Monday, December 12, 2005
I just want some damn sleep. I usually go down around two or three, after I've played a bit and scribbled down some tablature and recipe ideas. Lately I've been woken up about every half hour from six on, as the house stirs into life and people start getting into fights or misusing volume-regulating technology. I'd get earplugs, but I'm paranoid about sleeping through a life-ending fire. I know I'd probably wake up as the flames started to lick at my hide, but ideally I'd have a few minutes first to make sure my high school yearbook had been properly set atop a small pyre of old socks.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Lately, I've been trying to pin down what makes an "Asian" flavored coleslaw tick (don't you just love how since the Blog Quality Bar has been set so low, I can mention this entirely without a segue, and it will seem like high literature simply because there are no misspellings and you can't tell which band I'm listening to?). I like a mayonnaise-based American coleslaw as much as the next guy, but this one travels better and has a lighter aftermath. The secret is fairly equal parts cilantro and mint—herbs you'd never find in the original—which, when paired, give it an exotic quality. Here's a rough recipe (I never measure this carefully, except for the dressing, and it always turns out great).
1 small handful chopped mint
1 small handful chopped cilantro
1 grated carrot
2 chopped scallions, including green top
3 regular handfuls of paper-thin sliced cabbage (I get the pre-bagged kind)
1 small handful toasted chopped almonds or peanuts (chop and toast these yourself for stronger flavor - they will cut nicely with a sharp chef's knife)
2 TBSP canola oil
1 TBSP soy sauce
2 TBSP seasoned rice vinegar (plain rice vinegar OK)
1 TBSP peanut butter (any kind)
juice of 1/2 lemon
Once the nuts have cooled, stir the salad ingredients together and store in the fridge. Shake the dressing thoroughly to dissolve the peanut butter, then dress and toss the salad right before serving, or keep cool for up to an hour.
I made this to go alongside a nice piece of sesame-marinated halibut steak a few days ago. While I was watching the fish under the broiler Ray wandered in, offering to help me throw a few Oranjebooms back. I let him sample a forkful of the slaw out of the bowl where I was storing it in the fridge, and while I was plating the fish he ate the entire thing (about four full servings). When I pointed out that it had been for my dinner he looked sort of aghast at himself, and made this really scared, upset, scrunched-up mouth. He set the fork and mixing bowl down extremely carefully in the sink and walked really quickly out the back door, cursing something inaudible but clearly self-chastising (he also slapped his forehead every few steps until he left the yard).
Friday, November 18, 2005
So, I guess the dreams had nothing to do with my future success as a packaged food entrepreneur.
I spent most of tonight just tooling around in the kitchen, working on various risottos. People wandered in and out and ate and were all effusive but I don't think any of the recipes were really hitting. I just didn't have the focus to nail them.
Friday, November 11, 2005
The odd thing was, the door remained firmly shut the entire time.
Then I felt a horrific buzz around my ears, that signal you get when you realize someone's standing behind you. I bit the bullet and swung around: nobody there.
After examining the corners of the small room I looked down at the desktop, only to see that the carved name of "Dorian Dareo" had morphed into "Adrian Rodeo." Just then a rubber chicken-shaped eraser started whining, and I woke up, and Philippe's stray bird pet had waddled into the hallway and was whining outside my door. I put him back in his towel next to the mechanical alarm clock and hot water bottle and after a little while he was asleep again.
Thursday, November 03, 2005
What does this mean? I've been playing around with the idea of selling a "just add water" brine mix recently — a dry mix of salt, sugar and spices that you'd just stir into boiling water and use to soak pork or poultry. Maybe the dream means that it's going to be really successful, and this "Dorian Dareo" will be the Howard Lester to my Chuck Williams. As far as I know, those two have a decent working relationship, and Williams-Sonoma is a highly profitable company, so this is all right.
On that note, I'm going to go work on my brine mix. Recent tests proved that boiling the ingredients in the water first really does help them enter the meat more thoroughly. Picture a handful of dry sugar granules sitting on a favorite sweater — now picture two ounces of sugar syrup being squirted onto the same sweater. The syrup is obviously going to get further into the sweater than the granules.
Monday, October 17, 2005
RAY: The Cure!
RAY: The Cure, that's who!
RAY: If The Cure is traveling at 76 miles per hour, and the main Cure guy leans out the window, and the wind pulls a teardrop off of his cheek, how long until it hits the ground, assuming that a cubic tear weighs one gram?
ME: Less than a minute.
RAY: YOU HAVE SOLVED THE PUZZLE.
ME: Great, what do I win.
RAY: YOU DO NOT WIN A THING AT ALL.
ME: Not even a little can of Dr. Pepper?
RAY: Oh, alright. You win a little can of Dr. Pepper.
RAY: Heh. Yeah, comin' your way. Hold on, alright? [hangs up]
About twenty minutes later he was at the front door with a fifth of Glenfiddich and the Braveheart DVD. Our home theatre is pretty humble, but that didn't slow his enthusiasm. True to form, he sat forward and pushed my shoulder repeatedly during the Robert the Bruce scenes, and had to leave the room during the part where William Wallace is drawn and quartered.
Friday, October 07, 2005
We went into my room and I packed one for him. It's funny - even though the door was shut, Lyle sensed the unsmoked marijuana and let himself in. I let myself out before they lit up because I'm going out to dinner with my Aunt Brezna and she has a dead-on sense for when someone's the slightest bit altered. Before long they were taking turns filling up the chamber and getting rowdy. I swear, whenever those two get near a bottle or a bong it turns into a contest to see who can max the other guy out. While I finished up the food I could hear macho exhortations coming down the hall, like Ray shouting "Can you pull it, sucker? Can you pull it off?!" or Lyle coughing really hard and then victoriously shouting "LYYYYYYYLLLLLLLE!" at the top of his lungs.
Needless to say, they crept out of the room like a couple of secret geniuses and inhaled the entire cookie-sheet's worth of nachos in about a minute and a half. Then Lyle grabbed the six-pack of Oranjeboom off the counter, handed three of them to Ray, and in unison they both yelled "BRADY BUUUNCH!" before shotgunning the whole set. Lyle then said something about "wanting to break most of the rocks in the backyard to see if any were geodes" and Ray thought that was incredible, so they found an old mallet in the garage and spent the next ten minutes hitting rocks.
After I had cleaned up the dishes I noticed it was kind of quiet, so I looked outside, only to find them both passed out on the grass in the shade under the lemon tree. They had taped this little cardboard sign that said "COWBOY OFFICE" to the trunk, and Ray was wearing a pair of red cowboy boots that he hadn't been wearing when he showed up.
As of 3:15 they were still asleep, so I called Dimitri from the beverage distributorship and just had him put a couple kegs and a case of Ketel One handles on Ray's tab for tonight, and hired Buffalo Wing-a-Ding to come cater with their slaws and biscuits and things. It took all of six minutes, but I was kind of annoyed at having to do it.
Friday, September 16, 2005
All of the ingredients in the following recipes can be found at Trader Joe's:
Recipe #1: Pizza with chopped clams, minced garlic, red pepper flakes, part-skim mozzarella, chopped parsley, and tomato sauce. Roll dough thin, top, brush exposed outer crust with olive oil, cook on pizza stone at 500F for 10 mins. (Why skim? Fresh mozzarella in water gives off too much liquid for a home oven to evaporate and I hate watery pizza.)
Recipe #2: Calzone of tomato sauce, part-skim mozzarella, uncooked hot italian chicken sausage, chopped olives, minced garlic. Remove sausage from casing, mash into bits in pan with wooden spoon, and brown deeply in olive oil with generous salt, ground pepper, and garlic or onion powder. Drain. Cut dough in half, roll one, fill, crimp, poke steam holes, brush w/egg wash, 450F for 10 mins.
Recipe #3: Empanada of ground beef, honey, cinnamon, cumin, scallion, bacon. Brown chopped bacon, drain, set aside. Brown beef, minced scallion, cinnamon, cumin in pan until cooked through, drain, stir in bacon and honey. Roll dough thin, cut into 16 pieces, fill. Seal w/fork and pan fry in 1/2" oil in skillet until dark golden (oil at 365F). Dust w/cinnamon sugar & serve w/more honey.
Recipe #4: Khryzshno Blachinda. Same as #3 above, but filling consists of fully-cooked (steamed or baked) and slightly mashed cubed sweet potato, chopped green onion, black pepper, sour cream, chopped toasted walnut, and drained chopped bacon. Dough exceedingly thin. Press to release any air and crimp tightly. Fry at 365F until dark golden.
Anyhow, I'll let you know how these turn out. Dough can be tricky because it can steam on the inside and become gummy while the outside becomes a deceivingly nice golden brown. I guess the best way to get around that is to chill the filled, sealed item first so the fillings never get to the steaming point. Anyhow, anyhow. Can't wait until Sunday to hear what luckless parked car(s) this all slid down the outside panels of.
Friday, August 26, 2005
As luck would have it Beef was out charging the Galaxie's battery, so I jumped in his passenger door at the stop sign by Happy Day Chicken and told him to floor it. The cool thing about Beef is that he'll just lay into a quick weird command from a friend, whereas some guys might look around to see what's precipitating the weirdness. He dropped the hammer and we burned all kinds of rubber for about ten seconds. By the time we were safely out of range I looked back to see my pursuer on his knees and barfing all over the sidewalk by the stop sign. What the hell?
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
So, what do you do when you're coming out of a self-indulgent funk and want to get your spins on, most likely to include several games of pool, loud AC/DC, and a 4am Scotch-fueled viewing of the Braveheart director's cut? You call Ray! So, that's what I did, but as usual I didn't end up getting what I expected.
TÉODOR: [places call]
RAY: [picks up, yelling] Jesus, Gavin! Use the damned leeches already!
TÉODOR: Ray? Ray? This is Téodor.
RAY: Oh, hey, Téodor. Sorry. How you doin'.
TÉODOR: [hoping to diminish his anger with humor] What was that about Gavin and the Leeches? Did you just sign a new band?
RAY: [angry] Oh, it ain't worth mentionin'. Just havin' trouble gettin' through to someone.
TÉODOR: Yeesh. Okay, I won't ask.
RAY: Yeah, it's nothin'. Whatchu call about?
TÉODOR: Oh, I was wondering if you were up for a no-good evening, maybe some pool and Patrón.
RAY: Daaaaaamn. You know, I'm pretty spent. I got really horny this afternoon, man.
TÉODOR: [brightening, as one does for a friend who has recently scored] Oh, you're with a chick! Sorry, I'll call back tomorrow.
RAY: No, man. It ain't nothin' like that.
TÉODOR: [confused] But...what was that about having sex all afternoon?
RAY: Heh. There definitely wasn't any sex bein' had. Not that I knew about, anyway. Maybe at other peoples' houses.
TÉODOR: So...you just got so horny that you got tired?
RAY: Somethin' like that. Anyhow. Man, now I'm all worried about diabetes.
TÉODOR: Sorry. I guess I'll check you later.
RAY: Jesus. Man, how am I supposed to get to sleep now.
TÉODOR: Sorry! I'm sorry I misunderstood.
RAY: Be careful, man. Of diabetes. [yawns]
TÉODOR: Right, I will.
RAY: [yawns, hangs up]
I got the sense he wasn't being completely straight with me, but I didn't want to meet Gavin and his leeches so I minded my own business and made for home. I think I'm just going to have a little red and head to bed with some reading material. I haven't read anything in a while, other than that two year-old New Yorker that's been sitting by the toilet so long it's wrinkled from splatter, so I got some interesting books about product design off the living room shelves, and a book about the history of Levi Jeans for when I get bored of those.
Sunday, August 07, 2005
SO! So. That's over. I knew I'd never fit in in his world of guys who can make breezy conversation with twitty women about favorite shoe colors. If you get two LA people in the same room, and there's a bed there, and they have so much as the same favorite sandwich filling in common, they'll be hitting it within thirty minutes. That's how LA is.
Okay, enough venting. I went back and looked at all the old rushes from the cooking show I was working on before Circus Penis showed up, and they look...stupid. I look like a big fool who could just get taken in by any old shiny fad that came along. My stupid hipster pad, my trendy shoulder-held camera style, my whole approach to food...just immature. A total flub.
On top of all that, I picked up my guitar and accidentally made up the cheesiest little three-chord riff you can imagine. I was totally into it the whole time I was working it up, but then when I took a few minutes off and came back and played the finished product it sounded like something a studio guitarist would be asked to play during a sequence on a TV show where a red race car wins a race.
I think everything I touch is just going to be bogus for a while so I'm going to sign off now, on my big whiny blog.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
I was out back watering our new herb garden today (basil, thyme, oregano, mint, chives) when Ray called my cell phone. I almost didn't take it, but you never know what you're going to get with him. Being on Ray's speed-dial is kind of like playing the Lottery: 99.999% of the time he's just calling because he wants to know if Kevin Bacon and Sissy Spacek have ever been in a movie together, but there's always that off chance he just accidentally won a new 63" flat-screen TV he doesn't need and wants to give it to the first person who's home.
RAY: Ray? This is Téodor.
TÉODOR: No it’s not. This is Téodor. Ray?
RAY: Oh, sorry man. I...oh, yeah. Listen, Téodor, I notice that you’ve put on a few pounds lately.
TÉODOR: Thanks! Alright, see you around.
RAY: Wait! Don’t hang up. You don’t know what I’m going to say.
TÉODOR: I’m guessing you’re going to move on to my mother’s parenting abilities.
RAY: What? Your mom was bad to you? I’m sorry, dude. Maybe I should call back later.
TÉODOR: I...if my mother didn’t raise me well, what would be different in a couple hours?!
RAY: This isn’t going at all the way I intended, man. I’m sorry. This is my fault.
TÉODOR: You wanted to call to tell me you think I’m fat. I think this is about as good as can be expected.
RAY: You’re not fat, dude! But your body has reached a certain...believability.
TÉODOR: Look, I know you like to get all 4:20 but I actually have something going on right now.
RAY: Man, I ain’t high! Not for that reason, anyway. Listen, I'm thinking of starting a club.
TÉODOR: A club for fat guys with bad moms? Isn't that club already called "Bowling"?
RAY: Heh heh! Heh hehh[HACK COUGH COUGH COUGH kh-chuck PTOOEY!] Hey, man! Man, you just made shit come outta my nose!
TÉODOR: That's picturesque.
RAY: Oh, shit. Somebody's at the door. I'll call you right back.
So, I guess this call fell into the former category, minus the Kevin Bacon stuff. It's been four hours and I haven't heard back from him, so I guess we're not starting a club about how I'm fat. Not that I'm fat. I don't know what he's talking about. I look the same as I always have.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
I had him over to look at a few of my insignia and headwear prototypes tonight, and since it was during the evening I asked if he could stay for dinner. Naturally easygoing, he agreed, so I threw together a risotto Milanese with fresh crab, heirloom tomato, and spinach, paired with a rocky pinot grigio.
I guess it surprised me a little when he said he'd never had risotto before, because you'd think a guy like that would have been out to more than his fair share of upscale dinners. He actually asked if it was a Mexican dish, if you can believe that. Forgivable, I guess, if you consider that the rice in a Milanese is colored, sort of like Spanish rice, and that Mexican people use a lot of tomatoes...anyway.
I also noticed that he wasn't touching his wine. I wondered if he hadn't had a rocky substance-abuse background and was restraining himself, but when I asked if I couldn't bring him something else to drink he waved his hand and laughed. "Sorry," he said. "I usually don't do shooters until after!" With that he licked all around the rim of his glass, rubbed on a little salt, and downed the entire five ounces or so that I'd poured him.
He remarked that he'd never had a tequila so smooth and mild. I didn't say anything, because it feels wrong to correct Circus Penis, so I just offered him a beer chaser. He asked if I had any Budweiser, and I thought we might have a can somewhere in the Calcutta of rotting arugula that is our fridge, so I said I'd be right back with one. It turns out that all I had to my name was a Samuel Smith's Oatmeal Stout, which I poured into two coffee mugs (the only clean glasses in the whole place) and brought back to the table. "Thank you, man," he said, before taking a nice pull from his glass. "Ahhh," he sighed. "I love Budweiser. Maybe the best beer there is."
After the meal, when we went on to the headwear and insignia, he was actually remarkably lucid and insightful, which made our little dinner together all the more bizarre. I'm not sure what to do with a guy who apparently does nothing with his palate other than draw the beef curtains, if I may make a food/cunnilingus analogy. It's sort of eerie. Or maybe that's the reason his tastebuds are dead — did his costars used to use corrosive douches inbetween scenes? Honestly, this could be good logic. Douche science has probably come a long way since he broke into the business.
Friday, June 17, 2005
He had two sets of five little glasses set up on either side of his desk, and asked me to sit down. To the side I noticed five dusty old bottles. He started off with an apology that things had been awkward around the house lately, that "two strong heads rutted where harmony should have prevailed." Then he described a ritual that the Frenchmen in Calvados use to settle arguments.
I took a closer look at all the bottles and saw that they were all Calvados, an apple brandy, from a wide range of years, one dating to '61. He had collected them on his various travels in the region and nipped on them only sparingly, he said, watching them improve with age.
The first step was to fill both sets of five glasses with maybe a half-shot of each of the five liquors. That done, we admired their color and differences, and he told me a story about the first glass which involved porking (my term) a farmer's daughter in a hayloft and nearly crushing the bottle when the farmer showed up with a pitchfork and he jumped to the ground below. This was the oldest liquor, which is where we started.
The idea was to toast, and then after draining the stuff and contemplating it a moment the host of the ritual would say one thing he regretted about the problem at hand. The guest would then reply with his regret. "Let us never be that way again," both would say, and then turn the glass upside down where it had originally sat. He taught me the French phrase for "Let us never be that way again" but I've forgotten it by now.
By the fifth glass , the youngest, we were both pretty lit, singing each other's praises and promising to try a book project once my show had taken off. He said his agent would love to see some new work from him, and then the soufflé timer went off, so we went off to enjoy some hot food with a nice Châteauneuf-du-Pape he pulled off the shelf when we were leaving. I can safely say it's all behind us now, and I've never felt better about the cooking show. He was pretty effusive when it came to flattering me, 50% of which I'll chalk up to the liquor.
Thursday, June 02, 2005
Anyhow, I've got the set dressed the way I want it now. Some electric guitars, a big inflatable cactus, an old beater couch for guests, and this awesome mechanical monkey-on-a-unicycle that rolls back and forth on a trapeze over the set the whole time I do my show. I got it from this old pizza parlor that was closing its doors — they threw in their five-spigot soda machine for another hundred bucks, and I set it up on the main counter to dispense four of the basics: chicken stock, olive oil, white wine, and water. The fifth dispenses the keg beer which I always serve to my guests and myself at the beginning of the show (me filling the glasses is part of the stock intro).
I have the rushes from the first "pilot" episode all shot and ready to edit. The theme was braising so I did osso buco with a fava polenta, lamb shank with white beans and anchovy, all-American pot roast, and a vegetarian braise of artichokes Barigoule. Ray, Beef, and Dr. Andretti were my guests and they actually made for a pretty funny bunch. You'd never think that Dr. Andretti would cut it up but he had this great out-of-office chemistry with Beef where Beef would say something all his own like "dang man uh ain't lamb meat got way much low-density lipoproteins though" and Andretti would pantomime putting a stethoscope on Beef's chest while saying "Nurse, it's...it's... [grimace] low-density lipoproteins. Push two units of morphine and call the Chaplain." And then Ray would pipe in with some more medical nonsense because he watches so much ER: "Doc Andretti! His tests just came back positive for bad spaghetti! I think he munched on bad spaghetti at S'Barro which he thinks is a good restaurant! Oh craaaaaaap!"
I'm editing this all in with some highbeat old bumper tracks from The Byrds, since they'll add a nice multi-influential retro feel. My intro/outro song is Time Between, which has great energy.
Monday, May 16, 2005
When someone's dead-set on their vision for you, the best thing you can do is try on the sweater and show it doesn't fit. I put the dumb outfit on and "huzzah'd" my way around the set, hamming it up like the old episodes. Instead of a monolog, I smiled directly into the camera and quipped "I feel like an absolute fag!" before dashing over to the fridge and getting out two sticks of butter, some heavy cream, and a shrimp. "I also love to salt this dish!" I bubbled, as I made my way to the prep counter. "Un Scampi alla Onda di Grasso, dal chef Téodor!"
I threw the cream, butter, and a dash of salt into a hot frying pan before showing off by chopping up an onion without looking (I pushed the minced onion onto the floor and danced on it like an Italian woman crushing grapes for wine). "Oh look," I said as I jumped, "I'm an old Italian bird making wine for her battore!" (I have no idea what "battore" means, if anything.)
Cornelius was starting to get the picture by this point, and stood there with his arms folded. When the butter and cream rose to the boil I took the shrimp, butterflied it, and held it above the hot liquid. In my most charming of voices I looked at it and said, "My darling, why couldn't you have had better tits!" before dropping it into the pan. I immediately started clapping for myself and hurrahing and that's when I remember Cornelius dropping his clipboard and storming out.
He left some message on my voice mail about talking about what happened, but I'm not really sure we need to work together. The camera is at Ray's house, and Ray's kitchen is at Ray's house, and I know how to turn the camera on and work the editing software. The camera also has this cord that the actor can use to start and stop the recording.
Monday, May 09, 2005
1) The Savoury Saviour
2) Téodor's Temptations
3) Hip Lad Kitchen With Téodor Orezscu
It's kind of like having your dad name your rock band — every single word he says is going to sound like the worst possible idea that ever floated out of a mouth. I'm not sure how our dynamic will work out if he's producing my show, but hopefully I can manage it so that we stick to our respective strengths and no one's ego gets hurt.
What am I thinking of for the name of the show? I'm going to keep that a secret for now. I have it, and it's perfect, but I want a few more things to be in place before I lay that one down.
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
Also, while I was making dinner tonight I came up with a technique that I felt was worth sending in to Cook's Illustrated, for their Tips & Techniques From Readers section. See if you spot this gem in their next issue:
Dissatisfied with drizzling and brushing as methods for getting olive oil onto bruschetta bread, I now pour the olive oil onto a dinner plate and rub the bread around in it. This gives me a perfectly even coating that is ready for grilling.
This technique also applies well to the bread for grilled panini.
As soon as I came up with that I knew it would be perfect for their mag. Usually it's just filler from housewives who think it's brilliant that their biscuit cutters do double-duty as cookie cutters. My bruschetta technique is kickass.
Thursday, April 14, 2005
When I got there no one was around, but the door was open so I wandered in and pretty quick this guy wandered out to meet me. The place was decorated like a really expansive two-level frat house, and smelled like a party. As it turns out the guy was the owner and I was the only dude on the roster who showed up for the class. I guess Saturday morning is not the best time to schedule an event for the alcohol enthusiast.
The dude was super cool and we set about getting a kettle of water hot enough to steep the ground barley mixture into. I had wanted to make a Belgian white ale but he poured me a mug of their blonde ale and I was pretty amenable to that, so I decided to make that. Their beers were strong, around 6-7%. It was a pretty stiff breakfast after the granola bar I had munched on the way up.
We threw the ground barley recipe into a ladies' lingerie bag and let it steep in the hot water for like forty-five minutes or so. After that we removed it and mixed in some syrupy thick stuff, I forget what it's called 'cause we went outside for a smoke and a mug of their California ale, kind of a lighter thing, under 4%. Extract or something. We talked about his tricked-out Ford Fairlane. Apparently it can go 186.
I think immediately thereafter we dropped some Dextrose and some other substance in and mixed it up pretty well. Then it was time for the hops. We mixed in three different kinds of hops that looked like little fish food pellets. I got to grind them up in my hand. If you ever wonder, hops seem like the main thing that ales get their flavor from.
After that we did a lot of stuff but most of it was pretty scientific and not a lot of fun to read about. The basic idea is that he's gonna crash the brew soon and kill the yeast, and in two weeks after that I can pick up all five cases. I'm thinking of throwing a party when I get 'em all back -- no reason Ray can have the only parties around here. My theme is gonna be stuff I made, from the beer, to the sausages, to the salsas, to the lemonade, to the potato salad to the guacamole. I'll prep for three days and get it all planned out, from paper towels to cutting surface area to lawn games. Nice. Maybe I'll do it for my birthday.
Friday, April 08, 2005
It's been a long time since I took a class of any sort, and my main worry just now was that I'd have to be paired up with some dumbass. Oh, shit—what if Ray's in the class and we wind up as partners? Nah, if Ray wanted to learn to brew beer he'd fly a dude in from the Pacific Northwest and basically ignore me. Wait, that already happened. Sorry, sore subject.
I'm sure I'll have something to tell when I get back. Going to a beer-making class at 10am on a Saturday is a blog entry just dying to come into the world kicking and screaming. Maybe I'll hang out at the 7-11 next to the brewery before class and see how many of the aspirin/MGD customers toddle over to the seminar (or teach it).
Friday, April 01, 2005
Whoah. I just walked into the kitchen to get a Diet Pepsi and he stormed in, the baby screaming its head off in the other room. He reached into the silverware drawer, pulled out a chopstick, and broke it furiously over his knee before throwing it into a corner and storming back out. He didn't even notice me.
I'm going to lock my bedroom door tonight. I don't think he'd actually use me as a thing to kill, but it at least might keep him from coming in and snapping my Giant Sequoia novelty pen in two (when you lean the pen over, the car rolls through the car-size hole in the giant sequoia).
Monday, February 28, 2005
I got there around five but no one else had shown up yet. Pat's TV was playing Noam Chomsky videos, even though the red carpet coverage had started, and he was talking quietly with Nice Pete in a corner. There was a lot of paperwork on the table, but I didn't see any snacks. Maybe they were in the fridge, I thought. I didn't want to be rude and go opening doors, so I sat on the couch.
They kept talking while I sat there, and I couldn't switch over to the Oscars coverage because (a) Pat hides his remotes, and (b) the channel selection buttons on his TV have little metal panels krazy-glued over them. After about twenty minutes they were still engaged in what was an increasingly heated whisper-discussion. At one point Nice Pete slammed his opened palm really, really hard against the wall and ran upstairs. I figured I had about three and a half seconds before he came back down and murdered something, so I jumped up and walked past the table towards the door. I got a quick glance of a bunch of clipboards full of petitions to "permanently cancel the racist, classist, and obviously fixed" Oscars.
Pat was facing silently into the corner as I let myself out and ran like the wind back to our place, where I locked the door and turned on the tube just in time to see Chris Rock take the stage. Was I the only one in town who didn't know about Pat's "Oscar Parties"?
Friday, February 25, 2005
Saturday, February 19, 2005
Sunday, January 23, 2005
So much for my catering business. How am I supposed to come up with next month's rent? If I have to freelance-design any more business cards and stationery for bullshit little businesses I'm going to hit my writing hand with a hard mallet. Where's Ray? Maybe now that the sun has come out it's time to hit the links. At the very least, we can set up a PuttPro on his living room carpet and throw some money around until I'm solvent again.