Male Call

Have you watched beer commercials in the last few years? Lately, they've all been about ordinary Joe beer drinker who'll do anything to get beer---American beer at that, which tends to be bland, and not too interesting, but good enough for cheap intoxication, if that's what you're after.

Joe beer drinker is not particularly handsome, and in many ways, a stand-in for the average looking male. Yet, beer commercials often allow him his fantasies of meeting some impossibly beautiful bombshell. The Brits do this better than anyone else, especially with comedy. Rarely do plain Janes get to meet the hunks that will sweep them off their feet. Perhaps the most recent counterexample of a plain Jane film is Bridget Jones.

But the point is that men are often seeking to impress women. With the new millenium, old stodgy ideas of what a "real" man is have given way to newer ideas. Once upon a time, men worked at business, while their wives cleaned house, cooked meals, and tended after children. While this hasn't exactly disappeared, it's no longer seen at the protypical relationship.

In particular, there's a new gay-vague, metrosexual sensibility as straight men have decided that they don't need to avoid the kitchen, and that, perhaps, for the busy woman, there's nothing sexier than a man that can cook.

I tread this path because of a series of events that lead me to the dark side: in this case, a bookstore. Let me rewind events back a bit to recount the humble origins of this blog entry. The AFI theater has been hosing SilverDocs, which is a week long exhibition of documentaries. Once upon a time, you had to live in New York and pay close attention to the film scene to see documentaries.

Ever since Michael Moore made it not only hip to show documentaries, but profitable, documentaries have been seen in a brighter light. The AFI Silver theater, in Silver Spring, hosts SilverDocs, where somewhere on the order of 50 documentaries are shown. Now that it's possible to reach a wider audience, documentaries have become more crowd pleasing than ever. One of the top shorts shown at this year's documentary is about Spencer Tunick, the photographer who convinces average people to shed clothes, and lay in large numbers in streets, on beaches, whereever, to create art. This is not sensual art, as it is not about sexuality, even if it does contain nudity.

But that was not the documentary I was going to watch (mostly because I didn't even know it was showing).

Instead, I was going to watch The Aristocrats, which to my regret, isn't about snooty cats. I was planning to watch the film on the advice of my roommate Dave, who said it was about one of the most offensive jokes ever, as told by several comedians. It must be a good documentary indeed to hear the same joke told perhaps a dozen times. As I was driving to the AFI, I missed the wrong exit, and wandered to the point that I was going to be there just a touch late.

The path I take is exit 30 onto Colesville Road, then left on Georgia, then left again on Wayne and park in the Wayne Ave Garage. Just before the left to Georgia, I pass the AFI, and see a line of people stretching beyond the length of the theater. This would be all the more impressive were I at the Uptown (and I was, back when Episode 1 first premiered), where such a line would mean at least a hundred people.

At the AFI, wrappring around the corner is maybe forty or fifty people. Still, given it was a documentary, I could hardly believe this was the line. In fact, I had assumed it was a line for some other, better known documentary. As I wended my way downstairs, across several restaurants, past the Asian Bistro, and to the Panera, I ended up talking to an elderly woman (well, compared to me!), and asked her why the line.

She said everyone was queueing up for The Aristocrats. Imagine that! I told her I was surprised the line was that long. She concurred. She hadn't expected it either.

Then a tall gentleman came around the corner to inform us that the film was sold out, and no tickets were available, but if we wanted some more tickets for the next day's worth of documentaries, to please talk to the man at the box office. I decided to do what I shouldn't do, which is eat.

I went to the nearby Asian Bistro where I ordered a sushi and sashimi platter. As far as I can tell, the difference between the two is sushi is raw fish served over a nugget of rice, while sashimi is just raw fish. Asian Bistro does not have the kind of wide choices of sushi as a better sushi place, but then there's no other sushi place nearby. I was intrigued by the large numbers of African Americans at the place, although, to be fair, many of them weren't trying the sushi. That would be more interesting. I'm curious whether the trends toward international fare are hitting ethnic groups all over. From my observations, I'd say yes (I always found it fascinating that the local Latinos and Latinas often frequented the pho stores, partly because they were just next door).

I also indulged in a mixed drink, the Singapore Sling. The previous night, I had been with a coworker and former student in what was ostensibly a bachelor party. No, it wasn't of the stripper variety. Instead, it was a trip to a mostly steak place called Houston's, followed by a night of games at Dave and Buster's. I had five mixed drinks that night. A martini (dirty), some gin drink, a mai tai (which tasted like alcholic life savers--ick), and two mango sangrias (tasty!). The bachelor was mostly subsisting on rum and cokes. I desperately need a list of the genders of various mixed drinks. I want to have the gayest drink ever, but I have no idea waht it is.

Anyway, due to that incident of liver pounding, I wanted to get a book on mixed drinks. As it happens, I was near Borders. So I indulged by purchasing three books. One on mixed drinks. One was a list of Chinese ingredients (plus a few recipes), and the other was a Food Network book called Young and Hungry by some fellow named Dave Lieberman.

Now, I've never heard of the man in my life until last night. Is he related to Joseph or Nancy? Who knows? I bought the book because it seemed to have cool recipes that's simple and tres gay, two qualities I look for in a cookbook. Of course, I needed more information. (Batman symbol spins). Off to the bat browser!

After some more investigation, I discovered Senor Lieberman (I must lean how to put that curly accent over the o) has a new cooking series on Food Network, and more than that, he has his own website, www.davecooks.net. So, I visited the website. I don't know what I was expecting. Something simple like Alton Brown's site, I thought....

Which brings me back to my first point. Men want to impress women. If they can find some angle, some new way of impressing women, be it singing rock songs, writing poetry, or simply having enough bling to choke a horse, they'll do it.

Dave Lieberman has taken his kosher libido, splashed it up on a webpage, opened shop, and said, ladies, please let me make something spicy for you, and I'm talking about food! And he is--he is. But ladies, it's about subtext (ah, this was the word I was so desperately looking for earlier today). You go to the webpage, expecting to see a few recipes and some shilling for products a la Emeril.

Instead, you see davelieberman centered in a dark blue background. Oh I must click on the name. Whatever will it lead me to? I tell you what it leads to.

There's a popup, and cool jazzy music begins to play. Some Sade wannabe begins to sing sultry tunes. If my browser could serve me champagne and light candles, it would do so now. Am I learning how to cook, or is this webpage trying to proposition me? All of a sudden, I think "Dave" is gonna do a Kobe on me. What match.com horror site have I landed on?

So, as a good citizen, I'm issuing a PSA to all those moms who are ready to marry off their kitchen-phobic daughters to a good Jewish boy like Dave ("he can cook, dahling!"). Slap on the wrist! Beware! Heat in the food translates to heat in the loins! Lieberman is a loverman. Don't let those shy "cooking is so romantic" whispers convince you that he isn't ready to get his groove on! Protect your daughters!

Of course, I make this rant in complete jealousy. How the hell didn't I think of this first? All I had to do was host a cooking show at Cornell, make my pitch to Food Network, and I would be the center of attention. And why thet hell isn't Java coding sexier than cooking?

Sigh, I think I need to make something with pine nuts and arugula.