Times dining critic Sam Sifton has mixed feelings about SD26, Tony May’s downtown 21st century version of the venerable San Domenico. On the one hand, the candele with cauliflower, saffron, pine nuts and anchovy oil evokes “the very essence of great Italian cooking.” On the other, the octopus carpaccio with sun-dried tomatoes, “to the good, looked like a Chuck Close painting,” but, to the bad, also “tasted like one.” (And, in a nice touch: “SD26 is the restaurant equivalent of a second wife: younger, considerably more nervous, dressed in a way that might raise eyebrows in the social circles the original restaurant was opened to serve.”) Either way, I don’t want to eat food while sitting under a wall-hanging that looks so much like used Q-Tips.

This would be hysterical if it weren’t so predictable.

I sat in a parked car for an hour this morning, waiting out the no-parking-for-street-cleaning window, listening to Hot 97. I know they’re basically a top-40 station, dedicated to whatever’s currently most popular in “blazing hip-hop and R&B.;” But, God, I wish they’d expand their playlist. It really seems like they keep to a rotation of the same five or six songs at any given time. (Maybe they’re a top-5 station?) Today, for example, they played Fabolous’ “Throw It In The Bag” remix, featuring Drake, around 8:45, and then again at exactly 9:24. Twice in forty minutes! That’s ridiculous. (The most recent playlist at Hot97.com has “Throw It In The Bag” ranked 5th. Trey Songz’ “I invented Sex,” also featuring Drake, is no. 1. So they’re playing that one every, what 12 minutes? We’re going to run into mathematical impossibility here…) But I don’t even mind “Throw It In The Bag” so much. Much worse is the new Young Money song that’s also playing with great frequency (ranked 9th on the playlist.) Have you heard it? It’s called “Bedrock” and it absolutely plagued my drive back home from Boston after Thanksgiving. (So Hot 97’s counterparts in Massachusetts and Connecticut must share some blame.) Young Money is Lil Wayne’s group, featuring, yes, Drake, but also Mack Maine, Gutta Gutta, Nicki Minaj and, usually, way too much autotune. But the real problem with “Bedrock” is the chorus.

A cooing, cloying melody, sung by middle-grade R&B; vet Lloyd, it goes, “Ooh, baby/I be stuck to you like glue, baby/Wanna spend it all on you, baby/My room is the G spot/Call me Mr. Flintstone/I can make your bed rock.”

First of all, as my wife pointed out, it’s stupid to refer to anyone called “Mr. Flintstone.” Who’s ever known him as that? The guy doesn’t even wear shoes when he’s driving. It’s “Fred.” Secondly, comparing yourself to a Hannah-Barbera cartoon character is gonna get you laid? Maybe it would-I never understood all that Looney-Tunes denim that Iceberg jeans did in the ’90s. But maybe only if you’re already a blazing hip-hop and R&B; star? More troubling though, the wordplay is just so thick and lazy. (Both Wayne and Drake have proved themselves way better than that in the past.) So pedestrian. How about “Call me Barney Rubble/’Cause I’ll rub all over you”? Or “Call me George Jetson/I’ll fly you on my jet, son.” Or “Call me Scooby-Doo/I’ll…” something about “shagging.” I don’t know.

The samey-sameness demise of hip-hop radio, of popular radio in general is old news. The big corporations, Clear Channel and Emmis Communications, ruined everything, blah blah blah. Nor should it be surprising that a 38-year-old man sitting in his car doesn’t like all of the pop music popular with kids today. (How happy young Young Money fans will be to read this!) Especially the hyperproduced, super-futuristic robot-world stuff. (President Obama, another old, doesn’t trust robots either, remember.)

And it’s not like there’s nothing out there for a guy like me. I mean, I listen to Hot 97 by choice, for fun, despite the horrible homogeny. And even within that homogeny, I like some of what I hear. There are three Jay-Z songs in the top 10 of that playlist, all of which I like quite a lot. But one of them is “D.O.A. (Death of Autotune).” Not that this makes it any less good of a song. But it doesn’t seem like the kids are listening to the words.

From the comments on our list of Best Obama-Related Right-Wing Photoshop Movie Posters, a winner speaks: “May I say in accepting this glorious honor that it is only honest, right and moral that I return the the racism and contempt Barack Obama has for his mother’s white race by equal racism and contempt for his father’s black race. Obama is the scum of the Earth-this is only way to treat the psychopathic racist.” [NB: We do not endorse this point of view and actually find it confusing, fascinating and made-up!]

If you’re anything like me (a girl) you have a squillion pairs of very expensive shoes on ice, and two pairs of Nine West jams that you hoof about in on the reg. And if you were at all excited at the prospect of potentially buying a pair of $41-on-sale sandals for spring, you HAVE TO check out the brand’s 2010 spring/summer line. IT’S SOOO FUNNY. No seriously, it surpasses disappointment and Chardonnay-drunk stumbles towards entertaining. It’s doing boob jiggles in white palazzo pants with gold eyeshadow and wearing about 239874328734 bangles that make such a racket! Think pastel suede, lace-up cage booties, and quasi gladiator flats with a bajillion bejeweled bra straps. I have ZERO idea who it’s for since super FOBby Asian chicks who dig “magpie chic” can get this mess on the mainland for a high five. Also, today someone hipped me to this.

Innaresting Times piece on “destination memory,” which allows you-or doesn’t, as is more often the case-to remember whom you’ve told the same old stories to. Apparently, when we tell someone a personal anecdote, we are so self-absorbed in our own thoughts that we tend to forget who we told it to. This explains why you tend to hear the same personal bits from the same people over and over again: They are too busy thinking of themselves to think about you. So you’re well within your rights to pretend that you have to go smoke a cigarette or something to get away from them; they’ll be back with the same story soon enough.

I know we promised earlier that we would not again mention the Famous Golfer who is currently Embroiled in Controversy, but this video is WAY TOO GOOD not to share. Taiwanese animation makes everything more comprehensible. Stick with this one, it just keeps getting better.

by Abe Sauer

Like Christmas, and puberty, the Oscar movie season gets earlier every year. This year, one ambitious writer even declared “The Oscar Season Begins In August With Tarantino’s ‘Inglourious Basterds.’” But by any measure, we are now well into the time of year when Oscar-hopeful films get dumped into theaters to be ignored by almost everyone. This season’s crop? The Road, Brothers, Broken Embraces, Precious, A Single Man, Crazy Heart, The White Ribbon, Invictus, Nine, The Lovely Bones, It’s Complicated, An Education, Avatar and Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans. (Up in the Air is disqualified for basically being the 40-Year-Old Virgin with moodier lighting.) But what about Oscar season for the crowd who thinks all those liberal Hollywood movies are for socialist pansies? For them, there is Photoshop.

Photoshop (MS Paint?) has become a powerful tool for the right to express its fears, feelings and frustrations with the current administration. Manipulating movie posters proves to be a fun and infectious way to get out the message. The Obamatized movie poster is a staple of right-wing message boards and sites. However, they are very often bad.

So what follows is only the best of the Photoshopped Obama movie posters of 2009.

The Illusionist: Shaky concept. Poor execution. Confusing. Trying to hard to tie things together. Basically just a high-concept fluffed up to look like it has something deeper to say… just like Crash.

Liar Liar: An obvious choice. But this entry shines in the credits. Look at the attention to detail. Ashley Dupree’s big break!

The Sting: Way beyond the usual cut and paste of images. This person is very, very talented.

Apt Pupil: Just like with Oscar bait films themselves, on fake posters you can also never go wrong going with Nazis.

Duplicity: There is certainly more romantic chemistry between Obama and Pelosi than Julia Roberts has had with anyone in years.

The Jerk: Not technically excellent. But with all the words used recently to describe Obama, “jerk” is adorably quaint. This entry is the Little Miss Sunshine of Photoshopped Obama posters. (Also: Cesar Chavez?!?!)

100 Days Later: CAMPAAAAAAIIIIIIGGNNNNNNNNNSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!

Apologize Now: “The machinist, the one they called Axelrod, was from Chicago. He was wrapped too tight for D.C.; probably wrapped too tight for Chicago. Geithner, on the finances, was a famous professor from the ivies around MA. One look at him and you wouldn’t believe he would ever make a profit in his whole life. Clinton… Ms. Clinton… was from some Arkansas shithole and the light and space of D.C. really put the zap on her head. Then there was Rahm, the Chief. It might have been my mission, but it sure as shit was Rahm’s boat.”

Dumb and Dumber: There is some concern with how natural it feels to see Biden here.

Last White House on the Left: Smart! Or at least smarter than the rest.

The 40-Year-Old Political Virgin: Witty!

Boss Nigger: Oh dear. There we go. I think we have a winner.

Every time you say something bad about a banker, you make him cheat: “Reviled by the public and spurned in private, bankers have been looking for solace in adultery, according to a dating website for people seeking affairs…. The list shows that public revulsion for bankers combined with a lack of affection in private was the top reason for having an affair, followed closely by the excitement of doing something risky, escaping boredom, feeding the ego and one-upping the boys with a trophy mistress.”