NYC Journal: Jean Georges

Finally. As you may have already guessed, this is the post you should have been waiting for all along. Because, for anyone who loves food, this is the highlight of Fosco and Oz's weekend in New York: an evening of gastronomical worship in one of the best restaurants in the US, the eponymous flagship of master chef Jean-Georges Vongerichten.

First, Fosco needs both to acknowledge a debt and provide a disclaimer. Two years ago, Fosco took a long weekend in New York with a (now former) friend and wanted to eat a life-altering meal (it was after The Accident and Fosco needed a little joie in his vivre). Fosco did his due diligence and came up with a list of possibilities, but for help narrowing it down, he turned to his blogopal and NYC food aficionado, John Mackey. John was very helpful and very emphatic that Jean Georges was the right choice for an incandescent evening. And John was right. That's the debt.

However, I do want to note that despite the fact that Fosco appears to have ordered most of the same dishes that John ordered on his last visit to Jean Georges (as chronicled here in his blog), Fosco did not return to eat dinner at Jean Georges as part of some "John Mackey Pilgrimage"--a desperate struggle to recreate John's experiences in NYC. Rather, you should conclude that Fosco enjoys Jean Georges because it is super yummy. That's the disclaimer. Now let's talk about Fosco and Oz's evening.

Right away, it is important to note that one does not dine at Jean Georges for the decor. Not that the room is ugly (by any means). There are lovely white lights on the trees outside the windows and there is an elegant gold-leafed vault in the ceiling. There is a swooping white and gold chandelier. But that's about it. I wouldn't even call it minimalism, because the decor doesn't call attention to its lack of grandness. Basically, it's a peaceful room that stays out of the way of the food.


By the way, anyone who thinks that the recession is hurting fine dining in NYC didn't try to get a reservation for the night of December 20th this year. Fosco and Oz could only squeeze in at 10:45 PM; however, as that translates into 7:45 PST, Fosco and Oz still felt appropriately awake and hungry.

Our meal commenced with a three-part amuse bouche, which we forgot to take a picture of. There was a silky-smooth cauliflower-cumin soup topped with a bright pink hibiscus(!) oil. There was a sultry smoked salmon strip wrapped around a chunk of Japanese pear. And there was a dried clementine segment infused with chili powder. The cauliflower soup was the standout here, although both Fosco and Oz were intrigued by the experience of eating a spicy orange.

For Fosco's first course, he went with the Sea Scallops with Carmelized Cauliflower and Caper-Raisin Emulsion.

Fosco is fond of sea scallops and he's never had them prepared better than at Jean Georges. The caper-raisin emulsion is pretty amazing (it's almost like a sweet mustard) and Fosco was unembarrassed to spoon the remnants into his mouth after the scallops were gone.

Oz had the Peekytoe Crab Dumplings with Celeriac-Meyer Lemon Tea.

The key to this meal was the exceptional "broth" or tea--you could taste all three flavors: celery, lemon, and tea. Flavored teas used as broth are a hallmark of Jean Georges cuisine. Last time Fosco ate here, he had an exceptional mushroom tea serving as a broth.

For Fosco's second course, he decided to be slightly adventurous and go with one of the Jean Georges signature dishes: Young Garlic Soup with Thyme and Sauteed Frog Legs. Unfortunately, Fosco and Oz forgot to take the picture until after Fosco had already eaten one of the frog legs--so imagine another frog leg and a less sloppy presentation...

Fosco had never eaten a frog leg (he has some issues with reptiles/amphibians as food), but he figured if he was ever going to eat one it should be one prepared at Jean Georges. He had heard that they taste like chicken which is kind of true, although they are unsurprisingly a little chewier than chicken. To fully enjoy this dish, one is encouraged by the waitstaff to use one's fingers to dip the frog leg in the soup before eating it! Honestly, the first frog leg was a little daunting to Fosco and he wasn't sure he liked it (he probably shouldn't have just popped the whole thing in his mouth--there are bones that Fosco didn't think about). But by the fourth one, Fosco was enjoying himself immensely and could have eaten several more. Of course, part of the brilliance of this dish is the young garlic soup. Young garlic is apparently much more mild than adult garlic and so the soup has a very soft and warm flavor to it. Also fun: you get a fingerbowl to wash your hands when you're done!

For his second course, Oz chose a traditional French classic: Turbot with Chateau Chalon Sauce. Once again, with this course, Fosco and Oz forgot to take a picture until after tasting. Please ignore Oz's first bite...

This course had a nice delicate flavor. The Chateau Chalon sauce is a wine reduction, but it's not overpowering. And the simple dice of cucumbers and tomatoes was surprisingly enjoyable.

For the third course, Fosco and Oz chose the same thing. It just didn't seem fair for one of us to get something other than the magnificent Black Sea Bass Crusted with Nuts and Seeds with Sweet and Sour Jus.

Fosco has had dreams about this dish. The nuts and seeds crust on the bass is so nutty and crisp. The sweet and sour jus is perfect, especially with the tomatoes and other market vegetables floating in it. Fosco is not usually a big fan of fish, but he could eat this dish every day (and twice on Sundays). It's almost a comfort food, but without insulting your culinary intelligence. It's probably the most perfect thing I've had at Jean Georges. It's one of those dishes that just makes you sigh and smile.

And now for dessert. At Jean Georges, dessert is actually like a second meal (as you'll see in a moment). The pastry chef is dessert savant and tattooed club kid Johnny Iuzzini and he has set himself some pretty rigorous constraints: each dessert selection comes with four separate preparations of the theme ingredient (Iuzzini unwisely calls it FourPlay). Once again, Fosco and Oz both wanted the same dessert and weren't willing to let the other order something less desirable. And so we each got the caramel option. Here were the four selections:

And this is what they looked like! (Start in the lower right corner and go counter-clockwise.)

Some thoughts on dessert. Fosco was very excited about the idea of "carmelized bacon," but it turned out to be an anticlimax. The carmelized bacon took the form of a very fine powder on top of the caramel tart. Maybe a slice would have been too much (but Fosco is still curious...). The roasted pineapple sorbet was maybe too sweet. The coffee-cardamom ice cream was exceptional. As for the vanilla soda, you drink it in one shot and puncture the caramel sphere with your tongue. Delish (and reminiscent of the tricks of Grant Achatz among others). In fact, let's take another look at that vanilla soda (along with the pastry chef's fingerprint?):

Yes, it was sweet. But certainly not your everyday soda experience.

Now when Fosco made the reservation, he had mentioned that we would be celebrating Oz's thirtieth birthday that night. He was kinda expecting a candle on Oz's dessert plate. What he was not expecting was a totally different additional dessert brought to the table free of charge! This is an apple and custard tart with candied peanuts and apple cider ice cream. Speaking of comfort food, this was amazing. And yes, that "Happy Birthday" banner is marzipan. Happy Birthday, indeed!

So at this point, Fosco and Oz had both eaten one and a half desserts (plus one marzipan banner, if that counts). But, like I said, dessert at Jean Georges is another whole meal. So of course it was time for the

• chocolates: brandy, hazelnut, orange, and peanut butter/jelly.
  
• fruit jellies: apricot and raspberry/beet (a favorite Iuzzini flavor combo).
  
• macaroons: chocolate, pomegranate, ginger.

Oh, and don't even think about forgetting the home-made marshmallows, hand cut at your table using scissors! The flavors of the night were banana, cranberry, and vanilla. It turns out that cranberry marshmallows are actually pretty damn good (although banana marshmallows are a little disconcerting, mainly because they taste exactly like bananas as opposed to the usual banana-flavoring).

And that, my friends, is a dinner at Jean Georges.

Renaming New York's "Obesity Tax"

As the NYTimes notes,

New York Governor David Paterson is trying to reduce the size of the state budget by reducing the size of the average citizen. With obesity rates soaring, he has proposed an 18 per cent tax on non-diet sodas or sugary juice drinks. That’s a good idea for two reasons. It will raise money for health care. And it might lead consumers to drink healthier beverages.

Surprisingly, Fosco isn't opposed to such obvious social engineering through the tax code--after all, non-diet soda (and even, strangely enough, diet soda) are seriously damaging to public health. It's kinda like increasing taxes on cigarettes (which is also a good thing).

But, Fosco does have a problem calling such a move an "obesity tax." For one thing, it's more than a little misleading. After all, there are plenty of non-obesity-related health threats from the high-fructose corn syrup that is found in these beverages. In addition, the phrase "obesity tax" raises the possibility of future taxes and fees that are designed to single out obese people for punishment and ridicule. Once you start "taxing" obesity, eventually you're going to end up with world where fat people pay extra for basic health care, access to public space, and fundamental social services. And this is a problem.

So what if we stopped calling this an "obesity tax" and started calling it something more accurate: a diabetes-prevention tax. This would recognize the fact that, although obesity and diabetes are correlated, they are not the same thing (as Fosco's Uncle Dick--a life-long skinnybones and recent Type II diabetic--proves). I think that everyone can get behind a tax that tries to cut down on an expensive public health epidemic.

As for Fosco, he's been drinking sparkling mineral water in lieu of soda and fruit juice for three months now...

NYC Journal: The Met

The stories from Fosco and Oz's weekend in NYC continue. Read them all here.

After a long and chilly walk in Central Park (see this post), Fosco and Oz warmed up by bathing in five thousand years of culture at The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Oz had never been to the Met before and because the whole museum is impossible to see in a few hours (or perhaps even a few days), Fosco and Oz tried to hit the highlights while allowing time for perfectly random detours. The European Paintings gallery is Fosco's favorite place to start. There's always something random and beautiful for you to stumble across. Like this painting (for which we never actually recorded the relevant information):

Or this equally anonymous-to-us beauty:

I mean, just LOOK at that cape on Jesus. Gorgeous.

Also for pure random enjoyment, Fosco and Oz really got a kick out of Tiepolo, an artist that Fosco had never thought twice about. But look at this:

Isn't it absolutely bonkers?

Another artist that Fosco never really considered is El Greco. But for some reason, he really stood out for both Fosco and Oz. There were two canvasses in particular that were absolutely luminous. This is The Opening of the Fifth Seal (The Vision of Saint John):

Whereas Oz's favorite was The Adoration of the Shepherds (ca. 1610):

The Met's collection of French painting has some truly exceptional works, especially Jacques-Louis David's Death of Socrates:

Fosco has always found this painting by Élisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun to be absolutely ravishing:

And then there is this absolutely monumental painting by Jules Bastien-Lepage of Jeanne d'Arc. The expression on her face is exquisite as she listens to the voices of the ghostly saints who appear on the left of the canvas. Fosco looks at a reproduction of this painting over his desk everyday.

Finally, there is the absolutely extraordinary Duccio Madonna and Child (the Met's most expensive acquisition ever). In person, the piece is small and seemingly unprepossessing. And yet, the longer you spend looking at it, the more interesting it gets. I would recommend that someday you do yourself a favor and spend thirty minutes just staring at it. It will repay you.


And, of course, we had to make a quick detour to see the Van Gogh Irises, one of the most refreshingly beautiful paintings in the whole Met.



Of course, no visit to the Met would be complete without a visit to the Egyptian wing and the Temple of Dendur, housed in a dramatic space with a glass-walled view of Central Park. The temple complex is protected by prehistoric cats:

A money-hungry crocodile demands tribute:

Fosco spent several minutes decrying the US cultural arrogance that removed an entire temple from Egypt for display in New York. That is, until he read the part about how Egypt intended to submerge the temple forever under the lake created by the Aswan High Dam. Is it possible that sometimes protecting artistic treasures means removing them from their place of origin? Eek. Careful, Fosco. That way lies imperialism!

Do you dare enter the inner sanctum?

Look! Nineteenth-century graffiti! Kids in those days were just so disrespectful.

At this point, Fosco and Oz were just about exhausted. And they needed to change clothes for their dinner at Jean Georges (coming up in the next installment)!

"Reading is overrated" and other Bush doctrines

Yes, everyone is talking about Vanity Fair's "Oral History of the Bush White House," but it's fourteen pages long and you have New Year's Eve plans and stuff... How can you possibly have time for reading it?

Well, luckily Fosco has free time and reads quickly. And he's willing to read it all for you! For the next several days, Fosco will post some of the choicest quotes from the piece so that you can feel the appropriate outrage without all of that time-consuming reading.

Hmmm. Come to think of it, that seems to have been part of the Bush strategy from the beginning, at least according to this quote from Richard Clarke, chief White House counterterrorism adviser:

We had a couple of meetings with the president, and there were detailed discussions and briefings on cyber-security and often terrorism, and on a classified program. With the cyber-security meeting, he seemed—I was disturbed because he seemed to be trying to impress us, the people who were briefing him. It was as though he wanted these experts, these White House staff guys who had been around for a long time before he got there—didn’t want them buying the rumor that he wasn’t too bright. He was trying—sort of overly trying—to show that he could ask good questions, and kind of yukking it up with Cheney.

The contrast with having briefed his father and Clinton and Gore was so marked. And to be told, frankly, early in the administration, by Condi Rice and [her deputy] Steve Hadley, you know, Don’t give the president a lot of long memos, he’s not a big reader—well, shit. I mean, the president of the United States is not a big reader?

Of course, this does seem to contradict Karl Rove's recent assertion that Bush read hundreds of books while in office. Although, somehow that information isn't so comforting either. Actually, it kind of makes me wonder whether Bush treated the whole presidency like a beach vacation: lots of pleasure reading and as little work as possible...

Next we'll be hearing that Bush required all national security briefings to be written from the first-person perspective of an undercover CIA agent named Dash Dangerwood. Look out, Dash! Here comes the seductive al-Qaeda operative Leela Abu-Dildo. Will Dash be able to resist her deadly charms?

NYC Journal: burger joint

After a week's holiday hiatus, Fosco returns to the narrative of the pre-Christmas trip that he took to New York City with his boyfriend Oz. You can read the previous installments of Fosco's NYC Journal here.

After a pan-Asian hipster dinner at Buddakan on Friday night, Fosco and Oz were looking for something a little more relaxed for Saturday lunch. They settled on burgers. As the weather was cold and snowy, the outdoor eating arrangements of Danny Meyer's Shake Shack didn't seem like the best idea (although Fosco will endure a severe amount of pain for frozen custard). Instead, Fosco and Oz opted for the faux dive: burger joint at Le Parker Meridien.

Le Parker Meridien is a lovely upscale hotel just south of Central Park (with an understated entrance reminiscent of a subway tunnel). burger joint is the purposefully incongruous eatery hidden off the hotel's sumptuous lobby. Seriously. The entire "restaurant" is hidden behind floor-to-ceiling velvet curtains, with a rope line to keep the burger-seekers orderly:

Of course, this pretense at shame is all good fun as there is no doubt that Le Parker Meridien is profiting handsomely from this little chunk of greasiness in their lobby.

You can tell you've come the right place when you start down the darkened hallway and see the only sign that advertises burger joint's existence. You also pass a high-powered air purifier set into the wall to prevent the delicious burgery smell from ruining the rare air of Le Meridien's lobby. (N.B., those are Germans ahead of us in line.)

When you've finally waited long enough to make it in the door, keep your expectations low. burger joint is literally a room--and a room not much larger than Fosco's apartment in Santa Cruz. There is 1970s rec room paneling. There are no windows. There are television and movie posters. And (a very few) diner tables.

There's a counter where a woman listens to your order while ignoring you completely (and yet, she gets it right!).

Once you've ordered (N.B., your choices are limited: burger, cheeseburger, fries, shakes), the game begins: you must outsmart thirty other people to claim a small table. Luckily, many of your competitors are Japanese or European tourists and consequently cannot match your American level of pushiness. The trick is to choose a table where the people look like they're almost finished eating and then lurk until you can swoop into the seat. Unfortunately, you will spend most of your meal being stared at by the next wave of table-seekers.

While you're waiting for your order, you can read the panoply of celebrity testimonials and autographs that adorn the walls. Fosco's favorite was Mitt Romney's:

In case you can't quite read it, it says "Big Burger Fan, Thanks! Mitt Romney 9-17-07." Sadly, this historical document is somewhat obscured (purposely?) by the autograph of Chazz Palminteri, who is neither a presidential candidate nor a Mormon.

And the food? Well, Fosco's vanilla shake was pretty incredible. And the shoestring fries were first-class. The burgers were fine, although nothing to blog about. Good, but not great.

The problem with burger joint, Fosco and Oz have decided, is the inevitable comparison (for West Coast residents) with In-N-Out Burger. In-N-Out is just better. In NYC, in the absence of In-N-Out, burger joint must seem like heaven; but to anyone who can eat In-N-Out on a regular basis, the comparison does not work out in burger joint's favor. It's like a Memphis native eating barbecue in Minneapolis--the Minneapolis barbecue may be perfectly well-executed, but it's not going to compare to Memphis barbecue.

That said, the atmosphere at burger joint was a hoot. And the whole experience makes for a decent story. So, on the whole, Fosco and Oz are glad to have eaten there. But if you're an NYC resident dying for a great burger, might I suggest Virgin America's flights from JFK to LAX?

Next Step: Liposuction!

As Fosco noted in passing in a previous post, there seems to be evidence that Obama's favorite mega-pastor Rick Warren might be living the hair-plug driven life. Take a look at this comparison and judge for yourself:

Rick Warren, circa 2006:


Rick Warren, circa June 2008:


The hair dye is obvious (and so are the contact lenses). But I also think it's pretty clear that his hairline has moved somewhat closer to his forehead. It's not drastic, but it's still noticeable. Alas, it looks like what we have here is a case of garden-variety vanity or pride (wait--isn't that one of the seven deadly... somethings...? I'm blanking...).

Of course, there is also the possibility that this man is actually just getting younger? And if that's the case, I want to worship his god!

A Reasonable Response to an Anti-Gay Inauguration

In case you missed it while you were playing Rock Band 2 all weekend, Frank Rich had an excellent op-ed piece in the NYTimes about the whole Rick Warren inauguration kerfuffle. Fosco, like a lot of gays, has been trying to come to terms with Obama's choice in a way that doesn't minimize its hurtfulness without overplaying its importance (and Fosco will be first to admit that he has yet to find the right balance). Luckily, Frank Rich's column does all of Fosco's work for him.

[Before we begin, I have to know: do the older pictures of Warren (like the one above) raise the issue of whether he's now sporting a hair transplant?]

But back to Rich's column...

One of the questions raised by the Warren choice is that of the extent to which people with repugnant viewpoints should be allowed "at the table" as it were. To what extent can Obama maintain something like a "big tent" of political opinion without actively banishing large sections of the US populace (like the Christian right)? In this case, a distinction needs to be made between "at the table" and "at the head of the table." Rich is right on here:

But there’s a difference between including Warren among the cacophony of voices weighing in on policy and anointing him as the inaugural’s de facto pope. You can’t blame V. Gene Robinson of New Hampshire, the first openly gay Episcopal bishop and an early Obama booster, for feeling as if he’d been slapped in the face. “I’m all for Rick Warren being at the table,” he told The Times, but “we’re talking about putting someone up front and center at what will be the most-watched inauguration in history, and asking his blessing on the nation. And the God that he’s praying to is not the God that I know.”

Similarly, we have to raise the question of the balance between all the good that Rick Warren does (focusing on climate change, poverty and AIDS, for example) and his evil (comparing gay marriage to incest, pedophilia, etc.) Once again, Rich gets it:

Warren, whose ego is no less than Obama’s, likes to advertise his “commitment to model civility in America.” But as Rachel Maddow of MSNBC reminded her audience, “comparing gay relationships to child abuse” is a “strange model of civility.”

Rick Warren may be saying the right things on lots of different issues, but that doesn't change the fact that he has openly lied about gay marriage. It is one thing to say that his religion leads him to oppose gay marriage; it's another thing to raise fear and hatred by comparing gay marriage to the bogeymen of incest and child abuse. Once again, it is possible for us to condemn Rick Warren without condemning all religion.

The other big question here is why Obama, a strong supporter of (most) LGBT rights, thinks this is a good idea in the first place. Hint: there's hubris involved...

Much more to the point is the astute criticism leveled by the gay Democratic congressman Barney Frank, who, in dissenting from the Warren choice, said of Obama, “I think he overestimates his ability to get people to put aside fundamental differences.” That’s a polite way of describing the Obama cockiness.
[...]
When Obama defends Warren’s words by calling them an example of the “wide range of viewpoints” in a “diverse and noisy and opinionated” America, he is being too cute by half. He knows full well that a “viewpoint” defaming any minority group by linking it to sexual crimes like pedophilia is unacceptable.

Obama would love to be able to force a reconciliation between the gays and the evangelicals based solely on the power of his (admittedly commanding) personality. Unfortunately, however, there are conflicts that can't be mended through the power of personality or through the strategy of extreme inclusion. There are indeed issues on which we cannot "all just get along" and these are the issues that Obama, as someone who aspires to some version of progressivism, needs to take a stand on.

Of course, in the end, none of this will really matter much if Obama repeals "Don't Ask, Don't Tell," opposes a constitutional amendment banning same-sex marriage, and works to pass ENDA. On this point, Rich quotes historian Timothy McCarthy:

McCarthy added that it’s also time “for President-elect Obama to start acting on the promises he made to the LGBT community during his campaign so that he doesn’t go down in history as another Bill Clinton, a sweet-talking swindler who would throw us under the bus for the sake of political expediency.” And “for LGBT folks to choose their battles wisely, to judge Obama on the content of his policy-making, not on the character of his ministers.”

If Obama does this, I'm willing to give him a pass on Rick Warren. So now let's get back to Rock Band.

True Love Doesn't Wait (Duh!)

What everyone except your idiot pastor already knew:

Think back to your teen years... raise your hand if you've had sex with someone who wanted to stay a virgin until marriage (N.B., there is no such thing as an "anal sex loophole"). Yes, I thought so.

Of course, this would just be good for another belly laugh at the expense of misguided and pointless campaigns like True Love Waits (which is a stupid idea but a great Radiohead song); that is, if it didn't appear that these ineffective virginity pledges are actually associated with decreased use of sexual protection and birth control. As the article notes:

Teenagers who pledge to remain virgins until marriage are just as likely to have premarital sex as those who do not promise abstinence and are significantly less likely to use condoms and other forms of birth control when they do, according to a study released today.

For those of you who need me to spell it out, this means increased risk of sexually transmitted disease as well as teen pregnancy (both things that we probably would like to avoid on a societal level).

So by all means, America: keep up this whole virginity-pledge thing in lieu of real, effective sex education. Heck, it worked out well for Bristol Palin--her pregnancy has allowed her to lock down high-school dropout and sex on skates, Levi Johnston. She's one lucky woman.

From the Annals of "News"

During the last twenty-four hours,

• Israel went on the offensive against Hamas in Gaza.
  
• the military coup in Guinea consolidated its power.
  
• Kashmir continues to vie to be ground zero for the first nuclear war.
  
• and, closer to home, Satan Bush has opened the California coastline to oil drilling.

With all this important news, can you imagine what is on the front page of the (online) New York Times?


Oh. I see. Well, I guess it's this kind of insightful cultural journalism that makes the Times so respected (especially among the skating youth).

Buy Rand-McNally Stock

Reasonable people can argue about the outcome of our current financial crisis: either things will eventually return to normal or never be the same again. But thank goodness there are also unreasonable people who can provide us with much-needed entertainment during this crisis. And so we have Russian political science professor Igor Panarin, who is predicting that the US will break apart in a giant civil war in the year 2010. You can read the WSJ article here.

Now while Fosco doesn't need to be convinced that secession by several Southern states (goodbye Texas!) would indeed be a desirable thing, Professor Panarin's predictions are much nuttier. Here's a good one:

California will form the nucleus of what he calls "The Californian Republic," and will be part of China or under Chinese influence.

That would certainly make it easier for Fosco to get a hold of his favorite Chinese melamine chews. But really--China? China is going to assume control of the Western US? Has this guy ever been to California? Based on recent voting trends, it seems more likely to Fosco that "The Californian Republic" would fall under Mormon control--especially as Utah is predicted to be part of the same "Californian Republic."

How silly! You know, the only thing that seems more far-fetched than a China-controlled California would be...

Canada will grab a group of Northern states Prof. Panarin calls "The Central North American Republic."

Fear the rise of Imperial Canada! Fear it! They are coming for our Great Lakes! Although, come to think of it, most Midwesterners might not mind doing business in a stable and valuable currency.

Need more laughs? Here's the full map:

Actually, maybe the best part is the return of Alaska to Russia. Luckily, Alaska has someone someone who knows a lot about Russia.

So what does this mean? Well, Fosco is going to celebrate July 4th like a mofo this year, because apparently it will be the last one.

Oz's Secret Life?

Fosco just took an online quiz called Is Your Man Gay? (N.B., the quiz asks for your email before displaying results, BUT you do not need to enter a real email to get them...). This seems like an important question, as Fosco and Oz are getting pretty serious and thinking about marriage (thanks for nothing, California). As the site notes,

Nobody wants to think their significant other is playing for the other team, but anything is possible. Some men are in a committed relationship and living on the down low. Is there a chance your man might prefer the company of men? Take our telling quiz and find out if you're at risk for losing your man to the handsome guy next door.

Fosco has certainly met his share of guys like this (sometimes he's even "met" them). But when it comes to Oz, this question seems particularly vexing--especially as the "handsome guy next door" is a Brazilian surfer.

So what's the verdict? It's unhelpful.

We're not saying your man is gay; we're just saying he might be gay.

What the hell am I supposed to do with that conclusion? I mean, is Oz sleeping with Fosco because Oz is gay? Or because he "might be gay"? Which is it? How can I know? Help me, Carole Rome!

My Doppelgangers

Fosco saw this on KFR. Point: you type in your first and last names and it tells you how many people share your name.

HowManyOfMe.com

There are 316 people with my name in the U.S.A. How many have your name?

Fosco (well, actually, the real human being behind the Fosco avatar) is a little surprised, as he's always thought his name is pretty common. At least it seems common. Did you know that this is fewer than the number of people in the US who have the surname "Crotch"? Seriously (337 vs. 316).

Also, did you know that there are 47 people in the US named "John Jesus"? And there are two people named "Linda Taco"? Yes!

Actually, if you want to talk about uniqueness, there is exactly one person in the US with the same name as Fosco's boyfriend Oz. Congrats, Oz!

And in this corner...

Even though it's almost over, you should spare a moment to think about Boxing Day. The definitive explanation of its name and its purpose can be found in this New York Times editorial. The author, Judith Flanders, argues that Americans could use a little bit of Boxing Day, provided that we stick with its original charitable purpose:

It would be good if Boxing Day were added to America’s list of legal holidays. (From over here, you look awfully light on time off anyway.) But not if it just became another day in the round of shop-eat-family-family-family.

Instead Boxing Day could return as a day of giving. Not necessarily cash — and not material to make uniforms — but rather one day a year to donate skills or effort, a day for sharing something of value in the larger community. Help someone whose first language isn’t English fill out driver’s license forms. Load an old lady’s iPod with Rogers and Hammerstein. Teach the boy next door to throw overhand, so the other kids stop teasing him.

What we really need to do is put down the punch bowl and pick up on what Punch magazine wrote more than 150 years ago: Don’t just keep “the Christmas of the belly: keep you the Christmas of the heart. Give — give.”

Fosco is onboard, except for that weird part about "teach the boy next door to throw overhand." That's pretty much like saying: "use your time to make the neighbor kid heterosexual." But, I suppose we don't have to take Flanders's advice. And, if your charitable contribution happens to involve a little foxy boxing, I think you should get double points in heaven.

Wow, Loot!

Despite the lack of fatal viruses, Christmas in Santa Cruz was wonderful, especially as it was Fosco and Oz's first Christmas spent together (last year, Fosco was in Snow Town). So what did Satan Sapna Santa bring us? I mean, besides joy and peace...

Remember how Oz has a bit of a collection going? Well, Fosco spent some quality time on eBay and came up with these beauties.

Yes, that Iron Man Mugg is a limited edition that was sold only at the San Diego Comic Con. And indeed, it does appear that Admiral Ackbar is saying "It's a trap!" (N.B., Admiral Ackbar knows when something is a trap.)

Fosco got a Mighty Mugg too! Remember Marvel's Vision? No? Well, that's why Fosco didn't have any friends in junior high. Well, at any rate, Vision was an android and a member of the Avengers (still not sounding familiar? Really?). Anyhoo, Fosco likes Vision and thinks he looks cool:


Look what Oz got for Fosco! Fosco loves this game, but had been holding off on owning it to prevent it from totally preempting his work. Is this the end of Fosco's academic career? Or does another, more lucrative, career beckon (viz. Rock God)?


Oz got a big present, too: does he know what it is?

Why, it's the IKEA Poäng Chair!

[See Isis skulking around behind it? She likes it for hiding.]

Fosco and Oz hope that, recession be damned, all of your material wishes came true this holiday season.

Christmas at Todd's

Too bad I missed Christmas at Todd's in South Bend:


Simply having a hemorrhagic Christmas time...

Christmas in Santa Cruz: A Postcard

Alas, Santa Cruz has neither the cold of South Bend nor the charm of Paris. But today, on Christmas, we did have a (double) rainbow.


Peace on earth. Good will to all.

A Christmas Poem

It's Christmas Eve, so Fosco will take a couple day break from postings on his NYC trip. For your Christmas reading (or listening), allow Fosco to offer you a poem. The poem is "On This Side Nothing" (2002) by Jennifer Moxley. It's somewhat difficult, but it captures well the ambivalences one feels at this time of year.

To all of you loyal readers: Merry Christmas, my friends.



ON THIS SIDE NOTHING
The objects have gone quiet. Even old
Mister Unicorn has run out of words,
despite his painted red lips. Things inured
to emptiness continue with their cold
busyness. And thus the flurry of cash
around the center silence still appears
charitable tinsel, bright with the solace
of distress, the joy of being in arrears
so much more joyful than other joys. Songs
unlike a virus have grown in this season
of record rare, they sound an echo long
in repose and leave conflicted reason
to its bafflement. Things couldn’t be worse,
or could, we could resist, or complacent
argue against resistance, neither course
puts change at risk. Though we lay adjacent
the cold garden wall and exquisitely sigh
it will come, freed perhaps of our compelling
but nevertheless compelled. It’s well-nigh
Christmas, snow covers the ground and is falling.
the thirsty birds have re-opened our hands:
though weary of ritual tending we deck
the house yet again, reenact the ends
of long antiquated customs, rectify
the aggressive apathy that binds us
to our friends. To what design? What lie lies
hidden in an ornament, in a truss
of tissue snug in a box? An old idea
forced into perverted service of the new
makes strange commerce of this cold affection
enfoiled in childish fables, a revenue
of hope out of the heart’s aphasic diction.
And if it prove false, at least daily labor
will feel refreshed in the wake of leisure.
The bonvivant who repeats “love thy neighbor”
does no harm, and Tennyson’s sad measure
of years since we last saw our friend can bring
to mind a loss reduced from one December
to the next, a comfort and reminder
that we are at worst, on this side, nothing,
and risk nothing, to fight against and yet
not cut the feeling from our breast in queer
penance to a blundering world, to split
the will in two, to tell the truth, to fear
defeat, etc. The thought-ruined things
have done their work to keep our sentiment
in trust, though now we know we raised the scene
neither for ourselves nor for the love of it,
but out of some mislaid duty to form—
a table, a ribbon, a set of rules—
to adjust the love of a furious home,
but do not think we were born to be fools
or bred to thoughtless and false happiness,
given our time’s caution and your kind lash
it has never been easy for us to say yes.

[Listen to Jennifer Moxley read this poem live here.]

NYC Journal: Central Park

Fosco and Oz were a little worried that it would be too cold to talk a long walk in Central Park. Luckily, it wasn't (although it wasn't warm). Every time Fosco visits Central Park, he marvels again: the contribution that Central Park makes to livability in Manhattan is hard to overestimate. If only every mega-city had a park like this. I mean, look at it!


The doubled towers of the Time Warner Center look pretty good:


The Plaza Hotel is one of the most beautiful buildings in this country:


Make way for ducks! If you think they're cold, look again. Those are the fattest ducks I've ever seen.


This one's our favorite. No swimming for him--he's no sucker!


The reason Fosco most wanted to walk through Central Park is that Oz (born and raised in the Sandwich Islands) has never played in the snow. So Fosco wanted to watch Oz play in the snow. Fosco thought it would be cute and he was right. Want to see how cute?



Awww. Fosco melts every time!

More NYC stories/pix to come.