Industry! Progress! THE FUTURE!

Citizens of The United Provinces of Ivanlandia rejoice!


The Neutronium Research Institute has succeeded again!


Gamma pods and trepanation kits will be distributed by security forces in the morning.
Make sure to have a valid identi-chip ready.

"I'll chop it off, sear it on the flat-top, and tomorrow, I deal with nine fingers."

The title to this post is probably the best quote from Top Chef last night (recap here, at the always food-eriffic Serious Eats), closely followed by "This is Top Chef, not Top Pussy."


These were both declared by a chef who, after breaking his god-damn finger, did not punk out or whine, and proceeded to make a kick-ass meal.

It was an exciting episode last night, concentrating more on skill, methodology and execution rather than artificial “dramatics.”

The Missus and I are rooting for contestant Carla, though—Carla is a mutant in the best sense of the word: she’s eccentric, she’s centered, she’s unique, she’s got heart, she’s got style—and according to the judges, she can cook!

GO TEAM CARLA! YAY!


If you like food (cooking, eating or looking at it), Serious Eats is a wonderful way to spend several hours (days?), searching and sniffing about for recipes, recommendations and reviews.

In the space of about two minutes, I found two dishes that made me want to stay home, ignore the horrors of the world and just cook:
Pork Belly Sandwiches, Chinese-Style
Korean-Style Steaks with Spicy Cilantro Sauce

Yes, meat is murder. Delicious, juicy, protein-packed murder.
Mmmmmmm….murder.

Here's a secret: The stench of bad perfume makes me crazy (and in a bad way)

ARGH! One of my co-workers here in Cubiclelandia (where I go to spy on Ivanlandia's friends and foes alike) wears the worst sort of sickly sweet old-lady-on-the-way-to-the-dirt-nap kind of perfume. Like an ICEPICK in the brain, I tell ya!

But how to tell her that her stink is something a crackwhore would wear? I gotta talk to my boss: he's infinitely more diplomatic and sensitive about these sort of intra-office hoo-hahs than me. Heck, I'm so dumb, I'm posting about this...

Even worse: it seems I'm the only one who can smell it. I asked everyone around her, and it's like none of them have a sense of smell. "Duhhhhhh, naw, I don't smell nothing..."

CHRIST ON A FUCKIN' CRUTCH!!! I smell it again! Her stink drives me bonkers! I wish I could throw her out the airlock toot fucking sweet! (Or jump out it myself...)

Looking good, like a mutant should

One of these photos was not taken by the Magnificent RS Hall, photographer and international adventurer.