The J.R.S. #10 - Facial Fuel, Kicking a Woman Out of Your Neighbor's House, & Alton Brown's Honey Butter
Happy Birthday Jason Segel! You were quietly my favorite character on HIMYM.
Welcome to The J.R.S – the newsletter that reviews life so you don’t have to. If you like what you read, have your friends subscribe! Every time I get a new reader, a puppy does an adorable sneeze. Self-promotion finished, it’s time to sit back, definitely do not eat a tide-pod, and engage your brain with words.
Facial Fuel
"How a Dolphin Must Feel Every Moment"
For the longest time, I didn't pay attention to my face.
Sure, I shaved it occasionally, I brushed the teeth inside my mouth twice a day, and when the sun was out, I would slather it with sunscreen. Beyond that, I didn't have a beauty regimen, nor would I put much care into it.
If Westerns taught me anything, it's that a scarred and weathered face on a man was the ultimate attraction to women. When I busted my head open listening to Weezer, the doctor simply superglued my forehead back together. My mother was mortified because stitches would have left a much smaller scar.
I, on the other hand, was overjoyed that I had a good-looking scar, rakishly perched above my right eyebrow. All part of my plan to someday be described as “Roguishly Handsome."
This lifestyle of non-face pampering changed dramatically on my 30th birthday. My girlfriend gifted me a blue tube of Kiehl's Facial Fuel. Ignoring my protests, she demanded that I go to the bathroom and put some on my epidermis, and then report back to her how I felt.
Ladies and Gentlemen, it was a moving experience.
My face felt light and tingly, and it smelled good! I caught my reflection in the mirror and was floored, not only by how roguishly handsome I was but by the youthful glisten that gleamed off my forehead.
You couldn't keep me away from putting on my Kiehl's in the morning. It seamlessly became part of my post-shower ritual. It wasn't a hard integration since up to that point it was a two-step process involving teeth brushing and deodorant applying.
If you're a man and you aren't applying some sort of moisturizer with sunscreen to your face every day, I strongly recommend Kiehl's. Women have known about the secret joy of moisturizing for centuries, but somehow, we missed the memo.
Kiehl's has a manly musk, so no one will mistake it for perfume, and its easy application ensures that you're wearing a comfortable level of sunscreen to fend off harmful UV rays, no matter where your day takes you.
Our rule in the house is that I can only be introduced to one new beauty product a year. My post-shower routine now involves something called a tonic that makes my face impossibly smooth, followed by my beloved Kiehl's.
Westerns be damned. I've got a rakish scar and a roguish grin, but my face is glistening like morning dew.
Kiehl's Face Moisturizer and Sunscreen - 5 out of 5 Stars
Kicking a Woman Out of Your Neighbor's House
"Even More Awkward Than You Think"
A few weeks ago, the annual Venice canals boat parade took over our neighborhood. It's a very condensed block party where all the houses on the canals put on their holiday best, and the homes that do have boats (we don't) decorate them in a collective theme.
Realistically speaking, it's the best day to have a party. People are in a great mood, the Christmas lights are everywhere, and it's a reminder that my girlfriend and I are very lucky to live where we live.
We’re in a tiny bungalow that is on the backside of the canals, basically meaning that there's a house similar to ours that faces the canals, and we're behind him. Our front door faces the street, and we actually prefer it this way. All the accessibility and posh of the canals, combined with a unique degree of privacy; a commodity rarely found in the fishbowl architecture that surrounds us.
Our front neighbor is the world’s best neighbor. While he's our parents’ age, his youth and vigor are unmatched. A lawyer for Coca-Cola for almost 25 years, we have strong suspicions that he actually was in the CIA.
He's been to 106 countries, including the ones that aren't high on the tourism list. When I saw photos of him in Afghanistan in 2002, I was surprised.
The front house is our favorite because our neighbor throws the parties so we don't have to. He takes on the burden of entertaining, which allows us to invite smaller groups of people, but also to come and go from the chaos as we please. A great party is one where you have an effortless escape if you’re sleepy or hungry.
Canal parade parties are always on the wild side - it's what happens when hundreds of people flood a tiny area and the locals (sort of) open their doors. However, this can have mixed results.
So mixed in fact, my girlfriend and I were taking a breather in our home - we had guests over ourselves, and they had all just left, so we were quietly gorging ourselves on the leftover cheese plate when our neighbor walked in.
He lamented the fact that we weren't over, but it was clear that there was an actual problem - there was a woman who was in his house that he didn't know. Not only that, he didn't want her in his house, and she engaged in various verbal tactics to appear to not pick up the social cue of "get out of my house I don't know you".
Obviously, we decided to save the day, and by we, I meant my girlfriend. A confrontation as awkward and cringe-worthy as that wasn't up to my fragile need to be liked by everyone, but Lord knows I tried.
We entered the party, which was like...a party. We immediately spotted the woman - she was by herself, eating cheese, wandering through the house and not talking to anyone.
Before your heart goes out to this gentle soul and you call us monsters, realize that there were at most 20 people in the house. Everyone knew each other well, and also let's reiterate - she wasn't invited, and the owner of the house was actively distressed by her presence.
I squared my shoulders and went in, donning a mask of equally boyish curiosity and smarmy superiority (I was invited dammit!). I asked her where was from, why she was here, and who she knew - all very aggressive and pointed questions.
Sports fans, this might be a Trump-era tactic, but I haven't been on the blunt end of such oral jujitsu ever. Somehow I was explaining who I was, my career choice, and why I was supposed to be at the party.
This wasn't going well, so I called in the big guns - my girlfriend.
I love her, but this is a woman I've seen first-hand give a savage dressing down to a dry cleaner who ruined her sweater, and I knew that she would be fearless in her pursuit of getting this party leech exorcized from the festivities.
Ripping the Band-Aid off, she approached the tick, and said straight out "It's weird you're not talking to anyone, and you don't know anyone here, and I think you need to change your attitude".
It was a beautiful piece of work - one that I couldn't even begin to replicate, but through a series of passive aggressive comments and interrogation, my girlfriend had slain this massive Debbie Downer, and we watched her beat a slow retreat.
We stayed another 20 minutes, then wandered back home, made pasta and went to sleep. Like the best parties end.
Kicking a Woman Out of Your Neighbors House - 3 out of 5 Stars
Alton Brown's Honey Butter
"Basically Frosting"
In an attempt to live my life according to the goals that I've set in previous editions of The J.R.S, when we were invited to a Friendsgiving last year, I declared that I would be bringing bread to the party.
Not only that, I challenged myself to bring not just one, but two types of bread, so people would definitely remember me. And for the third degree of difficulty, I would make some of the bread!
As a fail-safe to terrible bread, I went to the store and bought a sleeve of Kings Hawaiian rolls, or "bread crack" as they're called in our kitchen. We don't own a bread machine, so my bread recipes are slightly limited. I've made Focaccia rolls and soda bread before, and I felt that Focaccia would have the highest chance of me not ruining it, and be well received at the party.
The Focaccia rolls were in the oven and overcome with cooking zeal, I wondered what else I could make to win over "friends" at this Friendsgiving. Remember when we were in Oklahoma? The wedding reception had honey butter that was positively divine.
I've always wanted to start a religion, so I figured I would take a stab at it with heavenly honey butter. You would think that I would make the dish with the two named ingredients, but your thought process would be wrong.
In this modern age, it's difficult to do anything without first researching on the Internet first, and the ingredients for proper honey butter were quickly googled in our household.
There were many variations, but I settled on one created by a man I thought I could trust - the famed celebrity chef and smarmy host of Cutthroat Kitchen (as far as gimmicky cooking shows, I'm a Chopped person), Alton Brown.
In his version of honey butter, there were a few more ingredients beyond the namesake of the dish. The most notable one was cinnamon.
"Surely this man who looks like a bald elf knows what he's doing," I thought to myself as I whisked the ingredients together. As the honey butter took on a brownish hue, I began to question my trust in Alton.
The butter tasted...sweet. Too sweet. Almost like frosting, which I find disgusting. But, secure in my not one, but two types of bread, I felt confident enough to bring the honey butter, the Hawaiian rolls, and the Focaccia to the Friendsgiving.
Friends were made, trivia was played, and honey butter was displayed. I downplayed my role in creating the brownish sludge, but I was surprised to find a fan or two at the impossibly long table our wonderful hosts had put together.
Looking back, I realize that I made an integral mistake. Focaccia rolls don't need honey butter, and Hawaiian rolls have their own sinfully sweet tang. If you're invited to a dinner party, just bring some nice salted butter and some fresh bread. No one will mistake your contribution as dessert.
Alton Brown's Honey Butter - 2 out of 5 Stars
That's a full lid on this version of The J.R.S! Thank you so much for gracing me with your eyes. Don’t hesitate to telegram me at JRSdiaries@gmail.com and let me know your thoughts, opinions, or honey butter recipes. Like most wedding DJs, I do take review requests.
Love you. Miss you!
Joey