nonpretentious

Recommendation: Bodum Travel Press

i’ve recently heard that kitchen gadgets are a must for city-dwelling, young professionals.

Fondue pots, sushi serving dishes, spice racks…these are all strange, new toys for a Jewish girl whose favorite food is takeout.

But, hey, who doesn’t like a new gadget fad?

(If you own this, this, or this any of these, you like new gadget fads).

On Sunday, I made my way over to a local store dedicated to making cooking FUN!

Fine, I didn’t go to the local store. I’ll wait to visit those once I know the difference between the quality of food cooked in a pan made of infused-anodized aluminum versus a pan made with a heat-responsive aluminum core covered in stainless steel. I went to the store in the mall.

Let me just say, I was like a kid in a candy store. When looking at the display of food processors, I pressed every button. I tried on oven mitts and examined the ice cream makers and bread makers. I wanted the potato slicer, the deep fryer, and the huge lobster steamer (also known as a pot with a picture of a lobster on the side).

Let me also say, it was well worth the trip.

I’m on a budget but I had to buy something! I settled on this.

Best. $10. Spent. In 2008.

For the past three mornings, I’ve jumped out of bed ready to start my day. (Those who know me understand that this is quite an impressive feat.)

I leave my travel press at work (…along with a bag of pike place roast, half & half, and my Batman mug…). It’s like I have tunnel vision – get me to the office, stat!

I’m not quite sure if it’s the fun of pushing down the press (i get excited when working with tools), saving money on daily trips to Starbucks, or the pretense that I’m “cooking” but talk about carrot-and-stick motivation.

All Me, All the Time

Too much of one thing bad? Nah…

My babies, I’m on twitter. If you can’t get enough of the RJ, check me out. Just search for ‘rustedjesus.’ You will either soon regret it, or love me even more. Just keep your stalker ass over there, and I’ll keep my narcissistic ass over here. Peace.

P.S. Fellow Insider Contributors and bosses,
What do you think of adding my Twitter update feed to the sidebar. The upside is me. The downside is clutter on the sidebar. I’ll let you decide. If it’s a yea, let me know and I’ll send you the code.

Jesus, What Did I Get Myself Into?

I too have shaken hands with the devil in disguise.

I just moved to Florida. I mean JUST. Like three days ago, from Massachusetts. Except I drove from Michigan. That’s where my parents live. And where I used to live, ten years ago. But all of that is inconsequential to what I what I want to tell you today. And what I want to tell you is that this country that a few of us live in, that I live in, this United States of America, is fucking huge. You can get all sorts of “facts” from the United States wikipedia page about land size, population, GDP, GNP and whatever else. But that’s not what I mean. I mean that when you get in your car and you drive 9 hours south from Michigan, you’re in a completely different fucking place. With completely different fucking people who act in completely different fucking ways and think that the way they live their lives is completely fucking normal. Some of you may be saying to your computer screen, yes, we knew that already, tell us something we don’t know. Fine. Did you know this?

Did you know that it is completely and utterly within the realm of possibility that I could get punched in the face through the window of my car (it was open already, thank the fucking lord) by 14-year veteran of the Gatlinburg, Tennessee Police Department? Because I sure the hell didn’t.

If I knew that this is what was waiting for me when crossed the Mason-Dixon Line…shit.

Can somebody raise Johnny Cochran from the dead for me. I need his services. Shit, I’d settle for Jackie Chiles.

Here’s what happened. I was visiting a friend in Gatlinburg. She is in the process of getting a divorce from her husband, she has a one-year-old daughter, and has been separated from her husband for 3 months. She now lives with her sister. I’m visiting this friend for the day. After dinner with a few of her friends, we head back to her place to get my car and say our goodbyes. The moment we’re done saying goodbye, a big white truck comes tearing up the road and pulls in the driveway. She’s freaked out, I tell her to go inside and lock the door. I quickly get in my car as he walks by. He pounds on the front door of the house, but nobody answers. I prepare to call 9-1-1 in case he decides he needs to break down the door (yes, he’s that big). He then starts walking towards my car. He blocks me from leaving and so I roll down my window. He asks me who I am and in so many words starts accusing me of trying to bed his wife. He then says to me, “Get out of the fucking car so I can kick your fucking ass. I’m gonna knock your fucking teeth out, motherfucker.” Of course, I decline his invitation for an ass kicking. He’s not satisfied, so he punches me, while I’m sitting in my car.

CRACK!

That’s the sound I hear as his fist crushes into my jaw. I was more stunned than pained, but I can soon taste the blood in my mouth. He leaves to go try the front door of the house again. That’s when I call cops, momentarily forgetting that he used to be one. When he can’t get the front door of the house open he decides to leave, hops in his truck and peels away. The deputies show up a few minutes later and are completely uninterested in anything I have to say. They just kind of shrug their shoulders when they learn who it was and ask me stupid questions like if I’ve been drinking, what I’m doing in town, how long I’m staying, shit like that. I decide not to press charges because if I did, they would make it a huge hassle for me. And at this point I just wanted to get the fuck out of Dodge.

The point of the story is that this is a big fucking country and in one day you can find yourself miles away from home. Literally, hundreds, metaphorically, millions. After that incident, I’ll believe any fucking thing you tell me. Honestly. If you had told me the story I just told you, I would only half believe it. But it happened to me and so I have to believe all of it. So yesterday, when I was putting together my Target bookshelf manufactured in China and found the pieces coated in a fine, white fibrous substance did I believe it could be asbestos and report it to the EPA? You bet your fucking ass I did. After getting punched in the face by an ex-cop on my way down to Florida, anything is in the realm of possibility. Including asbestos-covered Target bookshelves manufactured in China.

My name is RustedJesus. Some of you may know me from other venues. Pleasure to be here, I’ll see you around.