Much more dynamic than Eggling's earlier effort, Harry Smith colorized and expanded on the possiblities set for in earlier experimental films. There's still no narrative - natch. But there are distinct sections that emerge over the course of the film's run time. As a side, these must have slayed beatniks and curled up their goatees.
New student orientation is a strange ritual. Schools have to have it or they end up looking careless. At best, orientation for incoming freshmen keeps the new arrivals from wandering
around campus aimlessly. What it doesn't do is prepare new students for the shift in lifestyle they're about to experience. There's a learning curve to the unique social microcosm of college. Here's a quick guide for what you ought to learn and accomplish in the first four quarters of your campus experience.
Quarter #1: Early is Good
No matter what the subject is, the key word for a successful first quarter of freshman year is "early". It applies everywhere. Want to make friends? Introduce yourself to new people as soon as possible. Especially in dormitories (where the majority of freshmen live), social groups tend to solidify early on. A lot of people make the majority of their college friends in the first few weeks of freshman year. This is unnecessary and unfortunate, but it's the way the system tends to work. Being outgoing early on will pay dividends in the long term.
Also, get to know the facilities on campus as early as possible. The better you know your way around, the easier it'll be to get to class on time and generally navigate your new surroundings (even on nights when you're, ahem, lacking full use of your mental faculties). Speaking of getting to class on time, make it a habit to get up early enough to do more than just stumbling to class in your jammies. Attention to personal pride and grooming will serve you for the rest of your life.
Quarter #2: Adulthood is Calling
If you're a freshman you're likely 18 and just out of high school. Try not to act like it. College, contrary to popular belief, is not a period reserved for parties and irresponsibility. It's an introduction to the real world and the basis for what you'll do for the better part of your adult life. Work diligently and pay attention in class. If you choose to use intoxicating substances, learn how to use them responsibly. It doesn't matter how old you are, stumbling around drunk on a bottle of cheap booze is unbecoming. If you choose to have sex, be safe, informed and respectful about it. Your campus likely has a student health center where they have safe sex products and educators. If not, your local Planned Parenthood will.
Quarter #3: Explore
The first semester is good for getting familiar with the limited world of your campus, but that gets old quickly. Explore the area beyond campus, be it a big city, a small town or a lush wilderness. Getting out of your bubble will give you perspective and encourage you to think like a regular member of society. Also, explore new interests. Do things you've never done, seek out learning experiences and don't restrict yourself to a small social group. This is how a personality is formed.
Quarter #4: Kill Bad Habits
Some college students acquire a list of bad habits over the course of their studies they don't end up kicking until after graduation. Don't make that mistake. Try not to go to the same party every weekend. Learn how to cook more than sandwiches and instant noodles. Shower regularly. Being a freshman gives you some leeway, just don't abuse it. You should finish your first year of college with the skills and mindset to enter the world beyond your school. That way, you'll be able to focus on how to apply your studies to a career after graduation.
"Come drink with us, Christopher.
Come down to the bar.
To the Blue Goose on Main Street
where the gin falls like rain.
Come drink a martini
a Manhattan or fizz.
Come chug Irish Car Bombs
until you get sick."
That was his friend on a cell phone
shouting over the uproar, the music,
the cacophonic melange.
Thus went Christopher, son of Harry,
son of Martha, son of Maine
into the black winter evening
for shots with the gang.
On his walk to the Blue Goose
saw young Christopher a bum
who begged a stray quarter
for a story in a song.
Sang the bum of a love lost
to whiskey nights in Sin City
and a tragic affair
with a slick bodybuilder
oiled within an ounce of torches,
great bonfire torches
made of men and their ambitions
to be so strong and so loved and so bigger than all.
Sang the bum of a knife fight
with a Mexican gang
in the summer when Loredo
was a warzone in back rooms,
parking lots and dumps,
when Old Chester the dachshund
shuffled loose his extension cord leash
like Fenrir at world's end.
A dollar in quarters was Christopher's toll,
a price he paid gladly to linger and stall.
There were tequila shots waiting,
Coronas and limes.
There were fearful crowns of porcelain
and piss-sticky floors.
And there was magic.
At the Blue Goose the juke spooled
a loom of hard rock.
Its tapestry a pantheon,
its gods spandex-frocked.
Among the wailing guitars and cheesy synth calls
came young Christopher to mingle,
to awaken, to imbibe.
Billiard balls cracked like eggs made of shale
and cocaine in the bathrooms made pretty girls pale.
The night nearly over, the night just beginning,
the bloodshed, the tearshed, the bladders, the sperm.
Christopher kissed a bourbon
and shared his first drink with none.
"Don't hide from us, Christopher!
Don't forget we're your friends!
We've bought a pitcher of Miller
and can't drink 'til you sit
and align with us.
A constellation soused,
a bright, shining rust
of squandered youth and yadda yadda yadda,
you wanna get plastered or what?"
Three pints in libation
to no particular god
and Christopher's eyes were wide, swimming
to the end of the bar.
There was a lark with her midriff a banner,
a tramp-stamp emblazoned
above her hip-hugging pants.
She sipped on a Cosmo, then amaretto and Coke.
Her hair was like a fox in Spring,
her lips like cushions of crimson.
"Aphrodite be kind
although you never are.
Smile down on a soul too scared to walk
your roads without drinking.
Give my credit card legs
that it may run extra leagues.
Give my tongue godly grace
lest it fall and undo me.
Grant me this moment and I will be your slave,
in service 'til death at your altar and lave."
Christopher finished his prayer
and downed his last drop.
He rose from the table and all wished him good luck.
Like a sea serpent he weaved
through the revelers and drunks.
Like a heron he glided to the beer taps and beyond.
He ducked under a trucker with a willow tree beard
and he threatened a day trader
who stank of Red Bull, Hugo Boss and fear.
With wings on his intentions and the sun oh-so-close,
Christopher plummeted into despair and remorse.
The fox found a raven, the cushions found twins.
A black-haired waitress was Christopher's end.
She put her arms around his quarry,
kissed her forehead, kissed her neck.
She whispered the poems of Sappho without moving her lips.
Christopher died then in his heart and his pants.
He found no solace in bourbon,
no ease in nacho chips.
At 1:00 A.M. a creature appeared at his side.
She had hair like a mouse just come in from the rain,
two lips like cat's whiskers, thin and near-gray,
a blouse once full-white now faded and stained,
and a voice like cold coffee, heavy with grains.
Christopher leaned on her sympathy
and then on her shoulder.
With last call on the horizon he held back a tear.
To do what he now must, he'd need one last beer.
Dean Martin, the patron saint of all 21st century lushes, once said, "It was a woman who drove me to drink. Come to think of it, I never did hang around to thank her for that." Though Deano's wit was as dry his his martini ever was, there's a kernel of truth to this particular off-hand comment. The greatest motivator for the consumption of alcohol always has been and always will be people. More specifically, people who are strangers and might not be soon. We drink to meet people who will sleep with us, be friends with us, or even fight us without a question. That's why there's nary an armrest between you and the next person at the bar. We drink to be closer to people than we usually let ourselves be while sober.
One of the first observed effects of ethanol on the human brain is the famously vague "lowering of inhibitions". In plain English, booze propels the average human being to act an ass while he or she would normally be respectable when sober. Physiologically, I just don't buy this premise. I never have. See, there's no one part of the brain that makes a person conduct him or her self like a decent adult. It's not so simple as a "polite behavior" receptor in the frontal cortex. Despite the reductive pop-psychology of the Freudian super-ego, the truth is that everything that comprises polite social behavior can't be boiled down to a few neurological mechanisms. Restrain and courtesy are a mix of impulse control, long-term memory, operant conditioning and a wide variety of hormonal states. One blunt chemical like ethanol can't shut down all of those things. All it can do is slow down one's brain's information uptake and provide a convenient excuse.
Yes, the famous "but I was drunk" excuse. It's the catch-all dismissal of all bad behavior. Everything from foul language to marital infidelity have been unduly blamed on alcohol, if only because people are willing to believe that our species' first magical substance can transform us into completely different individuals, a la Jekyll and Hyde. The truth is that none of us are anyone other than ourselves while drunk. At most we are versions of ourselves we would like to be all day but are too afraid to be. This is why drunk people confess love to their friends, pick fights with people who make them angry and cry like children when upset. The alcohol isn't transforming them, it's just giving them an excuse to behave how they've always wanted to.
So, we convince ourselves that the best way to meet new people, for whatever end, is to drink enough to become uninhibited. While drunk we are willing to introduce ourselves to new people, to pursue love interests and see the good in strangers we can't be bothered to befriend while sober. It's a hedged bet. If we end up connecting with these people, that's just grand. If not, we can blame the misstep on alcohol. The truth is that there's no earthly reason why a room full of sober people can't make friends, meet lovers and express grievances. It's just that few people are willing to risk any of those pursuits when their brains and bodies are capable of feeling the sting of rejection or a punch to the face.
The Mai-Tai was supposedly invented in 1944, at the Trader Vic's restaurant in Oakland, California, for friends who were visiting from Tahiti. Maita'i is the Tahitian word for "good," said to be the verdict of the visitors upon tasting the new cocktail. An alternate origin story attributes the invention to Don the Beachcomber, of the Beachcomber bar in Hollywood, in 1945. The garden variety Mai-Tai is made with rum, orange-flavored Curaçao liqueur, and lime juice, and garnished with a piece of fresh pineapple, and a maraschino cherry. But with the rise of Tiki bars, and tourist travel to Fiji, Tahiti, and Hawai'i, the Mai-Tai has become the archetypal Tiki drink, without or without an umbrella.
With the popular resurgence of Tiki bars and Tiki culture (complete with brightly colored shirts, rum drinks and ethnic art) the Mai-Tai has been reborn. But along with the burgeoning interest in the Mai-Tai, there's been a passionate movement to return to the Official Sacred Trader Vic's Mai-Tai recipe. Devotees of the traditional Mai-Tai are issuing fiats forbidding orange or pineapple juice. To the purist, the Original Sacred Trader Vic Mai-Tai consists of high quality aged rum, orange Curaçao, simple syrup/rock candy syrup, fresh lime juice, and an almond syrup called orgeat, served on the rocks in (for the traditionalists) a highball glass, and garnished with a gently bruised sprig of fresh mint.
There are a number of Mai-Tai recipes; all of them are better for avoiding poor quality rum and pre-made mixes. I'm a firm believer in avoiding flavored rums for Mai-Tais, and using a mixture of aged (twelve years or more) light and dark rum. I will confess that I am partial to an otherwise traditional Mai-Tai with light and dark rum, Curaçao, freshly squeezed lime juice, orgeat, and a garnish made with a chunk of fresh locally grown pineapple from Maui, and a sprig of fresh mint. For the traditionalist, here's a super video of Martin Cate, owner of the San Francisco Tiki bar Smuggler's Cove making a very traditional Mai-Tai. The Royal Hawaiian Hotel in Waikiki uses orange juice in their Mai-Tai version; the Trader Vic's version is here. For those of you interested in bulk Mai-Tai creation, here's a Mai-Tai recipe using fresh ingredients that makes a gallon (but that does use orange juice, so purists, consider yourself warned).
Photo credit: Hawaiian style Mai-Tai by duluoz cats.
Recently there has been an increase in the demand in America for unusual bar ingredients. Bitters are coming back in a big way, as are various anisette-style herbal liqueurs and various European tinctures that haven't left their arrondisements for ages. One such French oddity is St. Germain, a sweet liqueur made of elderflower, among other things. This stuff has been popping up in more and more Stateside bars and liquor stores every month, and with good reason. There's something special about St. Germain, aside from the fact that it's likely the only yellow bottle on the shelf aside from that perennial misfit, Galliano.
The people who market St. Germain would have us believe that every individual elderflower that becomes the liqueur is hand-picked by some careful French farmer and taken to some idyllic Alpine town on an old bicycle for processing. The true story has more to do with quickly harvesting as many flowers as possible during the Spring peak, which lasts a little less than a month. Elderflower is far from rare, so it's really just a matter of getting enough plants and macerating them in neutral grape spirit before they experience the same fragrance-dulling fate of all picked flowers. I don't really mind the mythos of St. Germain. Honestly, I'd rather the stuff be at least a little mass-produced, lest the price of a bottle climb from roughly $35 to the unkind heft of anything brewed in small batches.
Like other old concoctions, such as Lillet and Fernet, St. Germain is a liqueur with a more respectable flavor than most of the stuff called "liqueur" we're used to drinking. It's not as sweet or syrupy, plus it gets its body from distilled wine rather than from neutral grain spirits. This gives St. Germain a fuller, warmer mouth and a grapey undertone that pairs well with the floral top note.
But there's something else about St. Germain that I've come to appreciate. It's utterly subjective and it takes its appeal from a personal sense-memory, but that doesn't make it any less valid. In short, St. Germain tastes like a synagogue.
The first time I ever tasted St. Germain I knew I recognized the flavor, I just didn't know from where. It took me a while to realize it was lighting up those parts of my brain that recall things from childhood; subtle, almost forgotten things. Synagogues, generally speaking, smell like a combination of carefully-handled prayer books, sweet wine, lit candles and clean fabric. They also usually sport the unmistakable scent of fresh challah bread, a rich, egg-washed bread with a golden-brown crust and fluffy, somewhat cakey interior. This unique melange is almost exactly reproduced in St. Germain, however accidental that may be.
Drinking St. Germain straight, like any liqueur, is fine but occasionally too cloying. This in mind, I've devised a simple cocktail to bring out its flavors without ruining its unintentional Judaic tones. Hit a few cubes of ice with a good sweet vermouth, 1.5 ounces of clean gin and a half ounce of St. Germain, shake and serve with a plum or pluot garnish. If you feel like it, say a little prayer over it before the first sip.
Okay, so what is classier than box wine? Making a delicious, expensive sounding, Sangria out of that box wine! Here's what you need to do:
To start you need a lot of wine, preferably the cheapest wine you can get in a large amount (like everyone's college favorite FRANZIA). This wine should have a really simple taste to it - you do not need any of that fancy "oaky flavor" grape-named wine - in fact the cheaper it is the better. Seeing as this is Sangria Blanca you want the wine to be white.
We need a vessel (or a few vessels) for this magical summer elixer so grab a punch bowl or some other large liquid-holding container you can find.
Next you need a cucumber - wash it off and slice thin (1/4 - 1/2 inch slices) sections, set the sections to the side (in a clean area!), or in the (clean!) vessel. If you place them in the container you wiill use you will save yourself some extra clean up so this is the best option. You do not need to "peel" the cucumber - but you may if you prefer.
After that you need a cantaloupe - peel it, and cut some nice medium (bite sized) chunks. Throw them in with the cucumber.
If you have any other fruit in your fridge, you know the stuff that you bought because you're trying to be healthy but havent eaten and its getting old, chop some of that up and throw it in too. This isn't science and you can add whatever you like - just make sure the Cucumber and Melon are more visible so you can call it Cucumber Melon Sangria Blanca without questions from your judgemental friends and neighbors.
See what nearly empty bottles of booze you have left from your bender last week, or go over to Lindsay Lohans' house and you're bound to find something we can use as the kicker to this summer of love beverage. Set the booze aside (or if your at Lindsays house try to sneak out and avoid kicking around all the empty bottles and waking her up)
We will also need something to sweeten the mixture - you can use honey, simple syrup, sugar, sugar in the raw (the ones you stole from Starbucks ... err pocketed to add to your drink later are fine). If it's sweet it's in! You want about 1/8 - 1/4 cup of whatever you you decide on - yes you can use more if you want, IDC (I Don't Care for those of you who are not hip to internet speak).
Then... and this is the best part ... mix it all up! Let it all soak together overnight (in the fridge) before serving so the flavors all blend together and it is nice and chilled, 24 hours is preferred. You just found this recipe and your party is in an hour? Whatever, it's totally fine and its alcohol so nobody will care as long as its free and looks good, let it chill for an hour then - but the longer it sits the better it tastes.
After all of your hard work and waiting you can finally consume it! Voila! Your an instant beverage celebrity and everyone will want you to make your secret "low cal and healthy sounding" ©®™ beverage for their parties. You might even finally get laid - by someone willing - and Lindsay doesn't count because she was passed out!
Got the munchies? Finally California has something its been missing, a hip sandwich franchise that caters especially to hungry stoners, “Where the only thing fried, is the occasional customer,” as Cheba Hut’s motto states.
Cheba Hut already has several locations around Arizona and Colorado, as well as in Oregon and New Mexico. Its newest establishment has recently opened in the San Diego College Area at 6363 El Cajon Blvd. near SDSU. Known for their friendly staff, relaxed atmosphere, and healthy and delicious food, Cheba Cut is a big hit with the college crowd.
Cheba Hut serves up its signature “Toasted” Subs in three sizes: Nugs (4”), Pinners (8”), and Blunts (12”). The menu includes a long list of mouth-watering subs, all named for popular strains of bud. The bestselling White Widow has grilled chicken breast smothered in Cheba Hut’s signature “homegrown” ranch dressing, topped with mushrooms, bacon, and provolone cheese.
Other tasty options include the AK-47 (French Dip), the Panama Red (Chicken Marinara), The Kind (Turkey, Bacon, Swiss), or even healthy vegetarian subs such as Train Wreck (Feta Cheese) and Silver Haze (Hummus).
Each franchise also has its own signature sub to satisfy the locals. The San Diego location is home of the “Kali Mist,” a killer combination of turkey, bacon, avocado, pepper jack, and chipotle mayo. Pretty dank.
Each sub comes topped with lettuce, onions, pickles, tomatoes, and “special” house dressing as requested. Customers are given a choice of breads include white, wheat, or garlic “herb” bread which I highly recommend.
In addition to all the tasty subs, Cheba Hut also bakes its own “Incredible Munchies.” Stoned patrons can indulge their sweet-tooth with creations like the popular “Goo Balls” (an orb-shaped variation on the Rice Krispie treat with peanut butter, honey, and cocoa) or 100% legal “Hemb Brownies.”
Cotton mouth? No problem! Cheba Hut has red and purple Kool-Aid on tap to help wash down your blunt. Thirsty for something else? You can also get fountain sodas (Pepsi products), bottled water, Gatorade, or even home made iced tea.
Too lazy to walk or too stoned to drive? Cheba Hut’s got you covered! Since you can’t toke up in the restaurant, the Cheba Hut van can come to you. Offering catering and late-night deliveries right to your dorm room or front door, what could be better!?
Founded in 1998 by Scott Jennings at Arizona State University, Cheba Hut now has an ever-growing franchise community with immediate franchise opportunities in the majority of U.S. states. Its next franchise location will be opening in Iowa City, IA.
So the next time your stoned in San Diego, be sure to check out Cheba Hut. Although it won’t be very long before new locations start popping up around college towns all over the U.S.
Damn, now I’m hungry… What did I do with that take out menu? Oh, here it is. Visit www.chebahut.com or call (619) 269-1111 for more information on Cheba Hut and its menu.
I'm a firm believer in the idea that drinks have personality. Whether lone spirits or mixes, potables have idiosyncratic qualities just like people. As such, a lot of my opinions about drinks have more to do with whether or not I like them as people than how they actually taste. Take absinthe, for instance. I'm not a fan of the flavor of anise but I don't have many disparaging things to say about the green fairy. It does what it's supposed to do and doesn't apologize for its quirkiness. Like a man who's too old to change his ways, absinthe dresses, talks and believes how and what it wants, modern conventions be damned. I have a great amount of respect for the martini for being both bold and refined, a long-lived professional of a cocktail that continues to be the sharpest guy in the room without doing anything flashy. So, when I say that I both love and fear the rum and cola, know that it comes from a place of both experience and contemplation.
First of all, I'm of the opinion that the mix shouldn't be called by its brand name, Rum and Coke. If Coca-Cola was somehow irreplaceable in the recipe I'd feel different but there's no real reason why it has to be one kind of cola or another. The point of rum and cola is to use the syrupy sweetness of the soda to alleviate the burn of the rum. And honestly, the distinct flavors of the rum itself tend to cover up any minor notes that distinguish one cola from another. Really, that's a big part of why rum and cola is a sinister drink. First, it basically makes a potent cocktail out of something that tastes like a rum-flavored soft drink. Second, the lack of appreciable taste difference makes the rum and cola one of the cheapest cocktails imaginable because the two strongest flavors in it can be achieved with the least expensive ingredients possible. Is there a difference between a top-shelf rum mixed with Coke Classic and a well rum mixed with generic store-brand cola? Maybe, just not enough to matter. Cheap cocktails incentivize mass consumption, ergo drunkenness.
All of the above makes rum and cola unbelievably easy to drink, but there's another layer beyond how pleasant it is to just swallow the stuff. Unless you're using caffeine-free cola, your cocktail has the rare opportunity to hit your body with both a depressant and a stimulant simultaneously. Unfortunately (or fortunately) the two psychoactive components of the drink don't compete or cancel each other out. Rather, they work together to have mostly separate but equal effects. The alcohol does its usual work of lowering inhibitions, reducing nerve uptake and slowing cognition while the caffeine keeps the drinker awake, jittery and, most importantly, pursuing more stimulants. In short, it's addictive behavior minus a superego.
I personally witnessed the ugly side of the rum and soda in my early days as a bartender. Working the late shift at a dive, one of my regulars made it a habit of knocking back Captain Morgan and Coke like it was... well, exactly what it is: A sweet, deceptively potent cocktail without the prohibitive burn of liquor. Whether it resulted in him dropping glasses and stumbling home come last call or picking fights with patrons and staff, this rum and cola enthusiast ended every night in the saddest states of alcoholism. Was the rum and cola to blame for his addiction? Absolutely not, but it did let him drink more and longer than other cocktails would have. I enjoy the drink and I'd recommend it to anyone who enjoys the ingredients, but that recommendation comes with a word of caution. Rum and cola is a dangerous drink.
Sometimes the job gets to the best of workers, especially when the job requires dealing with the public, and among the public are more than a few very difficult customers. I've been there.
Yesterday morning, Steven Slater, a flight attendant at Jet Blue Airline, came to the point when he said enough is enough and became an instant Internet folk hero.
Who hasn't had days like Steven Slater and who, working in the service field, haven't had to deal with a difficult customer or two and wanted to pull a Steven-Slater?
The Associated Press reported that a difficult passenger defied requests to stay seated, then accidentally hit Mr. Slater in the head with her luggage. "When the flight was still waiting to take off from Pittsburgh, two female passengers got into an argument over space in the overhead bins. That's when Slater was struck in the head. The dispute flared up again after the plane landed in New York when one of the women, who had been asked to gate-check her bag, was enraged that it wasn't immediately available.The woman was outraged and cursed him out a great deal. Slater addressed the passengers on the intercom. "Those of you who have shown dignity and respect these last 20 years, thanks for a great ride." Mr. Slater had a few choice words for the passenger who cursed him, then he took two beers from the galley and exited the plane using the emergency slide. This was a no-no. He was arrested;(since released), and has been arraigned on charges that seem bogus.' But might not be, depending the spin the Port Authority puts on the manner of his exit. The charges are criminal mischief, reckless endangerment and trespassing
The authorities have put the word out overnight that Mr. Slater is facing serious charges.They emphasize that pulling exit (a plane's) chute is serious The authorities certainly don't want workers pulling a Steven-Slaters.
Anyway, Mister Slater seemed relieved to having quit his job, and he has gathered many thousands of fans on Facebook from folks who understand what drove him to the point of quitting his job in such a dramatic fashion.
