Thursday, July 29, 2010

The Philadelphia Story

Now that I’m back living in a city that’s not bursting at the seams with unemployed, aging hippies, flannel clad gen-Xers riding out a long-dead grunge scene, and cars that stop for you when you cross the street (what the heck is up with that??), I didn’t want to waste any time before re- acquainting myself with an art scene that has more to offer than paintings of cute animals and tree stumps. The Woodmere Art Museum (found on the corner of Germantown Avenue and Bells Mill Road in Chestnut Hill) has just the show to help me accomplish this task. Entitled “The Philadelphia Story,” their website describes the exhibition as offering “a unique Philadelphia vision of figurative and narrative painting.” Perfect.
I made haste to visit the museum, which is easily accessible from Center City by car or public trans, as the show will be closing on August 1st. I was greeted by a helpful museum attendant and free admission. Perfect again. In short, I can say the show was great, though not exactly what I expected. But I should note here that I didn’t really know what the heck to expect. The main gallery is quite large, a beautiful space with a sizable balcony and all the natural lighting one could ever hope for. This was a refreshing contrast to the dimly lit museums I visited while on my Hollywood Hajj. I will discuss the curating at LACMA, the Hammer, and 2 of the 3 MOCA sites when I finally debut my highly anticipated doozy of a pilgrimage post, but for now let’s just say the curators in L.A. didn’t seem to want anyone to actually see the work. Kinda like when you purposefully shut the lights off before making out. There’s a reason for hiding in the dark. But the Woodmere had nothing to hide in this exhibition…or so I thought. Cherished readers, allow me to relate what I am calling:

The Full Philadelphia Story
by Lauren Marsella, trusted art show reporter
It was a dark and stormy Sunday. I awoke from a deep sleep to find myself walking through the Woodmere Museum's main gallery, noticing the well thought out placement of the work; the paintings of 17 different artists’ were intermingled on the walls. Then my eyes were opened...spiritually.  Opened to the lies. Opened by an elderly couple speaking shouting at one another in a friendly conversation heated argument. The woman seemed to at least be trying to enjoy the work in the show, but her male counterpart was clearly distraught, even angry. They looked like.........

THIS!

“This here…this is against the U.S. military!” he boomed as he regarded a painting by Ira Upin entitled "Reality Check," which depicts a GI Joe type figure missing part of his leg.
The loud old geezer's main point of contention was that-get this-ALL OF THE WORK HAD BEEN MADE BY COMPUTERS. Or at least that’s what I could gather as I eavesdropped tried to block out the garbled screams of senior citizens. ‘Made by computers? What? This man thinks all these paintings were made by computers?’ My mega-brain attempted to process this notion and came back with one answer: Does Not Compute.
The old dude's persistence grew at the same steady rate of his wife's burgeoning exasperation. The bickering continued, and the gallery was transformed into a hellish pit of elderly noise pollution...
Him: LOOK HERE AT THIS ONE. SEE THE WAY IT’S MADE. DONE ALL BY COMPUTER. AND NOT EVEN DONE WELL!
Her: I DON’T THINK SO, FINE FINE WHATEVER---
Him:--I KNOW THIS I DO THIS FOR A LIVING THIS WAS MADE BY A COMPUTER AND THEY TRIED TO HIDE IT AND LOOK AT THIS!!!---
Suddenly, over their deafening roar came a very familiar sound...

'I know that sound,' I thought to myself. 'That's the sound of a transporter  materialization.' And lo and behold, a studly alien being beamed into the Woodmere Museum before my very eyes.
"You've Got Mail!"
"Er, h-hello," I stuttered, totally in awe of his robotic hunkiness.
"Greetings, Earth woman. Allow me to introduce myself," he began in his automated intonation. God, monotone never sounded so sexy. "I am MikeCole Version 1.3, designed by Steve Jobs, who you may know as the creator of your race's beloved iPad."
"Exsqueeze me? Baking Powder?" I stammered as I just barely managed to unglue my eyeballs from his muscular manly macho muscular perfectly designed components.
"Because I have been programmed to know everything, I am aware of the fact that you are a strict PC user. However, I feel we could still be compatible. Please follow me." This request I eagerly obliged as it was the perfect opportunity to oogle the computer's firm buttocks.


"This first painting is titled 'Trophy,' I made it with oil paints & linen, and it measures exactly 22 by 28 inches in your country's standard system of measurement or 55.88 by 71.12 centimeters in the rest of planet Earth's system of measurement, known only as The Metric System."
"Mmm hmm." Bulging biceps. Bulging. Bulges. Muscles.





"Next we have a painting I was programmed to title 'Snowstorm.' It is also made with oil paint on linen and measures 18 by 14 inches or 45.72 by 35.56 centimeters."
Broad shoulders. Broad shoulders. Manly shoulders. Manly broad shoulders. Strong muscles. Manly muscles. Firm--"Earth woman! Are you listening to me?"
"Yeah, yeah you were saying about the size of your gun barrelsImean your paintings. Yes. Carry on, computer."

"Finally we have a painting I printed out called 'You Are In Command Now, Admiral Piett.' It was my first attempt to provoke what humans call 'laughter' though being a computer with no emotion chip, I will not be able to experience this myself until I am programmed. Will you program me, Earth woman?"
"I thought you'd never ask."

And so, to my pleasant surprise exhilarated astonishment, "The Philadelphia Story" turned out to be a love story.
The End Just the Beginning

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Apocalypse Now Remixed with the Extreme Ingredient of Macaroni

It was recently brought to my attention by my most trusted snack food expert that Doritos has come out with a new flavor: "Late Night All Nighter Cheeseburger". Upon further investigation (because receiving important information like this begs for further investigation), I discovered that Frito-Lay is advertising them with the following tagline:
"Every chip will remind you of your favorite burger joint. The pickles. The onions. Ketchup and mustard. Melted cheese, and flame-kissed beef. Want fries with that?"
Guuuhhh, is that a rhetorical question? Cause methinks most folks who are eatin' cheeseburger flavored Doritos late at night, all night wouldn't give a second thought to accompanying that pig-out with a pile of fries fo' reals. And can I just say that the phrase "flame-kissed beef" sounds really freaking sexual to me not in a good way. Kissed beef. beef. kissed. flames. fire. beef. kissing. *shiver*
The Doritos and Frito-Lay websites are chock full of fascinating material. Big brand name company product websites are a surefire barrel of laughs in my opinion; from their design, the image they've chosen and how seriously they take themselves, this crap can keep me entertained for hours. Granted it doesn't make me wanna buy chips, but I'm not Frito-Lay's target market anyhow. But you know who is? I was able to easily pinpoint the answer to that question after browsing their sites for a minute or two. This is a perfect example of the wealth of knowledge that brand name product websites have to offer. There's a section of the site that lists all the different Doritos flavors. Here's a sampling:
DORITOS® Last Call Jalapeno Popper Flavored Tortilla Chips
DORITOS® Tacos at Midnight Flavored Tortilla Chips
DORITOS® Late Night All Nighter Cheeseburger Flavored Tortilla Chips
They really cornered the market on late night snackers, and by "late night snackers" I'm implying exactly what Frito-Lay is implying:
 target market=hungry, intoxicated people willing to eat anything
God! They're so clever! They've got us by the balls, they do! On top of all this, each page of their site is stamped with another tagline to ensure we don't see through their sneakyflavorbrainwashingtakingadvantageofdrunkandorhighpeople ways and realize this:
"The DORITOS® brand is constantly creating new ways to give you immersive and memorable experiences, to put you in control of the things you love most."
AHHHHHH I love Doritos flavor more than anything else in the world including my friends and family, it's consuming my life, and I'm completely out of control AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Did I mention the world is coming to an end? Yep, it's true, for the Bible tells me so. And I quote:

"But realize this, that in the last days difficult times will come. For men will be lovers of self, lovers of money, boastful, arrogant, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, unloving, unforgiving, malicious gossips, without self-control, brutal, haters of good, treacherous, reckless, conceited, lovers of DORITOS® rather than lovers of god; holding to a form of godliness, although they have denied its power; always learning and never able to come to the knowledge of the truth."
~II Timothy 3:1-5,7
Shit.

Welp, I guess if we're damned if we do and damned if we don't, there's only one thing left to do...make Fritos Pie remixed with the extreme ingredient of macaroni.
Because everybody loves hot dogs and macaroni and cheese and everybody loves Fritos.
 This is so nostalgic. Why not?

Eating something based on nostalgia is probably the worst idea I've ever heard in my life. Think about it. If I personally were to base my diet on nostalgia only, I'd be sucking on the end of a Hershey's Syrup bottle and feasting on my own scabs.
Executive Chef Stephen Kalil, how did you ever learn to spin a bag of Fritos with your hand like that?! Musta mastered that skill at Hack Culinary Institute or perhaps it was when you studied cooking under world-renowned Chef
The Hamburger Helper Glove. I bet this jerkoff is hated in the culinary world the same way that magician dude who went on TV and gave away all the magic secrets is hated in the magic world. Oh well, someday they will both die, go to hell and be flogged by the demon spirits of their dead chef and magician peers for all of eternity. That thought warms my heart.
Now, without further ado...

CHEESY MACARONI FRITOS PIE!!! REMIXED!!
as cut and pasted from the Frito-Lay Website Jawn
*Warning: Do not try this at home unless you desire to be a fat person with ultra diarrhea
Ingredients:
•8 ounces elbow macaroni, cooked
•2 teaspoons oil
•1 4-ounce hot dog, sliced
•4 ounces seasoned milk mixture
•4 ounces cheddar cheese, grated
•½ ounce butter
•¼ cup Chili Cheese Fritos, crushed
•¼ cup mozzarella cheese, shredded
•2 tablespoons Parmesan cheese
•2 tablespoons tomatoes, diced
•1 tablespoon green onions, chopped
Cooking steps:
•Add oil to sauce pan
•Cook hot dog slices until heated and slightly brown
•Add seasoned milk mixture and heat until warm
•Add cheddar cheese, butter and cooked elbow macaroni
•Pour contents of pan into bowl
Preparation steps:
•Separately, mix Chili Cheese Fritos with cheeses
•Pour over bowl and top with additional Parmesan cheese
•Cook in oven until cheese is melted
•Garnish with diced tomatoes and chopped green onions

If you find yourself stumbling around your kitchen, drunkenly attempting to actually cook up this garbage, do me a favor. Don't eat it. Instead, photograph it and submit the picture to one of my favorite websites, This Is Why You're Fat Dot Com, which, if you have never seen before, I command you to go to right now and oogle the heart attacks waiting to happen. The horror, the horror.

Thursday, July 22, 2010

Back on the Horse or Happy Birthday, Brother

Okay, let's get this over with. It's been awhile, so I feel awkward saying this, but here goes: AHEM. Beloved, fair, & faceless audience, I've been neglecting you, and for that....

I'm sorry!.......I'M SORRY!!!

Sometimes, as baseballs get in the way of Ashley Judd's life, life gets in the way of the blog you started when you were living with your parents in your late twenties. While I am still in my late twenties mid-to-late twenties, I am no longer residing with my folks in the Virgin Islands, hence why you have not seen me on this thang for a hot minute. Since my last post, there was a pilgrimage to complete, Michael Jackson coconut heads to box and ship, mothers to kiss goodbye, and most importantly the birthday of the Greatest Nation in the Universe to celebrate which is no small task, even for America's Greatest Living Artist. It requires a buttload of drinkin', eatin', makin' out, and thankfully, all of this accomplished with a little help from my friends.

Speaking of late twenties, birthdays, and gratuitous drinking, I would like to take this opportunity to wish my big brother, Chris Marsella, the most tubular of birthdays ever! Thank you for leaving Mom's womb in working order enough to pop me out, turning me onto Led Zeppelin, giving me the Heimlich Maneuver even when I didn't need it, watching every Pauly Shore movie with me 50 gazillion times, including me in your "Baby Got Back/Kriss Kross" lipsynched medley for our summer daycare talent show, giving me a bloody nose then taking a picture of it and making a photo birthday cake out of it, helping me determine when my underwear needed throwing away by ripping them in half via extreme wedgies, Nuggies, Indian Burns, Say Uncles, Monkey Bites, and for all the times you squeezed my head like a zit or sat on it and farted (frankly, after growing up with you, it's nothing short of a miracle that both my mind and body are intact today, and lookin' so dang fine on top of that, sheeeit). I'd have to say my most cherished Brother Chris memory of all time would be watching Quantum Leap during our summer vacation, eating Mama Celeste pizzas, ignoring our chore lists, and screaming over top one another which episodes we've got under our belts as the opening credits play.  For all this that you have done in your 29 years, in your honor, I say:

EAT SHIT, JERSEY!!!
See ya there, Saturday yo. Until then, please enjoy a little stroll down memory lane....










Ah, that was fun. One last thing, I am working on a doozy of a post summarizing The Hajj. So be patient, dear readers. I'M BACK!