How do I describe Valerie and Her Week of Wonders? Well, it's part 70's art house, part vampire erotica, part surreal fairytale of sexual awakening, and all weird. Which is, of course, the allure. You're highly unlikely to see anything else quite like it, largely because it only bears a vague resemblance to a typical movie–it's more like a parade of entrancing images that are as easy to look at as they are difficult to make sense out of. This trailer really only hints at what you can expect.

Czech new wave director Jaromil Jires seems to be half pervert–he's got a huge soft spot for young ladies (including thirteen year old star Jaroslava Schallerova) barely contained within their gauzy lace frocks–and half aesthetic genius. No one can compose frames of nudity and nature, blood and wildflowers, lace curtains and breasts, and over-saturated fields of wheat traversed by nuns like this guy can–these are images that could be framed on a wall and this odd and controversial film is at times elevated to high surreal art. I can imagine W Magazine doing an editorial based on this film, if only anyone on staff was film nerdy enough to seek it out.

But what do all the pretty pictures add up to? Well, on one hand, not much more than an oddly paced, head scratching “it was all a dream?” type fantasy; but, on the other, it's hard to deny that there's some indescribable and creepily intriguing (like an ominous abstract painting) that you can't quite put your finger on–and you don't even want to, really, because it's just so profoundly weird that it's pretty much impenetrable to analysis.

Aside from the visuals, the plot too (as much of it as you can piece together), has some neat elements. The cast of characters is pretty wild, there's The Weasel, the town's ghostly and David Lynchian eerie vampire master; Eagle his frequently tortured (both physically and emotionally) son with incestuous longings for Valerie; Granny, who is willing to trade her granddaughter for eternal youth and is always dressed amazingly in white stiff collared dresses, black net fingerless gloves, black jodhopers, and severe complex up-dos; and, of course, there's Valerie, the nubile teen who imagines all this nonsense (which includes a burning at the stakes and a chicken plague) with the aide of a pair of magical earrings.

We found it mind blowing that this oddity was actually based on a novel (written in 1935 by Vitezslav Nezval) and can't begin to imagine how it could work on the written page. Long lost, the film was finally released by Facets Video in 2004. It has been an inspiration for writer Angela Carter (The Company of Wolves) and its re-release has inspired a new group of artists: a team of Philadelphian musicians called The Valerie Project who play along to the cult classic film at museums and film festivals.

Being the celebrity that got himself kicked out of the exclusive Milk and Honey by acting obnoxious isn't the only thing you have to give credit to Quentin Tarantino for. He also happens to have pretty impeccable taste in music, if you can forgive him for the fact that the Reservoir Dogs soundtrack was overplayed by every guy you didn't want to date in high school–then again in college–and accept that it was a revolutionary soundtrack that pretty awesomely got millions of awkward teens grooving to Harry Nilsson Schmilsson.

Strawberry Letter 23, most famously recorded by the Brothers Johnson in 1977, was featured in his best picture to date (in my opinion), Jackie Brown. It was originally written and recorded by a seventeen year old named Shuggie Otis (who I imagine looks like a teddybear) about his girlfriend who wrote notes to him on strawberry scented paper.

Jesus, if I had a lover writing me on strawberry scented paper in 1977, I'd be inspired to write a song about it too–though it's debatable if mine would have as much soul. But, on closer inspection, maybe there is something of teenage Brittany in the lyrics:

In the garden – I see west
Purple shower, bells and tea
Orange birds and river cousins dressed in green and

Hello, my love
I heard a kiss from you
Red magic satin playing near, too

Ahh, this song just makes me feel good. Like a rainbow flying into my ears. And by the way, both versions are worth a listen.

The song title is also the name of a Dear Abby type show where you can ask Steve Harvey to solve all your problems. Seriously.

Can you believe that in all the years I've been writing this blog I've never before chosen long standing love for Morrissey as a hunk of the week? From the first time I heard my sister play a Smiths albums, I was smitten–as I'm sure nearly every young sensitive heart was–at hearing him sing about cemeteries with a pompadour and a bouquet of flowers in his back pocket.

Arrogant, misunderstood, talented, and alluringly asexual, he was (and still is) a pop star dreamboat for the kind of people who abhor the idea of pop star dreamboats. Nearly as quotable as his role model Oscar Wilde, Morrissey has made a career of not only being a major part of one of the greatest bands ever, but as an outspoken industry outsider always ready with a quip. Be it about sexuality, other famous artists, or Jamie Oliver.

His solo efforts tend to go slightly underappreciated, mainly because people are always comparing them to his work with the Smiths, but I think, at least the earlier albums that I'm more familiar with, deserve equal praise. Lest we forget, Oujia Board was a staple in nearly every sad teenage girl's nightly play list.

And he's still a dashing cut of a man, now silver haired but every bit as fiery and pompous.

Say it's 1970, you're a rock star (or want to be one) with a love for Elvis and the west. You've booked a show at the Whiskey and now you need the ultimate outfit. Rhinestones, fringe, embroidery, lurex, you want to look like a rhinestone cowboy–so you've got to go to the Rodeo Tailors: Bobby Nudie and her husband Nudie Cohn.

Since the 1940's the couple sold glitz. First G-strings to dancers in Manhattan, then they headed to Hollywood to suit famous performers like Elvis, John Wayne, Gene Autry, Cher, John Lennon, Ronald Reagan, Elton John, Robert Mitchum, Tony Curtis, Glenn Campbell, Hank Williams Sr., ZZ top, and Gram Parsons. After her husband passed away in 1984, Bobbie carried on the tradition until her death two years ago at age 92.

Her husband was the tailor behind the brand but, like most good women of the time, she kept it all together by helping to sew and design as well as business management–she also inspired the famous naked cowgirl logo when she appeared at her husband's door one night clad in only a cowboy hat and boots. She kept that high, effervescent and fun spirit her whole life and dressed like a super star.

Lately I've been craving butterscotch. It's weird. I wasn't even sure what it was made from until I did a little research for you, my readers. My findings aren't too thrilling (although I did learn there is a beatbox/America's Got Talent performer that goes by the name Butterscotch) the pudding is made of just sugar syrup, butter, cream, and vanilla–no scotch–but the resulting taste is thrilling indeed.

I finally realized why this strange hunger has grown inside of me like gremlin. It began back in April when we went to the Saugerties Lighthouse and ate at the nearby (fantastic) Miss Lucy's. We shared an amazing butterscotch brulee and the memory of that dessert has left a lonely space in my tummy.

I can't claim this My-T-Fine brand boxed powder mix quite compares to the farm fresh homemade version at Miss Lucy's but, aside from delighting me with its retro packaging, it was a snap to make and the results were satisfyingly tasty. A Cool Whip pairing is a must.

Mitsuwa Market is a Japanese mall in Edgewater, NJ with an impressive food court,?market and shops. We started, of course, with the food court where I was stopped in my tracks by the tempting offer of spicy cod roe over udon (which I ordered cold). Laura and Shaun meanwhile stood in the long line for ramen and got us a bowl of salt broth ramen. A plate of gyoza was split and Mont Blanc cake for dessert.

Every morsel was incredible. The mild cod roe dish was my favorite but Mike also faired extremely well with his spicy pork and kimchee that he let me try. The filling and creamy ramen was also note worthy and delicious. I'd recommend all three dishes, but if you're more of a visual person, all the menu options are available in plastic form to insure no surprises.

The Mont Blanc was a bit surprising though. It's topping made of red bean paste rather than the french meringue. Mike opted for the cream and bean cakes, hot filled pastries with oddball images on the crusts.

After he had our fill in the food court we strolled a few of the other shops. First was a book store filled with strange and intriguing book covers I couldn't understand. Not just the language, either. I mean, what kind of story calls for a photograph of some roasted chicken and an anime child in a rabbit suit on it? Next door was a store crammed with expensive weird Japanesey stuff. We were tempted but passed on some sweet Totoro stuffed animals there.

We had less will power in the market place where we all managed to fill Mike's trunk. I got some roe, regret not getting octopus sashimi, found a sake we enjoyed at Zenkichi (called Watatake), grabbed a bottle of bright red Sochu, some fancy beers, some cute candies, some Ponzu sauce, red pepper seasoning, and my favorite (hard to find) Hot and Sour Egg Flower Soup Mix. Phew.

The great thing is even if you don't have a car, you can still get to the market from the city via bus. Information here.

I was recently sent to Austin, Texas on a shopping trip for work. It was my first time back in the wacky city (where even the Mary Kay cars are huge) that I used to call home since I moved to Brooklyn in 2002. It was kind of neat to drive through the parking lot of the strip mall that houses the Book Stop (where I used to work) and Central Market (where I used to not be able to eat at for lunch because I was too broke). Now someone was paying me to go there. Movin’ on up…

As for shopping there was much to be had. We began at South Congress, where Feathers, a nice, selective store (though one that was uppity about me wanting to take a photo for my blog) held a real gem: a perfectly fitted original Judas Priest t-shirt. I was ecstatic. Other great vintage shops in the city includes the large, overstuffed Blue Velvet on “the drag” of Guadalupe, the half consignment/half hip new stuff store Parts and Labour, and the legendary Lucy in Disguise – a mind blowing and overwhelming bright rainbow of a costume shop.

For non-vintage we scoured the expensive racks of By George, a store with two locations that impresses with its high end fashion. The South location is more boho with lesser known designer dresses while the downtown spot features names you’ll recognize and tons of “yah right” price tags. Great to browse and dream though. The other excellent high price spot in town in The Blue Elephant, a slightly hipper shopping option with lots of chic denim and Marc Jacobs.

We also liked Blackmail a store that initially seemed like a no-go due to the overly gothy, never left the 1990s racks of black clothes. However, it’s worth a stop for the creepy, modern, interesting and, yes, gothic accessories like jewelry inspired by House of Waris and darkly Victorian inspired dish ware.

Hovercraft is another cute store that features lots of great t-shirts and some good mens options much like Downstairs (which used to be called Upstairs in its previous location) . Both also feature good looking staff, including the Downstairs owner, manly bearded Jeff Strange.

Spartan, which shares a space with the lovely Bows and Arrows is another shop run by an interesting person. I never got her name, but you’ll known her as the pretty and enthusiastically helpful woman that runs this clean, feminine gift shop filled with items you would actually want (and would also be able to afford) for a loved one. Outdoorsy loved ones can be shopped for at the Big Red Sun, where plants can be purchased in their garden, NPR is pumped through the intercoms, and tons of caged birds sing to you in the shop.

I relived some olden days and stayed at the iconic Austin Motel, a no frills (except for my odd honeymoon suite mural), quirky motel that has been there since 1938. My co workers had slightly nicer digs next door at the Hotel San Jose, which featured a great outdoor bar (but a much smaller pool than mine). We met there for an excellent michelada. Other blog worthy drinks during the trip? Certainly the chilango margarita at El Chile (which also has amazing thick smoked salsa) a perfectly spicy orange concoction and the nearby Red House Lounge an outdoor laid back bar owned by the same people.

No trip of mine is complete without lots of good food and my belly tells me we may have almost had too much in Austin. Jo’s cafe was a perfect meeting spot to grab iced lattes and iced tea. Nearby Guero’s offered over stuffed plates of shrimp fajitas. Counter Cafe was a spot I remember vaguely as always being crowded, but I don’t remember it being so gourmet meets pit stop. My friend’s sweet potato fries were so fresh, we witnessed them being made completely from scratch, yum. My oysters, though were only so-so.

Our last meals were at Lamberts, a comparatively fancy BBQ joint where my coriander maple pork ribs delighted and the beans and potatoes salad were out of this world. For dessert we visited to adorable trailer Hey Cupcake, where the treats were good but sweet enough to make me buzz for a few hours.

It was great to see so many new places, but the best was stopping by my old haunts. No trip could be complete without a stop at Donn’s Depot with its tattered flocked wallpaper, live music, and lone star. Musashino was another old friend, an amazing sushi spot in an odd office park that is still better than any place I’ve been to in the city. And of course, Uncommon Objects, a nearly indescribable vintage and antique store that is so engrossing to wander through that the experience got me through the despair of a major delayed flight. They were kind enough to let me take some inspiring photos.

What's one to do when a favorite comedian presents a lame, unfunny show? Remember better days. In my case, the favorite comedian is Steve Coogan, the unfunny show is Dr Terrible's House of Horrible (which by the way, I went to great lengths to obtain) and the better days are called Coogan's Run.

I admit, not every bit in this series of long form character sketches is a winner. A Handyman for All Seasons, for example, is curiously unfunny. The best bits, which include The Curator, where Coogan plays the ginger bearded Tim Fleck, shy curator of a boring museum that is threatened to by the take over of a highwayman-themed steak restaurant chain; and Natural Born Quizzers, where Coogan and Patrick Marber play deranged brothers out for one last shot at television quiz show stardom, are also curious. Not exactly laugh out loud, it's a more subtle and odd brand of comedy.

Coogan also plays some of him most beloved characters here, Paul Calf and his sister, the stars of the impeccable Paul and Pauline Calf's Video Diaries are the main attraction of this series. And while it's true that both that series and other Coogan showcases (The Day Today, I'm Alan Partridge) are superior to this one, Coogan's Run is an interesting forerunner to today's new wince inducing comedy, particulalry The Office.

Based on the list of ingredients, I kind of expected this to taste like the Veal Scallopini the Macaroni Grill (which I love!) serves up–but, considering there amount of foul calories you'd have to pack in to recreate that dish, I'm reluctantly glad to say this tasted much healthier and more real-food like.