old spice body blocker

In my humble opinion (or "IMHO" as they say in online forums), there's no form of praise that an artist/composer can be lauded with that's greater than someone thinking to themselves, "Man, I wish I had thought of that."

I imagine this is exactly what's taking place in the advertising world these days with the best ad campaign going - the Old Spice commercials. And you know what's just as good? Check out these amazing video descriptions on the site. You can find the full list here: http://www.oldspice.com/videos/

• Punches stop people, Odor Blocker stops odor, and parachutes stop drag race cars. This commercial illustrates two of those three points.
• Welcome to the wildly powerful world of Odor Blocker Body Wash. I hope you're into explosions.
• You can spend the next fifteen seconds of your life watching a man and a tiger scream together or you can be an idiot.
• This Odor Blocker TV commercial would have won the presidential election if it were over 35 years old, born in America and a person.
• Don't smell like sunsets and baby powder. Smell like jet fighters and punching.

Man, I wish I had thought of those...

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engaged to my commitment

Allow me to take you back to the birth of GreensandBrowns (Really, let's remember this).

I was 27. Emmelle and I had known each other for about two years. I stayed home from work a little sluggish from the usual Thursday night frivolity that was routine during my work week at the time. I found myself bored at the end of the day, waiting for Emmelle to come home from work and in a random moment of inspiration, I began the blog.

I've stated a few times in writing that I mean for my blog to be a collection and synthesis of irreverent thoughts and half-baked ideas. Privately, I intended to use the medium as a way to document my life with Emmelle. At the onset of our relationship, I used to joke to friends on whether our relationship would last: "I am committed to my commitment." But really, it wasn't a joke. GreensandBrowns represents our desire and commitment to be with each other. I wouldn't dare record thoughts and emotions in writing about anyone if I didn't feel as though that person would be a permanent fixture in my life.

And one and a half years later, the contents of these web pages carry a series of photos, some silly musings, a record of travels and milestones, inarticulate reactions to pop culture. For posterity...to look back at where we've been together...for something to share with our children. We'll continue to fill these pages and over a long period of time, we'll slowly start to see a great story unfold. Today, there are pictures of our Halloween costumes; tomorrow, there will be pictures of our kids' Halloween costumes...

A couple of weeks ago - Saturday, April 24, 2010 to be exact - our future took a giant leap forward.

On an idyllic spring day in the south bay, we drove to the hillsides above Saratoga to Cooper-Garrod winery. I came back down the mountain with a new wine club membership and half a case worth of the 2007 Viognier and a 2004 varietal blend - the 2004 R.V. Fine Claret (above). As if that wasn't exciting enough, Emmelle left with a new diamond ring. There were some details in between as well.

There is no beginning, middle or end to this blog post. Coincidentally, I don't feel as though our recent engagement puts us at the beginning, middle or end to anything. It's actually all of those things.

Without any transition at all, I'd like to say thank everyone that supports us, keeps us in your prayers and thinks positive thoughts for us. There is still a long journey ahead but our firm foundation is filled with friends and family members' hand imprints.

Years from now, I'll re-read this post and regret not having articulated this event differently. But if I had to convey just one thought from this time in our life and this momentous occasion, it would be this: Emmelle, I thank you for all that has been up to this very day and for an abundance of reasons yet to discovered.

Thanks for stopping by and smelling the cheese, personal pieces like this are intended to be rare, but will definitely be savored when there is just reason.

Please check out some photos courtesy of Emmelle here.

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brussels sprouts - a love affair

I am obsessed with Brussels sprouts.

In only the past year or so, I've noticed more and more city restaurants offering up their own take on this traditionally frowned-upon vegetable. What's not to like about these things? They are truly delicious and exciting - my favorite green du jour. Anytime I see it on a menu, I must have it. I've consumed them roasted, deep fried, steamed - they seem like the absolute perfect vegetation to experiment with; they appear indestructible against even the most rudimentary cooking techniques.

More recently, I've caught myself in the produce section of any grocery store staring longingly at the pungent green morsels. "Should I take some home and test them out in Cafe TBLPITR?" I told you; I am obsessed.

I love their taste, aroma, texture, shape, color. I even like the name.

Because of this, I'm embarking on a Brussels sprouts culinary journey. I desire to know this vegetable intimately and extend well beyond memorizing a few simple recipes. I want to understand their composition and how to control textures and know their breaking point. I want to learn how to coax out the earthy pungency (that so many find offensive) in every bite. I want to know when they are in season, what the ideal harvesting climate is. I want to know everything about them.

I want to start a fan club. I want to extract its essence and wear it on my face before I go to bed. I want friends and family to be startled anytime I don't bring a heaping plate of them to our next potluck. I want to decorate a Brussels sprouts tree for Christmas and settle our gifts under it. I want to cook them.

First attempt. Emmelle and I debuted our first Brussels sprouts effort at a familial gathering on Easter Sunday. The recipe called for yukon potatoes, shallots, pancetta, lemon and butter. It was a solid first effort - flavorful and properly seasoned. However, the Brussels sprouts took a bit of a back seat to the main starch and protein. Additionally, the butter and lemon both acted as neutralizing agents, mellowing out the intense Brussels sprouts' aroma and taste. On the contrary, I'd like to celebrate their nuttiness as much as possible. If these vegetables need a certain level of fat and citrus (and a lot of recipes do call for this combination), I prefer some kind of lemon-based aioli to dip - I've seen some restaurants play it this way. I'm copying. Stay tuned.

Brussels sprouts. A love affair begins.

Thanks for stopping by.

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the best little place in the richmond (TBLPITR)

Wow! It's certainly been a long time. What's happened in the last three months? I don't even know; it's been a whirlwind that doesn't seem to be slowing down. Blogging now seems to be an infrequent series of check points to confirm that yes, I've given my life a thought or two along the way. Here's what I've been thinking about more than anything else as of late:

I moved to the other side of Golden Gate park in mid-February and am now a proud resident of the Richmond district.

My new place is an in-law unit of a three bedroom home and rests inconspicuously at the house's rear. I suppose it's technically a studio, but it actually functions as a one bedroom both in size and design. You walk into a decently-sized kitchen on the right and cozy bathroom on the left ("Cozy" is how renters describe tiny, almost unlivable living quarters. It's the equivalent of an oversized woman describing herself as "voluptuous" on her online dating profile). There's a short stairway that leads down to the main living area - all carpeted. It's one large, contiguous space but the walls enclose a bit in the middle of the room to create a division between the bedroom and living room. You can get a sense of the layout in the picture above.

I am open to suggestions on what to name the place, but I'll refer to it with the working title above - TBLPITR (prounounced "tibble pitter") for the time being. TBLPITR is quickly feeling like home. Some of the notable improvements to my living conditions is certainly a blessing. However, I feel as though the imperfections are what really binds me (like a voluptuous fatty, I refer to TBLPITR's minor pecadillos as "charms"). You quickly get used to the small flaws and forget about them altogether. This is what I'm thinking about as of late.

The furnishing remains incomplete, and I realize now that it may never be fully finished. There's always a little tweak to be made in this corner and a major furniture piece to upgrade in the other. I've never before spent my afternoons sketching out floor plans and pondering color schemes. In case you were wondering, green is the primary color in my kitchen. Orange the accent. Where is brown? Please ask my interior decorator Emmelle. Thus, one of the immediate open action items on my list is to capture a stunning green and orange photo. If I could snap something like this, I am told my kitchen will be nearly complete. This is what I'm thinking about as of late.

Lastly, I'd like to say thanks to The Pink Chateau for some terrific memories. The Pink Era ended fairly abruptly, but will never be forgotten.

Thanks for stopping by.

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christmas card, 2009

In case you didn't know:

Yuletide was originally a pagan winter festival celebrated by the historical Germanic peoples which was later absorbed by Christians with Christmas. Thanks Wikipedia.

Please click here for Christmas card 2008 if you are desperately missing last year's card.

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a tribute to bryan voltaggio and volt - let's be friends

(Editor's note: I wrote the bulk of this blog post immediately after watching Top Chef Las Vegas Season 6. Thus, the posting date is correct while in actuality, it's a week late)

Emmelle and I just finished watching Michael Voltaggio claim the Top Chef Las Vegas crown (season 6). I went into the finale fully believing that his brother, Bryan, would be raising his arms in victory and endearing all doubters with his geeky, nervous laugh. There were a few reasons that had me convinced that the older Voltaggio would walk away the victor:

• I thought that Bryan (we are on a first name basis) created consistently excellent dishes throughout the season, both visually stunning and seemingly flavorful
• I could only ignore my new Man Crush for so long - the combination of his talent, poise, integrity and good looks - some are clearly more blessed than others
• He comes across as a much kinder being than the younger Voltaggio (at least it was edited that way)
• I ate lunch at his restaurant, Volt, in Frederick, Maryland a couple of months before the season finale aired tonight

Hhmm, most of those really aren't reasons to give him the big prize.

I won't argue about who should or shouldn't have won - we can't taste the food. And as viewers, we can't rely too much on the edited version of all of the judges' commentary. If we went strictly by that, we would be left with only these truths: Tom needs more salt (I wonder if he seasons his seasonings), Gail wants someone to tell her that she's pretty (especially one of the Voltaggio brothers), Padma wants everyone to acknowledge her baby bump, and Toby knows how to turn a phrase (and it sounds that much better because he has an accent).

I digress. My point is that we can't taste the food, which I hear is the most critical component of evaluating a cooking competition. Michael Voltaggio won. That's fine; I'm sure he deserved it. However, I was really looking forward to a BV victory so I could make claim that I am the first of my kin to dine at a Top Chef winner's restaurant. I'll have to settle for the first of my lineage to eat at a runner-up's establishment. Boo.

So what do I have to say about Volt? (I've decided I really don't know how to describe what I eat, so not much really...)

During part 1 of the season finale, Bryan mentions that he established Volt in Frederick, Maryland to be near agriculture. This is true; he's out in the cuts. His restaurant resides in a charming little downtown area, but beyond that is a lot of farmland and green for miles and miles. It's quite a trek from Washington, D.C., or anywhere else you might want to be. But downtown Frederick certainly has its small town charms; I could see Eddie Money scheming a future rendezvous with (fill in the blank).

Both male and female servers wear grey suits with brown Chuck Taylors, which contrast nicely with the white decor - walls, dinnerware, tablecloth... Our server told us that Chef Voltaggio was away "on business" for a couple of days. I am thoroughly convinced he was taping the finale in wine country while we lunched at his restaurant. I blame Eddie Money's indifference to the cuisine for contributing to Bryan's loss. Negative vibes.

One of Bryan's pitfalls during the Finale episodes was his lack of seasoning, which I could personally attest to. There were no flavor explosions in my mouth, which by the way, are my favorite type of explosions, especially in my mouth. But it was a good meal that further established my new Man Crush. On top of that, the three course lunch option was $20.09. $20! It's always a welcomed surprise to avoid large city prices.

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the return of the shin - thirtysomething (part 3 of 3)

The Return of the Shin

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Editor's note: The first draft of this entry was short, much too brief for my liking. If you can't be long-winded, why say anything at all? Thus, I have sprinkled in some un-thruths throughout just to make things more interesting (and longer).

October marked the one year anniversary of this blog. Thank you all for showering yours truly with gifts and well wishes. It's always great to hear devoted readers' share how my words are changing lives, healing relationships, and making this world a better place. I do what I can.

During a recent writing sabbatical, I found myself scanning some of Year One's blog entries while mentally comparing my life as it is now with where it was last year. GreensandBrowns has become another mechanism in my life to measure time. In the past year, some days and weeks were painfully slow, while months seemed to blow by much too rapidly. Same with the blog. A mishmash of thoughts and anecdotes quickly grew into a full year's worth of my life.

Bottom line, life and time inevitably inch forward. The newly forming wrinkles on my face remind me, the intermittent strands of grey hair remind me, occasional bathroom accidents remind me, this blog reminds me.

I tried to recall what's changed since October 2008. Not much I tell myself (and I will review this more fully at the end of the year). The most significant changes occurred more recently - Emmelle and I purchase Altimas Prime and C-Monster moved to southern California. Colonel Mustard turned 30.

Happy birthday, Sister Bear and congratulations for reaching this milestone. I rewarded this achievement with the greatest gift of all, by being handsome at her and Emmelle's recent party. Awwwwww! (see above). It's always great to hear passersby comment on how my handsomeness is changing lives, healing relationships, and making this world a better place. I do what I can.

Now, does a 30th birthday alter life in any tangible or meaningful way? Yes and no. As time passes, we all (hopefully) release ourselves from the bitter taste of insecurity and come to grasp our niche in life. It's similar to crawling to stumbling to walking to hitting full stride. That is a significant transformation. Of course, this process is evolutionary and takes place over time; it doesn't happen when you're 30. But we certainly can celebrate it at that age.

And celebrate it we did!

As the party became more raucous, Colonel Mustard disappeared for a few hours. We searched for her and finally saw her coming back down to the lounge from Potrero Hill with a slow and deliberate gait. As she approached closer, we noticed that she had traded in her black dress and heels for a grey cloak, a witch-like hat, and lesbian sandals (they looked like Birkenstocks). More noticeable was the long white beard she had grown and ethereal eyes that sobered us immediately. Her appearance was so captivating that we didn't notice the two stone tablets she effortlessly carried in each arm until she was very close.

An intense silence swept over the crowd as we eagerly waited for Colonel Mustard to speak. She slowly turned her head from side to side to consume all of our faces as her impressive beard flapped slightly in the gentle breeze. She placed the stone tablets on the pavement and undid her robe, unveiling a magnificently stunning white robe which momentarily blinded all of us and pierced our souls. Some cried. She claimed that she was "Professor Colonel Mustard the White". A low murmur swept through the confounded audience. Mustard is yellow; she was clearly going senile in her ripe age. She grew frustrated with our lack of understanding and reached into her side to reveal a short, crooked wand, striking it to the ground while bellowing, "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" This seemed reasonable; we were all interested in getting back to the party anyway.

The crowd quickly filed back into the lounge. What a party!

A 30th birthday doesn't require documentation to keep fresh in the memory tank, unlike some of the outlandish (fleeting) topics I like to write about. But I did want to acknowledge that time constantly changes us...for the better. 30 years ago, Colonel Mustard arrived in this world and learned how to open her eyes and recognize her family. Years later, her parents gave her a stuffed animal for her birthday, and she learned to nurture her companions. Years ago, she received a set of car keys and tried her best to chauffeur her siblings to and fro. Years of experiences and gifts played key roles in who she is today - ferocious lawyer, doting sister, loving daughter, troubled prophet of the ancient world...the list is longer than what is appropriate on this page.

What gifts from her most recent birthday will have major impacts on her life going forward? I'm not sure, but seeds have been planted and are being nurtured. As I watch Colonel Mustard stroke her long silvery beard, I smile knowing that fantastical things happen when you turn 30. I am sure of it. I have seen it. I am looking forward to it.

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the return of the shin - tales of a thirteenth grade nothing (part 2 of 3)

The Return of the Shin

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

C-Monster commenced her collegiate career at UC Irvine in late September and now heads the southern California chapter of the Shin Empire. The Empire periodically receives light-hearted anecdotes and thoughtful updates, all pointing to a girl that has adjusted seamlessly to life as an undergraduate. We couldn't be more proud.

All the years C-Monster spent in teenage angst, vacillating between mild frustration and abject abhorrence to parental tyranny, vanished in the weeks leading to her Orange County trek. As expected, the parentals and she reached the apex of their appreciation for each other during this time. It's a natural evolution that takes hold of any household. Ironically, it's that very moment when harmony has been achieved, that parent and child must part ways.

My parents consciously avoided the feelings that they knew would strike them: “Today I lived without you for the first time. And after a full day in your absence, you still be gone when I awake tomorrow morning…” They would endure that burden once the young one left. While their daughter was still with them, they chose to celebrate the moment. Their youngest child had finally learned to appreciate the support her parents had showered her with over the years, a nurturing that exceeded their individual abilities and means. This sublime pleasantry was life-affirming.

And then the day came, the morning we packed C-Monster's necessities and departed for her new home. The parents were not traveling with us and were required to say goodbye in a restaurant parking lot. Tears flowed. And flowed. And bellowed. The Lady Shins' cry was a vocal manifestation of their collective bodies' ache. Real physical pain. It was agonizing to hear and experience. The weeping only ceased when they tacitly agreed to carry on silently, away from each other.

We hit the road. We sat in traffic. We looped the same CDs over and over again (Ingrid Michaelson, Iron and Wine, The Yeah Yeah Yeahs). We arrived at the dorms. We unpacked. We ate at Olive Garden. We fell asleep in a Marriott. We ate in a dining common. We said goodbye. More tears. We parted. We drove home with less weight in the car. We thought about each other from our four corners. Days passed. Weeks passed. Life moved forward as it always does. Life is good...

In the weeks proceeding C-Monster's departure, I make a conscious effort to visit my parents more frequently (made easier by Altimas Prime) as my parents were clearly afflicted with Empty Nest Syndrome. Every time I stay at my parents' abode, I make camp in C-Monster's old room, the vacant room. Every time I turn her television on, I am momentarily surprised to see ESPN as the first station that displays on the screen - only because that's the channel that was played during my last visit. The room goes unused. Or almost completely unused; my mom uses C-Monster's old computer each morning. To the left of the desk on which the computer sits are a handful of framed photographs of C-Monster. These photos collect no dust. And each time I go home, I'm certain these frames change position ever so slightly, as if somebody picked one up for a moment and tried to set it back in its proper place.

------------------------------------------------

For posterity’s sake, I’m sharing this video from LiNK, a non-profit organization committed to liberty of the North Korean people (please don’t confuse this group with PiNK – Punishment in North Korea, or BLiNK – Bad Luck in North Korea), ((I’m going double parentheses here – why is everyone so obsessed with acronyms?)). Anyway, skip to the 2:57 mark and follow the girl with the #25 above her head.

If you're too impatient to view the entire video, the basic premise is that the organizations' current initiative is to rescue 100 refugees. C-Monster represents the 25th of those who will be uplifted from suffering. That seems like a lot of pressure. Doesn't this mean that she will immediately feel a kinship with Refugee #25? Will she go out of her way to meet this person? To befriend this person? What if they actually got to talking? It would probably go something like this:

C-Monster: I portrayed you in a campaign that we did to raise money and awareness.

Refugee #25: I haven’t eaten in four days.

C-Monster: Yeah, you are number 25. We made you a jersey.

Ok, I’m going to stop…feeling insensitive.

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the return of the shin - altimas prime (part 1 of 3)

The Return of the Shin

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

When an idea pops into my head, my usual blogging routine goes something like this:

I'll jot down some notes either on my laptop or sometimes on my cell phone, spend some time pounding away on a keyboard and walk away from it to uphold a more 'objective' review at a later time (it's the best thing to do without a real editor, a position which Emmelle has jockeyed for on numerous occasions). I'll return to to the material hours or days later, gut it and revamp before finally publishing for public consumption.

It’s really a process in place to serve as a checks-and-balances if you will. Since the inception of this blogging endeavor last year, my greatest fear has always revolved around writing something completely asinine or worse, attempting in vain to be funny. Regrettably, this has prevented me from posting as frequently as I would prefer. Over the last three months, I’ve abandoned several drafts that I spent too much overthinking, eventually losing all interest. I've started, scribbled, erased, tired, and thrown my hands up in frustration repeatedly. I can readily identify these creative dearths as they unfold, but am helpless nonetheless. It's quite vexing. Ultimately, writing became arduous and ideas eventually waned.

I'm trying rather unsuccessfully to explain how difficult it's been to update in over three months. Let's just chalk it up to an involuntary hiatus and now I've come back fully refreshed and inspired.

There were some downright meaningful events that occurred over the last three months. I’ve boiled them down to three events that I'll share over the course of three individual posts. The first occurred in early September:

Altimas Prime

Emmelle and I purchased a new car, a Nissan Altima, to replace her loyal and trusty Honda Civic. I traded in my beer bottle opener key chain for the Nissan smart key that has enough bulk and weight to serve as the key chain itself (appreciate the rich symbolism). Altimas Prime has now been in our lives long enough to escort us across 3,500 miles of Northern California road, and has shortened the San Francisco-San Jose distance that separates us during the weekdays.

Prime was a last minute, but sound, purchasing decision proceeding several weeks of Acura TSX-hunting; luxury can wait a few years. The buying cycle was frustrating and time-consuming although some highlights were sprinkled in throughout the process (e.g., Emmelle’s dad telling a car dear he was “shit” to his chubby face).

I, for one, am extremely pleased with Altimas Prime. Sure, she looks "shiny and new / like a virgin / Hey!", but that's not what tugged at my heart the moment we signed on the dotted line, and the vehicle officially became our property. I couldn't help but think about how this car will steer us through seminal moments of our early years together (a friend also mentioned semenal moments, but I don't even know what that means).

I’ve never felt an emotional connection with a car, but I do now. Prime will transport us to life-changing moments and emotional journeys. It will usher us from today to tomorrow, serving as a conduit for us in the present and us in the future. Five years from now, we’ll complete payment on the car. Over the next five years, I expect the car to carry us to wedding, births and perhaps even tragedy and death.

Altimas Prime will be the ultimate confidante on our car rides – a silently active participant in our intimate conversations, a good-natured companion of our inside jokes, and a comforting seat to catch our most private of tears, both happy and sad.

I'm not trying to appear overly dramatic, but stating that this vehicle is a reflection of where we are and what we are surrounded by in our late twenties/early thirties. One day when it's time to give up (on) the car, I will give it the most sincere bear hug, remembering the moment we brought her home, recounting how Emmelle and my life had gotten better in the years that followed.

Thanks in advance, Altimas Prime.

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happy anniversary to me!

Placeholder for an exciting return of the king...