“True Grit” hits Pay Dirt. The Coen’s remake will be their biggest-grossing movie to date. Also, the classic Charles Portis novel has sold over 100,000 copies since the beginning of November.

Yesterday gave us two exciting NFL playoff games. Is it greedy to ask for more of the same?

Knicks play the Lakers tonight in the City of Angels. That might be worth staying up late for…

In the meantime, it is sunny but cold in the Rotten Apple so stay warm, eat well, and let us be thankful for what we’ve got.

Now, press play on this track and get your ass a-steppin’.

02 Stein’s soul record

I don’t I don’t like handling birds–I always think of the Sledgehammer video–but roasting a chicken is something any self-respecting cook should know how to do. I haven’t done it in years and my mission this winter is to become competent at roasting a chicken. I’ve been thinking about it for a couple of weeks and tonight is the night–the bird in the oven as we speak and will be done in time for the Jets game.

I’ll let you know how it turns out. And speaking of boids, how about them Seahawks giving the Saints hell through the middle of the third quarter?

[Photo Credit: Sarah Shatz via Food 52]

Win or suck tonight for the Jets. What’ll it be?

[Picture by Bags]

Soul Singer...

I freely admit I am so starved for baseball happenings that I actually did a news search just now for “baseball” –as if I wouldn’t have read about it already, on a blog or Twitter, if anything big went down. Aside from the Matt Garza trade (good news for the Yanks this season, probably, but nothing I can get too excited about) there ain’t nothing going on today. Except Brian Cashman is talking more and more like some kinda internet zealot. Adam LaRoche is finalizing his deal with the Nationals. Okay.

Unfortunately what I did turn up, like some gross bug under a rock, is the story over at Radar Online that a new reality show about baseball groupies is being developed. Baseball Annies are now being cast, with the idea of filming in Arizona during spring training. I’m not much of a reality TV fan — I’m too easily embarrassed on behalf of other people — and doubt I will watch this, unless I have to write about it. Anyone with half a brain realized many, many years ago that the vast majority of baseball players sleep around, and I really couldn’t care less since I am not married to, nor dating, a baseball player; that’s between them and their significant others and as long as everyone’s a consenting adult, hey, not my concern. The entire subculture has always seemed deeply depressing, though, and this newest cringe-inducing exploitation-fest is doing nothing to change that impression:

“The girls will go to any lengths to go to games and practices with the goal of sleeping with and getting material things from athletes as a notch under their belt,” the source told RadarOnline.com exclusively.

Ooh, an EXCLUSIVE about soul-suckingly shallow groupies! Great job, RadarOnline.com. Also:

The show will focus on the women and their ‘cleat-chasing’ lifestyle more than the players and their participation, added the source.

Well, of course. Why deal with the legal and societal repercussions of showcasing popular men behaving badly when you can just vilify the less wealthy and famous women who, inexplicably, are volunteering for this? Not that they won’t deserve vilifying, most likely, and no one can go on a show like “Cleat Chasers” and not expect to come out looking horrible.

I’m not someone who bemoans the decline of humanity, because I think humanity has always been pretty messed up, and even a show as tasteless as this is still better than say burning a bunch of people at the stake every time you get freaked out by an eclipse, but still.

That’s what Mel Brooks yelled at a nun one day when he was walking down 57th street (get Kenneth Tynan’s book, “Show People” or “Profiles”  for his great piece on Brooks).

Here’s a 1982 Rolling Stone Interview with Brooks conducted by Michael Sragow:

How did you first react to ‘My Favorite year’ ?

Brooks: I said, “Wait a minute, you’re singing my song. What is this – the story of a little Jewish boy from Brooklyn and a guest star on Your Show of Shows? I lived this life.” I looked at Joe Bologna and I said, “That is Sid Caesar.” There’s a certain primitive energy that Joe Bologna and Sid Caesar share, a very basic animal energy . Eat. Go. Sleep. The first thing I wrote for Sid was about a jungle boy who’s been captured and taken to New York City as an experiment to see how he will survive in the big city. He’s interviewed by Carl Reiner. “What do you eat, sir?” “Pigeons. Crave pigeons, go in park, many pigeons in park. Eat pigeons.” “What do you fear?” “Buick, Big, yellow, very danferous. Wait, wait till lights, eyes go out – smash in grille, all night, with club. Kill Buick.” Joe Bologna has the same thing going int he movie.”Send the girl some steaks,” he says, “I’ll send her some steaks.” Nothing romatic, no flowers. To make up with a writer, he sends some tires’ his borther owns a tire store. But they’re very real. I love all the tlittle touches int eh movie. I love when Peter O’Toole realizes that he’s going to be working in front of a live audience. That is the essence of the movie – when he says, “I’m not an actor , I’m a movie star.” There’s a big difference.

Tonight at 8:00 at the Museum of Modern Art:

Hot butter on what, say what, the popcorn.

“Still Life with Violin and Music,” By William Harnett (1888)

Dig this cool article in the Times on the simple pleasures of Hash:

At his modest restaurant Stove, on an equally modest block of Astoria, Queens, Mr. Cass makes a hash that many consider the best in New York, a title that he wears lightly. It’s simple, he says: two kinds of boiled potatoes, diced and mashed. Caramelized onions, present in two forms: sliced, and ground. House-corned beef, purpose-made for the dish. The whole of it mixed together on Saturday night, ready for Sunday morning’s brunch rush. “Season it up and let it sit, that’s the only secret,” he said.

The final cooking step is turning the meat and potatoes and onions together in the pan (or on a griddle), pressing down to make the edges of everything crisp up. The ingredients must be jumbled together — made a hash of. If the ingredients are coerced into tidy separate circles, well, that’s not hash. (Chefliness can go too far).

Sounds like it is worth the trip. Or should be something you can make right quick at home.

[Photo Credit: A Girl Named Bong]

Chunks of Funk:

Mario Puzo said that I’m the Don/wwI’mthesh**.com.

I went to pick up chicken soup in my neighborhood last night and when I went to pay I wished the cashier a happy new year.

“Got any resolutions?” she said?

“Yeah, to be kinder to myself.”

“Oh,” she said, and looked at me. “That’s really cool.”

I surprised myself with that answer. Sometimes, you are honest when you don’t mean to be.

I walked outside and the street was clogged with cars. One guy, four cars behind the putz who stopped in the middle of the street, started leaning on the horn. “That’s not going to help,” I said to nobody.

I walked across the street and saw a man in a wheelchair yell, “That’s not going to help!”

I smiled as I walked past him and shrugged, “Sometimes, people can’t help themselves I guess.”

The man glared at the traffic. “Moron.”

“Yeah, you know it’s just so tempting, though. You are irritated, stuck in traffic, it’s the end of the day, and you’ve got that horn right there. How can you not press it?”

“Well, I’m tempted to throw a brick through a window but that doesn’t mean I’m going to do it.”

“Point taken.”

New York is a funny town.

[Picture by Bags]

During the short, cold days of winter the Summer Game is never far from our thoughts:

The Subway Art Blog wins again (man, what a great site). Here is a choice video from last week’s snowstorm:

Oatmeal is the healthy way to start the day but for the life of me I can’t eat a bowl of it without dressing it up with brown sugar, raisins, maple syrup, anything to give it some umph. Made with milk it’s so much better than if made with just water–plus it gives you calcium!

Ah, the joys of mush:

Sometimes nothing does the trick like a plate of spaghetti.

Food 52 delivers…again.

Simple pleasures: word life.

From Diane…

Do the Mash…

Direct from the New Yorker’s Photo Booth, dig this:

R.I.P, Pete Postlethwaite, a wonderful actor who was wonderful in many things, most recently “The Town.”