Potpourri without the pesky perfume.

Some time ago I said that I was going to try to be more more email-esque in my postings. But it's hard. My life is generally pretty dull and that makes spicing things up more difficult than it should be. But, like Amélie, I'll try to jazz up the banal, but without an adorable bob.

Essentially, at this point, all I am thinking about is Europe. The days are dwindling down and there is still a good amount to do. It's been a while since I've been so goal-oriented: thinking of things to do before I go, what to bring, what I'm going to see, what I should see, how insanely broke I'll be at the end of it, et cetera, et cetera... I imagine this is what a pregnant woman feels like, except instead of changing diapers, you're cheesing in front of national monuments and eating your weight in gelato. Also, there are no stretch marks where I am going... except for gelato-related stretch marks.

Today is opening day at Fenway Park and I'm 4 blocks from the Stadium. The game starts at 2:15, which means I'm probably going to be heading home the same time as thousands of insane Bostonians with Sox hats yelling something about "Manny being Manny."

Thus begins the never-ending baseball season.

As for other things, I cooked some more this weekend. Parmesan mashed potatoes and chicken baked with white wine, leeks and pancetta... at least pancetta was the plan. I had to substitute smoked bacon in its place, which would have been ok, had I expected the major change in cooking time. Another lesson learned: a little fresh rosemary goes a LONG way. The chicken was alright, but the leeks were goners. On the plus side, the potatoes came out really well and the brownies I threw together with the help of Mr. Jamie Oliver were frickin' awesome. Here's the recipe (I did without the dried cherries and walnuts, but it's extra fantastic with a little whipped cream.)

Fifteen Chocolate Brownies

Ingredients:

1 cup plus 2 tablespoons unsalted butter
7 oz dark chocolate, 70% cocoa solids, broken up
Optional: 2 1/2 oz dried sour cherries
Optional: 1 1/3 oz chopped nuts
3/4 cup cocoa powder, sifted
1/2 cup all-purpose flour, sifted
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 3/4 cup superfine sugar
4 large free-range eggs

Optional: zest of 1 orange
Optional: 9fl oz crème fraiche

Directions:

Preheat oven to 350ºF. Line a 12 inch rectangular baking tin with parchment paper. In a large bowl over some simmering water, melt the butter & chocolate & mix until smooth. Add the cherries & nuts (if using) & stir together. In a separate bowl, mix together the cocoa, flour, baking powder & sugar, then add this to the chocolate & stir well together. Beat the eggs & mix in until you have a silky consistency.

Pour your mixture into the tray & place in the oven for around 25 minutes. Don’t overcook them, the skewer should not come out clean. The brownies should be slightly springy on the outside but still gooey in the middle. Allow to cool in the tray then transfer to a large chopping board & cut into chunky squares. Serve with a dollop of crème fraîche mixed with orange zest or eat them as they are.

Sound awesome? It is. I was tempted to just eat the batter, but chose the conventional slightly more cooked version over the version requiring a spoon and complete lack of shame.

A bit of infrastructure business: I'm thinking of changing the blog name. It seems like a bit of a misnomer, seeing as how it's been some time since I've really done any art... and also, this blog doesn't really paint much of a portrait, either. I'm hoping that I'll be struck with inspiration for more art, a new blog name, or a more vivid autobiographical approach when I head abroad in twelve days. Holy crap.

Twelve days.

Perfection just takes so much WORK.

Rob: WHAT fucking bullshit
A-Town: I KNOW
A-Town: i am upset
Rob: even you are! shit

I like Bill Bellchick. While his habit of cutting off the sleeves of his sweatshirts is wasteful (what does he do with the sleeves??), it's almost endearing in an obsessive sort of way. He also looks like the kind of guy who, if he were your uncle, would never say much more to you other than "stay out of trouble"... but come Christmas, would give you an envelope with an obscene amount of cash in it. Randy Moss can fly. Welker is the spry hobbit of the NFL. Bruschi is an inspirational made-for-TV-movie waiting for happen. And Tom Brady... well.

He's Tom Brady.

So I was disappointed with tonight's game. Both teams were tough, but... so it goes.

But I won't say that the NY Giants coach needs to crawl back under the bridge from whence he came. Or that one of the owners of the Giants looks like a pedophile. Or that Eli Manning was a quarter of a chromosome away from being the slow kid who stuck his hand in the Fry-alator at McDonald's...

I will say this, however: I'm sorry, Boston. It is going to be a depressing week. And I'm up past my bedtime. The only thing worse than bloated, hung-over, exuberant Catholics is bloated, hung-over, depressed Catholics - a people who thrive on mourning, loss and misplaced guilt and anger. And I'll be stuck in the tin can known as the MBTA with them all week.

Let the grouching begin!

But as I finish my highball, I'll remind myself that 18-0 ain't too freaking shabby and shall now start chanting the Bostonia mantra of "next yeeah, baby!" To cheer myself up, I shall post a picture of Tom Brady holding a baby goat. Simply because such a thing exists.

Freezing cold temperatures = pointless posting!

This weekend has been quite low key, keeping in tone with the frigid temperatures. Yesterday, I didn't do much of anything, except pick up my new glasses (in black with blue highlights, which I would say fall under the category of "chic librarian"). Very exciting, I know. I also watched A Mighty Wind, which I saw years ago, but my love was rekindled by my relatively new appreciation for folk music and Parker Posey. The comedy is ridiculous, but dialed down to the point of deadpan absurdity. I recommend it and any other Christopher Guest mockumentary.

The Patriots are going to the Superbowl. Not exactly a surprise for a team that's 18-0 this season (but boy, will their faces be red if they lose the big one to Peyton's goofy little brother.) While I don't follow football very closely at all, I have to tip my hat to them - really exceptional all season long. Nicely done, Mr. Brady.

I had the honor of talking to both Miss Rachel and The Reginator today. "But how - how I say - did you talk to Regina, who is in the exotic far off land of Turkey?" Well, we used Skype, which I downloaded while I was in Italy, but never had the opportunity to use for anything other than instant messaging. As it turns out, it's pretty freaking awesome. The sound quality's great, there's very little lag... and oh yeah - it's free! I just use my laptop's built-in microphone and my regular speakers. You can surf the intertubes while you're talking and there's no pressure to cram in some amazing, life-changing conversation in as short a time as possible because it's freeeeee. So we were able to be our natural, idiotic selves. It was wonderful.

And it's official. Rachel and I will be staying Hostal Moratin in Valencia while we're there for four days, immediately post-Amalgamation. In terms of hostels, it looks somewhat classy, though rather spartan. While on the phone and looking at the hostel's photos, we both had the same reaction (in the Eurotrash voice): You like chair? Mmmm... we have chaaaair. There is only one chair... but it's so chic. We're either going to kill each other or end up bound by a civil ceremony at the end of this trip... probably the latter as European hostels usually mean double beds. Spicy!

This is completely and utterly unrelated to everything above, but my brother's playing Bioshock, a ridiculously gruesome, but ridiculously awesome computer game. The graphics and locomotion are amazing. The art, production and design detail are insane. Picture a city underwater, circa 1960, if Ayn Rand's ideas were taken seriously by a group of very well funded and very vehement group of people... A sort of disgustingly brutal and beautiful anarchy ensues. I simply enjoy watching it, because playing a game like that would get me frantic and squeamish.

Just leave me my Scrabulous.