Amid reports of the inevitable downfall of the printed word, I want to take a moment to call out two fine publications. It’s too little too late for these two, but I want my public support on the record. Best Life (by Men’s Health) and Conde Nast Portfolio both appear to be victims of the bad economy and the internets. Best Life was my first adult (not that kind!) magazine. I found it in the airport and it was always filled with articles about the best of everything. There were usually good, better and best options and reasons for why each was selected. It was a much more reasonable and democratic best-of than say, the Robb Report. There were health articles, money advisors and the occasional fashion advice piece. The really interesting pieces to me were about parenting. I know the best laid plans of parents usually fall apart when the tantrums start, but this was the first magazine that I’d read to cover topics like this. I was going to stockpile ideas so that when the day came, I would already be armed and sail across those perilous waters unharmed. I got Best Life for close to two years before they announced, that the issue I was holding would be my last. Bad times. This followed closely on the heels of the announcement of the closing of my newest favorite magazine, Portfolio. I am not a magnate, nor do I aspire to be. I think I would have turned my nose up at Portfolio a few years ago, but I’ve tuned my tastes a little and I started trying to read things that would make me think a little. I read my first issue on the way to Spain. Then I got another issue and heard they were closing. While the body of work I had to examine was small, I liked it very much. There were pages of minutiae and profiles of interesting people. And it covered some of the finer things in life, which I do aspire to sometimes.
It was in my last issue of Portfolio that I read about the founder and CEO of Heartland Express. He’s a self-made billionaire, goes into the office every day and still negotiates the deals. He was diagnosed with cancer too, but that hasn’t seemed to slow him down much. Why am I writing about this? I asked M this weekend if she were a self made billionaire, would she still go to work every day? My take was that if I had worked hard enough and taken the big risks to get myself into the billionaire club, I don’t think I would have a choice but to go to work every day. The sadistic drive it takes to be that successful can’t be turned off suddenly. I don’t see how the rush of sitting on your boat fills that void. I think I understand why these old timey billionaires still burn the midnight oil, long after they need to earn any more.
Which brings me to my point. Prince Harry (Henry Charles Albert David Windsor) recently spent some time in New York City. Instead of tearing up the nightclubs, he did some charity work, paid respects to various memorials and prominent figures and played a little polo. Sponsored by a champagne company and attended by the all the floppy hated people, this polo match even got some national press coverage. During the press coverage, I noticed the winning team was awarded what appeared to be watches as part of the ceremony. At first I thought, why kind of watch do you give a prince? I mean even lesser royalty is usually pretty stacked in the cash department. And even if he weren’t royalty, he’s playing polo. You know, with the horses? There are professional polo players, but I don’t think they make very much. I think it’s one of those sports where you don’t need to pay these guys very much because they don’t need to get paid. You can’t sign up for polo classes down at the local Y. You need stables of animals, caretakers, veterinarians, teachers, safety equipment and lots of open space to run around, not to mention other kids and teams to play against. I don’t recall any pickup polo games starting down at the local park. This is an already wealthy crowd. So for the guys sitting on the horses, what kind of watch DO you wear? Jaeger Le Couture made a watch specifically for polo players, one that could pivot so that the face would face down on your arm, protecting it. A nice feature to be sure, but it was not being handed out at this tournament. After some research, I found my answer… “Adding additional fire to the competitive heat of the Veuve Clicquot Manhattan Classic polo match is the delightful prize that Piaget will bestow upon the victorious team. Winners will leave the podium wearing the Piaget Polo FortyFive.. retailing for.. $11,900” Wow. Just wow. Is that what it takes to add fire to the competitive heat for these guys? I can just picture it now.. “Hey that’s a nice watch”.. “Why thank you. I won it”.. “Oh really, in like a raffle or a poker game or something?”… “Actually it was at the 2009 Veuve Clicquot Manhattan Classic polo match”… “Uhh (searches for guy with champagne tray, hopefully it’s Veuve Clicquot)”.
In other news, I’ve started watching ‘The Curious Case of Benjamin Button’ (so far it’s been great). M and I watched ‘Star Trek’ (excellent), and I also just finished ‘Frost/Nixon’ (also highly enjoyable). They have nothing in common and stand in their own spheres. I recommend them all.
Finally, the grilling season has begun. We did a little moo – a couple of fat porterhouses and some self ground steak burgers, a little oink – 6lbs of smokey spicy adobo pork tenderloin, and this weekend we commenced with the cluck – a preposterously good bbq chicken. In past posts, I wrote about sticky ribs that made me feel sorry for all the food that I ever ate afterwards, because it would never live up to those ribs. Every time I think about this chicken, I cry a little inside. I know that no one else (except M) will get to experience this chicken. I know that every chicken I make from here on out will need to be that much juicier, a little smokier, a touch sweeter, a hint spicier and a tad crispier. I made the sauce myself. Not quite the 8 hour cook from fresh tomatoes, but it took an hour or so and a whole lot of dashes and drops to get it right. I think I could get into making different sauces. Too bad they have such a high bar to reach. Even the sweet potatoes I cooked were the best I’d made with a grill. The secret was to double wrap them in foil and put them right in the fire. On Sunday when I went out to the porch to put the cover on the table, I could still smell the chicken from the night before. It made my mouth water then and I’m getting hungry writing this now. Yesterday we ate too much pizza too late in the day to have dinner. Tonight, the fridge will not survive the attempt. I’ll apologize in advance for the pictures I’m about to share. They depict acts that not everyone will be comfortable with. They are definitely NSFW (not safe for work), if only because you will need to leave work immediately and get you some chicken. Only it won’t look like this and you’ll just have to imagine something that tastes good when you eat whatever unfrozen caveman TV dinner you get your hands on to satisfy that delirious craving for smoke, sweet, salt and secret ingredients.
dirty bird...
