(In a Very Particular Order to be Revealed at a Later Date)

1. Its Always Sunny in Philadelphia
2. Areas of My Expertise
3. Spaced
4. Stereolab
5. Stacey

(I heard 2007 is going to be lame.)

From Sand, Surf and Sun

"The head bone's connected to the heart bone."
- Tom Robbins, Villa Incognito

Les Favorites d'Annee 2006

My year-end culture consumption round-up. Good frakking times.

Top Ten Albums 2006
1. Neko Case – Fox Confessor Brings the Flood
2. The Dresden Dolls – Yes, Virginia
3. Ghostface – Fishscale
4. Regina Spektor – Begin to Hope
5. Beyonce - BDay
6. Lily Allen – Alright, Still
7. Clipse – Hell Hath No Fury
8. T.I. - King
9. Justin Timberlake – Futuresex/Lovesounds
10. Thom Yorke – The Eraser

Honorable Mentions:
The Pipettes - We Are The Pipettes
Lupe Fiasco - Food and Liquor
Devotchka – Curse Your Little Heart EP
The Fiery Furnaces - Bitter Tea

Favorite albums consumed but not created in 2006
1. The Billy Nayer Show – Rabbit
2. Jose Gonzales – Veneer
3. The Pretenders –The Isle of View (Live)
4. Jens Lekman – Oh You’re So Silent Jens
5. Brian Eno – Another Green World
6. Francois Breut – Une Saison Volee
7. Nouvelle Vague - Self-Titled
8. Keren Ann - Not Going Anywhere
9. Cadence Weapon - Breaking Kayfabe
10. Kylie Minogue - Fever


Best Singles/Tracks 2006
1. "Ring The Alarm" - Beyonce
2. “Crazy” - Gnarls Barkley
3. “My Love” – Justin Timberlake
4. “Doctor Blind” – Emily Haines
5. “You’re My Flame” – Zero 7
6. "The Champ" - Ghostface
7. "No Friend of Mine" - Lily Allen
8. "Keys Open Doors" - Clipse
9. “Upgrade U” – Beyonce
10. “Strawberries” – Asobi Seksu
11. "Ain't No Other Man" - Christina A.
12. "I'm Talkin To You" - T.I.
13. "Launch Yourself" - Adem
14. "Get Myself Into It - The Rapture
15. “Go Baby Power Now” - Puffy AmiYumi
16. "Tell Me What You Want" - The Pipettes

Embarrassed to admit I loved:
“Call Me When You’re Sober” – Evanesence (Both the track and the video.)

Best Live Shows 2006
1. Amadou & Mariam @ Central Park Summerstage (July 16)
2. The Ditty Bops @ Spiegeltent
3. Regina Spektor @ Town Hall (Sept 27)
4. Radiohead @ The Theater at Madison Square Garden (June 13)
5. Devotchka @ Spiegeltent
6. The Billy Nayer Show @ The Knitting Factory (June 30)
7. Dresden Dolls @ Webster Hall (April 22)
8. Jens Lekman @ Bowery
9. Joanna Newsom/Neko Case @ McCarren Park Pool
10. Damsel & Fly @ Fat Baby (January)
11. Cadence Weapon @ The Knitting Factory
12. La Laque @ Mercury Lounge
13. Talib Kweli @ B.B. Kings (April 15)
14. Neko Case @ Webster Hall (April 7)
15. Metric @ Webster Hall ((March 10)
16. Bloc Party (yeah, I know) @ McCarren Park Pool
17. Nada Surf @ Webster Hall (March 8)
18. Belle & Sebastian/New Pornographers @ Nokia Theater Times Sq. (March 3)
19. Big Daddy Kane (opening for MF Doom) @ Nokia Theater Times Sq. (Jan 26)

Why did I pay good money to see:
1. Boyz 2 Men @B.B. Kings (July 15)
2. Madonna @ Madison Square Garden
(No seriously, why did I?)

Best on the Big Screen 2006:
1. Red (Kieslowski)
2. The Departed
3. Repulsion (Polanski)
4. Little Miss Sunshine
5. Dave Chappelle's Block Party
6. The Science of Sleep
7. Little Children
8. Casino Royale

Weirdest shit I saw all year:
Drawing Restraint 9 (I still heart you Bjork.)

Gingerbread House-Making Challenge!

Over the past year or so The Food Network has managed to completely infiltrate my soul, but although my obsessive intake of Iron Chef America, Alton Brown's Good Eats and Bobby Flay Throwdown stokes my adventurous eating habits and inner food critic, these programs usually do little to awaken my long-dormant chef/culinary creativist.

The one show that really pushes me to the brink of pots and pans is the "Challenge" series, where professional pastry chefs battle each other in the construction of sugar sculptures and themed cakes and pastries. Edible arts and crafts are right up my alley and when I caught a Gingerbread Challenge on television a few weeks ago I started to build hope around the gingerbread house as a project I could tackle, even in my tiny, near-kitchenless apartment.

But what fun is building the gingerbread house without the "challenge" of kicking all your friends' asses in a friendly competition? Hence, the gestation of Miss Stacia and Jay-Z's First (Annual??!!) Gingerbread House-Making Challenge!

We hosted the competition Sunday afternoon at Jay Z's apartment where Jaz provided some scrumptious brunch for our competitors, and I provided most of the building supplies.



All of the white icing once found on the UWS now resides here.


We decided to go the graham cracker route because, let's face it, seven people can't cook real gingerbread with only one oven and besides, I'm no Betty Crocker to begin with. The full set of rules decided upon by Miss Jay-Z were laid out as follows:

1.Contestants can start building their houses as soon as they arrive.

2.Each individual (or team) is responsible for acquiring their own basic materials (graham crackers and or actual gingerbread if you're brave, icing, candy, etc.), but we will provide emergency supplies, utensils and sweets for additional flair. Giving some thought to what you want to build before Sunday (so you can pick up the necessary components) is especially advised.

3a.Judging will commence at 5:45pm.

3b.Because we believe in fairness above all else, Stacey Brook will serve as both judge and contestant.

4.Points will be awarded for: creativity, execution, resemblance of house to various New York City structures, flirting with Jasmine, bringing beer/other drink, helping clean up the apartment, cooking Stacey and Jasmine dinner, etc.

5.Points will be deducted for: blah-ness of structure, the lameness of non-participation, leaving a mess.


Most of our guests arrived pretty close to starting time at 2pm, and got right down to work.


The Harvard Gingerbread House-Making Club. Pass the protractor.

The first person finished was ma soeur, the lovely and talented Miss Raquel, who sort of cheated by using an OJ carton as her base, but who had one of the loveliest-looking end products because of it. Definitely the closest to the traditional holiday-style confectionary houses, Raquel's little cottage was lined in licorice and surrounded by a blue icing and M&M moat. The edible abode could have certainly been the demise of Hansel and Gretel.


Love the ironically appropriate box copy.

Jay-Faust was the next to finish, although not be her own volition. Weak infrastructure eventually caused the collapse of her graham cracker Flatiron Building, a sad defeat for the 1999 High School East Holiday Bûche Champion.


"Voulez vous bûcher avec moi?"

The other contestants completed their gingerbread (graham cracker) masterpieces soon after, and included Eric’s homage to,
umm, Eric:



A “brothel in the red light district”:



And a house made almost completely out of gingerbread men, which I thought was the coolest idea ever, hence my disqualifying its creator from the winner's circle:



I was pretty much the last one to finish. From the beginning I had my heart set on making a "Jewgerbread House." I bought silver and blue M&M’s in Times Square (at 9 dollars a pound at the M&M store, mind you. Holy ish.) for proper decorative accent, and planned a special signifying detail for the front of my piece, but I wasn’t exactly sure how to go about the construction of the building itself until I got down on the floor an played with my grahams. And then the epiphany hit:


You can’t go wrong with six corners.

I am something of a perfectionist, and it took me almost three hours to build, ice and decorate this sucker, but once I finished I was quite pleased. Especially when it came time to add my major accenting detail:


Unroll for edible Torah Portion.

Once the last chocolate button was secured in place, I stood up and took about ninety seconds to deliberate before declaring myself the official winner of the 2006 Gingerbread Challenge!


Six months of shaky waitressing helped prepare me for this moment.

Jay-Z you owe me a clock radio (our awesome grand prize).

The award winning sculpture now sits on my desk at work, accepting praise and piquing the curiosity of all who pass by. I wonder how long the Jewgerbread house will last. I wonder if I could shellac the whole thing and send it to my grandmother in Florida. Would it make it there in one piece? Would grandma's friends in the senior citizen's community try to consume my waterproofed, culinary work of art?

Will someone from Ace of Cakes please hire my ass already?

The Underappreciated Eating Establishment Series: Tad's Steaks

Back in her Cornell days, Mama Jones’ boyfriend used to take her here.

“If you were lucky someone took you to Tad’s,” she told me.

According to the good woman, a meal for one person cost $3. And I thought my dates were cheap.

My friend Carolina’s parents had their first date at Tad’s, and she quoted an estimated $7 as the price of feeding an individual 12 ounces of flame-broiled stizzeak and a slew of carb-concentrated sides, which seemed a bit more realistic. Carolina has been to Tad’s many times with her folks and claims the prices have skyrocketed since her father wooed her mother over a 1/4 inch thick prime cut and a demi-bottle of rosé.

For me, the main appeal of the Tad’s experience was the potential to eat a red meat lunch for under ten dollars (and live long enough to justify a remedying jaunt to Del Frisco's to wash away the memories of steaks served fast food stylee). Sadly, the times of the bargain meal are truly at an end and unless we’re talking 25 cent Chinatown dumplings or Nicky’s Vietnamese Sandwiches ($3.95 a pop) you're throwing down bones to eat out in this town. If you’re bringing your chick to Tad’s be prepared to throw down a twenty-spot, and then some.

My coworker Frederico and I have been talking about hitting up Tad's since he drunkenly touted its awesomeness at a work birthday party many months ago. After much procrastination we finally set last Friday as the date to chow down and ambled into Tads’ 34th street establishment in the late afternoon of the last and laziest day of the work week.

When we hit the storefront around 2pm the place was still bustling. Frederico and I spent our first ten minutes in Tad's taking in our surroundings as we stood on line, discussing cuts of meat. Both of us ended up ordering the same cut off the menu that was displayed above us in a series of numbered pictures arranged completely without regard to logical numerical order.


Because 7 comes before 4.

After calling out our orders for Tad’s “Traditional Cut Prime Sirloin” to the line chef, we watched her cut two thin, pink, slimy steaks out of their vacuum packaging and slap them to the grill with a sizzle. I ordered my meat medium for the first time in my life. I live for dripping, tender, bloody steak, but I also like living in the absence of severe abdominal pain, thus my taste buds and intestines opted to forge a compromise.

When my meat, a foot long, 6 inches wide and the width of a single subject notebook, came off the grill it landed on a shallow, ten pound ceramic plate that was immediately doused in gravy, no questions asked. A baked potato joined the party and another ladleful of liquid, this time melted butter, was poured onto the overflowing dish. Onions were added by request (and recommended by Caroline) and the plate was finally handed off to it’s future consumer with liquid spillage over the sides of the ceramic an inevitability.

Once the steak plates were resting peacefully on our trays, Frederico and I pushed past the massive wall of beverages - fruit juice flanking cheap bottles of white wine, beer shouldering half-carafes of vinos, red and blush.


A king's selection.

But the real kicker for me was the thirty pre-poured glasses of assorted wine, each capped with a single piece of protective saran wrap.


Sealed for safety!

Frederico and I nudged our trays beyond the alcohol to the cashier where we were rung up for our biftek.

The “Traditional Cut,” which seemed to be the special or at least most popular cut, was $10.99 including a baked potato, a monster piece of slightly undercooked garlic bread and a salad. Charges were accrued for all extras, of course, including:

Sour cream - $ .69
Onions - $ .69
Aquafina - $ 2.00
TOMATOES - $ .69

The tomato charge really got to me. Without tomatoes, salad is food for bunny rabbits. Frederico noted that he doesn't even really LIKE tomatoes, but ended up eating two-thirds of a dollar since he didn't realize we were charged for the acidic fruit until we examined our receipts at the table.

We were brought to our cozy little spot in the Sizzler-esque dining room by the maitre d who, by the way, was at least seventy-years-old and really has no purpose in a restaurant that serves their food cafeteria style. Tad's should just abolish the maitre d position and use his salary to gift their customers with complementary tomatoes.

By the time we actually got down to eating I was motherloving starving. And the food was actually decent. The steak was a little tough, but definitely not unmanageable, and the super-thin gravy lent a flavorful, necessary juice to the super-thin meat. The portions were extraordinary – I swear my steak was the size of your average Frisbee – and even Miss Stacia’s ever-expanding stomach couldn’t house it all. The highlight of the meal for me was the potato, perhaps because it’s typical American mentality these days to deny ourselves the straight-up carbs, but I really do think it was the butter that made the tater so delectable. It turns out that drenching baked potatoes in butter sauce is really the most efficient way to coat your spuds in the salt and fat you truly crave.

And globs of sour cream don’t hurt either.

All-in-all, steak and potato for lunch was a nice way to change up the routine, but at fifteen bucks when you’re expecting to spend ten, it was kind of a rip. For eight more dollars I’ve got a choice cut filet with a fancy vegetable at an established eatery with a wine list and a hostess and chairs that don’t put my ass to sleep. But I won’t have the references to parental romances budding in the seventies, and plates dripping with juices, and flames licking thirty steaks simultaneously, and wine covered in cellophane, and sometimes the ability to revel in those things makes it worth occasionally going for the medium instead of the rare.

Miss Stacia on Ice

(Brought to you by Monday's Company Holiday Party at Central Park's Wollman Rink)

I was skating so much I missed the party. I didn't think I would enjoy it as much as I did, but after what had to have been ten skateless years, I took to that ice like a lezzie to the poonan. I dove right in and for two-and-a-half hours, I barely came up for air.

What started as a relaxed recreational activity quickly became an obsessively athletic pursuit as I sped around the rink in an attempt to perfect my form and make up for missing my workout in the AM. I even learned to skate backwards a bit, weaving my uncomfortably restrained ankles in and out of tiny, propelling figure-eights through a coned-off instruction area in the center of the rink. Sadly, my commitment to sport prevented me from properly socializing and taking advantage of the open bar with the work peeps, but luckily one of my many media-savvy coworkers recorded the highlights of the event and cut a quick video that gives a pretty entertaining overview of what the dub room players were up to from rinktime right through the Irish pub after party.

Keep an eye out for one of my three grand falls (I averaged about one hearty spill an hour) and see if you can get a glimpse at the Spanish dancer/lacy "goth child" skating costume I put together for the occasion. I was going for Pretty Pretty Ice Princess...Of The Night.

Oh and one more thing. It's not a burp, I swear:

Theme Song

An anthem for women who are wired to repeat their mistakes:

Dresden Dolls - Bad Habit

Taking Inventory

Although I've passed my local Tower Records a number of times since the liquidation announcement, I haven't had the heart to take my final tour of Broadway and 61st's familiar two-floor establishment until this afternoon. I am one of the few music fans who still enjoys buying physical CDs (although even I will admit that after I scan the liner notes once and load the music to my computer, the discs land on a stack of a hundred others, collecting dust), but there isn't a place to shop for music in my immediate hood. There is a fairly large and comprehensive branch of Kim's on the West side in the 100s, but I am almost always traveling downtown from my abode in the 80s, and the Tower skirting the northern edge of Lincoln Center has always been the most convenient outlet for satisfying my music needs. The store's catalog was never deep enough to quell every obscure itch, or indie rock craving, but my Tower proudly offered up "Fishscale" at 9am sharp the Tuesday of its release, and that's good enough for me.

Somewhere in the middle of a recent hip-hop post, Tom Briehan offered up some observations about the closing Tower stores, comparing them to graveyards and talking about the entertaining resigned relaxedness of the remaining Tower employees. Thinking about these reflections as I approached my NYC** Tower I was finally curious enough to go inside. Also, the condemnation sign in the window reading "Last 10 Days" assured me that although there were bound to be a few tempting items left for purchase, I wouldn't be walking into a probable spending spree (at discount, but still...).

**Note: There is a Tower on LI that has always been my record store, and it's going to tear me up to return home and see that corner storefront gutted.

A couple of today's Tower Records discount deals:

1. Every rap album costs $1.
2. Every CD is 60% off.

As a result:

1. There is not a single recognizable rap album left on the shelf (I dare you to try and find one.).
2. It's pretty slim pickins in the rock and pop department. Think “Glitter.”

I spent about twenty minutes walking up and down the rock and pop aisles, searching for records I had been meaning to listen to, essentials that were missing from my collection, or anything super-random to try blind for 5 bucks. A lot of the discs that were left were of bands I didn't recognize. Some newer bands with start-up followings had CD's left on the shelves as well. There were no Beatles albums - I'm sure those were the first to fly off the shelves. There were, however, about twenty copies of Blind Melon. Tower's liquidation sale is a popularity/longevity test for all acts in the music industry. If you've really made it (by industry standards), your CDs are gone by now.

I did manage to find a few things to buy as did my lady Lilly, who had great luck in the World section. I imagine pawing through the Foreign Film section upstairs would have proven fruitful as well, but after my thorough scouring of the first floor I was satisfied with my selection, having salvaged four newish albums for the bargain price of 30 dollars. Lilly copped 3 for 10. Ridiculous. My new acquisitions included:

1. Serena Maneesh - Self-titled (Heard a shiteload about this band and their awesome live show, but never got around to 'em. They're loud! And Norwegian!)
2. Grandaddy - Just Like the Fambly Cat (I heart this band, who happen to be the inspiration for one of my all-time favorite rock concert posters. I don’t know how I wasn’t aware they dropped a new album this year. Issue resolved.)
3. Matthew Friedberger – Winter Women/Holy Ghost Language School (A double-disc. Probably would have stayed on my “To Buy” list for a while if it wasn’t so discounted, since I just this month got around to Bitter Tea. Was $19 before discount. Matt’s the expensive sibling.)
4. Puffy Ami Yumi - Splurge (My wild card, and an awesome one at that. Two Japanese chicks who have their own cartoon show and make bubbly rock and pop tunes. After reading a little about the album tonight I was reminded that the group was formed via a major label machine and everything they do is marketed with a ferocity meant to trigger Hello Kitty-style saturation. Inexplicably, I find this to be sort of endearing. Puffy – the group added the “Ami Yumi” when they released in the US to prevent confusion with Puffys of the Diddy variety – have a bunch of big names guesting on this album (Jon Spencer, Butch Walker) and I can’t imagine I will feel anything but love and butterflies and animated kisses for these girls. Also, I have to go to Tokyo, STAT.)

Some other things I noted while perusing the emaciated CD racks (also on sale for $39.95, I believe) at the Tower on Broadway:

Album I half-expected to be around and would definitely have purchased if it had been available: Rod Stewart's Greatest Hits. (Sadly, Lincoln Center is rife with Fans of Rod.)

Disc I was amazed to see still sitting on the shelf: A lone copy of Radiohead - OK Computer.

Which was especially pathetic considering: All copies of Paris Hilton’s album were gone.


So Tower dies in ten days. A chain store I can actually support bites the freaking dust.

Meanwhile, I'm sitting now in the 4th, yes 4th, Starbucks I attempted to work in this evening, the first three -

1. In the Barnes and Nobles on Broadway at 82nd Street
2. At the corner of Broadway and 80th
3. On Columbus at 78th

- being so densely populated, future table occupation seemed like a distant, tall, skim, foam-covered dream. But since there is a Starbucks every two blocks in this city, I have for the last three hours occupied a piece of prime real estate in the Starbucks on Broadway and 75th at the largest table in the place, right next to the front window, a power outlet conveniently within reach.

If only Tower Records had thought to put in some for-pay wi-fi. I totally would have toted my laptop to the record store before camping out for hours among sweatered teddy bears, cheesy Christmas compilations and the odor of burnt, drip coffee.

But alas...

On another sad liquidation note, one of my favorite UWS boutiques, Lord of the Fleas, is closing at the end of the month. LOTF was one of those lifesaver joints where you could get a plain black tank top (that you would wear under EVERYTHING) for twelve bucks, any time of the year. It was also home to funky, completely affordable dresses, jewelry and other accessories that would really dig you out of a hole when, say, you decide you hate everything in your closet and have nothing to wear the day before your company holiday party.

Please afford me this tangent to say that I am not by any means ungrateful or unappreciative of my employer's holiday party planning efforts, HOWEVER -

Tomorrow's holiday party is at Wollman Rink in Central Park. The company is setting up a tent outside of the rink and serving food that "will not be hamburgers and hot dogs." And of course, my coworkers and I will have the option to hit the ice, although I have a feeling some of my cohorts will refuse to allow me to exercise the option NOT to fall flat on my ass in front of all the people I see on a daily basis.

I don't particularly enjoy ice skating, and I'm not super-thrilled about spending three hours in a tent, but what really disappoints me about this setup is mostly the limits placed on my holiday party ensemble by the party location and activity. Since this jam is outside, I have to dress for the weather to a certain extent. And avoid heels just in case we are standing on grass or "dirt" as one coworker predicted. Also, I have to dress for maximum mobility so I have a fighting chance at remaining erect on the rink. This sadly means I can't wear my original outfit as planned:




So I'm reverting to my backup ensemble, which better suits the circumstances:




At least I don't have to give up the glitter.

Since Lord of the Fleas, having been in close-out mode for the last few weeks, was fresh out of matching gold leg warmers, I settled on snagging a gentleman-inspired, brushed blue leather vest to inject new life into my wardrobe. Not quite ice worthy (well, perhaps if worn by Rudy Galindo with some shiny, ball-hugging leggings), but for 22 bucks, a killer find and fashionable parting purchase from an underappreciated UWS gem. I’m sad to see the place go down.

When it all comes down to it, some businesses really do need our dollars and continual support.

So go to Tower Records. Try to find a hip-hop album in that massive stack of one-dollar wackness, and if nothing appeals to you, take your buck to the deli next door and put it towards a forty. Go out to the sidewalk and let some liquor spill to the ground for the death of an era. Then plug in your iPod, click on Ghostface, and move on.