Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Greek Fishermen

...snotty masses of oily, fishy mackerel roe, wrapped in a translucent membrane and poached just until it's lukewarm. Then you bite a hole in the side of the eggsac and squeeze it down your throat like frosting from a piping bag. Except it's not frosting. It's fish eggs.

Greek fishermen have this as breakfast before they go out for the day, chasing it with a shot of warm Ouzo. The oldest of them all, now unable to go to sea, squints through the cataract in his one remaining eye and grunts a surly farewell as they push off from shore. He absently scratches the circular scar on his chest, the sucker-mark from so long ago. He drinks more Ouzo and cleans tiny squid all morning, a small revenge.

If you slit open a Greek fisherman all you get is clam muck and a few gold coins, maybe a clay jar -- and these are only rarely filled with oil, let alone wine. Mostly they're just full of more muck. But every once in a while you come across a rusted telescope, an astrolabe stuck at thirty six degrees, a small bronze cannon covered in mussels.

--Steve Kilian


The Tipsy Parson: November 3 2009

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

2012 Minutes of Mayhem

The mighty K’uhul Ajaw called the royal calendar maker into his throne-room.

Great and noble Tsuk! All praises from The God K be upon you! So what’s the deal with these calendars? They only go to 2012. I mean, you know, the Mayan number for that.

All hail the mighty K’uhul! Unfortunately, that’s the year the world ends. Seems that Neutrinos from the sun will mutate, causing the Earth’s center to boil.

Now Tsuk, you know our Mayan technological know-how is hyped way beyond our primitive state, but even to a primitive Indian like me that sounds like utter bullshit. You’re assigning biological changes to cosmic particles. It doesn’t even make sense.

Nonetheless, that’s what’s going to happen. Our Astrological analyses prove beyond a doubt that the Earth shall boil from within, the planet’s crust will shift causing giant volcanoes, earthquakes and tidal waves. The end of the world shall chase a key doughy faced hero of the future in cartoonishly linear fashion! All the landmarks of the world shall crumble in familiar ways!

Well that sounds pretty dumb, but maybe kind of fun?

Oh, it sounds fun, but the lulls! The horrible lulls will be the world’s undoing! When they should be scrambling for their very lives seemingly intelligent people will stop to talk about their dead wives, or domestic fissures, or to bond with their ex-wives boyfriends. People will urge on the end of the world and when it comes, again and again broken by these endless lulls, the monotonous pattern will make all destruction tedious!

That sounds horrible! Will anyone survive?

Unfortunately, yes. Are you sure you don’t want the details of this Apocalypse spoiled?

Why should I care? I’m not going to see this Apocalypse, and from what you’re saying nor should anyone in their right mind wish to see it. Not even if they take the day off from work and are looking to kill a couple hours in the afternoon. Spoil away!

All the leaders of the world will designate survivors, who will flee to some arks built in China.

They’re going to trust the Chinese? Wouldn’t the Chinese betray everyone else to allow more of their loved ones to survive?

It probably has more to do with global distribution of DVDs than realistic geo-political thinking. Evidently this project won’t be very well thought through. No one will anticipate crowds of people trying to get on the arks. One nice scientist will make a speech about helping as many people as possible and the world leaders will be moved as if they hadn’t considered the logistics of this long running project before. They’ll have the foresight to put cameras in gear-shafts, but they won’t consider the moral quandaries of survival.

That’s all so awful and stupid! Is there nothing we can do to stop it? Develop some technology?

Oh, I’m afraid the Mayan empire will have fallen thousands of years before all this.

Well, it’s probably for the best. We’re a lousy society. Great calendars, but all the human sacrifice, it’s barbaric. Is there some way we can warn the empires of the future?

We shall, but no one will heed the warnings. Even worse no one will heed our warnings about the Mayan number for 2009.

What happens then?

A movie will predict the end. So many precious hours of useful life wasted!

Can we warn them?

It will be for naught. Millions will see this dreadfully boring prophesy. Maybe, maybe after the initial onslaught, we can spare a few stragglers who don’t have anything to do some lonely afternoon, or who might consider renting it.

For the sake of those few, we must warn them. Get chiseling.

--Dan Kilian

Avatarred and Feathered

The House of Wrongs

Friday, November 20, 2009

He’s Herman Van Rompuy

He’s Herman Van Rompuy

Belgian Prime Minister

His name might sound jolly

Or it could seem sinister


But whatever effect

His name might inspire

This president elect

Has got hold of the fire


He’s carrying the torch

For a unified Europe

He’s hot like a scorch

And he’s sweet, like syrup


The kind that you pour

On a thick Belgian waffle

Some say the choice is poor

Some say that it’s awful


Some say he’s obscure

Like they haven’t heard of Belgium

I say Tony Blair

Is mere British bubblegum


Van Rompuy’s the man

For this difficult era

His unanimous election

Was not reached in error


He'll do nothing to blemish

His ceremonial post

This Christian Democrat, Flemish

Will make of it the most


His voice shall be heard

He’ll be both strong and thorough

The currency of the world

Will soon be the Euro


So hail Van Rompuy!

Your rise I announce

A name as fun to say

As it’s hard to pronounce


Van Rompuy Van Rompuy

I’ll say it again

The leader for Europeae

And prince among men


--Dan Kilian

Batman vs. The Taliban

Stephen Hawking Contemplates The Void

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Twitter vs. Facebook

I have twice as many Facebook friends as I have Twitter followers. After banging my head against Myspace so I could have as many friends as possible, I've lost the urge to hustle these platforms. I actually seem to know who most of my Facebook friends are. I'm less person oriented on Twitter.  I accumulated followers, mostly strangers, for a while, and now all new followers seem to be porn or How To Market on the Internet oriented.

I only post the "good stuff" on Facebook, stuff I think will be seen as funny. I don't post the filler. I know, dedicated readers of Klog will be shocked that I consider some posts (As opposed to this one) filler.

I stick everything up on Twitter. It's my dumping ground, where everyone is advertising to everyone.

Today I stuck up what I thought was an amusing bit on Facebook --

Avatarred and Feathered: a bunch of fake dialogue from the movie Avatar. I also posted some silliness my brother made -- One Great Wisdom and One Great Truth: some obscene version of Aha's "Take On Me" and some insight into the concept of  "dickballs" --on Twitter.

The Twitter post got more than four times the hits. Now bear in mind, this blog (if you want to call it that. I call it an ever expanding masterpiece)  is on the long, long slender end of the long tail, so the number of hits is so small as to defy easy statistical analysis, but nonetheless the truth seems to be clear. Twitter beats Facebook for self promotion, and hustling strangers beat actual friends.

Now, Twitter doesn't just involve followers. Everything posted gets seen by everybody on Twitter who checks out "Everybody". This doesn't really change the fact that Twitter, based on this loose, accidental experiment seems to be the place to promote your material.

At least if you're not hustling strangers on Facebook.

--Dan (I Don't Really Get Online Networking)Kilian

The Friends of Greta

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Our Greatest Hits, Yolks Semi-Intact

We’ve recently had our 300th post here at Klog, so for a sampling of our greatest hits, we’re breaking it down. This site is purportedly about “Politics, Culture and Abject Nonsense” even though it’s really supposed to be about my band, The Ks it’s really about filling in a new post every weekday, regardless of whether or not we “have something.” Nonetheless, we’re breaking it down by purported categories, with the yolks purportedly intact. Here’s a top ten for Politics, Culture and Abject Nonsense. Enjoy!



Khomeini and Khamenei: A Dialogue

Ayatollah channels Ayatolla, but who’s channeling whom?

Nicey Nice: The Obama Crowley Gates Beer

Remember the Crowley Gates Beer? That would be a good name for a pseudo-micro-brew. Crowleygates.

Mark Twain, Karl Marx, and Socrates: At It Again

Satire doesn’t get any more high-brow than this.

Batman vs. The Taliban

Batman: nation-builder or vigilante run amok?

Terminator: No Salvation

Arnold fights the machine.

Signs We’re In A New Depression

As if you need more.

My Obama Encounter By Jacob Bartelby, Intern to the Department of Health Bureaucracy Department Building 15

Our man Bartelby meets the Baracker up close.

A Nonsensational Speech On the Detainee Abuse Photos by Barack Obama

The kind of speech a president should make, if he’s the President of Iran.

The New Town Hall

Here’s how I’d take on the teabaggers.

The C Word

I'm so glad the Health Care debate is over.

Humanizing Death From Above by MQ1-178

A very self-aware essay.

A Gay Six Way Marriage Celebration

One of these states might be back off the map, but no matter.



The Video: Last Trip To The Well

This is why we do Klog. The band!

Top Trek: A Pan Fiction!

For food geeks and classic geeks.

Project Run For Your Lives

Heidi brings down the Klum.

Here’s What I Was Thinking At 5:30 Today When I Should Have Been Sleeping

If you’re a Neil Diamond fan, or just heard there was once a man with that name.

Why I Listen to Monster Magnet

Why DOES Steve listen to Monster Magnet?

Dropping Science

The science of Rap, and the Rap of science.

The Fascinating Then Curious Then Fairly Blah Case of Benjamin Button


The Great Defeat in Georgia

If you’re a Charlie Daniels fan, or just heard there was once a man with that name.

The Michelangelo Project

You’ve heard of this guy.

White Wedding

Billy Idol, cocaine, heartfelt speeches.

Michael J. Fox’s Bad Day

Michael J. Fox has a bad day.

Team America World Police: I’m Just Saying It’s a Classic

Good movie!

Inconsistencies in the New Star Trek Movie

Good movie!

Abject Nonsense


The Critic Masturbates

I still like this early effort. Warning! Has references to masturbation!

Hard Case

Baby won’t go down easily.

Regarding the Events off of Mayburn Key, July 23rd, 1964

Gilligan’s Island! Shit makes me laugh.

The Putt Putt: World’s Best Mini Golf, Holes 1-9

It’s about mini-golf!


What happens to The Yankees when baseball’s over?

Imagined Conversation with Ray Parker Jr.

Imagine having a conversation with Ray Parker Jr, composer of “Ghostbusters.”

40 Years Ago Today

Mooning the Moon mission.

July 4th, 1777

330 years ago.


Believe it!


Jefferson is evil!

Demon Brand Choco-Mallows

Demon chocolate is evil!


Tuesday, November 17, 2009

New Business Idea

Beat-Off-in-the-Corner Man!

Women spend hundreds of dollars during bachelorette parties to see muscular men prance about half naked, glistening with oil.  After they get all excited from that, they're hungry for more.  However, most women are not ready to take that big step to actually hiring a male prostitute.  But now there is a service that fills the gap between exotic dancer and full-on gigolo.  For a modest fee, interested customers can hire one of our trained staff to masturbate in the corner, achieving full release while they watch (or don't).

The Beat-Off-in-the-Corner Man will also come to (and at) your event, and is an excellent option for bachelorette parties, corporate executive events, bat mitzvahs, holiday parties – you name it.

--Steve Kilian

Project Run For Your Lives

Felix From The Flame

Monday, November 16, 2009

I Can't Get It Together mP3, Words and Chords

can't get it together

G#            C#7              F#                    E  F#  D#7

Got no gas in the tank got no cash in the bank

Got no shiny black shoes can’t keep up with the news

G#    C#7     F#   C#7     G#     C#7     F#     E     2x

Every time I see my mother she cries and tells me I’m a wreck

Every time I see my dad he frowns and rips me off another check

D#7                 E7                                                      1x

Dad what you expect?

A      D7     F      D7     A      D7      F        D7     3x

I can’t get it together (Can’t get it together             doo wah doo wah)

I can’t get it together (Can’t get it together        doo wah doo wah doo

Wah                 doo wah doo wah doo wah)

G#          C#7           F#              E  F#  D#7       2x

I’ve got stains on my shirt and my whole body hurts

Don’t wear no fancy watch everything I want costs too much

G#    C#7     F#   C#7     G#     C#7     F#     E     2x

Every time I see my mother she tells me about her other son

Every time I see that brother of mine he tells me how I could have been someone

D#7                 E7                                                      1x

Instead of what I’ve done

A      D7     F         D7    A     D7   F     D7        13 ½ x

I can’t get it together can’t get it together           doo wah doo wah

I can’t get it together can’t get it together        doo wah doo wah doo

Wah                doo wah doo wah doo wah I haven’t

Written to my one and only friend in over a year we haven’t spoken since

And I can’t get it together I know a

Man with the money and the means as well, and another in the city he’s ready to sell

And I can’t get it together If you’d

Give me a minute I could figure it out there’s all these little bits of ideas floating about

And I can’t get it together Well if you  dblhits

Hadn’t of gone I wouldn’t be this way but it’s the way that I am that drove you away

And I can’t get it I can’t get it I can’t get it I Can’t get it

Together                                               I can’t get it together             doo

wah doo wah doo wah             doo wah doo wah doo wah                  doo

wah doo wah doo waaaaah

I Can’t Get It Together

G#                         C#7              F#                    E  F#  D#7    2x

G#       C#7     F#        C#7          G#       C#7          F#         E          2x

D#7                 E7                    1x

A      D7    F     D7       A         D7       F          D7 3x CHORUS

G#                         C#7              F#                    E  F#  D#7    2x

G#       C#7     F#        C#7          G#       C#7          F#         E          2x

D#7                 E7 1x

A         D7       F                      D7       A         D7       F          D7 13 ½ x

Chorus and out. Double hits on time 10 and 11.

--Dan Kilian, performed by The Ks

Dropping Science


Thursday, November 12, 2009

Heroes of a Lesser Power # 46

They lay together in the afterglow. Then she flopped to her back.

“Shit. I forgot to take out the trash.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it."

He strode naked out of the bedroom. A post-coital man, ready to take out the trash, macho as could be.

“Wait! Your clothes.” They remained in a pile on the floor at the foot of the bed.

He was still euphoric, a little cocky. Maybe he should tell her. No, it was still too soon.

He knotted the garbage bag and lifted it from it’s waste-can. He made his way down the steps to the front door.

“Don’t go out naked! The neighbors…”

“I’m okay.”

He stopped in the foyer, closed his eyes and concentrated. “Pants on!” he whispered.

Immediately he was clothed from the waist down. Red corduroys. For the umpteenth time he wondered how the power chose the pants. Was it random? Or some cosmic commentary he couldn’t glean? Were these someone else’s pants? They seemed clean.

All this raced through his mind as he took out the trash. He would shed the pants back in the kitchen and they would be gone when they came out again.

He told her he’d thrown a towel around himself. She’d looked at him funny, but why should she disbelieve him? He should have just come back for his regular pants, but he’d been feeling good, and didn’t want to disrupt his flow. They settled back into bed, the woman, the man, and his secret.

--Dan Kilian

Wednesday, November 11, 2009


Deliver Us From Deliverers, For The Sake of the Unborn

By Bishop Ramon Clement

bishop danWe all know that abortion is controversial. As a Pro-Life Catholic Bishop, I urge people to consider the rights of the unborn. Still, I know that people disagree, and that’s a reality of life in a democracy. While the debate rages on about the legalization of infanticide, can’t we as members of a democracy respect the half of America who feel a holocaust is occurring, and not use federal dollars to fund abortions?

Since 1979 something called the Hyde Amendment has prevented Federal dollars from funding abortions. Now with the health care plan being proposed, Federal money would subsidize those who aren’t in poverty, but who need financial help in paying for their mandatory health insurance. Since there’s a free range of Insurance plans in the marketplace, and since many of them offer abortion services, subsidizing the working lower class creates the possibility that someone getting federal money would use it to subsidize their purchase of an abortion. To keep our tax dollars from funding what so many believe to be the mass murder of infants, I don’t think it’s too difficult a fix to do what the Stupak-Pitts amendment did in the recent House vote on Healthcare: deny access to the insurance plans that cover abortion procedures. Also, we need to abolish the Post Office.

The Post Office is a federally funded entity, providing tens of thousands of jobs. It’s just a statistical fact that some of those jobs go to women, and that some of those women will get pregnant and consider having abortions, and we just can’t have tax dollars going to the murder of unborn children.

I guess the Departments of Education, the Highway program, and any agricultural subsidies will have to go too. They’re all just backdoor abortion programs. Guess we have to get rid of the military as well. The brave men and women who defend this land include women who defend this land, draw paychecks, get pregnant and consider abortions. Also, you might not know it, but the Catholic Church is opposed to war as well, just not as much as abortion. I don’t know why, I guess babies are just cuter than full grown men, women and children. Anyway, we’d better cut funding for these wars. They’ll just end and then when the soldiers come home they’ll get pregnant and then, tax dollars for abortions. It’s just not right.

We’ll still have Medicare and Social Security; old people can’t get pregnant. You might think it’s Draconian, but for the sake of Life, the rest of the government has got to go. Too much temptation, too many taxpayer dollars going to people who might make the wrong decisions. Of course, once we’ve purged the Federal Government of potential abortion funding, we ought to dismantle the Capitalist system itself, so no one has the means to snuff out an unborn’s soul. Usury is a sin too, you know. We’ll have to go to some sort of primitive goods-exchange system, but we’ll have to monitor it closely so no one provides an abortion for some animal hides. Perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself; let’s take things one step at a time.

Again, this is a democracy. If we’re going to be able to control who gets access to abortions without actually making it illegal, it’s going to take some sacrifice from everybody.

--Bishop Ramon Clement as transcribed onto gold leaf by Dan Kilian

Afghanistan in 60 Seconds

The Hall of IP

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Imagined Conversation with Ray Parker Jr.

Mr. Parker! Thanks for the songs, man. Sorry about saying “man.” That’s really dorky.  Thanks. You’re a good sport.

Oh I guess I’m like most people. It’s “Ghostbusters” for me. Great movie. Great song. I hope you’re not sick of it. Good! You’re right!

I’m Dan. Pleased to meet you. Pleased to meet you. Pleased to meet you, Rochelle. Great party!

Nice girls. I’m not busting things up? No, right, you probably could. You probably could.

Look, I’m sorry I said “busting” just then. Probably just got that word in my head because…you know…

Right! Right. Cool! Busting makes me feel good too! Fuck yeah! Bustin’!

You know, fuck Huey Lewis. How dare he sue you over that song? Over a riff? One God-damn riff? The song is about busting ghosts. That’s what the song is. Has Huey Lewis ever busted a ghost in his God-damned life? I mean, there’s some old bluesman who played that riff sixty years ago who thinks you both ripped him off, and he ripped off someone who played it a hundred years ago. The key is…Ghostbusters! That’s what the song is! Huey Lewis. I’ll give him a new drug.

No no. I don’t have anything. I was just making a reference to Huey Lewis. Like anyone remembers. No. Not for me. Makes me edgy. Edgy and seriously addicted. You funk guys, you’re unstoppable.

Yeah yeah. I don’t know what we’re gonna do in Afghanistan.

I ain’t afraid of no Al-Queda! It doesn’t really roll off the tongue, does it? You’ll think of something. I think that’s a great idea.

No, no, It’s be…it’d be an honor!

I ain’t afraid of no ghosts!

I ain’t afraid of no ghosts!

I ain’t afraid of no ghosts!

I ain’t afraid of no ghosts!

All right, I’ve got to…okay! Okay!

I ain’t afraid of no ghosts!

I ain’t afraid of no ghosts!

I ain’t afraid of no ghosts!

I ain’t afraid of no ghosts!

I ain’t afraid of no ghosts!

I ain’t afraid of no ghosts!

I ain’t afraid of no ghosts!

Spectacular! SPECTACULAR! Hey, I’m hitting it. I’ll see you.

Busting makes me feel good too.

No, I’ve got to…

I ain’t afraid of no ghosts!

I ain’t afraid of no ghosts!

I ain’t afraid of no ghosts!

I ain’t afraid of no ghosts!

I ain’t afraid of no ghosts!

I ain’t afraid of no ghosts!

I ain’t afraid of no ghosts!

I ain’t afraid of no ghosts!

To be continued…

--Dan Kilian

Healthy To The Max

Awkward Conversation Near the Breakfast Buffet at The U.N.

Monday, November 9, 2009

Dad Dream

I am in the front yard of my parents house and I’m most surprised to see my Dad come home from work, as he’s been dead for almost three years. He’s really my Dad, but he’s being played by a seventies character actor. I thought it might be James Brolin or Warren Oates, but it’s someone else, a lesser known actor. I stop him on the front steps and ask him how he’s doing and he mutters darkly about how they’re treating him at work. I say “Well, you’re home now. Go inside and take off your shoes.”

We have a large feast in our backyard with the whole family and neighbors in attendance. A blond fellow playing some sort of mandolin starts singing a song I immediately recognize to be a ghost dispelling song. It’s a very sweet song, meant to remind the dead that they are gone.

I leap to my feet.

“He’s trying to make Dad go away!” I shout to my brothers.

Dad runs down a hill and the family follows after. They scramble all over the place.

I catch my dad and hold onto him. He’s now my actual Dad, only his eyes have sealed shut and he’s withered and confused. “He’s trying to tell me I’m a ghost!” he shouts.

“That’s because you are. We were most surprised…” I note the arch tone of that “most surprised” phrasing. I also notice my own dramatic turnaround from defense and denial to acceptance. “We were most surprised when you showed up today and…”

I wake.

--Dan Kilian

Why I Listen to Monster Magnet


Friday, November 6, 2009

The Tipsy Parson: November 3 2009

Nancy and I went to The Tipsy Parson last night.  We showed up at about 8:00 with no reservations, and it was packed.  The hostess (whom we recognized as the waitress who served us drinks one Friday afternoon at Little Giant on the Lower East Side, and who reminds me of Catherine Keener) told us that a bunch of people had bailed when faced with an hour and forty-five minute wait, so that we could be seated in about fifteen minutes.  We decided to sit on the bench in the bay window and have a drink while we waited.

Here some problems arose.  The waitress took about seven minutes to get our drink order – but again, they were slammed, and she was very pleasant.  They were out of one of three reds and one of three whites by the glass, but the Syrah that Nancy picked was perfectly serviceable.  I picked a Lighthouse Ale draft beer, and it was fairly characterless.  Since they only have a few beers on tap I felt it was a weird selection to include.  I'm not sure if free drinks while one waits to be seated is a policy (which would be a welcome madness) or oversight, but neither drink showed up on our final tab, so all was ultimately forgiven.

Once seated we were given both the dinner and the bar-snack menu, which was an appreciated broadening of the options.  Eventually we decided to keep it to three courses and skipped the bar snacks (cheeses and cured meats, various interesting-sounding fried items, pickled peppers and the like).  Some chive rolls came around, which were quite good and rich, so they did not need butter, but it would have been a nice gesture to offer something to spread on them.

Nancy chose the parsnip soup as her appetizer while I chose a celeriac salad with apples and watercress.  The salad was light, bright, and well-proportioned (as compared to the mayonnaise-heavy dollop of celeriac that I was served at Craft, for example), but not something that a home-cook couldn't produce with some patient knife-work and a green goddess dressing recipe.  Still, a more than decent salad.

Nancy's soup, on the other hand, was a star.  The smooth parsnip and cream (I assume) puree was topped with strips of fried parsnip, house-made maraschino cherries, a drizzle of sorghum syrup, and a few strips of an innocuous herb (chiffonaded parsley?).  The cherries had a background sourness and the fried parsnip just a bit of bitterness which, along with its crunch, set off the parsnip quite well.  This soup would be a great starter for Thanksgiving dinner.

Meanwhile, the drink I had ordered – an "apple blossom", consisting of apple vodka, apple cider, lemon, and orange blossom water – had yet to arrive.  The waitress explained that there had been a problem with its creation, and that one would be out shortly.  Eventually it arrived, a pale brown liquid on ice with a slice of apple sitting on top.  At first taste it reminded me of sour mix from the gun.  This changed over the course of the drink, so that at the end the drink I was getting not-too-subtle hints of grape Kool-Aid.  Nancy found it revolting at each stage, and though I appreciated the changing character of the drink over time, it would have been better for it to change from good flavor to good flavor, instead of nasty to nastier.  To top it off a second hostess brought me a second one that I hadn't ordered – no doubt the first incarnation that had gone awry.  I summoned my courage and plowed through it in short order.  This second drink also didn't show up on the bill, so it was hard to get too angry.

The main dishes arrived.  Nancy had chosen a strip steak with butter-fried sage and cheese grits while I had the pork hock.  The pork hock was fairly massive, about six inches long, and was lacquered with some sort of syrup and studded with dried fruit – I'd bet cherries and prunes -- and was surrounded with a tart apple sauce.  The meat sloughed off of the bone at first touch, which was nice, and was indeed tender -- what I could taste of it.  The heavy sweetness of the glaze and the fruit left me wanting a little more porkiness to my pork.  Even the tartness of the applesauce faded as it mixed with a pool of brown liquid under the hock (more sorghum?).  Eventually the dish became too cloying and I decided to save the rest for later.

Nancy's strip steak was comparatively simple.  I was a bit surprised by her order since I had cooked strip steak the night before (with caramelized cippollini onions and a red wine-pomegranate syrup, so a different approach altogether), but the list of entrees is fairly short, so there weren't too many other options.  Also it was her birthday, and if the girl wants steak two nights in a row she can go ahead and have steak.  To my chagrin the steak was prepared more expertly than mine had been, and I suspect that they didn't pick up the meat from Western Beef, as the meaty flavor that came through was much better.  The butter-fried sage wasn't overpowering, and the cheese-grits were as one would expect, so the beef remained the center of the dish.  Pretty good.

Early into the entrees we had been told that the side dish of Brussels sprouts with sorghum (again) and pecans that we'd ordered would be coming up shortly.  I was about done when they finally showed up, which was a bit disappointing.  But this being the fifth day that they were open, I was willing to forgive.  But then I tasted some of the tiny sprouts, which ranged in size from a pencil eraser to a standard marble.  The sprouts were scorched on the exterior and raw on the interior, and the pecans were completely subsumed by the sweetness of the syrup.  So I ended up tasting a battle of sweet syrup vs. bitter scorch, and almost nothing in the way of Brussels sprouts.

At this point I said to Nancy that they would lose a star for overly masking the base flavors of their dishes.

When time for dessert came around we opted for the Tipsy Parson, a rum-soaked sponge cake with more of the house-made maraschino cherries, toasted almonds, and a sweet cream sauce on top.  The first few spoonfuls were tasty, but the lack of noticeable rum flavor soon grew troubling, and by the end the sweetness overpowered all.  I don't think the chocolate bread pudding with toasted marshmallows or the pecan pie would have been any less sweet.  And since I'd been fighting an overly-sweet entrĂ©e, an overly sweet side, and two grape Kool-Aids, something less tooth-achingly sugary would have served me better.  Hopefully Nancy's experience was more pleasant, coming off of steak and wine.

When the bill came around and three of our drinks didn't show up my mood was lifted.  Everyone had been pleasant, and the people who had come in just behind us had to wait a good forty five minutes for a seat, so we felt some sense of privilege at having waltzed in and gotten a table so quickly (Nancy felt that Ms. Keener had helped us along).

I'll give it one more shot, perhaps taking a sampling of the bar snacks and reading the fine print on the menu more carefully to avoid a sugar overload.

--Steve Kilian

Top Trek: A Pan Fiction!

Obama Health Care Speech

Thursday, November 5, 2009



Afterward, in the locker room, it began to hit them.  Sure, there would be a week or so of indulgence – Jeter with his women, A-Rod with the cocaine, Pettite with his prayer group, and so on – but this would be a transient thing.  At that moment, as they changed out of their champagne-soaked pinstripes and readied for the human pleasures that awaited, they exchanged silent glances of recognition. They were part of something larger than any one individual.

After a few days they would start to trickle back into the clubhouse.  They would resume training, even though it could wait two or three months.  For no reason they'd toss balls around the infield, shag flies, and run sprints.   They would simply want to be together, for something that so few players, so few people on the planet, could share.

All but one.

After stripping down naked, Rivera walked to his door between the showers and the exit.  The team clapped him on his back, one by one calling out their congratulations and thanks.  The door hissed open, letting slip a pool of fog and some bluish light.  Rivera entered the chamber and began hooking up the connections.  The team gathered around as the automatic systems took over, inserting tubes into Rivera's spine and between his buttocks, up his nose and into his armpits.  A fine titanium needle began uploading new routines to his cortex.  In a few moments he would lose consciousness, and the players were bidding him farewell.  Already the sound was fading, so all he could hear was his heartbeat's unchanging rhythm.
Just before he slipped away, Rivera said, "Good season."

And then he was gone.

--Steve Kilian

Sweet Boroughs

Ominouse Orange

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Avatarred and Feathered

This is the fictionalization of the movie Avatar, based on the commercials I keep seeing.

All right crippled guy! I’m Sergeant Marine from the space military! We’re taking over this planet of cats! They’re the cats from that Broadway musical of the 20th century. Awful, I know. Evidently the touring road show made its way into space and now they live on this planet like Indians, totally in harmony with the environment, and we want to kill them all, because we’re totally evil! Gnar! Gnar! Evil military Earthmen! Bet you didn’t see that coming! Also, we’re really gonna do some bad anti-environmental exploitation, because we’re just that evil.

Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. Sigourney Weaver’s going to inject you with some science thing and stick you in a tube or something and that will do some science-y DNA and suddenly you’ll look all fake, just like the cats. Now go! Hail Evil Earth!

Hail Evil Earth Sir!


Welcome to Cat planet! Jellicle cats! Jellicle cats! Hi, I’m Rumpleteazer! You are a stranger to these parts!

Oh well, I’m a stand-in.

Welcome to our simple eco-harmonious village! Look out! A giant video-game monster!

Oof! You saved my life!

And now I’m falling in love with you! Midnight! Not a sound from the pavement…

Yeah, that really was the closest thing to a good song from that show.


Oh no, the Evil Earthmen are going to destroy you all!

You knew this was going to happen!

Yes, and I don’t blame you for hating me, but I’m going to lead us in a seemingly doomed attack against vastly superior war machines, because only I know their weakness!

What’s their weakness?

Some science-y business no advanced space travelers would ever have. It’s totally stupid! Also, they don’t understand love.

I love you again! Let’s go fight the Evil Earthmen! Midnight…

Okay, that’s enough of that.


Gnar! The cat/man betrayed us! Now all these video monsters are going to eat us! I guess that’s what we get for being so evil and environmentally exploitive! Sigourney Weaver, help me!

No, I won’t because even though I probably only have about six lines in this movie, I still cost a lot and have a rider in my contract that says I have to be good. I’m going to live with the cats!

Gnar! Woe to us Evil Earthmen! Woe! Gnar Gnar!

Touch me! It’s so easy to leave me…

Gnar! They’re all singing. It’s just awful! Gnar!

--Dan Kilian

The Putt Putt: World’s Best Mini Golf, Holes 1-9

The Atomic Adventures of Jack Keruac


Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Referendum Madness!

Today conscientious voters will enter voting booths and elect mayors, comptrollers, councilmen, and judges. They will also make snap decisions on referendums most of them have heard nothing about. Also, they didn’t know there were people running for judge. That doesn’t matter. Because this election isn’t about judges, it’s about judgment. The American people aren’t really electing local officials; they’re holding a referendum on President Barack Obama. Here are the races that matter.

Upstate New York

If a solidly, reliably Republican district goes to a conservative, this will mean that Obama has lost his hold on the country. This race is special because conservatives determined that a really conservative candidate could win a reliably conservative district. Sarah Palin and Glenn Beck managed to drive the Moderate Republican out of the race. Now Lindsey Graham is what you’d call a “Moderate Republican.”


Virginia is a state that signaled a geographic sea change (note to editor: Can a sea change be geographic?) when it went for Obama last year. If, as appears likely, the Republican wins the governorship, it will mean that Virginia is once again a Republican stronghold.

New York City

Mayor Bloomberg defied the will of the people of New York, disregarding two referendums barring a mayor from seeking a third term. The people of New York shall punish him by giving him a third term. Bloomberg has spent so much money on this campaign that there is conjecture he may win two simultaneous terms as mayor. If, as appears likely, the Republican wins the mayoralty, it will mean that New York City is once again a Republican stronghold.

New Jersey

Fat guy vs. the Bald Guy vs. the Third Party guy. This one should be interesting. It’s not, but it should be.

There are no other elections that matter today.

--Dan Kilian

The New Town Hall

District 9 District 9 District 9 District 9 District 9