I noticed this CBGB gingerbread house has been making the rounds on Facebook. I’m not exactly sure who made it, but from my incredibly thorough Google sleuthing it appears Lizz Trudeau‘s Flickr stream may be the original source.
The Bowery bums give it a nice, historically accurate touch…
Cola is actually an amazing meat tenderizer—folks in my family have poured a can of Coke on the Christmas ham for years. Apparently in China, it’s common practice to pour it on chicken and cook it out in a stir-fry, leaving a sweet, tangy flavor. As far as I know, I have never eaten cola chicken (though sometimes in Chinatown, I just point at things, so I suppose it’s possible), but this new Lay’s potato chip flavor attempts to capture the magic. Unfortunately, they don’t seem to be available in the U.S. (greatest country in the world, my ass).
The caviar of the Nordic proletariat—not the kind you would find in a luxury vending machine
Admittedly, I am not good at predicting trends but, I think luxury vending machines might be a bit too gauche to catch on as anything but a novelty for the nouveau riche. It sounds like a business venture from Real Housewives of Ibiza, (a show I just made up, but would totally get drunk and watch). From the video below:
Now some touch screen vending machines that sell caviar and other high price items have just been opened at a few locations in Los Angeles.
The machines also carry other high end products like truffles, esacargot, bottarga, blinis, oils, fancy gourmet salts and assorted items like Mother of Pearl plates, spoons, and gift box sets.
Prices on items from the vending machine range from up to 500 dollars to 50 dollars.
Have these people never heard of grocery stores? Home furnishing boutiques? I know they have ones that are suitably fancy and sell crazy luxury stuff—going to one of those sounds far more pleasant to me than waiting for my truffles and grapefruit spoon to be delivered like a Mountain Dew.
Contrary to satirical musings, I’m not actually opposed to luxury foods, but I honestly prefer my cavier to be Kalles, the brand pictured. It’s actually really yummy, despite being the four dollar champagne of caviar, and frankly I just appreciate the Swedish presentation—cheap, unfussy, and in a tube with a terrifying Aryan child on it. That being said, luxury consumption will always find new ways to be ever-more conspicuous, and I’m slightly surprised this hasn’t happened earlier.
The gold exchange is even weirder. Why would anyone do that? “Hang on honey, I have to turn my exchangeable US currency into something I can’t buy things with—lemme make a stop at the gold machine.”
The only legitimate reason for a gold vending machine is if you fear some sort of apocalyptic class war and don’t understand that 1) gold has no inherent constant value, and 2) we’ll probably loot the machine before you get to it, Mister Moneybags.
Before coffee houses were homogenized into interchangeable Starbucks, and sucked dry of atmosphere and character, the espresso bar was a meeting place for Beats, musicians, writers, radicals and artists. Each coffeehouse had its own distinct style and clientele, and provided a much needed venue for the meeting of minds and the sharing of ambitions over 2-hour long cappuccinos.
It was the arrival in London of the first espresso machine in 1952 that started this incredibly diverse sub-culture, which became a focus for writers like Colin (Absolute Beginners) MacInness and pop stars like Tommy Steele, Billy Fury, Cliff Richard and Marty Wilde, who frequented the famous 2-i’s cafe. This beautiful, short film serves up a frothy serving of London’s cafe scene in 1959, long before Starbucks ruined it all.
I’ll spare you any more bad puns, but this is legitimately the best thing to come out of Fifty Shades of Grey. I never thought I’d say this, but without a doubt, I will be buying this parody cookbook. Fifty Shades of Chicken: A Parody in a Cookbook, is exactly what it sounds like, with spot-on imitations of the horrible prose that got so many lonely housewives all aflutter.
The way his apron hangs from his hips already has me all wobbly. But as he coats my thighs with sticky liquid I can hardly contain myself. Is it the wine, or is my aroma starting to drive him crazy too? He heats me up fast, it won’t take much too?
He heats me up fast, it won’t take much to finish me off now. His lips quirk up to a smile. My own juices are mixing with the coating and running all over the place. I get the strangest, sweetest, hedonistic feeling up and down. It’s epicureanism run wild!
He spreads my thighs out on a plate. Sticky hands and at least five wet napkins. What will the housekeeper think? Who cares?
Dangerous Minds is a compendium of oddities, pop culture treasures, high weirdness, punk rock and politics drawn from the outer reaches of pop culture. Our editorial policy, such that it is, reflects the interests, whimsies and peculiarities of the individual writers. And sometimes it doesn't. Very often the idea is just "Here's what so and so said, take a look and see what you think."
I'll repeat that: We're not necessarily endorsing everything you'll find here, we're merely saying "Here it is." We think human beings are very strange and often totally hilarious. We enjoy weird and inexplicable things very much. We believe things have to change and change swiftly. It's got to be about the common good or it's no good at all. We like to get suggestions of fun/serious things from our good-looking, high IQ readers. We are your favorite distraction.