Days of Pork Belly & Roses.

When I was in high school, one of my teachers gave us a writing assignment she called a "55 word short story." The parameters are fantastically manageable. 55 words? I got that covered. On a good day, I type at 140 WPM. Thinly veiled innuendo not withstanding, I can pump out more than 2 of 'em in a minute. It's also the perfect amount for my generation's attention span (I probably could fit a 55 word short story in a tweet!). Without further ado, I present to you two 55 word short stories:

The Kiss

The two teens were more concerned with experimenting on the effects of exchanging saliva than they were with photosynthesis. Inexperienced passion filled the room. Hearing the call, they rushed to make it to dinner on time. They hastily put back on their clothes. She told him, “Thank God you’re adopted and not my real brother.”

The Argument

He rattled against the wood panel. “Can anyone hear me?” Furious, he kept pounding, his impotent rage matched only by the muddled cacophony he created. “They must be able to hear me,” he thought. He desperately needed to have a word with his wife. Unfortunately, six feet of dirt stood between the two of them.

Okay, I've decided that I'm going to take a temporary break from writing 55 word short stories until I can employ themes that aren't incest or death. I'll be back.

The Worst of the Wurst.

Like your high school sweetheart, I can completely neglect you for years and the moment I return demanding your attention, you become putty in my hands, easily forgetting about that time I intentionally forgot your birthday to watch a Law & Order: Special Victims Unit marathon.

There's a site on the internet called FMyLife (for the record, the "F" stands for "Fuck"). In case you're unfamiliar with the site, it's the most efficient internet schadenfreude delivery service that is currently operational. People announce that their significant other is engaged with another person's genitalia, they got their period at an awkward time, or that their teacher doesn't like them. You can usually click "I agree, your life sucks" (which I never click) or "you totally deserved it" (which I usually click despite whether or not the person actually deserved it).

Overall, there are more misses than hits, but I still am disproportionately engaged with that site. The more time you spend with it the more time you want to yell at whomever is announcing "FML."

That being said, I recently have shamefully found myself clicking the "Moderate the FMLs." I assume this is to use the wisdom of crowds in order to avoid having to pay someone to moderate the submissions. The process is thus: someone writes their story of self pity and you click a green check mark or a red "x" to show your level of approval. Enough approval garnered, the story hits the website proper for the world to see.

People who submit to this internet website are the worst. I'm so angry at some of these people that I decided to write a blog post on my blog that I've neglected for a year. Here are some selections of FMLs that are currently under moderation and my anger that follows:

"Today, my dad is a piece of shit whore who said pick up bbs and then made me mow the lawn fold all the clothes and pick up my toys at the foot of my bed when there aren't any fucking piece of shit toys"

I think I have theory of mind (the psychological concept of being able to be conscious of the fact that other people have independent thoughts), yet as I put myself in this person's shoes, I still want to wring his scrawny little neck. Forensic analysis of the writing clearly reveals that this person has a scrawny, wringable neck. Also, it makes me feel bad about myself that I've written a public violence fantasy about someone who is clearly only 10 years old.

"my boyfriend of two years broke up with me. for a girl on face book. on my friends list."

This person clearly doesn't understand context. I don't think I've interacted with a human being today that didn't possess a facebook account. If you want me to revel in your abandonment, please tell me that they met on facebook because they were both fans of "Homework Sucks." Forensic analysis of the writing tells me that she was way too suffocating the past years, her meddling impeding his ability to perform on the PSATs.

"Today, the elevator broke in my dorm, and wont be fixed for another week. I live on the 26th floor. FML"

Forensic analysis of this writing sample clearly shows that the author is obese, the social group that draws the least amount of pity.

"Today, I found out that the guy I've been crushing on is my long lost uncle. Fml"

This person's problem is a problem of information. Most of society's problems are caused by having too much information. Like microscopic shrimp in the tap water, this issue could have easily been avoided with ignorance.

"Today I was walking home from work and i got rob. The robber comes up to mr and say you are going to get rob now. Well than he robs me. FML"

I kind of feel bad reveling in this individual's misery because he clearly has been robbed of his ability to employ the English language successfully.

"Today, my girlfriend's best friend asked her if she would dump me for a free pizza, she did. FML"

I like pizza, too! Now after reading this submission I'm hungry and have no pizza. FML.

Random Meat Round Up #1.

Why even bother with an opening sentence? Let's salivate over this photo of a hot dog and revel in my heterosexuality.

I know what you're thinking, "A hot dog? How passé, Phineas! That culinary trend is so 2008!" To which I wouldn't respond, 'cause I'd probably just have a hot dog in my mouth. Anyway, the above photo is of the chihuahua dog from Crif Dogs. It's a hot dog wrapped in bacon and deep fried then topped off with avocado and sour cream. Yes, I had it after drinking. Yes, it was delicious. You should go there some time.


Oh, hello, ladies. Anyway, this is a bunch of delicious meat that Vince smoked on his manly barbecue for men that was hosted at Hibernia. The smoked brisket and ribs were delicious. Imagine the last time you had really good ribs. They were like that, but better. Also, Hibernia is a great bar for jerks that has surprisingly good bar food. They also changed the channel so I could watch the Tri-Nations which no one else really cares about.

If You Love It, Let It Go. Then Eat It.

Well, I thought to myself, "Wow, now that I have this fantastic new iPhone, I'll be able to take pictures of everything I eat and then post it straight to my blog!" But then it turned out the photos were kind of eh. So I posted 'em.

Anyway, Hearth is doing this fantastic weekly pig roast this summer (and if you act quick, you can eat this post, too). I went with the gang, and, well, why don't I show you what went down.

The first course consisted of a frisée salad with gorgonzola, fried shallots, and a warm bacon vinaigrette. What made this salad so amazing? The fact that it didn't feel arbitrary like most salads. Gorgonzola was the perfect complement to the bacon vinaigrette (where can I acquire bacon vinegar?).


Next appetizer was pork terrine avec pickled vegetables served with a delightful mustard. This might have been the only dish I'd dub "okay, I guess. I'm still gonna eat it." However, the house mustard was fantastic and after a liberal application, the terrine went down delightfully.

The main course was roast suckling pig served with cannelini beans. How can I convey with words the most delicious suckling pig I've ever had? The meat was tender, the skin enhancing its fatty goodness, baby pig teasing your tastebuds like a drunk seventeen year old. It was served with a swiss chard (not pictured) cooked with cream, bread crumbs, and flavor. It made me appreciate vegetables more (probably 'cause of the cream).

Oh, what's up, fruit pie? The first sweet pie to be featured on SSRIs & Rhubarb Pies! The crust was flaky, the pie's sweetness stemming from the not overly-sugared fruit and creamy vanilla ice cream.

If you do end up going to the pig roast, and I highly recommend it, skip the wine and/or beer pairing. The beer pairing was two bottles of Brooklyn Brewery's more forgettable brews (but a palatable dessert cider). The wine was decent, but I also don't understand wine and won't make any effort to.

Also, where can I get me one of those sweet cameras with depth of field?

A Good Decade.

Sometimes I think I can just post an image, doff my hat, and announce to the world, "Lo and behold, I am Phineas and this is my image. I have dug through the bazaar of detritus that is the internet and brought you back a JPEG made of silk and sewn with diamonds."


Sure, I could point out some of the finer, more subtle details of this image for you to find, but that wouldn't be fun, would it? Being a 90's jerk was all about riding your motorcycle in a playground. A 21st century jerk needs newer tools, greater than revving your engine and getting exhaust in the lungs of developing children. I don't have these answers, yet, but I'm working on it.

Hmm, this post seems surprisingly devoid of meaning. What can I do about that?


Here's a low quality photo of some fantastic chicken wings that Vince made using magic dust and coated with a generous layer of sweet and sticky barbecue sauce. I asked Vince politely for the recipe which he obliged. After employing an internet search engine, I believe I can safely blow up his spot since he used a Rachael Ray recipe (not that there's anything wrong with that). It was a fantastic combination of spices and flavors and I cannot recommend this particular rub enough.

Gage Across New York.

Oh, hell yeah.


It's nice to meet you, friend.

Eating My Way Through Koreatown.

So, before I write anything, here's a picture I took of something I ate:


It may not be obvious from looking at this enchantress, but what we have here is a genuine squid stuffed with pork. It's kind of hard for me to come up with a caption for this picture, because the concept is an apex in and of itself. Clearly breeding squids with pigs was the greatest act of animal husbandry ever.

Anyway, this is from Pocha 32 in Koreatown. It's one of those hole-in-the-wall places where you and your white friends aren't really welcomed. In fact, when I was there, our table was the only one with Caucasians. However, the food is fantastic and I wish instead of going to work tomorrow I was just going to Pocha 32 to eat. All day. Stopping only to write about it on the internet. What's that, you want some ambiance?


I've never been to a dive bar in Korea, and chances are I never will, but something tells me this might be what one is like. The ceiling is covered with dorm-room chic Christmas lights nestled between a wealth of fungible soju caps. In my extensive research for this blog post, I learned of a Korean toast, mashi-go chuk-ja, which translates to "let's drink and die."


Well, if it isn't a blurry photo of budae jjigae! This stew really is apparently a fantastic result of American military occupation. Its contents rest in a thin, yet forcefully flavorful and spicy broth. Pretty much everything is included: ramen noodles, rotelli, spam, hot dogs, pork, rice cakes, kimchi. Heck, it's even topped off with cheese. If that doesn't appeal to you in some way, chances are we can't be friends.