Denise Whiting – Dumpster Diva

Baltimore Sun editor John McIntyre, self-proclaimed Royalist and contrarian opined from his Sun blog bully pulpit that the lowly  commoners are jealous of Denise Whiting's retro-cartoon-trash megalomania. I think he might be right. How hot is this self-proclaimed dumpster diving diva? Notice that the fake "hon" accent is turned off here but the high-pitched diva screech is up to 11.

Nick and Nora Go To a Protest

 The dynamic duo of Owl Meat Gravy and gal pal Switchblade Kitty believe that earnestness causes cancer. With that in mind we embarked (late as always, SK!) for Hampden.

Taking our cue from Nick and Nora of the Thin Man movies, we believe that champagne or martinis make every event better and helps you solve crimes.

 Sorry that it took so long to post these, but Blogger won't let me upload photos this week. I had to go through four passes via Flickr. Damn software!




 We arrive at the scene of the crime. Switchblade Kitty with plastic cup of champagne and a bottle of Cook's finest. Because it's not a protest without champagne.

SK posing in front of the comically large display of police presence, five cars. And we're off!

 

 Someone has their car decorated with various not-HON logos. 

 Attila the Hon badgering the crowd one by one.

 Bad photo.

 This girl was WAY too serious. More champagne, Switchblade Kitty! Is that the City of Baltimore flag? I don't get it.

 Here comes the best sign.

 Craptastic Hontown window display.

 Here he comes

 Earnest girl in homemade t-shirt etc.

 This guy was really funny. Note how most people are smiling or laughing. I guess I didn't have my John McIntyre curmudgeon lens on.

 Pretty girl smiling with lame sign. John McIntyre, where are the frowny people?

 Parting shot from out getaway car. A successful hit and run protest. Except for earnest homemade t-shirt girl, the crowd was jovial and having a great time on a very cold day. SK and I flee the scene for High Topps in Timonium to watch the Ravens and check out the b/Sun "party". FAIL. The "party" seems to be discounted wings and crap lite beers. Hit and run, baby. And we're off!

 We land at Nacho Mamas in Canton. Check out the menu. Hahahaha! Scunny mocking the whole thing by daring Denise to sue him. Way to go. A perfect end to our first hit and run day of fun.Then it's home to build a blanket fort and smash wine glasses in the fireplace. 

Don't forget to check out other posts here including the video we made of Denise Whiting's new venture the CRACK CAFE™ 

Keyword Analysis Fun

Statcounter reports that people found this blog using these search engine words (for the past week):

#Hits Perc. Search Term
40 Hits 54.05% grackle
10 Hits 13.51% owl meat gravy
5 Hits 6.76% grackles
5 Hits 6.76% owl meat apocrypha
4 Hits 5.41% owl meat gravy blog
2 Hits 2.70% rollicky bread bun recipes
1 Hit 1.35% "cafe hon"
1 Hit 1.35% autopilot airplane
1 Hit 1.35% cafe hon denise whiting
1 Hit 1.35% crack cafe whiting
1 Hit 1.35% denise whiting owl meat
1 Hit 1.35% owl meat
1 Hit 1.35% owl meat blogspot
1 Hit 1.35% squagel

What is the deal with grackles? I want to meet the person who Googled "rollicky bread bun recipes".

Denise Whiting, owner of Cafe Hon™, opens ghetto-fabulous theme joint the Crack Cafe™ (version 2.0)

Version 2.0 has much better animation, some rewrites, and lots of sound effects and background sound. Dig it!

 

Retweet or Share on Facebook to spread the word.

Denise Whiting, owner of Cafe Hon™, opens ghetto-themed Crack Cafe™

 The Owl Meat Continuum has created this for your entertainment.



An Owl Meat Gravy™ Production.

The size of the box is better on YouTube. Check our YouTube channel here. 

The pirate emo thing is good. The other two are old experiements with lame free software and photos and video from a $6 digital camera the size of a half of a Chicken McNugget.

That's a wrap! Shut it down!

Today's Trademark Infringement Fun

I'll let others deal with the Denise Whiting Hon-icide™ debacle for now. For now. Who knew that trademarks could be such a galvanizing issue?

Your move, Baltimore City Schools.

Java Zombies & The Baltimore Farmers' Market

Below is a rant on kids, strollers, and slurpy annoying coffee narcissists at the Baltimore Farmer's Market. Originally posted on the Baltimore Sun's Dining at Large blog. Reprinted here with minor revisions. Damn, I sure was irritable then.

____________________________________________

Jenna, just take a look at the post on kids in restaurants from earlier this year that spilled over onto the mommy blog. It was a steel cage death match with few parents coming out alive.

I think babies are just useless. Well they are. Give me a puppy any day. Kids as accessories annoy me too. Depending upon my mood, people in general annoy me. Wasn't it Sartre who said "Hell is other people."?

If I were in the mood to rant, which I almost am, given the sore muscles from doing actual physical labor yesterday that didn't involve a keyboard, a mouse, or a wine glass, uhhhh...

Set phasers to RANT.

Yeah, most of the time when I go to the market I'm not so much in the Bon Marché kind of strolling mood like my ex-girlfriend used to dig. Any market, any day. Stroll stroll stroll. The Paris bird market was her fave. I'm a freakin' laser guided maniac sometimes. I want apples, I want bok choy and I want to get hell out of there.

So what bugs me more than strollers, because I can see them on my radar and evade? It's the ankle dragging freakin coffee people. Yeah, and that's probably some of you. You know who you are. Mmmmm..... slurpity slurp slurp, ahhhh, mmmm, shuffle stutter-step stop linger start stop wandering in your addict's haze and narcissistic dark roasted egoism. Walking two or more across because if nobody hears your mouth-gasms they just aren't that good.

The problem other than my lifelong hatred of the coffee HABIT (not coffee, it's the celebratory ritual of lame addiction that irks me, damn, if you're going to get that worked up start chasing the dragon, swirl into a deep opium fog thinking of crickets and chanting all the vowels.) So I can't avoid you and I can't get to the stand with the hot farm girls. This is about food and an appreciation of tawny young women who rise at dawn and tear things from the ground for my nourishment and gustatory pleasure, get out of my way you poseur weekend divas with your khaki dreams and public onanistic mouth rapture. Gentlemen set your phasers to vaporize, I want my purple habaneros, a sunny smile from pepper girl, and in my mind-kill-zone there is just a puddle of non-fat milk java that is the stain that you will be. Slurp on that.

Good morning world. 8>O

Posted by: Owl Meat KillSwitchEngaged | September 16, 2008 9:45 AM

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Chiu on This – Worst Sashimi Ever

Lobster Girl and I had a late Saturday and lazy Sunday. We missed brunch, but made it out of the house for an early dinner. I wanted sushi, but didn't feel like heading to my beloved Minato. I decided to give Chiu's Sushi a second chance, since it's only a few blocks away in Horrible East.

Big mistake. Trust your first impressions.

First of all, the kabuki theater atmosphere with female employees dressed in kimonos is lame. The room looks like it was designed by someone who had seen The Mikado on acid.

The best way to judge any sushi place is the sashimi plate or omakase. None of the expensive stunt rolls. So I see they have a sashimi dinner and deluxe sashimi dinner. Deluxe!

First up is the hot towel. Ow, ow, .. ah. Then some hot sake. Done. They brought the usual miso soup which was okay, but like everything there it was overly ornate in a non-functional way. I don't need a cup, a lid and a goofy American plastic spoon. Japanese drink the soup from the cup.

Then there was a weird "salad" which was iceberg lettuce and a strange clumpy orange dressing. Fail.

I got the deluxe sashimi for $27. The deluxe model has salmon, tuna, and yellowtail. That is it. The fish was cut way way too thick; it was an unpleasantly large mouthful. The quality of the tuna was the lowest possible. It was bright red with no fat at all, signifying frozen and low grade cut. The salmon was adequate, but had a weird foreign taste sometimes like it sat in the refrigerator next to turpentine. The yellowtail was adequate.

The accompanying bowl of sushi rice was poorly prepared.  I make better rice at home.

A sashimi plate is an opportunity for the chef to shine and to order it is a compliment to the chef. The artless slabs of fish on the platter was sad. Did I mention we were the only customers there? Three kinds of fish on the deluxe platter? Three? How sad is the regular version?

They did use real mizuna leaves. The gari (pickled ginger) was disgusting. Obviously store bought (hey, I make my own, it's not hard) and dyed with repulsive candy-like flavor from some kind of sweetener. Blech.

They also wrap & rewrap their fish in plastic wrap which is a huge foul according to Alex Tran, the owner of Minato. It traps weird flavors and bacteria.

Lobster Girl was happy with her goofy makis and slathered them in soy sauce and wasabi. That's what she likes, so that's what she gets.

I have a theory that sushi bars are like chiropractors. Everybody thinks theirs is the best. When I hear people say that Chiu's has good sushi, I wonder what they think bad sushi is. So, remember that when people brag up their chiro, keep in mind that they keep going back over and over and never get fixed.

Finally, the room was ridiculously noisy, with three separate LOUD conversations among employees in Chinese. Just because you think we can't understand you, doesn't mean we can't hear you. And if you look at my girlfriend and say "dee oh lay, ... dai bo". I know what you mean and yes they are real.

Sayonara.

Helliday Reboot for the Apocrypha

Welcome to the Hellidays reboot of the Owl Meat Apocrypha. Usually the time between Thanksgiving and New Year's Day is a tedious depressing period. There's Thanksgiving, my birthday, Christmas, and New Year's Eve. Kwanzaa and Hannukah don't add anything positive either. My usual strategy has been to yell at the TV, drink bourbon, clean my guns, and stare forlornly into the middle distance while arguing with imaginary ex-girlfriends. Not this year.

This year I am going to be socially promiscuous and accept any and invitations to do things, especially new things. I am going to seek out social opportunities and enjoy them all. In short, I am embarking on a radical agenda of enjoying life. So I will try to blog about fun things around town and forgo poetry about food and death.

Let's go!

Play me out, Walt Whitman

I sing the body electric,
The armies of those I love engirth me and I engirth them,
They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them,
And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the soul.