To be continued..

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

2010-03-17T08:05:00Z

We were lucky enough to attend Riverdance live! What an evening!

It's time to spring ahead!

2010-03-14T08:05:00Z

Gilda Radner -

2010-03-13T05:23:00Z

Gilda Susan Radner (June 28, 1946 May 20, 1989) was an American comedienne and actress, best known for her five years as part of the original cast of the NBC sketch comedy series Saturday Night Live, for which she won an Emmy Award. Radner's death at 42 of ovarian cancer helped increase public awareness of the disease and the need for earlier detection and treatment.

Radner gained name recognition as one of the original "Not Ready For Prime Time Players", a member of the freshman group on the first season of Saturday Night Live. She was the first actor cast for the show. Between 1975 and 1980, she created such characters as Roseanne Roseannadanna, an obnoxious woman with wild black hair who would tell stories about the gross habits of celebrities on the show's "Weekend Update" news segment, inspired in name and appearance by Rose Ann Scamardella, a news anchor at WABC-TV in New York City. Other SNL characters included "Baba Wawa," a spoof of Barbara Walters, and Emily Litella, an elderly woman who gave angry and misinformed editorial replies on "Weekend Update" on topics such as "violins on television," the "Eagle Rights Amendment," "presidential erections," and "protecting endangered feces." Once corrected on her misunderstanding, Litella would end her segment with a polite "Never mind." Later on, she would answer Jane Curtin's frustration with a simple "Bitch!" Radner parodied such celebrities as Lucille Ball, Patti Smith, and Olga Korbut in SNL sketches. Radner won an Emmy Award in 1978 for her work on SNL.

In 1979, Radner appeared on Broadway in a successful one-woman show entitled Gilda Radner - Live From New York. The show featured racier material, such as the song Let's Talk Dirty to the Animals. In 1981, the show was filmed as Gilda Live!, co-starring Paul Shaffer and Don Novello, and was released as a film and an album recording.

R.I.P Gilda

Piccirilli

2010-03-12T00:47:00Z

Fernando Sorrentino
Translated by Thomas C. Meehan

For some time now, my bookshelves have been filled to capacity and overflowing. I should have had them enlarged, but wood and labor are expensive, and I prefer to put off these expenses in favor of other, more urgent ones. In the meantime, I've resorted to a temporary solution: I placed the books in flat, and in this way I managed to make better use of the little space available.
     Now it's well known that books - whether they're vertical or horizontal - gather dust, bugs, and cobwebs. I haven't the time, the patience, or the dedication to do the periodical cleaning required.
     On a certain cloudy Saturday a few months ago, I finally decided to take all the books out one by one, give them a dusting off, and run a damp dustcloth over the shelves.
     On one of the lower shelves, I found Piccirilli. Despite the dust in those nooks, his appearance was, as always, impeccable. But I became aware of that only later. At first, he just looked to me like a piece of shoestring or a bit of cloth. But I was mistaken; it was already Piccirilli, from head to foot. That is to say, a complete little man five centimeters in height.
     In an absurd way, it struck me as strange that he should be dressed. Of course, there was no reason for him to be naked, and the fact that Piccirilli is tiny does not warrant our thinking of him as an animal. Stated more precisely, then, I was surprised not so much by the fact that he was dressed as by how he was dressed: a plumed hat, a filmy shirt with point lace edging, a coat with long tails, leather, floppy topped hip boots, and a sword at his waist.
     With his bristly mustache and his pointed, little Vandyke beard, Piccirilli was a tiny living facsimile of D'Artagnan, the hero of The Three Musketeers, just as I remembered him from old illustrations.
     So then, why did I name him Piccirilli and not D'Artagnan, as would seem logical? I think, above all, for two complementary reasons: the first is that his sharp pointed physique literally demands the small i's of Piccirilli and rules out, accordingly, the robust a's of D'Artagnan; the second is that, when I spoke to him in French, Piccirilli didn't understand a word, which demonstrated to me that, since he was no Frenchman, neither was he D'Artagnan.

< 2 >

     Piccirilli must be fifty years old; there are a few silver threads running through his dark hair. I am thus calculating his age the way we do with human beings of our size. Except that I don't know whether identical amounts of time are meted out to someone of Piccirilli's tininess. Seeing that he is so diminutive, one tends to think - unjustifiably? - that Piccirilli's life is shorter and that his time passes more swiftly than ours, as we understand the case to be in animals or insects .
     But who can know that? And even in the event that it is so, how does one explain the fact that Piccirilli wears seventeenth-century clothes? Is it conceivable that Piccirilli is nearly four hundred years old? Can Piccirilli, that being who occupies so little space, hold title to so much time? Piccirilli, that being of such fragile appearance?
     I should like to question Piccirilli on these and other matters, and I should like him to respond; and, in fact, I often do put such questions to him and, in effect, Piccirilli answers them. But he can't manage to make himself understood, and I don't even know whether he understands my questions. He does listen to me with an attentive look on his face, and, no sooner do I fall silent, he hastens to answer me. To answer me, yes, but in what language is Piccirilli speaking? Would that he spoke in some language I don't know; the trouble is, he speaks in a language that is nonexistent on earth.
     Despite his physique so suitable to the letter i, Piccirilli's high-pitched little voice only utters words in which the exclusive vowel is the o. Of course, since Piccirilli's voice timbre is so extremely shrill, thato sounds almost like an i. This, however, is a mere conjecture on my part, since Piccirilli never pronounced the i; hence, neither can I guarantee, by way of comparison, that that o is really an o, nor, as a matter of fact, that it is any other vowel.
     With my scanty knowledge I endeavored to determine what language Piccirilli speaks. My attempts proved unfruitful, except that I was able to establish in his speech an invariable succession of consonants and vowels.
     This discovery could have some importance if one were sure that, in reality, Piccirilli speaks some language. Because any language, however poor or primitive it may be, will probably be characterized by a certain linguistic scope. But the fact is that all of Piccirilli's speech is reduced to this phrase: "Dolokotoro povosoro kolovoko."

< 3 >

     I call it "phrase" for the sake of convenience, for who can know what those three words contain? Whether they really are words, and whether there really are three? I have written them like that because those are the pauses I seem to perceive in Piccirilli's single-stringed diction.
     As far as I know, no European language possesses such phonetic characteristics. As for African, American, or Asiatic languages, my ignorance is total. But that doesn't concern me since, on the basis of all evidence, Piccirilli is, like us, of European origin.
     For that reason, I addressed him with sentences in Spanish, English, French, Italian; for that reason, I attempted words in German. In all instances, Piccirilli's imperturbable little voice responded: "Dolokotoro povosoro kolovoko."
     At times Piccirilli irritates me; other times I feel sorry for him. It's obvious he regrets not being able to make himself understood and thereby initiate a conversation with us.
     'Us' includes my wife and me. The intrusion of Piccirilli produced no change in our lives. And the truth is that we esteem and even love Piccirilli, that minuscule musketeer who eats with us in a very mannerly way and who keeps - Lord knows where - an entire wardrobe and personal possessions proportionate to his size.
     Although I can't get him to answer my questions, I do know he is aware that we call him Piccirilli, and he has no objection to being called that. On occasion, my wife affectionately calls him Pichi. This seems to me like a breach of formality. It's true that Piccirilli's smallness lends itself to affectionate nicknames and loving diminutives. But, on the other hand, he's already a mature man, perhaps four centuries old, and it would be more appropriate to call him Mr. Piccirilli, save for the fact that it's very hard to call such a tiny man Mister.
     In general, Piccirilli is quite proper and demonstrates exemplary behavior. At times, however, he playfully attacks flies or ants with his sword. At other times he sits in a little toy truck, and, pulling it by a string, I take him for long rides around the apartment. These are his meager amusements.
     Does Piccirilli get bored? Can he be alone in the world? Are there other creatures of his kind? Where can he have come from? When was he born? Why does he dress like a musketeer? Why does he live with us? What are his intentions?

< 4 >

     Useless questions repeated hundreds of times, to which Piccirilli monotonously responds: "Dolokotoro povosoro kolovoko."
     There are so many things I would like to know about Piccirilli; there are so many mysteries he will carry with him to the grave.
     Because, unfortunately, Piccirilli has been dying for some weeks. We suffered a great deal when he got sick. Seriously ill, we immediately learned. But what treatment could be devised to cure him? Who would dare surrender the tiny body of the being called Piccirilli to a physician's judgment? What explanation would we give? How were we to explain the unexplainable, how speak of something about which we are ignorant?
     Yes, Piccirilli is leaving us. And, helpless, we shall let him die. I'm already concerned about knowing what we're to do with his almost intangible corpse. But I'm more concerned, infinitely more concerned, over not having delved deeply into a secret that I held in my hands and that, without my being able to prevent it, will escape me forever

Remy Zero

2010-03-08T21:47:00Z

I'm still so bummed that Remy Zero broke up. Villa Elaine is one of my all time favorite CDs

Baileys Irish Cream Chocolate Chip Cheesecake

2010-03-07T03:24:00Z

2 hours | 30 min prep

SERVES 8 , 1 cake

Crust

1/2 cup toasted pecans, cooled and crushed
2 cups chocolate Oreo cookie crumbs
1/4 cup sugar
6 tablespoons melted butter

Filling

2 1/4 lbs cream cheese, at room temp
1 2/3 cups sugar
5 eggs, at room temp
1 cup baileys original irish cream
1 tablespoon vanilla
1 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips

Coffee Cream Topping

1 cup chilled whipping cream
2 tablespoons butter
1 teaspoon instant coffee powder
chocolate curls or Skor English toffee bit, for decoration on top

Crust:.
Mix all ingredients.
Press into a 10" spring form pan and up the sides one inch.
Bake at 325 for 7-10 minute.
Filling:.
Beat cream cheese with electric mixer until smooth.
Beat sugar in gradually, and then add eggs one at a time.
Blend in Bailey's and vanilla.
Sprinkle half of chocolate chips over crust.
Spoon in filling.
Sprinkle with remaining chocolate chips.
Bake at 325 degrees approximately 1 hour and 20 minutes or until puffed, springy in center and golden brown. Place a pan of water on bottom rack of oven while baking to keep it moist.
Cool cake completely.
Coffee Cream Topping:.
Beat all ingredients and spread over cooled cake.
Top with chocolate curls or Skor bits.
*NOTE: Be sure to make and refrigerate at least one day before serving.

Craig Ferguson

2010-03-04T18:05:00Z

The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

2010-03-02T23:58:00Z

I hadn't heard of The Hunger Games trilogy until my bookworm friend, Kathie, mentioned it as being riveting. Well, I hied myself to Amazon.com and bought the first two books in the series and then pre-ordered the third, and final, book in the series scheduled to be released in August 2010.

The book is set in the future and revolves around an annual competition called The Hunger Games which is actually a lethal punishment handed down by the capital after a revolt 75 years in the past.

I zipped through the first book but it was the second in the series, Catching Fire, that had me glued to my seat.

Here is a review of each of the books that I borrowed from Amazon.com. I am so glad that I was made aware of these books. Good reads!

Hunger Games:

From Publishers Weekly

Starred Review. SignatureReviewed by Megan Whalen TurnerIf there really are only seven original plots in the world, it's odd that boy meets girl is always mentioned, and society goes bad and attacks the good guy never is. Yet we have Fahrenheit 451, The Giver, The House of the Scorpion—and now, following a long tradition of Brave New Worlds, The Hunger Games. Collins hasn't tied her future to a specific date, or weighted it down with too much finger wagging. Rather less 1984 and rather more Death Race 2000, hers is a gripping story set in a postapocalyptic world where a replacement for the United States demands a tribute from each of its territories: two children to be used as gladiators in a televised fight to the death.Katniss, from what was once Appalachia, offers to take the place of her sister in the Hunger Games, but after this ultimate sacrifice, she is entirely focused on survival at any cost. It is her teammate, Peeta, who recognizes the importance of holding on to one's humanity in such inhuman circumstances. It's a credit to Collins's skill at characterization that Katniss, like a new Theseus, is cold, calculating and still likable. She has the attributes to be a winner, where Peeta has the grace to be a good loser.It's no accident that these games are presented as pop culture. Every generation projects its fear: runaway science, communism, overpopulation, nuclear wars and, now, reality TV. The State of Panem—which needs to keep its tributaries subdued and its citizens complacent—may have created the Games, but mindless television is the real danger, the means by which society pacifies its citizens and punishes those who fail to conform. Will its connection to reality TV, ubiquitous today, date the book? It might, but for now, it makes this the right book at the right time. What happens if we choose entertainment over humanity? In Collins's world, we'll be obsessed with grooming, we'll talk funny, and all our sentences will end with the same rise as questions. When Katniss is sent to stylists to be made more telegenic before she competes, she stands naked in front of them, strangely unembarrassed. They're so unlike people that I'm no more self-conscious than if a trio of oddly colored birds were pecking around my feet, she thinks. In order not to hate these creatures who are sending her to her death, she imagines them as pets. It isn't just the contestants who risk the loss of their humanity. It is all who watch.Katniss struggles to win not only the Games but the inherent contest for audience approval. Because this is the first book in a series, not everything is resolved, and what is left unanswered is the central question. Has she sacrificed too much? We know what she has given up to survive, but not whether the price was too high. Readers will wait eagerly to learn more.Megan Whalen Turner is the author of the Newbery Honor book The Thief and its sequels, The Queen of Attolia and The King of Attolia. The next book in the series will be published by Greenwillow in 2010.

Catching Fire:

rFrom School Library Journal

Starred Review. Gr 7 Up--Every year in Panem, the dystopic nation that exists where the U.S. used to be, the Capitol holds a televised tournament in which two teen "tributes" from each of the surrounding districts fight a gruesome battle to the death. In The Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, the tributes from impoverished District Twelve, thwarted the Gamemakers, forcing them to let both teens survive. In this rabidly anticipated sequel, Katniss, again the narrator, returns home to find herself more the center of attention than ever. The sinister President Snow surprises her with a visit, and Katniss’s fear when Snow meets with her alone is both palpable and justified. Catching Fireis divided into three parts: Katniss and Peeta’s mandatory Victory Tour through the districts, preparations for the 75th Annual Hunger Games, and a truncated version of the Games themselves. Slower paced than its predecessor, this sequel explores the nation of Panem: its power structure, rumors of a secret district, and a spreading rebellion, ignited by Katniss and Peeta’s subversive victory. Katniss also deepens as a character. Though initially bewildered by the attention paid to her, she comes almost to embrace her status as the rebels’ symbolic leader. Though more of the story takes place outside the arena than within, this sequel has enough action to please Hunger Games fans and leaves enough questions tantalizingly unanswered for readers to be desperate for the next installment.
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

Tell Me Why...

2010-03-01T00:01:00Z

This is outstanding.... A 13 year old boynamed Declan Galbraith wrote the lyrics and composed this world song. Then he turns around, sings and records it.

It's still winter...

2010-02-28T03:44:00Z

Two Feet of Snow

Fashion Week Beauty Trend: Shadowlands

2010-02-24T08:10:00Z

Eye shadows of all hues took center stage during New York Fashion Week - Fall Fashion Week in NYC February 16th - On

Caroline Herrera

Marc Jacobs

Derek Lam

Lela Rose

Oscar de la Renta

Donna Karan

Jason Wu

Diane von Furstenberg