Browsing around the cookery section in Chapters, I came across a book called "Potatoes: Mash and More." Atkins be damned, I love potatoes and I'm always searching to make the perfect mash. Unfortunately, the book doesn't reveal any previously-unknown tips, so my mash remains at "average", but it does have a few other good ideas which suit my tasty-but-easy demeanor.
So last night, I decided to try out their "Potato Bravas", with a few changes.
10 small new potatoes
1 Chorizo, chopped into thin slices
1 medium onion chopped fine
4 tablespoons Olive Oil
2 tablespoons water
1 tablespoons Red Wine Vinegar
1 teaspoon chili powder
2 teaspoon "Cajun" seasoning
Preheat the oven to 220 degrees.
Chop the potatoes into 1cm slices and lay them in a baking tray, one row deep. Drizzle all over with olive oil and salt, and put it into the oven for 30 minutes, turning occasionally.
Make the sauce: put the olive oil, water, red wine vinegar, chili powder and cajun seasoning into a bowl and mix well. Add some salt to season.
In a pan, fry the onions until they're opaque but not brown, then add the chorizo. Turn the heat down to a low simmer.
Pour the sauce into the pan and add the potatoes. Keep turning until the potatoes are completely covered and the sauce has reduced down.
Pour into bowls and serve with sour cream and salsa.
Now I have one less reason to go to the Market Bar.
A few things before I disappear for the weekend (still no broadband at home!)
The weather being unnaturally sunny and warm, and I being Irish and a slave to tradition, we're having a barbeque tonight. As well as making tabbouleh, babaganoush, Moroccan pork chops and the old favourite: cheeseburgers, I'm hoping to approximate the taste of the chicken wings from Elephant and Castle, which are easily the best in Dublin (Magruder's on Thomas Street taking second place).
My copy of Everyone Loves Katamari arrived today, and I'm hoping to give it a good blast over the weekend. But my back-log has reached the point of panic. I'm also in the middle of playing:
God of War
Gameplay is fast and kinetic - you can literally tear your enemies apart in a shower of blood. "Contains Strong Bloody Violence" indeed. The sex mini-games are slightly embarassing, however.
Destroy all Humans
Bought cheap in Game. Not the most spectacular game ever, but worth the occasional look. Amazing physics though :)
Midway Arcade Classics 2
I bought this purely for Hard Drivin'_ and _NARC, two of my favourite games when I were a lad.
To top it all off, my girlfriend and I are playing Silent Hill 2 together (her: to prepare for the upcoming Roger Avary movie; me: because I just can't play that game on my own).
I bought a bike last weekend, and have been making the most of the freedom it has given me. It has broken the chains of lunchtime bondage - Spar/Centra/Mannings (virtually the only places to get lunch on Thomas Street). I've been zipping into Blazing Salads for lunch and eating it in Stephen's Green, and have been gorging myself on their baked tofu and goat's cheese pizza.
So far, I'm please to say that I haven't really been in any major scrapes, touch wood (touches wood), but if you see someone on a grey bike whizzing past you and he looks like he's not really paying any attention - watch out! And sorry!
This reminded me of something from Edge magazine a while ago. They did an issue where they got rid of the review score completely. At the time, they suggested that the score did not necessarily give an accurate representation of the nuances of the videogame they were reviewing.
As a reader, I found this issue especially interesting. One of my (many) bad habits is reading the review score first, then the body of the review. Without a score, I was forced to read the text to find out whether a game was particularly good or bad. This was definitely more challenging and informative than usual, since I tend to skip bad reviews completely, unless it's a game I had high hopes for and wanted to see what the reviewer disliked about the game.
It seems Edge's dislike of neat 'scores' for games still continues. With their recent redesign (which has taken quite a bit of getting used to), they also revamped their "review policy"
Previously, it read:
Every issue, **Edge** evaluates the best, most interesting, hyped, innovative or promising games on a scale of ten, where five naturally represents the middle value. **Edge**'s rating system is fair, progressive and balanced. An average game deserves an average mark -- not, as many believe, seven out of ten. Scores broadly correspond to the following sentiments: zero: nothing, one: disastrous, two: appalling, three: severely flawed, four: disappointing, five: average, six: competent, seven: distinguished, eight: excellent, nine: astounding, ten: revolutionary
While I'm on the subject, I honestly don't think Edge magazine gets enough praise. It was promoting "new games journalism" before anyone ever thought of giving it a name. Every month, it writes the most beautiful prose-poems about video games. It's less a videogame magazine, and more a love-letter to video game culture.
A lot of people have started asking me "Do you have a blog?" I've been trying to play this down with responses like "Oh maybe, but you'll never find it - try Googling for 'John Kelly'" But people have been getting smarter: "Yeah, but what if I search for 'john kelly' and uh.. shit, cunt, prick dot com?"
I realised then that people are going to find this blog, whether I like it or not. They might spend a few minutes pumping the kind of obscenities into Google that would make a sailor blush, but they'll eventually find it.
And my mother's pretty well-read, she's probably seen the recent piece about blogs in the Sunday Business Post. I'm sure she's going to ask me if I have a blog soon. And when she does, well... I can't lie to my mother, but then again, I can't turn the air blue just by telling her my domain.
The third level of Splinter Cell: Pandora Tomorrow, which takes place on board a moving train, is simulatenously one of the most thrilling and exciting and yet entirely frustrating levels of any game I have ever played. And as such, it is a perfect macrocosm of the game as a whole.
The level starts with your character, Sam Fisher, rappelling down from a helicopter onto the roof of a speeding train. From here, he has to get on board the train and locate one passenger, a suspected double agent named "Mortified_Penguin" (yes, the dumb name is even made fun of in the game). All this without killing anyone and, above all, without being seen - if your character is spotted by anyone other than Mortified_Penguin, it's game over. Simple, right?
Since games tend to take their cues from Hollywood blockbusters, it's fair to say that a lot of people playing Splinter Cell will be familiar with many of the settings, combat techniques and high-tech fuckery-foo featured in this game from watching James Bond and Mission Impossible movies. And although the Splinter Cell series had always aped its influences to a very high standard, it really hadn't shown me anything I hadn't seen elsewhere.
And that's why this level took me completely by surprise.
Let me explain. Very few games have ever really attempted to do anything involving trains. The few that stand out in my mind are the train from GoldenEye (although that was just like being in any really long, narrow corridor and never once felt like an actual train). There was also a train level in Red Dead Revolver that attempted to recreate the atmosphere of the trainride shootouts from old Westerns. But on the whole, there are very few games that can support a 'train'.
So kudos to Ubisoft for trying to actually give us something that behaved like a real train. When you first drop down on the train roof, your character automatically crouches against the wind. Pushing the stick forward, your character visibly struggles; straight movement is difficult, and he staggers around against the force of the wind. Stand up for an instant, and he's blown back a bit. Jump and he's blown off the train entirely, although why anyone would want to do something so obviously stupid is beyond me. Ahem.
Once inside the train, things get no more simple - each compartment is well lit and populated. When your goal is to remain completely unnoticed, both of these are immediate show-stoppers.
The first trolley is the storage area, patrolled by an inspector. There are a couple of lights here, and a locked door at the far end, blocking your exit there. Fortunately, there is a trap in the floor which allows you to crawl out and under to the next compartment.
So here's where things get tricky. Shooting out the lights gives you an extra few feet of darkness to crouch in, unseen. But there is virtually no way to reach the trap in the floor without being seen by the guard. I know: I've tried. I tried again and again. I must have retried this one particular compartment roughly a dozen times before I discovered what I was supposed to do: knock out the guard.
But I didn't know that I could do this. In the previous level, your character meets up with an informant in a locked room with no obvious exits apart from an air vent, which brings you to another locked room. After 10 minutes of running around, trying a few things, I started to get frustrated. I spoke to the informant again, my character asking him if there was any way out. "Do you think I'd still be in here if there was?" I asked again. And the game started repeating this one conversation again: "Is there a way out?" "Do you think I'd still be here if there was?" "Is there a way out?"
So I hit the informer.
Just a quick punch, that's all. After I did this, I crawled around for a while and finally spotted the gas-vent I was supposed to shoot to open up the way to the extraction point. At the end of the level, my character's boss gave out to me for killing the informant. But wait a minute - I just punched him?! Obviously, my punches are lethal!
So, it was in a similiar burst of frustration that I hit the guard. This time, no boss giving out to me for killing him. How come my punches only knock this guy out? Is he made of sterner stuff than the informant?
Through the floor-trap and onto the next compartment, and there are similar issues. I wait until the guards finish their conversation and run for the door - I'm spotted. I try again, doing the exact same thing as before, and this time I'm not spotted.
From there, I climb outside the train and inch my way along the side of the compartment, trying not to be spotted by anyone and also trying to avoid being knocked off by a passing train.
And so on, and so on, until finally I meet mortified_penguin. He tells me he has to make a phone call, and I'm my orders come in to follow him and listen to his conversation using my "Laser Mic" - a telescopic microphone which the manual tells me "works by picking up microscopic vibrations, especially from glass." So I stand outside the door of the compartment where the conversation is taking place and point the laser mic through the glass, but I get nothing. I'm told I failed the mission, try again. Only when I go through the door and use the laser mic from close-range do I complete this part of the level.
This lack of consistency is apparent in virtually all areas of this game - from the videogame tradition of only having some doors that can open, there are also some lights that you can shoot out while others can take a grenade and still shine. And it's this lack of consistency that ruins the game's ultimate objective of completely free-form gameplay.
Anyway, back to the train.
The level ends with a brief firefight on the train followed by your character climbing onto the roof again and running down the full length of the train to climb onto a rope hanging from a helicopter, all this while an enemy helicopter is shooting at you. Thrilling stuff - arguably better and more innovative than anything Hollywood has given us.
But I reckon, in all, I must have restarted this level 20 times, because each time I was forced to use trial-and-error rather than a consistent set of rules to complete each section. When restarting a level becomes second-nature, it's time to start asking questions.
Koyaanisqatsi has no plot. Nor does it have any characters or dialogue. Apart from the credits and a translation of the Hopi prophecies from which the film takes its name, it includes no text nor attempts at explanation. By all accounts, it's not a movie at all.
But it's the most extraordinary movie I've ever seen.
My first experience with Koyaanisqatsi came when I was about 14. My art teacher in school -- a lovely guy whose heart was in the right place, but just could not control a bunch of teenagers -- spent an entire class raving about this movie, and eventually brought in a book of stills to 'inspire' us, but these didn't do any justice to the movie so my imagination remained unsparked. But when I began to see its name used as an adjective, I knew it was something I had to check out.
I never did. In days before DVD, it was just too hard to get a hold of. I could have imported it with no small amount of trouble, but it was so costly and the quality of my VCR was so awful from years of abuse, it never seemed worth it. So when I got my first DVD player (first generation, baby!), this was the first thing I imported. When it arrived, I called up a friend of mine who was also interested in seeing it and we made an evening of it.
We giggled at the beginning. Uncomfortable giggles: Is this it? Pictures and music? What's the big deal? But the film just starts off slow; fifteen minutes in, it started building up to an acceptable pace, and our jaws started inching towards the floor.
I've since noticed how much of Koyaanisqatsi's images and visual techniques have been repeated by other movie makers, but none have managed to achieve such amazing results. The visuals are, at worst, stunning. At best, they are absolutely breathtaking. Filmed by some of the best cinematographers in the world, everything is in such a way to add extra gravitas or a new layer of meaning to the subject matter. For example, a long panning shot of a waterfall gives you an extremely effective sense of the scale involved - likewise, a time-lapse shot of people getting on and off an escalator demands that you view this everyday activity in a completely new way.
Likewise, Philip Glass' score is equally incredible. It is easily the best and most accessible of all his works, and stands apart from the visuals as a beautiful piece of music in its own right. The story goes that director Godfrey Reggio presented the movie to Glass for scoring. Glass composed a score to fit the movie, and sent it back to Reggio. Then Reggio re-cut the movie to fit the score a little better. Then Glass changed his score slightly to fit this new cut of the movie. And so on. I can't think of another movie where this has happened on such a grand scale
By the time the film finished, myself and my buddy looked at each other and realised our jaws were still on the floor. We'd experienced something completely new to us: a movie as art. Art as a movie, beyond the casual lip-service thrown thrown about for 'experimental' movies like Warhol's 8-hour film about the outside of the Empire State Building.
I fell in love with Koyaanisqatsi that day. I think I watched it three times that week, never once getting bored and each time discovering something new. I still come back to it every few months, especially when I'm drunk - there's something especially fascinating about this movie when my brain isn't going at full speed. I remember saying that I don't take hard drugs, but Koyaanisqatsi made me want to start, just so I could take advantage of a fucked-up view of the world to see this movie in a whole new light. Think 2001: A Space Odyssey's "Stargate" sequence on a whole bunch of new drugs, and you're in the right ballpark.
The comparison to 2001: A Space Odyssey is useful because besides both movies presenting a really strong case for recreational drug use, there is a message at the core of both movies. Both are, essentially, social allegories. Koyaanisqatsi has a very deep message telling us about our past, our present and our future. On one of the DVD extras, Reggio explains that he didn't want to hit people over the head with his message - he dislikes movies that attempt to force a particular message or opinion on its viewers, so he doesn't mind that, sometimes, people miss Koyaanisqatsi's central message completely.
And that's okay, because they'll still have experienced one of the most beautiful films ever made.
The Arisocrats is a movie about one joke, breaking the record for "Least amount of jokes in a movie", previously held by Team America.
Wikipedia explains the joke well, but here's the basics: it's a non-joke. An in-joke among comedians. The start is always the same, the punchline is always the same, so the joke is all about the creativity put into the depraved, obscene stuff in the middle (I'm no expert, but I'd say that the South Park guys currently hold the record for obscenity).
And so to the movie - a documentary featuring 100 comedians explaining their own personal version of the joke, as well as the history of the joke, and the relevance in a society at odds with the "limits of free speech". The movie was co-produced by Penn Jillette (of Penn and Teller fame) and features, among other things the amazingly obscene George Carlin, the amazingly funny Eddie Izzard and uh... Carrot Top.
In other documentary news: I know my birthday is months away, but there's an Errol Morris DVD Collection coming out that would look fabulous in my house, don't you think?
We had a vegetarian friend coming over for dinner, so I had to quickly throw some stuff together. This is a variation of a Salsa Verde. If I was making it again (and not catering for a vegetarian), I would probably include the more traditional ingredient of a few anchovies.
Bag of new/baby potatoes (6 potatoes per person)
Jar of Pickled Gherkins (3 gherkins or so)
Handful of Parsley
Jar of capers (a small handful of capers)
Zest & Juice of 1 Lemon
Salt & Pepper
Red wine vinegar
Bring a pot of salted water to the boil.
Cut the new potatoes into reasonably small chunks, about the thickness of your thumb, put them into the water.
Chop the parsley really fine
Chop the gherkins really fine
Put the parsley, gherkins and lemon into a bowl and mash them (use a pestle and mortar or even food processor if you want)
Pour in a good dash of red wine vinegar
Pour in enough olive oil to make the paste runny but still thick
When the potatoes are cooked, drain most of the water (leaving a little bit in there to be soaked up). Keep the potatoes in the pot with the leftover water.
Pour in the paste and shake the pot, making the potatoes slightly fluffy at the edges. This helps the potatoes collect and absorb the sauce.
Since moving apartment, I've had to change my route to work. Now, I walk down the road beside the Guinness Brewery - Watling Street, which takes me onto Thomas Street.
In a city full of foul-smelling streets, I would like to nominate Watling Street as the foulest. Imagine the smell of a pub at closing time. That smell of spilled beer starting to congeal and sour. Now imagine that condensed to the point where it causes you to gag. And throw in some sewage gas for good measure. That's what Watling Street smells like.
It's so bad that I'm considering changing my route to work - going five minutes out of the way just to avoid going down this street. I just can't put up with the flash headaches and nausea caused by that awful smell.
Or am I wrong? Could there possibly be a worse-smelling street?
I crossed a humped bridge and came into an abandoned carnival which was being dismantled. As I wandered around checking everything out, I came across a second-hand book stall and sitting there, selling books by some guy called Eugene Stanford1 (who looked remarkably like Jerry Garcia) was Steve Jobs.
I was overwhelmed, and shook his hand enthusiastically. He was polite and chatted for a bit. I decided to press a little further, beyond the normal smalltalk of a starstruck fan.
'"How did you do it, Steve? You were 20 when you started Apple. You were in the prime of your life, and you were devoting 18 hours a day to your dream. How did you maintain that focus? How did you maintain relationships with those around you?2 I mean... I'm spending my time worrying about shelves and varnishing and things like that. I'm not pursuing any of my dreams. I haven't accomplished anything. How did you do it?"
There's an old saying in software development that says that "Every application expands to the point where it can read mail" - even if the software started as a way to get away from reading mail.
When it was first introduced by Merlin Mann, the Hipster PDA was a bit of an anomoly. Its analog, low-tech approach to task management and organisation was something unexpected and interesting. It ditched all of the fancy padding we put around our personal productivity and stripped it right down to the bare minimum. Perhaps that's why it caught on so well.
For the uninitiated, the Hipster PDA is simply a stack of 3"x5" index cards held together with a binder clip which functions as a notebook, to-do list, calendar, shopping list, whatever you need. Breathtakingly simple.
Now, maybe I'm completely missing the point (and let's be honest, it wouldn't be the first time), but this is looking more like my packed, hardback diary/planner than the Hipster PDA as Merlin originally described it. It has, in effect, returned a lot of the padding that the Hipster PDA took away. It has, in effect, expanded to be able to read mail.
I'm not trying to say that the DIY Planner isn't a good idea, because it most certainly is. All of its blank lines and empty tickboxes made me shiver with excitement at being able to fill them in. But it lacks the beautiful simplicity of the Hipster PDA -- the very thing that, for me, made the Hipster PDA unique.
Television Without Pity » Lost Episode Recaps
"I imagine someone told the writers that they needed to give us some of Boone, God's Friggin' Gift to Humanity's backstory, so they used a random number generator to determine the moment in the show where'd they'd throw that information in."