Chez Veder

January 28-29

2008-01-30T00:46:00.000-08:00

Still attempting to recover from my quick NY trip. Spent most of Monday wandering around the house in a daze. On Tuesday awoke early to prepare for dentist appointment. It was a huge success-- no cavities. Had brunch at the Farmer's Market with an old friend, then bought like 200 stickers for Baby, who's currently into stickers. I don't know what I was thinking. I also shopped for sausage supplies for Wife, who is making elk, venison, wild boar and buffalo links for Superbowl. Each type of game will be in a separate sausage, in case you were concerned. For some reason Baby went bananas from 8:15-10:00 PM before falling asleep in the Big Bed. Now I must go to sleep after making sure I don't have any outstanding moves to make on Scrabulous.

The Metaphysics of Barney

2008-01-30T00:20:00.000-08:00

"Barney is a dinosaur from our imagination, and when he's tall he's what we call a dinosaur sensation."

I'm still trying to wrap my head around this. Kids in Barney play with him when he's a little stuffed animal and without the use of any magic words he just springs to life, returning to his inanimate form after singing a plethora of arcane nursery rhymes and teaching valuable lessons about fire safety and dental hygiene and the like. I can kind of understand if you are part of a group playing with him when he is little you could imagine him turning huge collectively, but it is still weird that everyone imagines him in the same way and he leads them instead of them deciding what he might be doing. It also strikes me as odd that all adults in the show simply accept Barney at face value as if he is part of their collective imagination as well. They don't ever appear to see him in his stuffed form but only happen upon the scene after he is sensational, as if the children's imagination is so strong they telepathically project it onto the adults. And don't even get me started on Baby Bop and her brother BJ, two other dinosaurs that do not appear to be imaginary at all, as they never appear in stuffed form. Why then should Barney have to appear in stuffed form if they do not? I wish some French intellectual could solve this puzzle for me. The Sesame Street monsters are simply there in the world of Sesame Street, and the "real humans" in the show, adults and children alike, never question their (the monsters') reality. I don't see the point of Barney having to be imaginary at all, as opposed to "being" there all along. I'm also trying to figure out what if anything this has to do with Snuffy on Sesame Street, who used to be Big Bird's imaginary friend but is now real, as if Big Bird willed him into "life", complete with his whole Snuffy family. That took years, but perhaps it paved the way for the Barney kids to appear to be able to will Barney to life immediately for everyone in the show, even those who have never met Barney before. Unless Barney came before "real Snuffy." I guess I should research the order. And nobody ever asks where Baby Bop and BJ come from. I must dust off my cultural criticism texts from college and ponder this question further. Clearly if I decide to return to school I have my dissertation topic.

January 19-27

2008-01-28T10:29:00.000-08:00

Did not have time to write about my trip to SF before embarking on my trip to NY to hang out with Grandpa (although there were other activities). Will have to recuperate and plan to post two travelogues which will include SFW escapades only. Okay, going back to sleep.

January 18

2008-01-21T20:57:00.000-08:00

One way to forget about the strike is to travel, eat, drink, or all of the above. I spent most of the day writing and trying not to get ill due to this bug going around. At about 5 PM I received a phone call from a friend, let's call him Joe, who informed me that he had just arrived in San Francisco from New York. It turns out another friend, let's call him Paul, who lives in SF, was a bachelor for the weekend, as his wife and daughter were in the Midwest visiting relatives. I guess his wife was originally going to go without their baby, but her parents filed a formal guilt trip and at the last minute she felt it best to bring said infant along. After Paul did the requisite moping around the house bemoaning their impending absence, he placed a frenzied call to Joe outside of his wife and child's earshot, begging him to head west to help celebrate his impending weekend without diaper doody or finger painting. Joe complied almost immediately, hearing the desperation in Paul's voice, as Paul had not had a break from his familial responsibilities in over a year. Knowing that I was in a malaise and that the Wife was sick of me, Joe called to brag about his planned weekend of debauchery in order to make me feel worse. Overhearing our conversation, the Wife, to our shock and amazement, insisted I join the boys if I could get a cheap, last minute flight. Fearing for the health of my liver and also sensing some sort of elaborate emotional bear trap, I asked if she really meant it as I quickly scanned Travelocity for flights. Wife assured me that she and Baby had plenty to do that weekend and although they would miss me it would be nice for me to play with Paul and Joe. Knowing that her immediate plans included a girl's night at a friend's new home, in which Baby was included, a visit to her brother and his family the next day, and a play date for Baby on Sunday, and taking into account the fact that Baby can now recount the events of her day in amazing detail, I concluded that Wife probably wasn't sending me away so she could continue a torrid affair with somebody, but rather simply wanted to get rid of me and my whining for a couple of days. So while she took Baby into the distant environs of Cheviot Hills, I found a cheap flight leaving early the next morning and started packing. I informed her via cell phone of the time of my departure and she approved, then said Baby was asking for me and I drove over, picked Baby up, gave her a bath and we fell asleep. I called the bachelors, who were practically incoherent as they bathed in a giant vat of sake at some sushi joint, and informed them of my scheduled arrival the following morning, just in time for us to eat lunch. Details to follow in my soon-to-be inaugurated Travel section.

Play-Doh

2008-01-18T08:58:00.000-08:00

Play-Doh is back in my life. A friend bought Baby a 50th Anniversary pack with so many amazing colors it made her Crayolas bitter with jealousy. When I cracked open that first little jar of teal that smell brought back so many memories of...that smell. Come on, I'm sure like me you couldn't freakin' remember more than three or four things from when you were of Play-Doh'ing age unless you underwent a talking cure on Sigmund Freud's couch. Still, there is something comforting and soothing about that smell. I vaguely recall reading somewhere that they pump it into airports, shopping malls and prisons just to calm everyone's nerves. Obviously, if you've ever been to an airport, shopping mall or prison you know that a healthy percentage of people remain immune to the Play-Doh scent's magical effects. Perhaps one day we will read a study revealing that for 50% of smellers the Play-Doh odor actually activates the neurotransmitter for "being an a-hole." Who knows. I also recall reading about somebody escaping from prison with a gun made out of Play-Doh. If that didn't actually happen, it should, provided the person has been put behind bars for a crime he did not commit involving an unreliable witness, that three strikes law, and the theft of a loaf of bread. Anyway, Baby loves Play-Doh and I have never before felt such appreciation for my artistic talents. Not having much of which to be proud in the professional arena of late, any sign of approval or gratitude from anyone for anything I do comforts me in a way the Play-Doh smell never could. For instance, the other day me and a person in oncoming traffic stopped at a stop sign at the exact same moment, and I needed to make a left turn while he was apparently going straight. I flashed my brights to indicate that he should go first and he did, waving a heartfelt thank-you to me on the way as if I had just cured cancer. That felt great. At the gym I glanced at a fetching young woman bouncing along on a nearby treadmill. She smiled at me as if to say, thanks for acknowledging my gym-induced hotness, you're not so bad yourself, now go back to your business, I'm not inviting you to sleep with me. That felt great, too. And then Baby asked me to make a cup of coffee with the black Play-Doh and I fashioned a little mug with a handle and put some light brown Play-Doh in the cup and handed it to her and she said, "Dada, you made coffee faw me!" and smiled so brightly I was nearly moved to tears until she took a fake sip then real bite out of the cup and I had to explain that Play-Doh was for pretending, not for eating. Feeling emboldened, I asked her what else she wanted me to make, and over the course of the next few days I sculpted a bowl of soup, pancake, noodle, pizza, cup of tea and happy face. The results were less felicitous when she requested a frog, whale, buffalo, rhino, lion, tiger and Thomas the Train. To each one of these creations she responded with a sour face, look of rage, or hysterical crying. I dread the future when she asks me to make a woolly mammoth, Michelangelo's Moses, a strand of DNA, the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles, or fried calamari. Sensing my apprehension, Baby has for the time being gone back to requesting coffee cups, plates and the like from Dada and is working diligently on making her own frogs.

January 16-17

2008-01-17T22:40:00.000-08:00

Jeepers, I can barely freakin' remember what I did on the 16th. Oh, wait, I started out with a follow-up appointment at my ear, nose and throat specialist's office. A doctor visit is an excellent striketivity, as you feel like you've accomplished something productive and important. It's even better if you find out you're probably not going to die from the ailment or issue for which you sought medical attention. Since I got a clean bill of health, I felt fantastic, although I did have a bit of a sniffle that I believe was unrelated to the tongue thing, as both Wife and Baby recently got over bad colds. Said sniffle has kept me out of the gym for a few days, by the way, and my impending stripping career may have to be put on hold. I went shopping at Trader Joe's where I bought some gnocchi for dinner. I then did the tax-related paperwork for the nanny and had lunch, a delightful turkey sandwich. After lunch I lay down in bed with a pile of unread New Yorkers and fell asleep for a long time. After Wife returned from work Baby wanted to go on a walk and we went "up a hill" and she showed Wife her balancing act on curbs, which is quite harrowing. I had twice-cooked chicken and some gravy for dinner, Wife and Baby had and liked the gnocchi.

On the 17th I had a lunch scheduled with a friend at 12:30 and started getting ready for it at about 8:31, right after the nanny arrived at 8:30. After changing outfits a few times I surfed the web for strike news and did some writing until about 11:45, then headed out for Le Petite Greek on Larchmont. It was quite excellent. I had grilled salmon because those fatty acids are supposed to work their way through your clogged arteries like brooms. Then it was off to Target to use two coupons that have been lying around, one for dish soap and one for any cleaning product. Apparently the powers that be at Target have decided that dishwashing liquid doesn't count as a cleaning product. This meant I had to spend one dollar more than I had anticipated, and the disappointment led to exhaustion, so I barely had the energy to stop at Ralphs to buy some Muesli, Lu butter cookies for Baby, and carrots and peppers for Wife. I also bought Dannon coffee yogurt for Wife, which was the only regular Dannon they carried. What happened to all the Fruit at the Bottom flavors? Now it's all, like, La Creme and Light N Fit and Totally Natural or something. After getting furious about yogurt I returned home and passed out. Baby wanted to go on a "huge" walk after having a snack of grapes. Dinner was like a trip to the Pacific Rim - lemongrass egg rolls, chicken shu mai, rice and broccoli. Read that the DGA settled, then saw a copy of the letter Michael Apted sent to the membership, which basically implied that the WGA negotiators were nitwits. Very patronizing.

January 15

2008-01-15T23:17:00.000-08:00

Spent the morning surfing the web looking for some sign that the strike will end. Perhaps the impending DGA deal will do the trick. Of course, then I still have to get work - but at least there might be some out there. Wondering if studios will go back to the table now that they've cut so many overall deals.

After a delightful turkey sandwich lunch I raked leaves on the patio, trimmed the coral tree and cut back an out of control lavender bush. Roasted a chicken for dinner and the Wife cut her piece open and looked like she was going to hurl. It was a little pink. I chalked it up to the interior lighting, she lost her appetite. Put her piece back in the oven but ate mine. Perhaps this will be my last entry.

K-Zo Restaurant Review

2008-01-15T09:17:00.001-08:00

I so enjoyed K-Zo during my three visits that I pinched myself each time to make sure I wasn’t dreaming, or at least eating at a pricier, trendier establishment. The regular menu and specials offer a huge variety of traditional sushi along with “small bites” showcasing chef Keizo Ichiba’s Japanese and European training. Albacore, freshwater eel and salmon sushi were consistently excellent. The buttery yellowtail practically melted in my mouth. In the tapas department, the “spicy tuna crispy” is an inspired exercise in contrasts – a mound of spicy, chopped tuna balanced atop a brown rice cracker that sweetens as you chew it. The beet and goat cheese salad was delightful. Kid-friendly free-range chicken nuggets were perfectly paired with a lemony sauce. The restaurant boasts a formidable sake list and a handful of Japanese beers. The décor is sleek and modern, yet warm and inviting. K-Zo is definitely worth a try, or three.

January 14

2008-01-15T08:55:00.001-08:00

Nanny returned. Finally took down holiday lights. Mowed lawn for first time in three weeks. Still weighed 169.5 despite weekend of deprivation. Went to gym. Took Baby and Wife to restaurant supply/gourmet food store Surfas in late afternoon to buy dish towels and treats. Got some awesome round breadsticks with fennel, made with olive oil and not diet-friendly. Noticed that studios are starting to exercise force majeure on writers with overall deals, but also read that once the strike is over and a new contract is ratified the terminated writers have to be reinstated at original terms. That doesn't seem too bad. You're making a million plus a year and are canned for six months then immediately go back to making that million plus. It can't be that easy. What I read must be wrong. One reason the studio chiefs seem so gleeful about the strike is that they can terminate people who are costing money but don't have hit shows. Why hire them back later? Must confirm with all my high-powered attorney friends.

Confession: It Was I Who Dealt It On The Bus In 1978

2008-01-14T10:10:00.000-08:00

I went to this day camp in the summer of 1978. I wasn't a very popular kid and kept to myself, but I wasn't unpopular enough to be picked on, just ignored. The camp scapegoat was this kid named Russell, who was short and pudgy with eternally crooked glasses, kind of like Piggy from Lord of the Flies. Anyway, I don't know if it was the tater tots or the franks and beans or the egg salad sandwiches, but the camp lunches committed unspeakable atrocities upon my digestive tract on a daily basis. Heading home one day, avidly reading a Betty & Veronica Double Digest, I squeezed out an airborne toxic event of unprecedented potency. If you were to feed a dog a bucket of Brussels sprouts and rancid lard and lock him in a closet for a couple of days, the smell that hit you when you opened that closet door would be about one tenth as powerful as this. It took about five seconds for the miasma to spread throughout the big yellow bus, then the girls started shrieking and holding their noses and the guys pulled their shirts up to their foreheads. Counselors with rapidly tearing up eyes leaped from their seats to open all windows, and for a minute it seemed like the bus driver was going to pull over so we could evacuate. Some girl stopped choking long enough to cry out that Russell cut the cheese, and everyone started yelling at him. Russell started bawling and insisted that he didn't do it. He gnashed his teeth and didth rent his garments asunder. Meanwhile, I buried my head deeper in my comic and prayed that I hadn't in fact crapped my pants, so stubbornly did the overwhelming stench linger in the stifling summer heat. As the offensive vapors lodged in the noses of the entire bus, a one-sided melee ensued and Russell disappeared beneath a flurry of noogies, deadlegs, purple nurples, shark bites and wet willies. I even reached over the seat and gave him a red neck with a resounding slap before retreating back into my literary pursuits. Finally the counselors broke up the beating and exhaust fumes from the highway dissipated the horrific odor. Russell sobbed the whole way home, and the guilt started building within me. It's taken nearly 30 years, but I'm finally ready to confess that it was me and wherever you are, Russell, whether this incident turned you into a serial killer or dotcom billionaire, I'm terribly sorry for what I put you through, and I'll never do it again.

January 8-11

2008-01-14T09:39:00.000-08:00

Very, very, very busy with Baby, so no time for showering, let alone blogging. Felt like June Cleaver, what with the constant laundering, errands, cleaning, feeding, playing. Of course, every moment was, a la the commercials, priceless. Perhaps all the strike-induced economic and emotional stress was worth it because I got to teach Baby how to eat pizza like a New Yorker at the Fox Hills Mall. We were in the play area and she was jumping around on these foam animals and cars they have there when ran over and looked up at me and batted her eyelashes and said, "Dada, I want pizza." My heart melted like so much mozzarella and I carried her to Sbarro in the food court immediately. Got her a slice for $3.45 (how'd that happen??) and sat down. Asked if I should break it up and she said, "No, I want a big piece." Then she grabbed the whole slice and naturally the tip drooped down and all the cheese nearly fell off into her lap. So I showed her how to fold it and after a few tries she got the hang of it and applauded herself every time she took a bite. Ate half the slice, which was pretty substantial for a tiny kid, and I polished off the rest, violating my diet. After lunch I realized I hadn't changed her diaper for three hours. Luckily the restroom had a changing table, sometimes they only have them in the women's room. Had to put on a whole new outfit due to pee pee saturation. Exciting stuff, huh? During the week we also discovered the wonderful world of Play Doh. I learned that I am incapable of making a decent frog out of the stuff, but quite adept at making a cup of coffee or noodle. In other news, I weighed in at 169.5 on January 11, up 4 pounds from December 24. The horror. The horror.

January 7

2008-01-07T21:51:00.000-08:00

Now people are saying the strike won't end until after what would've been pilot season (March-May), so we're looking at June until we can all "get back to work." Wait a second, though. Traditionally, production people are off for a "summer" hiatus that goes from mid-May through early July (I tend to "get back to work" after July 4). But if there's no pilot season what are we supposed to start working on in July that would end up airing in September? Nothing, I guess. I'm also a bit sour because my contacts in the world of reality TV revealed what I guess I've been ignoring all along -- most reality shows are at least shot outside of LA, so my trying to land a gig on one of them would probably result in divorce and my child forgetting who I am. I'd rather stay home and think about selling my comic book collection on eBay. On to more important matters...

Today I took Baby on some errands. At the bank, obviously inspired by her Elmo-goes-to-the-potty video, she revealed with a big grin that there was poo poo and flung herself on a comfy bench and demanded I change her diaper right there. I demurred, deposited a handful of holiday gift checks, and spirited her off to the car, where she announced, "It's a pancake, Dada" and allowed me to make the switch without too much trouble. After that we headed to Costco, where I ordered a combo slice only to have some guy next to me get ten yogurt swirls, which Baby spotted, inspiring a series of ever more demanding calls for "ice cweam." Fearing an afternoon of crankiness, I got Baby the "ice cweam" and we found a table where she ate some yogurt, had a couple of bites of pizza, then decided it was fun to dump yogurt on the pizza and not eat anything. A huge pee pee in Costco led to another harrowing diaper change in the car. However, she did fall asleep after eating three clementines on the way home, enabling me to spend three hours reading Sunday's paper in the driveway. She woke up famished, devoured two yogurts and a dozen giant strawberries, and watched Zoboomafoo. Wife came home and rescued me. All had a nice dinner - salad with pickled beets and grilled chicken. Now I'm going to have some tea and fall asleep in front of the TV.

Baked/Poached Sole with Fennel

2008-01-07T17:58:00.000-08:00

My grandmother made the best fillet of sole. She dipped the fillets in egg, dredged them in breadcrumbs and salt, then fried them in butter. Served with lemon wedges. Perfection. However, I'm trying to avoid fried foods, so I used a new cooking method the other night that I thought turned out pretty good. The Wife hated it, because she said the fish tasted funky. I disagreed. Baby had about five bites and said, "Oh, Dada, that's yummy." I don't think she was lying to make me feel better, but who knows. Hopefully if you do this recipe with a decent piece of fish both you and your spouse or significant other and children will enjoy it immensely. So, preheat the oven to 450. Take the fillets (I used about a pound and had to layer a couple of pieces) and just lay them down in a large, shallow pyrex-type baking dish. Sprinkle with a generous amount of sea salt and a little fresh pepper. Crush some fennel seeds in a mortar until the lovely aroma is released (each seed should be in a few pieces but not totally demolished). I probably used about a teaspoon after crushing. Sprinkle that onto the fish. Then melt yourself about a tablespoon of butter, add a shot or two of white wine, then the juice of one lemon. Simmer for a minute and pour over the fish and place in the oven, uncovered, for 15 minutes. You can't really overcook the fish because it's kinda getting poached so it'll stay moist, but make sure you don't undercook it because then you might poison everyone. Rumor has it that the flake test tells you when it's cooked, i.e. the fish flakes easily with a fork and looks pleasantly pearly inside. I served it with my oven fried potatoes and some salad and it worked out quite nicely, at least for me and Baby.

January 4

2008-01-04T23:05:00.000-08:00

Rumor has it there's no end in sight for the strike. To think if I'd gone into I-banking I would've been retired by now. Then again, if I'd gone into neurosurgery I'd just be taking my boards. Phew, I feel better already. Spent the day with Baby. Did a lot of marching. To the tune "The Ants Go Marching." A lot of marching. And if I didn't hold my "antennae" (consisting of two drumsticks, an unfortunate trick she learned from Barney) just so atop my head Baby flipped out. Finally I begged to be allowed to sit down and fold some laundry while she marched and she allowed me the luxury. Wife felt cold coming on so heated up some TJ's soup for dinner. Getting ready to go to bed. Oh, weighed 168.5 this AM. That means gained 3 lbs. during Yuletide binging. Awesome.

December 22-January 3

2008-01-03T23:38:00.000-08:00

Wife on vacation for last two weeks (you know, at home vacation) so practically forgot about the strike - I usually get these weeks off for a paid hiatus while working so I guess I kinda pretended that was still the case and had a really good time. Too drunk, tired, or full to blog -- or play Scrabulous. Anyway, the first few days we had holiday events to attend with friends and family. Miraculously kept the eating in check and gained no weight. Fell apart with visit from friend from NYC. First night was tenderloin and lobster fest. Then off to mutual friends' place in Corona Del Mar for four days of gorging. Pasta night, with whole chicken thighs coooked in the sauce. Wife also made sausage appetizers (our kitchen looked like an abattoir)-- buffalo/sage/mushroom and Moroccan chicken/scallop. Sushi night followed, where an average of two big bottles of Kirin was consumed per person, negating any "healthful" effects of sushi. New Year's Eve BBQ Extravaganza - smoked garlic prime rib, lamb chops with fresh rosemary and thyme rub, black bean pork ribs and a few vegetables thrown in. Last night was New Year's BBQ Extravaganza leftovers. Went home on the 2nd and realized there was still some tenderloin with the port mustard sauce in the fridge, so had last hurrah. Baby caught cold from friends' baby and was uncharacteristically cranky. I'm taking care of Baby solo for a couple of weeks, so probably won't have much time for therapeutic blogging, let alone bathing or eating. It's all good. Must post more recipes and maybe a couple of fascinating personal anecdotes, though.

December 21

2007-12-22T07:47:00.000-08:00

Weighed myself this morning, I'm at 165.5, about my college weight. (I've actually been on a diet since August 2006 when the Wife said I was looking rather large and I told her she was nuts, then secretly weighed myself and saw that I was 181 and looked like John Goodman. I was supposed to be around 170. I've been see-sawing ever since, but a borderline cholesterol rating a few months back led me to redouble my efforts. As a result I'm turning into Bridget Jones with the daily scale visit -- it's sort of an ironic pedestal. Not a bad idea for a sculpture, carved out of a single piece of marble, a fat guy in a David-pose on a scale. Too bad I don't have a giant piece of marble or any sculpting ability.) Read the paper. Had turkey sandwich with tomato-hummus spread for lunch. Treated self to handful of cashew nuts. Went to the gym. Made quesadillas for dinner. Rented some videos for first time in months. Wife put Baby to bed. Had some wine right before starting Harry Potter and started to pass out before Harry returned to Hogwarts. Brewed up some hot chocolate to give myself a boost, drank the hot chocolate and passed out anyway. Woke up contorted in a painful position on the floor during the final scene of Superbad. Must watch everything during baby's nap on the morrow. Oh, man, depression about loss of Lost just hit me.

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Strike

2007-12-21T08:43:00.000-08:00

ADVICE FROM BELOW-THE-LINE

I’m not a WGA member, so when the strike hit and my glamorous TV production job evaporated I was initially furious with the writers and studio chiefs for not coming to an agreement. The studio chiefs got to keep working. The writers got to hang out together, rekindle old friendships and get some exercise on the picket lines. I, on the other hand, had absolutely nothing to do. The big agencies in town lavished the writers with delicious pizza pies, heartwarming churros, and mile-long party subs at the various studio gates. Big stars hugged and kissed them in public, and by extension YouTube. They got to sport stylish bespoke t-shirts. Meanwhile, I was stuck at home by myself in yesterday’s funky pajamas. I received no affectionate pats on the butt from Angelina Jolie and had to make do with low-fat yogurt. Quickly, though, I learned that rage combined with powerlessness leads to acid reflux, and boredom combined with powerlessness leads to abject terror about the future, then acid reflux. I had to do something. After a series of epiphanies, I came up with a list of thrilling, productive, potential ways to spend my time that I hope will comfort and inspire my fellow below-the-line employees (grips, electricians, camera people, costumers, prop masters and others) with no job prospects or marketable skills in the real world.

Go to Costco – 3-7 hours per day. It’s best only to have one or two items you need to buy. Slowly walk up and down the aisles looking at things you don’t need. Have a nutritious meal comprised of free samples. Bring sunglasses and a baseball cap to disguise yourself so you can double or triple up on these tasty morsels without provoking dirty looks from the servers. Drive home, if you still have one, only to realize you “forgot” to purchase glucosamine chondroitin. Return and repeat above steps.

Watch TV – .5-22 hours per day. Some foolish critics thought the strike would be a boon to publishers – “maybe people will pick up a book.” They were dead wrong, there’s still plenty of stuff to see other than new episodes of CSI. Aside from the endless Lucy and Andy Griffith loops, I could watch Sandra Lee and Giada De Laurentiis for hours. While my powers of imagination are honed by their tight sweaters or low-cut blouses, I get great ideas for the dinners I now have time to prepare for my working wife.

Clean House – 1 hour per day. Each morning on her way out my blushing bride is kind enough to “suggest” a task to occupy me in the hopes of reducing my malaise. Our sinks, toilets and grout lines are now brighter than the sun. You could lick peanut butter off our window sills. Our dryer, home, and entire neighborhood are completely lint-free.

Write Something – 2 hours total for duration of strike (projected). Now is a great time to work on that novel or Hollywood-insider tell-all you’ve been dreaming about. I personally revisited a short story I meant to finish in high school. After one and a half hours I gave up because Hildy was painting some old lady’s den chartreuse on Trading Spaces and I had to see what happened. But I still spent quality time doing something that I never would have done if I were working!

Read - .1-.4 hours per day. Don’t despair, this isn’t actually about the arduous task of reading. Dust off that old Henry James novel you bought three years ago at the Salvation Army thrift shop and lay down on your back in bed. For added excitement, attach your Itty Bitty Book Light. Within .1 to .4 hours you will be dead asleep for 5-11 hours, meaning you’ll end up spending at least half a day productively.

Invest Wisely – 3 hours of preparation, a lifetime of happiness. Worried about your car payment or phone bill? Call up one of your college friends who foolishly chose a boring career in finance and ask him or her for some stock tips. Plow your remaining “cushion” into whatever companies he or she suggests and watch it grow exponentially. Leave “the business” and start remodeling your new house on the Vineyard next door to Larry David or some retired former Cheers writer.

Change Careers – 6 months – 12 years. Lots of people I know who became disgruntled with showbiz even in the good old days got real estate licenses and made a killing. What the heck, right? The housing market is sure to bounce back before the strike ends. Barring that, you may have to try a bit harder but it’s never too late for business school, law school or even medical school. You probably should have earned a professional degree years ago as a safety net anyhow. At least that’s what my mother tells me.

Good luck and have fun!

December 20

2007-12-21T08:34:00.000-08:00

Big day. Walked the dog in the morning. Planned to cut down the birds of paradise in the front yard, but it rained, so I played Scrabulous until I got carpal tunnel syndrome. Then I journeyed to North Hollywood for an oil change and to have my mechanic check the funny noise coming from the front, right wheel of the car. No matter how many times we drove around the block neither of us heard the noise. Hopefully it just went away. I did not hear the noise on the way home, as you would expect. In the afternoon I read that the WGA will be negotiating with individual companies. This doesn't seem to have the potential to do more than a handful of people much good, but whatever. Fell asleep while doing the crossword puzzle. For dinner we had overcooked halibut, a total disaster. And the Carvel ice cream cake I got for the Wife's birthday had melted a bit and refroze, so it was more like eating Italian ices. The Baby had two huge pieces. I got a stomach ache.

Coq au Vin a la Veder

2007-12-20T09:31:00.001-08:00

Another easy recipe from The Lazy Chef. Pat some boneless, skinless chicken breasts dry. Sprinkle with pepper (no salt) and fry in a skillet with a bit of olive oil until golden. Put in an oven-safe pot or pyrex-type dish. Add enough red wine to reach the halfway mark on the chicken breasts. Take a medium yellow onion and slice off the bottom root. Chop into quarters, keeping enough of the top to maintain the integrity of the quarters. Plop them into the pot. Smash and peel four garlic cloves, throw them in the pot. Add about six sprigs of fresh thyme or a teaspoon of ground thyme. Add a half cup or so of chicken stock (if you're using bullion that's why you don't need salt on the chicken breasts, if you're using very low sodium or homemade stock, add salt to taste above). The stock should just cover the chicken. Cook in a 350 degree oven for a couple of hours. Strain out liquid and reduce by half in sauce pan, then thicken with corn starch. Plate and pour generous amount of sauce on chicken. You can cook this longer for more tender chicken, or cut the chicken into smaller pieces.

December 19

2007-12-20T09:25:00.000-08:00

Exciting day. Did some reading in the AM. Drove over to Joann Fabrics to get some stuff for the Wife. The place was a madhouse. Had to wait 15 minutes to park. There was so much quilting paraphernalia and estrogen floating around in there that I started ovulating. Bought my assigned goods and returned home. Ate turkey sandwich for lunch. Went to the gym and Trader Joe's. Got home and cooked delicious dinner of stir-fried baby bok choy, brown mushrooms and tofu with onions, garlic, ginger and soy sauce. Wife had a meeting so played with Baby and put her to bed at 8 PM. Fell asleep holding Baby and awoke on the floor of her room at 10:30 PM. Perceived loss of time caused me to stay awake until 2 AM.

Instant Paella

2007-12-19T11:42:00.000-08:00

Go to Valencia (Spain) and get yourself some saffron. It's much cheaper over there. Pack your saffron in your suitcase and go out for some paella at a non-touristy restaurant. It will be amazing. Return home to the US and have some paella at a local Spanish restaurant. It may be excellent, but it won't be nearly as good as what you had in Valencia. Buy a paella pan and the proper kind of rice and cook paella in your house using a recipe from a book about Spanish cooking. It may be excellent, but it will take a long time and won't be nearly as good as what you had in Valenica. That's why I came up with this recipe I call "instant paella." It's much easier to make than real paella and it's pretty good, as long as you accept the fact that it won't be nearly as good as what you had in Valencia, or as good as real paella. So here goes. (Purists should shut down their computers immediately.)

Put a couple of cups of rice in a good rice cooker. Instead of water, use chicken stock or shrimp stock, preferably low sodium. Then sprinkle in about half a teaspoon of saffron threads, stir it all around, and cook the rice. When it is done add a bunch of frozen, pre-cooked shrimp and peas and stir it around. Keep the rice cooker plugged in on "warm" until the shrimp heat through. Meanwhile, cook some sausages - lamb sausages are good, and chicken or turkey links work well, too. I'm not a big fan of sage-heavy sausages in this recipe. You could also saute some boneless, skinless chicken breasts in olive oil. Put the rice/shrimp mixure in a big bowl and stir in the sausage and chicken. If you really want to go crazy get a lobster steamed and cleaned at the market and throw in some lobster meat. Serve with warm bread. Think of all the money you saved by buying saffron in Spain.

Confession: The WGA Strike Is Probably All My Fault

2007-12-18T10:15:00.000-08:00

Contrary to popular opinion, I'm pretty sure the WGA strike doesn't have anything to do with residuals. See, about two years ago I went to this little, tiny car wash that's part of a gas station in Culver City. Due to the placement of the car wash, if more than two cars are in line to get into the car wash the line usually extends into one of the gas pump areas. If people are actually pumping gas in this area, thereby blocking the space where the car wash line would logically go, people tend to line up on the side, so the line would be kind of L-shaped, or a backwards L, or an upside-down T if people are on both sides. The point is, one day there were three cars in line and lots of people pumping gas, so I ended up pulling my car up to the left of the line, making me fourth in line. Since I had a coupon for a regular car wash I didn't need to get out of my car and go into the mini-mart to pay. If you don't have the coupon you have to go inside and pay and they give you this sign to put on top of your car that says "WASH" to show the attendant that you paid. Seconds after I pulled up, a fancy import pulled up on the right side on the line. This guy who looked just like Peter Chernin,the head of Fox (!), got out of the car and went inside and came back with a "WASH" sign. I don't know what he was doing at this modest car wash on a Saturday afternoon, I figured he'd normally have his car detailed on the lot by his fourth assistant. Maybe there was an incident with a flock of crows or something while he was shopping at Target. Anyway, by the time he returned the other cars in line were getting ready to pull up and he and I both started to pull up behind them, from opposite directions. I was slightly ahead of him and he became red faced and honked at me. I stood my automotive ground and he got out of his car and started yelling at me that I was cutting. I got out and politely told him there was no need to yell because I was in fact in line before him. He said I didn't even have a sign. I told him why I didn't have a sign, because I didn't need a sign. He seemed deeply embarrassed, then noticed I was wearing a 3rd Rock from the Sun baseball cap. It was a crew gift from when I worked on the show that I've worn like twice in my entire life, and this had to be one of those times. He asked in a menacing tone what I did in the business and I panicked, not wanting to tell him I was in TV production on a CBS show at the time, because if he really was Peter Chernin, and he looked totally like Peter Chernin, I was afraid he'd track me down and get Leslie Moonves, the head of CBS (!), to fire me. So I blurted out that I was a writer so he'd go on a wild goose chase. I didn't even say what kind of writer and he responded, "God damn you fucking writers!" Then he marched back to his car, took off the "WASH" sign, threw it at me (it grazed my right thigh) and drove off in a rage, nearly running over a kid on a skateboard. I really think it might have been Peter Chernin (who else could it have been?) and that two years later he is still so mad at me that he goaded the other studio heads into making a really bad offer just for spite, which the WGA took as an insult and things just snowballed into a strike. And it's all my fault and I'm very, very, very sorry. In retrospect I should've just let him go ahead of me. It's not like spending an extra three minutes in my car listening to A Prairie Home Companion would've killed me. So now you all know and we can let the healing begin. I feel a little better already, just getting this off my chest.

Oven Fried Potatoes

2007-12-18T10:00:00.000-08:00

Cut a bunch of Russett potatoes into wedges. Rub all over with a little olive oil. Sprinkle with fresh thyme and chopped, fresh rosemary leaves and salt. You can also use dried thyme and dried, crushed rosemary. A little paprika never hurt anyone who wasn't severly allergic to paprika. Bake on a baking sheet in a 425 degree oven until crispy/golden brown.

December 18

2007-12-18T09:52:00.000-08:00

Have been busy catching up on old issues of The New Yorker, Architectural Digest, Food & Wine, Entertainment Weekly. Thought keeping a journal of my strike actitivites would be a lot more exciting for me. I knew it wouldn't be exciting for anyone else. Have kept up with yard work and other chores.

London Broil

2007-12-18T09:47:00.000-08:00

Turn on broiler with broiling pan one notch from the top. Take a London Broil and pat it dry. Sprinkle generously with Kosher or sea salt, fresh cracked pepper and garlic powder. Place on broiling pan and broil for 5-7 minutes per side. Use that hand test for doneness that I can never remember how to do. After you take it out let it rest under foil for about 15 minutes before slicing very thin "on the bias." Simple and delicious. Serve with Oven French Fries and steamed broccoli. You can make a sammich with the leftovers, excellent on a baguette with horseradish mustard.

December 7

2007-12-06T23:31:00.000-08:00

Today I had lunch with a friend and got the Wife a Hanukkah present. I also raked some leaves, then we had a Hanukkah dinner with my cousins. That's four huge accomplishments in one day, meaning tomorrow I might give myself the day off.

Advice for the Lovelorn

2007-12-05T11:59:00.001-08:00

Don't worry, there are plenty of fish in the sea.

Hot Stock Tip

2007-12-05T11:58:00.001-08:00

Buy low, sell high.

December 5

2007-12-05T11:49:00.000-08:00

Watched Barney with then read a book to the Baby. Spent two hours on the phone with health insurance company trying to understand why they haven't paid some bills dating back 18 months. Realized that punching the wall would only lead to more unpaid claims, so took the dog for a walk to calm down. Sufficiently defused by glorious day and chirping birds. Checked on-line for strike news, felt bad for everybody involved (well, not the studio chiefs), posted some recipes, thought about how few dishes I actually cook regularly for someone so obsessed with food. Thought about lunch. Turkey or tuna sandwich? Definitely roasted peppers on either one. Okay, gotta eat.

Asparagus with Balsamic Vinegar and Savory

2007-12-05T11:43:00.000-08:00

Wash and chop up some fresh asparagus spears, getting rid of the bottoms of the stalks. Saute the asparagus in a little olive oil until just tender. Shake in a generous amount of balsamic vinegar. Then sprinkle on dried savory as if it is salt, add some freshly ground pepper, and a stir it all around until done. It's pretty good.

Barbecued Chicken a la Jeff

2007-12-05T11:19:00.001-08:00

My friend Jeff is the barbecue Obi-Wan Kenobi to my Luke Skywalker. Here's his simple barbecued chicken recipe that will dazzle and amaze you. Go to Costco and get yourself an enormous package of chicken thighs and a case of beer. Head home and drink beer until the chicken defrosts. Add like a cup of paprika and a cup of brown sugar to a giant bowl and blend thoroughly with your hands. If you're feeling adventurous you could add garlic powder and even cayenne pepper to the mix, but it's not necessary, it's just my way of asserting my independence. Hopefully you have a large gas grill outside with multiple burners. Go out and turn every burner up to 11. When it's all nice and hot scrape the grill clean and turn half the burners off and the others to medium-high. Go inside and pat the thighs with paper towels so they're not wet, then dredge each piece in the spice mixture until fully coated. Place skin side up on the grill, but over the burners that are not on. Cook covered with indirect heat until some of the spice mixture starts to melt/stick together on the skin. Then turn pieces over and cook through. The sugar on the skin will carmelize, making a "built-in" sauce. When the chicken is almost done turn all the burners on and crisp up the skin, making sure you and the chicken don't catch fire. This whole process could take over an hour, but that's what the beer is for. Also, you could be grilling other things at the same time.

Mustard Tarragon Chicken

2007-12-05T10:59:00.000-08:00

Cut a couple of boneless, skinless chicken breasts into large chunks, then add a little salt and a decent amount of pepper. Brown the chunks nicely in a skillet with a tablespoon or so of olive oil. Remove chicken and set aside in a bowl to capture any juices. Saute a diced medium-sized onion in the same skillet until fairly carmelized. If you want you could add some very thinly sliced garlic cloves a la Goodfellas. Add a quarter cup or so of white wine and deglaze, scraping up all bits stuck to the pan. Whisk in a couple of tablespoons of Dijon mustard until the resulting sauce is kinda smooth. Stir in a teaspoon of dried tarragon, or a tablespoon of chopped fresh tarragon. Return chicken with juices to the skillet and stir everything around until the chicken is coated with sauce. Cover and simmer under very low heat, turning the chicken pieces every now and then, until the chicken is very tender. If you need to add a little water to extend the simmer time, don't worry about it. Serve with white rice and freshly steamed greenbeans. You won't regret it.

About

2007-12-04T10:08:00.000-08:00

Call me Veder. I am a Yale and UT, Austin alumnus with, to borrow from Oscar Wilde, a great future behind me. When the writers, actors, directors or my own union bretheren and sisteren are not striking I eke out a living in TV production in Tinseltown. I thank the Lord every day that my beautiful wife has a decent job outside "the Industry" so we and our adorable daughter can afford to eat and take hot baths on a regular basis. I decided to start this blog so I had something to do during the WGA work stoppage of 2007-?-- other than my usual downtime activity of penning my unique brand of unsellable screenplays I like to call Big Budget Independents. On this blog I plan to post essays, recipes, fascinating personal anecdotes (some actually true), advice for the lovelorn and hot stock tips on an irregular basis. I understand that even as I write this written blogs have already become woefully passe, but the fact is I'm incredibly good looking and if I did a video blog it would be sure to go viral and make me world famous and I don't want to be mobbed by the paparazzi while shopping at Trader Joe's, reading at the gym, or mowing the lawn.