Next Food Network Star Recap: June 5, 2011

Yes, I’ve often secretly fantasized about being a contestant on The Next Food Network Star.

At least I think it’s still called The Next Food Network Star. It’s possible this year Food Network has decided to have it just go by the shortened Food Network Star, though I’m still uncertain. The show titles say one thing, the commercials say another, and the the website contradicts both.

But that’s all beside the point. How I would love to be regularly put under a 45-minute time limit to come up with a “Sophistcated Breakfast,” or concoct a “Gourmet Concession Snack” to be presented at an NBA game, or make a seven-course meal using only what I find in the dumpster behind a South Central Pic-N-Save… but I think it’s most likely never to be.

Much like the themes on Frank Sinatra’s September of My Years album, my days of showing off youthful exuberance and exploitable ignorance are, hopefully, all behind me.  I have nothing left to contribute to the genre of reality television but a sneering superiority and the safety of judging those younger and more easily manipulated than I behind the safety of a laptop Mac computer with a vodka martini close at hand and an obese cat semi-conscious on the knit throw at the end of my bed waiting for me to hit the pillows and give him a cozy armpit nook in which to nuzzle.

I could have been a star, if only Food Network had exploded on the scene ten years earlier. But similar to the day I realized I was too old to ever be on The Real World, I’ll have to accept the fact that I’ll most likely never be able to cook for Bobby Flay, he with his endless incredulous sneering, and the nearly immaculately-visaged Giada De Laurentiis… ah Giada, no one effortlessly tumbles out the word “ricotta” the way you do.

So I merely serve to judge.  And judge I will.  If I can’t be a Food Network Star, I’m gonna do my damned best to make sure no else unworthy squirms their way through either.  And with that, I give you my recap of this season’s premiere episode of The Next Food Network Star… or Next Food Network Star… or Food Network Star.  Whatever.  Just be grateful I’m not making you read about Chopped!


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Am I Fat? The Movie

My recent purchase of a leather couch was long overdue, partly because I knew there would be a major obstacle to overcome, for both myself and Z.

Unlike most cats, Z doesn’t jump. Or maybe he just can’t jump. Or maybe he just doesn’t care to bother. When he wants to get onto something taller than he is, be it the bed or the ottoman, or a couch, he just reaches up, plants one claw into the designated furniture piece and then the other, digs in as tightly as he can, and then hauls his fat ass up behind him. He’s been getting around this way for years, and while it doesn’t seem to bother him in the least, much of my furniture has slowly grown to look like shredded wheat

MG had a brilliant suggestion: buy one of those little three-step pet staircases we’ve occasionally seen on late-night infomercials, and train Z on it before the new couch arrives.

Well, it turns out they don’t actually market pet staircases to cat owners, since most cats go to the actual trouble of jumping when they want to get onto something.

Things seemed to be going well as I was assembling the staircase on the floor of my living room. Z seemed terribly interested, and the minute I was finished, he climbed right to the top and claimed it as his own.

Getting him to understand that this object was not merely a new resting spot but also a device he was now expected to use in order to obtain couch privileges was another matter, as the video below demonstrates.
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