Live long and go fuck yourself.

Am I excited about the new STAR TREK movie? You bet your saggy tits I am. There was once a time that I would not mention this in public. I would hang my head and laugh uncomfortably, much in the same way I would imagine a closeted homosexual would, whilst the jocks took the piss out of my beliefs and feelings in front of all the pretty girls and boys. You know what? The tables have turned my friends.

Now all the jocks that thought they were king shit back in the day find themselves not playing sports so much these days, but watching them. and as for their hottie cheerleader girlfriends/wives. Well...



Best of luck with that.

While you're taking a moment to ponder the last time you actually saw your dick, ponder this. An entire legion of nerds, myself included are going to go to the opening night of this movie, not with this gal,

but rather these gals...


Nerds:1
A-Holes: Zip

And by the way, A-Holes, make sure you put enough butter topping on our popcorn when we come through the concession line. We'd hate to have to speak to your manager.

and also...

Assholes, I present...YOUR MOM.


(This is a picture of your mom about to blow my little cousin's best friend. After she made them lunch, in between them playing rounds of Guitar Hero, right before she has to stop to run to the bathroom and take a monster crap because she had "too much Sanka this morning" and not too long before your dad leaves her for one of his "drinking buddies.")

The needs of the many out way the needs of the few...or your mom.

Heart,
-s

ASSAULT KITCHEN: Biggest Fatty!

So this winter's drinking binge has come to a grinding and sobering halt with the realization that myself and my fellow ASSAULT KITCHEN members have done only one thing successfully this winter; gain weight. The end of this sunless, excercise free, freezing and depressing Maine winter was fitfully punctuated by Jon Deitz and Joe Ricchio's Chef Death Match.



A week or so later (but only a few days after we actually finished cleaning up the the shit storm left behind at Joe and Jon's) Joe comes up with a great idea. It's time for him to slow down on the drinking and lose some weight. In typical Ricchio fashion, he treats this like he would any other social situation (lets all stay up until 3:00am drinking and ordering PJ's: of course we're all happy to oblige) he invites (see: ropes) myself, Jon and Matthew Taylor to participate in what we are now calling ASSAULT KITCHEN: Biggest Fatty.

What's ASSAULT KITCHEN? Simply put, AK is Myself, Joe, Jon, Matty, "Bob Piper" and Nolan Stewartinvading your home and cooking your food when you're least expecting it (pilot episode to follow soon.) What's Biggest Fatty? That's us. It's six of Portland's most excessive individuals taking a stand for themselves and entering into a competition to see who can lose the most weight in a month. Why not all six of us? Piper and Nolan couldn't be reached (aka: aren't fat.) Here are the stats:

The 4/25/09 Weigh in:
Matty T. 209 lbs Height 5'10"
Spencer A. 183.6 lbs Height 5'9 1/2"
Joe R. 274.8 lbs Height 6'1"
Jon D. 209.8 lbs Height 6'2"

Clearly I'm at a disadvantage here, whereas Joe could lose 80 pounds and be somewhat closer to his birth weight but if I lost the same, I'd be dead (or a model...hmmmmm.)

Here's what I have going for me.

-Jon isn't actually fat ("This is the worst shape I've ever been in" AKA: "I'm so grossed out by the way my gut is now barely visible over the top of my Calvin Klein boxer/briefs.")

-Joe completely lacks self control ("It's not about drinking less, it's about what you eat.)

-I can actually lose quite a bit of weight by making a few simple adjustments to my diet, exercise regimen and drinking habits.

Against me:

-Matty is a vegetarian who actually jogs (I think I just threw up in my mouth.)

-I'm lazy
-I LOVE beer
-I play soccer but hurt myself EVERY game, thus limiting the amount I can actually exercise the rest of the week.



I've already lost a few pounds since weigh in. My secrets?

-I pooped after weigh in.
-Almost no beer.
-No fast foods (see you later C-Nugs.)
-White meat and vegetables only.
-No sugar in my tea.
-Bike riding/soccer playing. When that's not possible due to injuries I ride my Vespa Ciao because at least it feels like I'm riding my bike.

I'd like to close with a memorial to the friends I'll be leaving behind on this arduous journey.

Bye for now my frosty delicious friend.


You weren't my real papa anyway.


Hummus really isn't a very good substitute.


I FUCKING LOVE THIS GUY. See you in September fatty. Save me some chips.


Unrelated, but REALLY hard to kick.


See you later sitting on the couch and masturbating ALL DAY LONG (Thank you TIVO!)


I think the hardest thing to leave behind will be whole milk. I mean, soy in tea is fine and all, but really it's the creamy smoothness of MILK I really crave. The flavor of milk is just so round in all the right places and the way it's supple sweetness is nearly impossible to erase from my mind...

...wait, sorry, I confused milk with Naiomi Campbell's vagina.

My bad.
Love,
-s

DATE NIGHT!

As it turns out, Wednesday nights are the only night that me and my live in Holly have off together without distractions. So it's every Wedensday that I do my best to cobble together a meal that looks and tastes respectable. Holly and I had a streak of dining at El Camino in Brunswick, which we love. I think (winces and braces for the impact of Joe's fist) that El Camino is the best Mexican food in Maine. Not the best I've had mind you, but the best around. That and the decor and music in there have a transportative quality. Nice job Jeff!


After breaking our chain of eat out dates, we've really tried to step up our game and have tried to make food at home. By we, of course I mean me because Holly is too busy either agonizing over which Tom Petty record to put on, showering or cleaning up Crusty Pete's poop while I cook (I'm on food detail, she does laundry. It's a good arrangement for both of us.)

A couple of weeks ago we made Wild Mushroom and Ricotta stuffed Raviolis and a traditional Marinara from scratch. The sauce took an orange-ish hue after whipping it in the blender, but it tasted amah-zing.



The next week we hosted the 7th Annual Way Too Early Bar-B-Cue (There will be a separate post on this ongoing event) which was all steaks PBRs and burgers. Any BBQ hosted without Bubbies Bread and Butter pickle slices is hardly a BBQ at all.



The next week Crusty Pete decided to cook for everyone by warming up some leftovers, which was VERY thoughtful AND delicious. How did we get so lucky? Really? Asshole.



The following meal was some sort of stuffed serrano wrapped chicken something or other which was way too heavy but delicious. This meal sent us directly to bed. Two days later I made a "pasta thingy" with ziti with sauteed cheese, shallots, garlic and orange bell peppers. Holly managed to assemble a perfect bite. We listened to Tom Petty's "Highway Companion" this night.


Last night's date night was special as we were joined by Stu who was looking forlorn and attention starved in the basement. Three's company!

We headed to Whole Paycheck and picked up the following items.

1 1/2 pounds of haddock
1/2 pound of fresh crabmeat
1 head of garlic
3 shallots
rosemary
thyme
rainbow chard
watercress
a bundle of asparagus
2 lemons
2 bottles of Chateau de Flaugergues ($16.99 retail) recommended by the Mighty Jon Deitz (Thank's Jon.)

We got home, unloaded the groceries, cracked the wine and put Burt Bacharach's soundtrack for "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid" on the turntable.


I halved each of the haddock fillets and placed approximately 2 ounces of crab meat mixed with sea salt, cracked pepper, minced garlic and herbs on to each fillet and rolled them up. Placed into a baking pan and added white wine (Martin Codax Alberino to be exact, not that it matters that much) a third stick of melted butter and the juice of a whole lemon. I topped them with herbs and S+P and baked them at approximately 400 degrees (kind of a mystery considering the stove is about as reliable as the slum lord we rent our house from) for about 15 minutes.


Meanwhile, Stu cooked and mashed some Yukon Gold potatoes with herbs, butter, sea salt, cracked pepper, shallots and a horseradish mayonnaise (FUCKING YUM!)


Then I steamed some asparagus and sauteed the rainbow chard and watercress in a mix of olive oil, butter and balsamic vinegar with S+P until they started to wilt.




With everything timed pretty much perfectly, I placed the greens on each plate, layed the haddock atop each mound balanced up against a heap of Stu's Horseradish Mashed YGPs and arched steamed asparagus over the lot. Each plate was garnished with a warm balsamic vinegar and olive oil drizzle, lemon zest and S+P. We then put The Beatle's "Magical Mystery Tour" on the record player and cracked another bottle of wine.




Great pairings all around. I know some of you are like "a Languedoc with haddock? EEEEEWWWWWW!" To which I respond "Shut the fuck up, I've worked with David Bowie. BITCH!"

After the meal Holly had a Throat Coat tea and went to bed and Stu and I drank more wine, contemplated existence (WE ARE THE ALIENS!!!) and were joined by Ricchio around 2:00am and closed out the evening watching Yacht Rock until we all passed out.


PS: after crawling up to be Holly awoke and pulled the old sensi/emo card by asking spitefully, "Who came over?!? (implied sneer)."

*sigh* "Joe, goodnight cranky."

Apparently The Nunz had entertained in her half sleeping state that we were entertaining a bevy of beauties on the basement, when in reality I was three 30 somethings huddled around a computer screen in the basement talking about Star Trek.


DATE NIGHT!

Roy Orbison and Buddy Holly

I just got back from the Empire Dine and Dance and my head is spinnng. No, not because I had too many drinks, but rather because my friends blew my mind. I started out the evening with a chicken parm sandwich with Holly at Sianno's on Stevens Ave then went directly to play a game of soccer with team Local 188 (lost 4 to 5, good battle) then came home, showered and reported directly to The Empire for what would become 1 of the 3 times I have been moved emotionally by musicians I know.






King Memphis took the stage tonight performing as Buddy Holly. Buddy Holly is a favorite of mine, not only because Paul and John told me to love him, but because among many other reasons "That'll Be The Day" is an incredible song. They knew these songs in and out and played them with such ferocity and grace. It's quite a thing to watch musicians you love and respect play the music of an artist they truly adore.

Here's the deal with King Memphis. All 4 fellas are incredibly talented musicians (Kris Day, WTF?!?) Matthew Robbins among these greats stands out. Not only can Matt play the shit out of his guitar, but he can also build and fix vintage motorcycles, is an incredibly talented photographer, can decorate the shit out of his home and has a hot wife. You can read all about it in my book: Matt Robbins: If I Were Only So Lucky (aka: Life The Matt Robbins Way.)




I mean really Matt, lower the bar for Christ's sake.

Also performing tonight was the most of Dominic and the Lucid as well as two members of Phantom Buffalo performing the music of Roy Orbison.




Here's the drill. I think there was something special in the air tonight, because having put Dominic and Co. up against seasoned veterans like King Memphis really made them up their game. Their newness to this material, I feel, really made them step outside the box and perform the shit out of these songs. They bounced around, trading vocals between Johnny and Dom on all the classic Roy jams you'd hope to hear, as well as a couple you may have never heard before. That was, of course until their last song. The fellas got back up on stage and ABSOLUTELY DESTROYED a verson of the Tom Petty/Jeff Lynne penned "You Got It."

There have been exactly 3 times my friends have played songs by another artist that have absolutely ruined me. One time was when Zach Jones (yes, THE Zach Jones) and friends performed a number of ELO songs up against Kyle Gervais and pals' Supertramp (Tears? Of course!) The other time was when The Everyday Visuals from Boston, MA unexpectedly pulled out a letter perfect and beautifully performed version of The Beach Boy's "God Only Knows." I was simply wrecked and needed to go out back and cry it out near the dumpster.

When these men, all of which my friends, burst into this song, I was instantly transported to another place. My head filled with thoughts of how cool it was that a man who was primarily active in the late 50's and 60's suddenly found himself with a #1 hit in the late 80's and furthermore how incredibly cool it was for a pickup band to play this song and bring the entire house down to the foundation. Remarkable job fellas, really inspiring.

Otherwise, Holly and I are incredibly excited for the new Star Trek movie and I've recently learned that feeding my dog bananas could cut down on how much of his own shit he consumes.


Also, the weather has been rainy, but nice and we're looking forward to a 70+ degree weeekend. on that note, here's some tits.

Marilyn Chambers dead at 56. Stay in school and don't do too many drugs. Thanks Marilyn.

Love
-spence

CHEF DEATH MATCH: Last Meal.

I know about as much about food as my HLP Joe knows about music. That said, I was extremely proud of Joe yesterday at his annual CHEF DEATH MATCH when he relinquished the control of the musical selections played to the guests of his party. The theme of the party was to eat, drink and listen to the things that you would want to experience on your last day on earth. Due to the fact that there were about 20 participants and an additional 30 or so guests, this resulted in a playlist that ranged from ELO to Opeth and foods as disparate as pulled pork on a little fluffy bun (croquette? I dunno) to the meat shaved from the leg of a pig fed only acorns in France. There was wine and beer aplenty and everyone had a lot of everything.
After already having had a couple of beers and sharing a $70 bottle of Champagne with my sister, Tim Emery and his ladyfriend I rolled directly into the party dressed head to toe in black (at the request of the hosts) on my newly purchased 1976 Vespa Ciao



Of course I received compliments on my entrance (frankly because it was perfect) and walked in not only to be greeted by some of my favorite drinking partners, (Kate Schier and Jessica Joseph) but was handed a delicious glass of red wine (What was it? Who gives a fuck? It was delicious) and heard one of the songs I had chosen, "Low C" by Supergrass, playing in Joe's livingroom. This was the only one of my songs that I heard that day. Surely it had something to do with the fact that it was a 60+ song playlist and aided by Joe eventually abandoning the guest's and chef's selections in favor of blasting Motley Crue while spilling rose into his mouth and groping the womenfolk.
What makes my friendship with Joe so spectacular is the fact that one night we can be drinking wine in my studio watching Yacht Rock and I'll scream at him about his shitty taste in music, then the next day we'll be drinking Chambly Noir at Local 188 and he'll remind me of my "complete lack of palette" because I said I didn't think Mexico Lindo was too terrible for Mexican Food in Portland.




SATURDAY NIGHT: DEEP RESEARCH, PORTLAND, ME
JR: ...Home Sweet home is only one of the best songs in the world.
SA: (Throws down slice of Red Baron pizza on the stove) JOE! That song is appealing to morons and rapists. It is the lowest common denominator of music and it's insulting enough that I have to hear it out in the world, I will not have you laud that shit in my own home.
JR: We just have different tastes dude...
SA: NO! You know what? You have the worst taste in music in the world. I, I, I HATE ALL YOUR MUSIC!!! (drunkenly scampers to the basement and smokes quietly in the farthest corner by the washing machine, reaches in dryer to make sure his Radiohead T-shirt isn't getting wrinkled.)



SUNDAY NIGHT: LOCAL 188, Portland, ME
SA: ...I had the pork mole at Mexico Lindo the other night and it was pretty good.
JR: (spits out beer on Jessica) WHAT?!?! You're a fucking idiot. Mexico Lindo sucks so much that it makes me want to cut myself. If you think that Mexico Lindo is in any way decent Mexican food, it's clear that you know nothing about food at all, let alone Mexican Food.
SA: I just thought it wasn't that...
JR: Enough! Shut the fuck up before you say anything else stupid. Mexico Lindo is the worst fucking restaurant on the planet. I'd rather eat shit than eat there. In fact, if you eat there you're probably eating shit.
SA: OK, geesh.

Then we hugged it out and ordered some Papa John's.

All told, the music was great (but not loud enough) and the food and drink were outstanding. It's unclear but I think I got kissed by Big Jay and at some point I definitely had my mouth jammed full of bacon treats by a blond girl in her underwear followed by a Calvin Klein clad Ricchio topping it off with mayonnaise from a squirt bottle. Homoerotic? No, Just gross. Katie took pictures on her fancy cam that I'm sure will prove to be incriminating. Sarah Jump left just in time before the weiss beer took control and Jessica tried to keep me from riding my moped home. Oddly enough, despite all the evening's debaucheries, that's the only thing that brought me shame the next morning.

Before the sun set and the party dissolved into straight NC-17 behavior, we were treated to this shining example of parenting.


Though I still equate pregnancy as an STD, this somehow makes me think parenting could possibly be in my future. Still though, no. Good job cool wine dad (AKA foodie Quatto.)

Love,
-spence