Jenga: Talk Dirty to Me.

A retrospective on the profane Jenga game at the Daily Pint:

Kinky isn't really what comes to mind when I think of stacking blocks, but then again, the object of Jenga is sticking the right piece in the right hole, and then pulling it out with (hopefully) no consequences. Sound familiar?




I'm pretty sure this isn't a reference to a rooster.

Eyeballs? Concentric circles? Mammaries? You be the judge.

The hazards of hooking up with a gargoyle.

I've never had one of these . . . Dear readers, if you have experienced a Thai Ladyboy Surprise, please share your story.

A sampling of sentiments.

Babs and I have mad Jenga skills. 'Nuff said.

The end.

Animal Restaurant

I've officially fallen in love. Its been a few years since I've said that about anyone or anything, but I am head over heels for Animal. Owned by Jon Shook and Vinny Dotolo, formerly of "2 Dudes Catering" on the Food Network, Animal is a funky little restaurant on Fairfax & Rosewood, near Canter's. The space is small -- 45 seats -- with warm wood accents and simple cream walls. The focus is definitely on the food, and with good reason. Animal, as the name implies, is not meant for dainty eating. Although there were some seafood options (we tried the halibut crudo) the action really lies with the inventive (and often pork-centric) meat dishes. Definitely a splurge meal, at least in terms of calories, but worth it. The menu is divided into small plates (18 choices the night we went), large plates (7 items), and dessert (2 options). My friend and I decided to make a meal out of the small plates, and everything we had was absolutely delicious.

We started with the six hour bolognese served over warm parmesan polenta. The picture doesn't really do it justice. This elicited excited "wows" from my dining companion, who was worried that rest of the meal would not live up to this dish. Fortunately (although perhaps unfortunately for my tummy, since I stuffed myself) it did.

Next we had the crostini with burrata, olive oil and sea salt. Mmmmmmm burrata.

The baby halibut crudo, with radish, pickled beets, tangerine and tarragon followed as a "palate cleanser." The tarragon was subtle, and the tangerine and pickled beets were a really great combo. A little out of place with the rest of our heavy food, but we were the ones who chose to order only meat, cheese and carbs.

This brings me to the Poutine. Poutine is a Quebecian/Candian comfort food, consisting of french fries topped with cheese curds and brown gravy. Canadians are often subject to mockery for being peaceful, having funny accents, etc. but they are onto something with Poutine. More refined than chili cheese fries, yet still plenty low brow, Poutine is my new favorite nosh. The version at Animal had oxtail gravy and vermont cheddar, and it did not disappoint.

At this point we probably should have stopped eating, but we chose to charge bravely ahead into two final dishes: smoked pork belly with lentil and butterbean salad and a banyuls vinaigrette, and the foie gras "biscuit and gravy."

The pork belly was literally melt in your mouth. There was another version of pork belly on the menu, with kimchi, peanuts and chili soy, that I definitely want to try when on my next visit to Animal. The foie gras, with a biscuit and maple sausage gravy, was completely over the top. Each component on its own would have been decadent, but the combination of the two was just outrageous. It took all of our combined eating power to finish off the foie gras decadence, but we rose to the challenge. Needless to say, we did not have room for dessert

Not to worry though. In the immortal words of our Governator, I'll be back.

Two Broad Salute: Facial Hair

Welcome, friends, to the first of what I hope will be many Two Broad Salutes. There's a lot out there a broad can tip her hat to in this wretched (yet somehow irresistible) city, and I intend to do justice to the whopping lot of them.

I am a sucker for facial hair. Dirty, filthy, prickly, bushy, unkempt, hell, even Amish, just let me nuzzle it. Every Christmas season, I fully expect to be arrested for mauling the Salvation Army Santa, but he always turns out to kinda like it (in a way that inevitably makes me run off crying in horror, but still, win-win, I say!).

Turns out Santa came a wee bit early this year to yer ol' Babs. While enjoying a ritual glass (or two) of Chimay at the Pint with Betty Boom Boom (one of our roving reporters), we made a delightful observation-- well over 85% of the brothers in the building were sporting some form of glorious facial hair!

Once we noticed this growing LA trend, we couldn't stop. Everywhere we looked, we saw face muff. Not a smooth visage in the house! We were smart enough to have a camera on hand, and were able to capture some of these Metro-roughnecks in the wild, which I'll provide at the end for your viewing enjoyment (you'll see we also stumbled on another growing trend, the Ugly Sweater Party, which will be featured in tandem). Thankfully, Betty's got a sunny disposition (and by "sunny disposition," I mean a sweet set of cans) and our subjects seem more than happy to oblige.

There seemed to be a real art form to the style and presentation of this facial hair, and we managed to identify some key categories:

The Cloak of Darkness

There's a guy I dated briefly a few years back who never took his hat off. Ever. I mean, it was some Leif Garrett kind of shit.

Wanna watch some TV at home? Ballcap. Wanna go on a date to an expensive restaurant? Beanie. Didn't matter if it was a black-tie event, he'd just get some kind of matching doo-rag made. It just screamed I'm BALD as a bagel and I just can't let it go. Sure enough, I saw him two weeks ago for the first time in years, sans head gear, finally embracing his hairless destiny.

I suspect that facial hair serves the same purpose for a lot of hideously ugly guys who can't get laid. Broads, be careful out there when you're zeroing in on one of these subjects. It's the modern-day version of kissing a bunch of frogs to find a prince, except that by the time you realized you kissed a bad one, he has all of your phone numbers, e-mail address and knows where you live.

The Jeremiah Johnson

This guy is the polar opposite of The Cloak Of Darkness. He is literally so hot that he's willing to grow a wild vagina on his face to conceal his bronzed, perfectly chiseled features. It's like a sick joke he likes to play on the world.

This guy is so gorgeous that he has to devise a test in order to find true love or some shit. Will she still love me if I look like a transient, and my face has greasy bits of fried chicken stuck to it from the meal I got out of a dumpster 4 days ago? Who cares, I'm fucking awesome under here.

The Overgroomer

As a general rule of thumb, the only grooming that good facial hair should require is some basic neck maintenance, to keep your face hair from blending into your carpet chest or back. This simple task is impossible to fuck up, takes no more than 30 seconds and simply prevents you from being mistaken for a Wookie or a Yeti.

But that is IT, folks. I'm serious. No chinstraps, soul patches, goatees, mutton chops, Fu Manchus, NONE OF IT.

You might as well just carve lightning-bolts into your fade for all I care. You're just trying too hard, and there's something very fussy and effete about it. I was surprised to see quite a few of these specimens at the Pint. I was not surprised, though, to find that they weren't getting laid.

If facial hair grooming takes you longer than it takes me to put on some lip gloss, give your face a Brazilian and move on.

The Non-Committal

There seemed to be a lot of specimens in this category. These guys have skipped the shave for a minimum of three days or so, but they never seem to really move beyond a week of growth-- some mysterious force snaps them back to the Bic.

This type of facial hair requires very little effort or commitment. It's almost not even worth categorizing. It's like these guys tipped their toe in the Trend Pool and then went back to the clubhouse to get their floaties. Meanwhile, all of these burly bears got to splashing around in their kiddie pool, getting the drains all clogged up with their majestic matted hair.

These Non-Committals could be moved by any combination of these inspirations:

I'm lazy and I want chicks to think I don't give a shit.

It's my little "fuck you" to Corporate America.

I've been on a junk binge for four days and shaving isn't top of mind.

I look really good with a 5 0'clock shadow, but after a week I look like I have Mange.

I don't want to be the first guy my age with a beard so I'm gonna sit here with these skinny jeans on and see what everyone else does.

My ex-girlfriend told me I look really sexy this way.

Chris Martin looks really sexy this way.

It's an effective prop to illustrate how long I've been cooped up in my editing bay working on the most recent M. Night Shayamlan project.

The list is not exhaustive, my friends, and the categories are endless, but my Spiked Egg Nog is getting warm, and I don't know how I feel about room-temperature dairy products. Decide for yourselves which categories we discovered below, and be sure to hug a loved one this holiday season.