February 2012
49 posts
Play
HOOSIERS
1. Kentucky
2. Ohio State
5. Michigan State
BRING ON THE NCAA TOURNAMENT
In the kitchen.
Last night I made some blackened ahi tuna. Today I had some cajun fried eggs. Both used some great cajun blackening seasoning from The Fresh Market. Both were amazing. I think I found my go-to grocery, and I’m finally organized enough to start really cooking. Seriously, the tuna steak was delicious, fresh, and cost $6.50. That’s amazing to me. And I’m going to make that meal my signature, amazing, masterpiece meal.
And the eggs? Well it’s the first time I made eggs on my cast iron, so it was a little weird, and it turned out… well… the edges were a little overdone. But once you picked the egg up, though smaller than it should have been, well it was just as delicious. I just need some more seasoning on the cast iron before I can do eggs well on it.
I wish I had photos. Maybe later. This is going to be a good cook week.
Score! NASA spots soccer-ball shape buckyballs in space →
news.cnet.com
I want a buckyball.
Google Chat fun
- Lorraine: what do you know about digital asset management?
- Me: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Digital_asset_management
- Me: That.
Reggie Miller is Still Not in the Hall of Fame (2nd Edition)
Do yourself a favor and read this post from the great royhobbson.
This photo above, it’s an encapsulation of Reggie Miller’s entire career. In one moment. Not because it’s from Madison Square Garden — during the Playoffs — right in front of Spike Lee’s stupid face. And not because it’s another last-second shot, for the win, when even good players tend to shy away from the heaviness of the moment, and maybe some “great” ones too.
Rather, this photo sums up Reggie’s career because — seriously — look at the Knicks fans. Look at their expressions. Look at their sheer hopelessness, their exasperated facepalms, their bracing for the inevitable swish of doom closing in quickly. Some pictures are worth a thousand words, certainly, but this is not one of them. Because make no mistake, this picture is worth exactly two: “Oh fuck,” and those two are worth a billion more in most places.
Look at them. The ball hasn’t yet left Reggie’s hands, and yet they KNOW what’s next. They KNOW they’ve lost. They KNOW the shot is going in. And it did, of course. Because it always did. When it mattered. Or so it seemed.
