Smokey eyes on the world.

The ugly truth.

“Kissing a cigarette smoker is like licking a dirty ashtray!”

While waiting for my roommate to arrive from a bus trip at the Grey Hound Station I was privilege to witness the human condition at its worse. The nasty habit of smoking.

Parked in the bus station parking lot was a black pick up truck. Sitting in the cab was a very thin man with a brown and gray ponytail most of the way down his back. A baseball cap perched on his head. Along side him stood a woman with one hand on his knee and the other holding a cigarette. As they waited for the bus to arrive she handed him her cigarette and lit up another. This went on for some time, each time another was lit the one before was tossed to the parking lot. It was all I could do to hold myself together and not scream across to them both. The world is not your trash bin. As I set there collecting my composure the man blow out a lung full of smoke then leaned over to kiss the woman. I was repulsed to say the least. “Kissing a cigarette smoker is like licking a dirty ashtray!”

There are some things in this world that disturb me to no end. I have tried most of the spiritual practice known to man but can’t seem to reach a compassionate state of mind about them. These are things the human race continue to do knowing how harmful the behavior is, not only to themselves but to others as well. Cigarette smoking is on the top ten of my list of disgusting habits.

Smoking has always been something that disturbed me. I remember as a child my father smoking in the car. It didn’t take long before I would feel what we called back then Car Sickness. The car always had a stall air about it. I hated getting into Dad’s Oldsmobile for any reason. The long rides each week end from NYC to the Dix Hills, Long Island were always hard for me. Little did we know back then that second hand smoking was the culprit. It didn’t take long for me to get that all too familiar nauseous feeling whenever the trip started.

On an old family 8 mm film you can see my mother teasing me with a lit cigarette. As she pretends to take a puff on it I am ballistic over her silly anitcs. Although there is no sound you can still her me wailing. No! No! No! Mom Stop.

I know when one starts to learn the social practice of smoking one thinks, God this is cool. Girls were sold the idea of sophistication and glamour. Most young boys who wanted to smoke so they could be looked upon as courageous, strong and manly. How could one resists all the promises of grander? Every movie you went to made you feel like smoking was the end all be all.

What about those Marlboro adds? Wasn’t he smoking hot? I know, I know, I almost fell for it myself, but,

I remember the first and only time I tried to smoke. My friends were doing it. Why shouldn’t I? We were out on the street corner. The street light shining down on us the atmosphere was right, God we looked cool already just being out there at that hour. May as well go all the way. I took a puff and thought I was going suffocate on the spot.

My throat started to burn and I was choking out of control. My eyes filled up with tears and I had that all to familiar feeling of Car Sickness. Did I ever try it again? No! One should take heed in a lesson learned.

I know peer pressure holds much power over the week of mind but what makes someone take that second puff. For God sake you’er putting burning leaves into you face, down your throat into your lungs and back out again for some unsuspecting victim to walk by and inhale. Get a life. You’er not cool, you smell. Your breath stinks, your hair stinks and your clothes stink. Cool! I think not.

Can’t you see that you are contaminating yourself and everything else?

Nothing is more unattractive then a smoker. Why do you think all the reformed smokers are so adamant supporters of the cause?

May I say one more thing and I will stop my rant? Let me ask the inconsiderate carless smokers that I see throwing lit butts on the streets, parking lots, out the car windows, into garden a plot or wherever you think fit. Just who do you think is going to pick up after your lower then life behavior, the butt fairy!

I guess you really don;t give a shit. I guess all you care about is filling your body with toxins

pictures from google

You takes the cake.

Thanks to Doug.

The day before The North College Hill Bakery fiasco I decided to go out in search of a quant little place to have a bit of a snack. As I drive down Hamilton Ave my eye catches a sleek little sign on the center window of a contemporary looking cafe that read Take the Cake. I look for a parking space and pulled in. A short walk away I follow the hall way to the side door of what turns out to be an open kitchen almost half the size of the building. A small case of home made pastries greet me just past the door. To the right stands a lunch counter full of midday lunchers nibbling on soups, salads and sandwiches of the day. To the left is a sofa and side chairs to mingle at your leisure while feasting away on sweets and sipping on a cup of hot coffee. Two oversized country kitchen tables stained in a dark finish sit under the large window that looks out onto the street. The tables are flanked with Ikia or West Elm molded scoop back chairs in a multicolored print. Strangers all sit together so one can eavesdrop on others conversations. One of my favorite pastimes at a restaurant. Large art cover the walls maybe painted by a local artist. This place was just what I had in mind a bit of urban delight.

A very polite young woman at the counter asks what I thought I would like and suggest the apple cobbler. I agree, and am told to help myself to a cup of coffee. I choose the sofa as my resting place and set myself down, pick up a mag from the coffee table and go to town on my treat.

The cobbler was baked into a pie pan not a casserole dish. The pan was lined with pastry layered with apples and covered with another layer of pastry. The slice was in a triangle shape like a piece of pie. Unique and delish at the same time. With the hot coffee, it was over the top.

Not seeing any cakes in the case I didn’t think to ask about ordering a birthday cake. I picked up a business card with the web site address for Take the Cake, pay my very reasonable bill and drove away to go order my cake at NCHB. Little did I know I would be back the next day begging for mercy.

Settling in at home I opened my new traveling lap top and typed in the address for TTK. The page comes up full of cute little graphics of sweets, pictures and note cards to direct you to information about the cafe and all the wonderful thinks you can expect to find there. I scroll down and find a card that reads “ we do wedding cakes.” I click on it to find an array of bright colorful pictures of cakes fit for any occasion. #@$%%^&^(*)*)_&(%!!! Why didn’t I think to ask? Oh well the deed is done. A cake from NCHB is what it will be then.

TTK is run and operated by two talented people Melissa Mileto and Doug Feulkner, Both foodies by nature which explains the menu choices. On any given day you may find things like Chickpea stew, Mustard Green/Tomato/Fontina Quiche, Panko Talapia Salad or sandwich with Roasted Russet Potatoes. The menu changes often.

The following day after leaving the NCHB cakeless I find myself driving all the way back home in a daze. As I pull into the driveway it comes to me. Why don’t you try TTK? Anything they have would be better then the mess I was just presented with at NCHB. I pull back out and head down Hamilton Ave towards TTK. As I pull open the door Doug Is at the counter. With his welcoming smile and asks, How can I help you? I explain that I have just had a cake disaster and would beg if I had to get a cake from him. Just my luck he had two rounds of un-iced cake in the back and could put it together in a sec. How would you like the cake? He adds. What I have a choice? I’ll take what ever you have. I respond with a smile on my face of relief. Ten minutes later I am out the door with a wonderful cake filled with caramel and and says Happy Birthday. I left off the Michael this time. Along with the cake I have instructions. Keep the cake level so it won’t slid, Doug suggests. A newly iced cakes should always be refrigerated for at least two hours before traveling to set the filling. This I know, but what can I do the birthday dinner is tonight and I still have to go home and get pretty. I place the jewel gingerly on the floorboard and off I go. Back at the house I get the box into the fridge and myself in the shower.

It’s now time to go pick up the birthday boy from work and take him to dinner. On the way out the door I decide to backup, go into the kitchen and take a look at the cake.

#^$^%%&))(*&^%^%%!!!

I push the cake back together as best I can, take a deep breath, clear my head and off I go.

Cakeless in Cincinnati.

North College Hill Bakery

All I wanted was a small birthday cake for the man. I came all the way out to Cincinnati to celebrate his birthday and I didn’t think a cake would be an issue. I usually make the cakes for such occasions but it’s hard to cook out of one’s environment. I know I am a pain in the ass when it comes to the food I allow myself to swallow, my friends remind me of that fact it all the time. My feeling is that if I am going to pay good money for something it better be right. Please don’t try to sell me a bill of goods, tell me something is something it obviously is not or think you can pass one over on me. I grew up in New York City...that not only makes me street smart but I know the difference between quality and shlock. New York has some of the best bakeries in the world. I can spot a fake a mile away. I can taste artificial sweetener, and the likes of a cake mix the second it touches my tongue. Cake mix doesn’t even smell of a home made cake. The consistency is never as dense as a cake made with real eggs, sweet butter, whole milk, sifted flour and a good amount of real sugar. You could create a lighter cake by making a sponge cake but most cakes have body. The same goes for butter creams made with hydrogenated vegetable shortening. Gag me with a spatula. Why would you ever cover a cake even one made of a packaged mix with something one molecule away from plastic. You would never get away with a scam like that in Europe. No wonder half of the population of America is over weight. You’re eating wasted calories something you can’t digest people. Can you say clog those arteries!

My tale of woes began on a rainy Tuesday morning. The day before the alleged birthday dinner for Michael. While shopping in Krogers, a local chain of grocery stores, I made it a point to check out the display of brightly colored cakes in the case at the bakery department. Although they are all creative in design they look like display cakes. Something you could place on your sideboard in the dinning room and dust off once a year, good as new. They all look festive but I wanted to eat the thing not arrange it as a keepsake. As I am contemplating my next move I spot a well dressed women talking to the butcher. Which happens to be my next stop for lamb shanks which I never was able to acquire. Long story! I’ll have to blog on that one some other time. I get her attention and ask “ Do you happen to know of a Good Bakery. The women spins into a whirlwind of expressions and descriptions about the best cake she has ever placed into her mouth. I am excited and ret-to-go. I think I may have found a treasure for my culinary desires right here in the Burbs. A place I can satisfy my craving for the finer things in life. “ Cake.” The North College Hill Bakery. Michael had even told me the folks next store to him highly recommended it. So off I go.

It takes me a bit of time to find the place even with the GPS in hand. Cincinnati is a city made up of a small municipalities. Some are quaint with urban shopping tracks tucked away into lovely old buildings, others are sadly forgotten rundown hoods. North College Hill falls into the later. I drive up to a white square flat roofed addition to an old Craftsmen house. You can still see the old roof line in the back as you drive up the street. The sign above the door says North College Hill Bakery probably painted the last time they gentrified the place. I’d say the 1950s.I am here at last.The sidewalk is bare of any decorations with plenty of spaces to park the car. The place looks like it’s closed, but I park and get out anyway. Following right behind me is a young women about 30 or so her eyes light up as she enters. We both spontaneously take in a full breath to inhale the aroma. The place smells like the bakery at Publix, way too sweet. Almost like your grandmothers perfume. Although the place is clean I can almost feel the sugar sticking to the walls. My first impression is to leave but the natives here love this place so I concede.

I look around and spot two rows of fresh baked bread in plastic bags. As I talk to the women behind the counter about the choices I have for a birthday cake. I notice a tray of something that looks yummy. The sign next to the tray says Cream Horns. I haven’t had a Cream Horn since I was in Boston a good 10 years ago. My mouth begins to water. I crouch down so I can take a closer look and notice something odd. The cream looks a bit dense. Almost frozen in time. So I ask. What is the filling in Cream Horns? Meringue! She replies. Like I must be kidding her by my foolish question. Though I think this is somewhat odd for a Cream Horn. I think to myself, I’ll try one. What can I loose? A $1.50.

I ask, do you sell Cream Puffs? Oh yaahh! she replies in her midwestern accent as a proud smile curls up at the edge of her soft colored lips. Are they filled with Cream? Scared to ask. Oh Yaahh! We are out of Cream Puffs though. They are the first to go in the morning. I look around the shop again, It's about 3:00pm and the cases are still full of the standard danish pastry going stale, the kind you can get anywhere. I can see them now all showing up on the half price shelf tomorrow morning packaged 6 to a bag and all stuck together in one lump or better yet delivered to the homeless shelter before the night is over. Hum! I think, If you know you will run out so quickly, Why don’t you make enough to last through to the afternoon? Even though I think this is a fair question I stay silent. Cream Puff Pastry lasts a few days if kept in a dry place. They can always be baked ahead of time and filled on demand. So I move on to the reason I came on this voyage in the first place. A birthday cake.

I ask, ‘Do you make the whipped cream? Oh yaahh! Everyday. Do you have custard filling? I add. Oh yaahh! She smiles again. We have vanilla and chocolate. No chocolate, I say. I just want a white cake with vanilla custard filling and whipped cream for the icing. As she writes down my order she asks. What do you want it to say. How about happy birthday Michael. I reply. Would you like flowers? How about fall colors. That sounds great, I answer.

I look over at the cream horn and say I’ll try one of those too. They are very good the voice behind me says. What else do you like here I ask the women that followed me in. Oh you have to get cinnamon bread. I drive 45 miles to come here for the cinnamon bread. My grandmother lived here when I was kid and always had it in her pantry. It’s the best. Sold! I’ll take a loaf of bread too, I add. The woman tells me the total and I pay her. Do I get a receipt? I question. No! She replies. Just give me your name. It’s all taken care of. Lester, I say, not feeling too good about this policy. She hands me my change and I head for the car treats in hand.

Curiosity killed the cat and mine was running over time. I open the bag to pull out the Cream Horn, take a big bite and wow! Can you say sugar overload? Sweet would be an understatement. As crumbs are dripping over my shirt I take another bite and put the rest back in the bag. Better luck next time.

The next day at the designated time - 12:00 p.m. - I get into the car to pick up my prize. The place will be easier to find now that I am learning my way around the town. I walk into the bakery. Can I help you? a new women behind the counter asks. Yes, my name is Lester and I am here to pick up my cake. She disappears to the kitchen and reappears with a chocolate cake that says Happy Birthday Michael and is decorated with fall colored flowers. I look at the cake and say. This is not my cake and reiterate my order from the day before. She goes back into the kitchen and comes out with the original woman with my order form in hand. She says as she smile. This is what the order form says. Chocolate butter cream with white cake. She has got to be kidding me. No. I remember telling you no chocolate. I asked for whipped cream. You told me you made it here every day. Oh my, we never put whipped cream on the cakes, we only use butter cream. Can we make you another one? She whimpers. We can make it right up for you while you wait, she adds. Butter Cream I think. I am always suspicious of butter cream in places that smell this sweet. Do you make the butter cream here? I am afraid to ask. Yaah! Yaah! from scratch she replies. Oh right, I have heard the made from scratch one before. Scratch doesn’t always mean it’s made from real food. It just means they concoct it up in the kitchen out of who knows what. I am afraid again to ask but I do. Can I taste it? The poor woman is now beside herself. She goes over to the counter, takes out a cupcake, slices off a bite piece and hands it to me placed in a paper wrapper. Thank you I say and take one bite. My face always gives me away. I just can’t help it. My eyes open as wide as the cup cake. Oh my God! Did I say sweet? I don’t know what to say. I don’t even want to swallow. This will not work I blurt out. I was set on whipped cream. Can’t you just ice the cake in cream? No! No! We never put cream on a cake, she tells me again. We can give you your money back. There is a God. Thank you. I respond to her goodwill. I take my money and get back into the car in search of another solution. Michael’s birthday dinner is tonight.

P.S. The cinnamon bread is worth going back for. It’s excellent in the morning with a great cup of tea. Yaahh!!!

When eye wash is not enough

I think it was Anne Leibovitz who said Your right to wear a polyester leisure suit stops where my eyes begin, or did I just make that up myself. Even if she didn’t, the saying still holds true.

During a weekend stroll in St Augustine where the rich and famous come out to play I was subject to an array of ... how can I say this! What would be the opposite of Eye Candy?

Oh Yes! Eyesores

and things you just can never get away from. Come on people what are you thinking?

Some of the things that hurt my eyes are,

Women that smoke in the street. Anyone for that matter.

( Check out the stance. It says I look cool and calm. )

Pretty as a picture? Think again.

Sausage casing is not a fashion statement!

Sausage casing is for holding in sausage. Kind of like a girdle.

The theory is that If you have to squeeze yourself into something the odds are that something is a bit to small.

My advice would be to always look into a mirror before you leave the house. If you don't have a mirror ask a trusting friend, How does this look on me? Remember never, never, never ask a friend who has the same ascetics as you.

( Look to the left of this picture.)

Hay! What are you trying to do poke my eye out with those things?

click on picture to enlarge if you dare

911 Please! Is there a hair dresser on the street?

Old hippy woman with long gray unkept hair.

Shampoo, conditioner, combs, hair nets, barrettes, hair pins and best yet scissors

are all sold in just about any retail venue anywhere in the world.

Hair like this goes along with a cauldron my pretty.

Poison Apple anyone?

Goth is over. Emo is in or is it on its way out already. Oh trends are so much fun to watch wax and wane.

One day you're in the next you're out.

Get a real look.

Rah- Rah hats that light up.

God help me!

If orange and blue wasn't bad enough. Over sized girls in over sized football jerseys.

Just because corporate America markets something doesn’t mean you have to swallow it. When buying something to wear make shore it fits. Shoulder seams should start and stop in the same place so should the arm holes on your sleeves... at the shoulder. A short sleeve is just that, short. They were never meant to cover your elbow.

No one should be seen in a FJ if you don’t play football.

You don’t see me flailing around town in a ballerina tutu do you?

Someone call What not to wear.

The un-life in wax. Sleeping Beauty???????

Why is she so yellow? I thought she was sleeping not dead.

Please take this out of the window.

Anything gator.

You payed good money to look like that?

Can someone please tell me what could be so appealing about the cut of the Hawaiian shirt.

The cut is square. It makes you look square.

Add a gator motif and you look square and tacky.

Way to go there Broooo!

What about then Gators!

No No No to the shoes. You're on vacation

not on the track.

In the late 1980‘s there was a store in New York City’s upper west side that sold fashion for men and women. When they were forced to go out of business by the lack of public interest to care about looking dressed. The compony took out a full centerfold add in the New York Times that read

“ Denim, Flannel, Tee Shirts .

Wake us up when its over."

For well over two decades now we have looked like slobs.

How long can we live like this?

And again anything gator.

You left your team in g-v ille. Besides the game was yesterday.

I was better off without my new glasses.

Stop the insanity I want to get off.

Art imitates life.

So the movie Julia and Julia just came out. Much fun and great cooking and how about all that sex the real Julia was having way back then. Not to boast but both Julias have nothing on me.

The illusion of deities

Wikipedia defines the word Deity as.

A postulated preternatural or supernatural immoral being, who may be thought of as holy, divine, or sacred, held in high regard, and respected by believers.

Deities are depicted in a variety of forms, but are frequently expressed as having human or animal form. Some faiths and traditions consider it blasphemous to imagine or depict the deity as having any concrete form. They are usually immoral, and are commonly assumed to have personalities and to possess consciousness, intellects, desires, and emotions similar to those of humans. Such natural phenomena as lightning, floods, storms, other 'acts of God' and miracles are attributed to them, and they may be thought to be the authorities or controllers of various aspects of human life (such as birth or the afterlife). Some deities are asserted to be the directors of time and fate itself, to be the givers of human law and morality, to be the ultimate judges of human worth and behavior, and to be the designers and creators of the Earth or the universe.

People have this insatiable need to have someone to look up to. Someone to believe in. What I find sad is that all it has to be is someone that has an opportunity to do something they cannot. Here in America Hollywood creates an elusion not only on the screen but of the actor. Their lives have the impression of grandeur, happiness and a well rounded existence. Not so true when it comes down to it. Many of our so called American Royalty i.e. the rich and famous have shown their ass in the past decades. So why do we continue to put famous people on alters like Saints.

I have been working on this theme in the form collage. I make them in the image of the South American santos. It is my way of expressing how people worship what they don’t understand or better yet those whom live beyond ones grasp.

Madonna, and Donatello Verchasi,

The Vipers.

Tom Cruise

Cruise as Chist or The Holly Father.

Mel Gibson

The power of the Cash.

Guwn Stefani

The Golden Voice.

And not to leave out my favorite Martha Stewart, The Patron Saint of the Socially Inept