Like hot dogs and and cotton candy (neither of which you will want to eat as your stomach churns in some of the more grisly parts) there is no nutritional value to the over five hundred pages of Scott Smith's hit book, The Ruins, but it is the definition of a page turner. Jim was even concerned he had insomnia, he was staying up so late reading, but it went away again once he finished this book. I managed to read it in two days.

It has been made into a reportedly bad movie, and with the straight up horror elements and the gross out parts, it's easy to see why it was picked up by a studio right away. The story, without giving too much away, concerns a group of normal, kind of uninteresting partiers who end up going way, way off trail on a Mexican vacation and encounter “an untold horror”.

If you're a fan of horror books, classic tense and gory like Stephen King in a Saw world, and don't mind the literary equivalent of some cotton candy and hot dogs, enjoy.

Bauhaus was redefining music when they released 1980's In the Flat Field. Considered by many to be the beginnings of “goth” music, listening to this album now (a surreal experience in the sunny weather, like I have a secret life in my earphones), it is not the least bit irrelevant, despite what's become of the term “goth”.

It used to be a very radical thing. It wasn't sold in malls and even the music was initially undefinable. In fact, this album was critically ignored because it was unclassifiable. Goth used to call together those mysterious and interesting weirdos that I was too young to know but was always amazing by. Weirdos like the dynamic Peter Murphy, who I always heard a rumor about that he took out his back teeth to appear more vampiric. I can't find any confirmation of this anywhere though.

Murphy posses an unreal dark charisma. Just gaze upon his boney wondrousness in the introduction to the movie, the Hunger, singing Bela Lugosi's Dead, a single released before this, their first studio album.

But even as they were rock and roll mavericks, you can still hear their glam roots. More than once Murphy sounds like Bowie (Crowds) and the re-issue even contains their T-Rex cover of Telegram Sam (the only song on the album I don't like) along with other great additional singles like Terror Couple Kill Colonel and Dark Entries. Other favorites are Double Dare and Nerves but, really it's all great.

This is a stunning piece of work with the bizarre and hard to pull off merging of danciness and glum, yet it's not depressing, only one of the coolest albums to make my daily listening rotation lately. I've been listening to it for about four days straight now.

The more I learn about the life and work of Jim Steranko, the more honored and excited I am that I got to meet him. As a young man, he was a stage performer; he ate fire and performed slight of hand tricks! (a talent that probably helped him for a while as he commited a string of burglaries as a teen).

He was a magian in his twenties and, according to Wikipedia, he claims to have put the first go-go girls on stage when he was in a rock and roll band. He's always loved the ladies. I could tell by looking at him, even at 69, he's an obvious lady killer. Pompodoured grey hair, shining white teeth, and a sharp white suit. I was blushing as he signed the gorgeous pin up calendar he illustrated (pictured).

That calendar is one of the many projects he took on after leaving his brief but insanely influential stint in the comics biz. He was the man who added pop art and surrealism to comics, always pushing the grapic envelope with his Nick Fury: Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. He was innovative not only in the drawing style, but he played with layouts and even incorporated photocollage in his work.

By the mid seventies he was only doing covers for comics, but had branched out to publishing, painting, and conceptual art. Jim Steranko is the man who defiened the look of Indiana Jones!?And he did conceptual work for the exquisite looking Draculca by Coppola.

Is this guy just the greatest or what?!

There are no words, well almost–I 'm going to try–to convey the truly unique experience of Brighton Beach's The National, a luxe banquet hall with lavish carpet, lots of gilded stuff, giant chandeliers, and long tables for big parties adorned with roses, herring, salads, and caviar.

The other tables will be filled with Russian families, making toasts and headed by handsome silver haired, steely eyed men who can tear up the dance floor and look like they could tear you apart with their bare hands the next. It was kind of Eastern Promises, family style.

The aforementioned cold appetizers are out for sampling as the first stage show begins. Enter a Steven Seagal-style performer with satin pants. Next are lots of Russian ballads, and to my happiness, the Luther Vandross looking singer did a wicked rendition of Abracadabra that got Jim and I on the dance floor with the spry older couples right off the bat.

As the night progressed, the food got hotter and so did the stage acts. The lights went dark and then things got really wild. Wild like black lite lit top hats, pasties, cabana boys, drag queens, feathers, and bumble bee outfits. Yeah, when Anthony Bourdain called it “a show that if John Waters saw would turn into a Broadway show and make it a hit” he was dead on.

An outing to The National takes planning and I thank Marcus for organizing this amazing event for his birthday. You need to plan for a long car ride, dress to the nines (as they told Marcus “This is, how you say, nice place–no jean pants and no the sneakers!!”); plus, you have to be willing to be out of commission the next day. The meal comes with a bottle of vodka for every ten people and champagne, but you can BYOB–and we really did. Astrid had made her own infused vodkas that circled the table and helped to eventually get everyone on the dance floor, not just Jim and I, the dancing fools.

The food here seems to get a bad rap, but I enjoyed it. Maybe banquet style Russian foods like tongue with horseradish, pickled herring, and lots of meats are not accessible to a lot of pallets. I found the crepes with caviar, the pickled tomatoes, the fresh salad, and the meek skewers to be grand and Jim was gaga over the liver mousse and even attempted to horde it on his end of the table.

Besides, even if that food doesn't appeal to you, the National is not really about the food, it's about having an unreal, one-of-a-kind experience that will stay with you forever.

I don't even want to know how bad (calorie-wise) this rich, creamy and sweet indulgence is for me. The milk and ice cream tastes so fresh and natural due to the non-homogenized milk and Ronnybrook's high organic standards. We got a butter pecan shake to share and we're sitting fat and happy just taking in the creamy goodness.

It's a cute spot inside Chelsea Market with milk crate lined walls and exposed brick. There's a ton of alluring treats within the Market's walls, but none called to me quite as much as these milkshakes–definitely a must when visiting.

You can also pick up all the Ronnybrook product line (cheese, yougurt, butter, milk bottles and pints of icecream) to go, but sitting at the round bar with a fresh-made milk shake of your choice is the way to go. One is enough to share between two people.

While many restaurants are still duking it out in court, this week marks the beginning of required calorie listings for chain restaurants. It's little wonder they're so scared with the crazy amount of calories in their best selling delicacies.

Here's a run down of a few staggering numbers: Outback's Blooming Onion is 2310 calories; Chipotle's Mexican Grilled Chicken Burrito is 1179 calories; TGI Friday's ribs are 1910; and Starbuck's Blended Cr?me Green Tea is 650 calories. If that's not enough for you, here are some more.

I personally disagree with people that say this regulation limits freedoms of choice. It never hurts to have more information–particulalry when what we don't know is actually killing us. High end restaurants and small spots are exempt because it only applies to chains with 15 or more locations.

Only the French could make a satirical magazine so crazy and still bizarrely beautiful. Hara Kiri (suicide by disembowelment in Japanese) was controversial and at times banned by the so called powers that be–without being able to read any of the content, all I can tell you is that the covers are about the most amazing things I've ever seen in my life. The image pictured has been a favorite of mine for about ten years, when I happened to randomly find it and kept it in a folder on my desktop.

Recently I rediscovered the magazine and went crazy with happiness upon finding a site that features nearly all of the wild, grotesque, funny, disturbing, strange, and bizarre covers. Enjoy looking through them all.

“I don't want anymore bullshit anytime during the day from anyone, that includes me.”

One of the greatest viral videos of all time, we first glimpsed this at the Found Footage Festival a couple of years ago at the Spiegeltent.

In 1988 the Winnebago company hired Jack Rebney, the angriest man in the world, to create a simple industrial film. He was such a dick that the dudes hired to edit the final video ended up distributing this study in temper-losing composed of expletive-laden outtakes.