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Staying “Inspiralized” After the Apocalypse

So I wrote this on NYE AM after drinking half a bottle of prosecco by like 9 AM while texing Austin a bunch. He said I should make pictures but I didn’t. Here you go. This is mainly for Antoine:

If you’re reading this for instructional purposes, CONGRATULATIONS(?), YOU SURVIVED THE APOCALYPSE. AND, the Apocalypse has either left the Internet intact (guessing zombie-style) or you (intelligently) printed this post out in advance of the Apocalypse because let’s be fucking honest, we all saw it coming (I’d go with some sorta nuclear war sitch in this case).

Anyway, here you are, reading this post, thinking “What now? Everything and everyone I love is dead and gone and I think I’m supposed to rebuild society or whatever but honestly I couldn’t even back before those zombies/bombs/aliens/noroviruses came around and fucked it ALL up.” I have two words for you — spiralized squash. Or like, seaweed if that’s all that survived after that comet hit the North Pole that was already melted and caused that Tsunami to hit every major city in the world. Seriously, cookbook author, blog owner and lifestyle guru (totally guessing, but like, probably, right?) Ali Maffucci has got you in this time of desperate need and possibly having resort to cannibalism to survive because SPIRALIZING SHIT. I’m sure she also survived the raging fires that consumed the entire Northern Hemisphere just because people won’t recycle their damn bottles because the the level of craftiness it takes to realize you can turn a broccoli stem into an al dente noodle mean you can totes defend yourself against the mole people who have now become society’s overlords.

At this point, you probably have some questions about the helpfulness of this post, like —

  • Why are you ranting about a diet blog instead of telling me how to bury the contagious corpses littered around this shack I built out of old Amazon boxes?
  • All of the spiralizers melted when the self-driving cars were hacked and simultaneously drove into nuclear reactors so how in the world am I supposed to turn this obviously toxic and possibly deadly zucchini into a delicious substitute for angel hair pasta?

I will address the second question only, because the first is dumb, obviously spiralizing is the answer to the world accepting Bitcoin as its only form of currency and then one person hacking it, stealing all the Bitcoin, downloading it onto a USB drive which then got trashed when he accidentally unplugged it from his laptop without dragging the USB drive icon into the trashcan icon so all the Bitcoin disappeared and the world was forced to return to a bartering economy but the only skill anyone has is Bitcoin mining so like duh you need to develop this skill because you will be the first person with a skill. The fun thing about spiralizing, along with the creativity you can bring to your everyday dinners without even *feeling* like you’re dieting because sweet potato noodles definitely taste just as good in pad thai as regular rice noodles, is that pretty much any set of sharpened items shoved into a circular surface can be used to turn a seemingly bland, boring vegetable into a delicious substitute for starches.

Added bonus: whatever your apocalypse scenario is, I bet you have the tools to make a spiralizer. Whether or not you have the resources to actually spiralize is a different question, but spiralizers make your options almost limitless! In an attempt to imagine your specific apocalypse scenario and what resources you could use to create your post-apocalyptic spiralizer, I’ve come up with a couple plausible scenarios with some recommendations —

Scenario 1: It turns out that Kylie™ lipstain contains a dormant zombie virus that becomes activated when it comes in contact with the Starbucks Special Edition Unicorn Frappuccino so every #basicbitch turned into a zombie and that shit spread mad fast. There was a brief hope that applying some Fenty Mattemoiselle in Midnight Wasabi lipstick was the cure, but alas, even millennial Jesus (Rihanna) couldn’t save the world from the millenial antichrists (Kardashians) and so the #basics destroyed everyone with the exception of those who never attended Bikram, dabbled in a vegan and/or gluten-free lifestyle, or justified a purchase by calling it “cruelty-free”

Spiralizer solution 1: Your post-apocalyptic world is littered with the tubes of a lipstain that was once sold out almost immediately upon its release. You’re wandering around in a fog, asking yourself the Big questions like, “was Kylie ever pregnant? Was it Tyga’s?” and “what even IS lip stain?” but what you should really be doing is picking up ALL 👏🏻 THOSE 👏🏻 FUCKING 👏🏻 LIP 👏🏻 STAIN 👏🏻 TUBES 👏🏻 because once you remove the stain brush, you’ve got some perfect little plastic tubes you can sharpen into tiny spikes so you can turn some onions into the best oven-baked cajun fry substitute you’ve ever had. It’s like 15 calories. So good. What is that you say? The spiralizers are still around because in this apocalypse scenario nothing was destroyed except for a bunch of Starbucks and Forever 21s? Ok, fine, just go find a real spiralizer, but, like, I helped a little bit OK?

Scenario 2(highly likely): Everyone Googles themselves to death. This goes one of two ways for every member of society — the first have such a common name that they can’t even find any entries about them on page one of the results and they realize their meaninglessness, the second have such unique names that they find every negative reaction to everything they’ve ever done on the Internet (which is a lot), and the thumbs down to their Yelp! reviews, negative votes to the Quora answers, This Is Unhelpful count of their Amazon product ratings and general trolling of the YouTube video they posted of their pet ferret (mainly fat-shaming the ferret, but also some fat-shaming of the owner) plunge them into a similar feeling of meaninglessness. Both parties choose death by spiralizer BECAUSE YOU GUYS YOU CAN SERIOUSLY SPIRALIZE ANYTHING.

Spiralizer solution 2: OK in this scenario you def don’t want to use those spiralizers. That said, the Amazon headquarters probably have a shitton of unused ones and given that no actual disaster occurred you can probably just walk into any of their warehouses and find one. Good luck finding it with your internet-less, “keeps you off the grid”, flip phone, you fucking nerd.

Scenario 3: Beyoncé dies.

Spiralizer solution 3: Nope. Starve to death. What’s the point?

Blogs are supposed to have a sign-off. Whatever,


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Edible Tide Pods

I couldn’t help myself. I had to do it. I’m mid-Dryuary, it’s cold AF out (or downright tropical depending on the day – cool. we’re all gonna die soon. it’s cool.), and 2018 has already brought us a deadly trend that’s been memed to oblivion. Plus, after like ten days of staring at Tide pods and thinking how delicious they look, I decided to figure out how to make some for real edible ones.

I made up several recipes in my head – first Jello, then hard candy crescents with like fun dip powder or something and finally I landed on GUMMIES. Because even if they turned out like a poison-themed Pinterest fail, they’d at least be delicious.

I based my plan off two recipes from The Spruce – this one for homemade gummy bears and this one for the white gelatin.


Jolly rancher gelatin is magic

So I made some gelatin. Then, because I couldn’t find any moon-shaped cookie cutters or molds, I purchased a fancy knife at the cake store (why spend money on things you need when you can spend money on a knife you’ll never use again but that also sort of makes you look like a secret serial killer?) to cut the gelatin.


NBD just making some food that could be poisonous with this scalpel thing, nothing to see here. Move along thx

I used a picture of real-life Tide pods for inspiration, but really I just aimed to cut out shitty-looking little whales.

Meanwhile, I made the base of the pod with the white gelatin so that I could get the full cube effect of the Tide pods. I THOUGHT OF EVERYTHING. Once I finished cutting out all of the ugly whales and eating most of the leftover gelatin for dinner, I attempted the hardest part of this project – getting the wrappers on the pods. I went totally rogue for this one and decided that two packets of Knox gelatin mixed with 1/3rd cup of water would gel enough to make the plastic.

I microwaved the flavorless gelatin for about 45 seconds and now I think I know what burnt horse hooves smell like so that was awful, BUT it did give me the right texture. I brushed a thin layer on the bottom of the silicon mat, and despite the fact that it didn’t stick all that well due to the canola oil spray, it did a pretty good job in keeping the colored gelatin stuck to the bottom when I poured in the white gelatin.


I guess it’s worth mentioning that at this point my entire kitchen is covered in dried, hardened gelatin drops and canola oil spray. 

Once I covered my gel pod/whales/poor excuses for Jello ying yang symbols, I topped the mixture with the backs of the pod and poured more hoof-scented clear gelatin over the pods.


Mmmm, hooves

I chilled another 20 mins or so, used my serial killer tool to cut the clear gelatin and BOOM. EDIBLE TIDE PODS, FUCKERS.


My life’s work. I can die happy now. 

So yeah. No more hypothetical recipes. This is IT.

Peace, Love and don’t eat (real) Tide pods you dummies,


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The Internet Should Be Read-Only after 9 PM

Do you hang out on the Internet at night? Do you often regret the things you’ve said/ordered off Amazon/said on the Internet at night? Me too. While this sounds like the beginning of an infomercial, I have neither the platform or the discipline to make one, so this is just a blog post about a strong opinion I have. SORRY.

So my thing with the Internet is that *it’s great*, right? Isn’t it great? It’s probably tracking everything I do, but IDK, I don’t do anything super-illegal and also it kinda feels nice that the Internet like, cares, that much to track all my movements. The Internet is basically the best listener ever.

The thing about the Internet that’s problematic for me is that I use it after 9 PM sometimes. It doesn’t matter if I’m drunk/high/totally sober, I’m  a total weirdo by like 8 PM because I’ve used up all my normal-humaning on work and so I’m gonna email my friends youtube videos of birds that have subject lines like “IT ME LETS MOVE

TO THE DESERT YES?” and then the next day I have to explain to my friend that no, it was not acid, I just have poor impulse control.

So I’d like to propose a new protocol. The Internet should be read-only after 9 PM. Based on your timezone, when you get on your wifi, it should block you from sending ANYTHING. Emergencies are for phones. Mistakes are for computers.

SRSLY, back away from the internet


Groundhog’s Day is Stupid

This morning I was taking a cab to work, because I have recently (ie – in the past 9 months) become one of those pieces of shit who actually pays $10 to get to work in lieu of walking or paying $2 to get to work slightly more quickly via subway because it involves walking up the stairs at the W 4th street stop and I have some sort of vendetta against those stairs (they smell like piss and are kinda steep).

Seriously, though, you have to walk up stairs to walk back down stairs. It’s dumb an I object. But, back to the cab. So, for one thing when it snows in the city and you take a cab, the cab drivers seem to enjoy passive aggressively scolding their fares for taking a cab in the first place. Today (because I am double-shitty and wore sneakers instead of snow boots and COULDN’T walk home), both cab drivers immediately were like, “HEY. IT’S ICY OUT.”

Yes. Yes, cab driver. It is icy out. That is exactly why I have fled to the safety of your car rather than enjoyed my usually lovely walk through Soho to work. I can check Facebook and walk at the same time. I absolutely don’t need to be riding in your cab to accomplish all of my morning goals. They are not too lofty. But the cab drivers like to keep going with the passive aggression. With the sighing and talking about how it’s icy out and dangerous on the street and I want to be like LISTEN IF YOU DON’T WANT ME HERE I GET IT I’VE BEEN IN ENOUGH COLLEGE HOOK-UP SITUATIONS TO UNDERSTAND WHAT’S GOING ON. But I really didn’t want to get my new sneakers wet so I just kinda dealt with it. Just like in college when their apartment was closer to my 9 AM class. I was prepared for this, cab driver.

Ok, side rant over. Anyway, when I was in the cab this morning the radio people were talking about Groundhog Day. The first thing they said was how Puxatawney Phil in Philadelphia saw his shadow and so six weeks more winter and for whatever reason the whole crowd cheered. And also during the announcement they were like, “start using hashtag six more weeks.” Which seems like a really pathetic attempt to make Groundhog Day still happen.

But so then, immediately after that, the news was like BUT IN STATEN ISLAND, twobuckchuck or whatever our groundhog’s name is (may the one De Blasio killed last year RIP) was all, ‘hey no shadow’ and AGAIN EVERYONE CHEERED. Which makes more sense, but given Philly’s reaction I DON’T KNOW WHAT WE’RE CHEERING FOR. Is it the groundhog coming out of his groundhog house/hole on command? Is it the preservation of tradition? Is it that they know that TBS will DEF be playing that Bill Murray movie on syndication like alllllll day long?

Look, I sort of get that tradition is sort of important (basically I don’t, but I’m trying here), and that we have to have SOMETHING to do in February because Valentine’s Day is coming, fuck. But can’t we at least stick with one soothsaying groundhog like we stick with one Santa?

It’s getting really close to midnight and if I don’t publish this soon I fear I’m going to end up in the plot of that Bill Murray movie.

Groundhog’s day is stupid and always makes me think I have something to do on February 2nd when I don’t. But groundhogs are cute! Let’s look at some of them:

daww da babies

That’s it. It snowed today so I’m going with Puxatawney Phil’s soothsaying. Stupid winter. Diediedie.

East Village Tavern

I’ve been meaning to do this for awhile – bar/club ratings. I know these are everywhere, but I feel like the things that make a night out good or bad aren’t usually the things you can find in a New York Magazine review. I want to know how long the line for the bathroom is going to be or how many times I’m going to have to suffer through a Black Eyed Peas song over the course of the evening.

Last night we went to a birthday party at East Village Tavern.

For my rating system, every place starts with 50 points and then I add/subtract based on my highly scientific criteria. In the end, I’m basically going to just tell you if it was awesome or if it sucked.

Here we go –

Cheap Drinks: +5

Strong Drinks: +10

Group of People at the front who were IMPOSSIBLE to get through: -4

Playing Remix to Ignition: +5

This super downer memorial Sharpie graffiti in the bathroom: -10

This Devil Mural right next to the memorial: +25

Neighbors are important, too. This park next door: +10

Really, Really fun dancing: +15

Even though they played All I Want For Christmas (Is You) one time too many: -2

East Village Tavern, Total Score: 104 points

Definitely the Best Club Ever


No really, we danced SO much

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There were many different versions of trashy. This one wins.

Meatpacking District traffic

Meaningful exchange.

Don’t be fooled… that statue really isn’t his type.

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