25 May 2010

Lost, Thai Kebabs, and Way Too Many Parentheses

Hey, remember that time we all watched this show that was so cool with its plane crash and its crazy characters and its polar bears and its scenery?  Remember that time we spent six of our, what, 80 (?) years of our lives watching that show.  (Yeah, sure, we weren't watching the show for the entirety of those six years, but it was a long time nonetheless.)   Remember that time that show ended with some bullshit purgatory/it was a dream/autistic boy watches shit in a showglobe ending?  Yeah, me too.  I'm kind of pissed.

Here's the thing, though.  I didn't want to be pissed.  And I wasn't the obvious choice for "dissatisfied viewer of the year."  I really didn't care that much, or so I thought.  And most of the time, I enjoy a series finale.  West Wing, awesome.  Friends, awesome.  Seinfeld grew on me.  Arrested Development, I get it.  The Wire, awesome.  Cosby, awesome.  Roseanne, suckfest.

And here's what makes for a suckfest finale--when the producers give the viewers a season's worth (or more, you hear that, St. Elsewhere?) of shit that's apparently not real.

Back in our glory days (I say that because we were younger and thinner, and had the world by its balls, or so we thought) at JMU, Matt and I (and Best Friend) took a film class together.  It was a genre class.  You know, westerns, film noir, musicals, crazy, etc.  Most of the movies were pretty good.  In fact, one of my all time favorite movies of all time (cliche though it may be) is one I discovered during that class, Annie Hall.  (P.S., 500 Days of Summer is like a modern-day Annie Hall, and I want to watch it 500 times.)  But back to the point.

 So there we sat, in an uncomfortable room (that used to be a swimming pool--no lie) with a bunch of pretentious "film" students.  Now, if there's one thing more annoying than an English major, it's a film minor.  Vomit, vomit, vomit.  They're all "societal norms" and "that's not how Fellini did it" and yadda yadda bullshit bullshit.  But their bullshit is somehow more grating than the bullshit that I had to endure in, say, that masochistic Faulkner class I took with Dr. Cash.   But you know what's more annoying than just a film student?  A film student who says after every film we watch in class, "Are you sure that wasn't all a dream?"


What was I talking about?

Oh yeah, the suckfest disappointment that was Lost.



Super Lame.

The ending of Lost was terrible.  Yeah, maybe not as terrible as some of the other episodes this season, but terrible.  Suckfest suckfest.  Oh, heaven?  Oh, church?   Oh, Sayid loves Shannon more than Nadia?  Oh, Jack and Juliet suddenly don't care about their kid?  Kate's still alive?  Give me a fucking break already.

The first two hours or so were fine--nice even--but the last fifteen minutes?  Man oh man, that was stupid.  Matt came up with like three better endings during the finale, and he was drunk and sunburnt!

The only thing was made the season finale of Lost redeemable was that we had these Thai kebabs for dinner, and they're really delicious.

We've made these a number of times, they never disappoint, and they're cheap to boot!

Here goes it:

Spicy Thai Pork Kebabs

1/2 cup creamy peanut butter
1/2 cup lite soy sauce
1/4 cup firmly packed light brown sugar
1 tablespoon lime zest
1 tablespoon crushed red pepper
1-2 pounds pork tenderloin, cut into 1-inch cubes
wooden skewers (soaked in water overnight)
Veggies and fruit of your choice:  we've used onions, pineapple, apple, red pepper--you could do even more

1.  Whisk together first five ingredients.  Reserve 3/4 cup for later use.  Put remainder in ziploc bag with pork.  Marinate for 8-24 hours.

2.  Preheat grill to medium high (350 to 400 F), and heat 6-8 minutes on each side or until done.  Remove from grill. 

3.  Serve with rice and use reserved sauce as a delicious condiment.  Then just eat it off a fork, because it's so salty and delicous.

 That's what she said.


  1. I *hated* Annie Hall. But I loved 500 Days of Summer. I think that I can only stand derivatives of Woody Allen humor. In its undiluted state it's just too damn neurotic.

    I also took a film class in college that I loved. It was taught by an English professor though, since our college was too small to have a film program.

    I still have flashbacks to all of the women's studies minors talking about "phallocentric" society in every. single. English. class.

  2. I can definitely understand not liking Woody Allen. For some reason, he doesn't bug me.

    Good call with the women's studies minors. Perhaps we could have a women's studies minor participate in a fight to the death with a film minor?



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