These onetime dinners keep popping up in the South. In Athens, Georgia, there’s a group of guys in their late twenties to mid-thirties—and now one woman—who cook together most Saturday nights in a century-old house downtown, with space to invite a couple dozen people to dinner. So they do. The supper club operates fairly underground; it started back in the spring of 2007 when four friends got together one Sunday to cook a four-course dinner. (Two of the men say they “aren’t chefs at all, but love food…to talk about it and cook it,” and two had already worked in kitchens of some of Athens’ best restaurants like Farm 255, the Grit, and the Five and Ten.) From that beginning, the Four Coursemen have filled their table several nights a month by inviting friends, and friends of friends. It’s been a pretty popular gig, and to help, the group of mostly University of Georgia grads have added a wine expert and another experienced chef, and have started collecting a donation of forty-five dollars or more. (At first they’d had “a loose donation system” and were left with lots of out-of-pocket expenses.) One of the Four Coursemen founders is a Web site designer in “real life” and has started a simple site for the club that lists no location address (that’s given once you’re invited to attend), and only the organizers’ and chefs’ first names, along with menus that are deep with food experimentation and local ingredients…celery root soup, crisped pork belly, beet gnocchi with boar sausage, boiled peanut ice cream. Every menu is for one night only, and not repeated. One of the founders explains, “This is about trusting the chef…it’s not like at a restaurant where you go in and say, ‘Here’s what I want.’ All we do is say, ‘This is what we’re cooking this week. Would you like to come over?’
Mark Ibold is my fantasy of the ultimate freshman roommate lottery draw.
He seems like a guy who’d replace any Cokes he drank — and wouldn’t even make a big show of pointing out that he’d done it.
Yeah, sure, it’s a weird fantasy, but, y’know, you’re not the boss of me. No. You are not. College is a complicated time, and I won’t be judged about which musician from a band I liked 15 years ago would probably replace my Cokes without making a big deal of it.
That’s between me and my God.
Larry Ellison: I remember when Steve [Jobs] was my neighbor in Woodside, Calif., and he had no furniture. It struck me that there wasn’t furniture good enough for Steve in the world. He’d rather have nothing if he couldn’t have perfection.
And I jokingly said, “The difference between me and Steve is that I’m willing to live with the best the world can provide. With Steve that’s not always good enough.”
via forgemind.net
The ‘Window House’ is based on the idea from feudal-era tea houses where the windows are placed to give strategic views outside, like picture frames, and are mounted low, so that the views are best enjoyed when you are seated. In addition, the house has several internal windows that allow you to peek through to other rooms in the house. The window locations are variable, so you can adjust the design to suit your specific site and living tastes.
Gluzman (via SayHolaToTravis)
AIM W/ N8 (via SayHolaToTravis)
Now (via Stebbi)
On the DVDs, Cookie Monster can be seen as his character of Alistair Cookie in his “Monsterpiece Theatre” segment (a spoof of Alistair Cooke’s “Masterpiece Theatre”) smoking a pipe.
Yep, Cookie Monster smoked.
He later eats the pipe because, as he was often prone to doing, he thinks the pipe is a cookie. Cookie Monster used to become so overwhelmed by his desire for cookies that he’d start seeing (hallucinating about?) cookies that weren’t actually there. He’d eat (rotary) telephones, typewriters (what are those?), pencils, almost anything. It was funny.
Today, Cookie Monster’s diet is much more balanced, as he has adopted the philosophy that cookies are a “sometimes food.” Cookie coincidentally changed his tune in 2006 amidst reports that childhood obesity had reached epidemic proportions.
