Recent events have unfolded that have made me question the wisdom of... well, talking to other people. I think I'm taking some time off from the vast sea of humanity that is the Intrawebs.
Peace be with you all.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Saturday, February 13, 2010
To eat good food is to be close to God.
It's better when you wait for a thing that you really want. Maybe suffer a little bit in the waiting. Think of it: had Odysseus come right back home from Troy do you really think The Odyssey would have been particularly interesting?
Not that working all week in the bowels of the capitalist machinery is anything like fighting lotus eaters or harpies or having to slaughter a mob of men making moves on your missus. Working all week in the bowels of the capitalist machinery is, however, sufficiently painful enough to make the idea of a fine dining experience with your soon-to-be-wife a sweet and shinning beacon that urges you forward. We'd been wanting to go to AOC for a month but life has a funny way of preventing you from getting things done sometimes. Reservations were made earlier in the week and childcare was sorted and then a job came up and it all went to hell.
Never fear though, as sometimes you win and my easy, cash at the end of the day, we're only shooting daylight job actually ended at 9pm while the dinner reservation wasn't until 9:30pm. Typical Hollywood bullshit.
Waiting anxiously for a meal of this caliber all week is exciting. There are dishes on the AOC menu that once you've eaten them you'll think about them constantly. You'll sit down for a meal and it will occur to you that the asparagus you're eating are no where near as good as the ones at AOC. The fingerling potatoes in creme fraiche? Divine. Pork cheeks with black beans in some sort of ambrosia had me close to tears. Red wine butter on a steak? Get the hell away from me with that kind of crazy. Translucent slices of perfectly made chorizo and lomo with a chunk of Spanish sheep's cheese eaten with a bit of bread made me order another helping of said charcuterie but the Girl said no, save room for desert. We did. It was amazing.
To put it all in perspective: I was working for two days at almost half rate as a favor to a director and was handsomely rewarded for my generosity with a two day beat down. Not enough guys and too many cameras with three location moves a day. To say it was amateur hour would be like saying the people in New Orleans were a bit excited about the Saints win. Prior to this job I spent a day in the desert selling Hershey's chocolate slabs. It rained. It stopped raining and we burned. The sun went down and we froze. Then we drove two and a half hours back to town. Joy. And pain. Sunshine. And rain. Cut!
Peace out, bitches!
Not that working all week in the bowels of the capitalist machinery is anything like fighting lotus eaters or harpies or having to slaughter a mob of men making moves on your missus. Working all week in the bowels of the capitalist machinery is, however, sufficiently painful enough to make the idea of a fine dining experience with your soon-to-be-wife a sweet and shinning beacon that urges you forward. We'd been wanting to go to AOC for a month but life has a funny way of preventing you from getting things done sometimes. Reservations were made earlier in the week and childcare was sorted and then a job came up and it all went to hell.
Never fear though, as sometimes you win and my easy, cash at the end of the day, we're only shooting daylight job actually ended at 9pm while the dinner reservation wasn't until 9:30pm. Typical Hollywood bullshit.
Waiting anxiously for a meal of this caliber all week is exciting. There are dishes on the AOC menu that once you've eaten them you'll think about them constantly. You'll sit down for a meal and it will occur to you that the asparagus you're eating are no where near as good as the ones at AOC. The fingerling potatoes in creme fraiche? Divine. Pork cheeks with black beans in some sort of ambrosia had me close to tears. Red wine butter on a steak? Get the hell away from me with that kind of crazy. Translucent slices of perfectly made chorizo and lomo with a chunk of Spanish sheep's cheese eaten with a bit of bread made me order another helping of said charcuterie but the Girl said no, save room for desert. We did. It was amazing.
To put it all in perspective: I was working for two days at almost half rate as a favor to a director and was handsomely rewarded for my generosity with a two day beat down. Not enough guys and too many cameras with three location moves a day. To say it was amateur hour would be like saying the people in New Orleans were a bit excited about the Saints win. Prior to this job I spent a day in the desert selling Hershey's chocolate slabs. It rained. It stopped raining and we burned. The sun went down and we froze. Then we drove two and a half hours back to town. Joy. And pain. Sunshine. And rain. Cut!
Peace out, bitches!
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Men will believe anything, the more preposterous the better. Whales speak French at the bottom of the sea. The horses of Arabia have silver wings. Pygmies mate with elephants in darkest Africa. I have sold all those propositions. Well, maybe we're all fools and none of it matters.
If you had bothered to ask me at the beginning of the season how it would all play out I never ever ever ever would have picked the Saints to even make it into the post-season. That is why I am not a prognasticator for the NFL. I know nothing.
Except that the Saints won and I made everyone hot sausage and sub-par red beans and rice and Reid brought over a King cake FedExed from NOLA and we drank a whole bottle of tequila and all my rowdy friends came over.
Good times. I hope everyone from NOLA and everyone who cares has a goddamn good time and that the city finally gets its due.
Peace out, bitches!
Except that the Saints won and I made everyone hot sausage and sub-par red beans and rice and Reid brought over a King cake FedExed from NOLA and we drank a whole bottle of tequila and all my rowdy friends came over.
Good times. I hope everyone from NOLA and everyone who cares has a goddamn good time and that the city finally gets its due.
Peace out, bitches!
Friday, February 5, 2010
Do you not know that in the service... one must always choose the lesser of two weevils.
Yesterday: The Midget stayed home from school so no surfing for me. Did a bunch of yoga, cleaned the house, and then shot some arrows over in the arroyo by the Rose Bowl. The Midget handled herself fairly well when acting as my spotter ("High and left." "High and middle." "Bullseye!"). We had a good time and then we bought hot sausage for Sunday's game. Not bad. We put the kid down early and ordered Harold and Belle's and once again the bartender got me a little tipsy. Two free shots of tequila because somehow that has become our tradition. I love that place. I had the crawfish etouffee and the girl had the chicken wings and some fries. What? Yeah, I was surprised as well but what ya gonna do? I have left overs so I'm set.
Today: I was going to go check out some private land that I'm now going to have hunting access to but that fell through. I was going to drive into my beloved Los Padres National Forest but the Midget threw up this morning so Ghost and the Darkness are now stuck at home. Oh. Joy. I guess I look at more maps and try to figure out exactly where I want to go to try to put an arrow into a moving chunk of bacon. I thought about leaving early this morning but the Midget was up at midnight hacking up a lung so I sort of figured she and I would be stuck at home again. What a world.
Well, the rain is going to be here soon so no surf for a bit and I've got to work tomorrow so no fun tonight either. At least there's a job on the horizon.
Peace out, bitches!
Today: I was going to go check out some private land that I'm now going to have hunting access to but that fell through. I was going to drive into my beloved Los Padres National Forest but the Midget threw up this morning so Ghost and the Darkness are now stuck at home. Oh. Joy. I guess I look at more maps and try to figure out exactly where I want to go to try to put an arrow into a moving chunk of bacon. I thought about leaving early this morning but the Midget was up at midnight hacking up a lung so I sort of figured she and I would be stuck at home again. What a world.
Well, the rain is going to be here soon so no surf for a bit and I've got to work tomorrow so no fun tonight either. At least there's a job on the horizon.
Peace out, bitches!
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
God damn it, I should kill you! This is so fucking good I should kill you!
Anthony Bourdain is costing me money and I'm going to make that mother fucker pay what he owes.
Yep, every damn time I watch "No Reservations" I end up getting worked up about food and then I go out and spend a bunch of damn money and eat like a fucking champ. Nevermind I'm really just a working chump, making it by or not with whatever is on hand at the time. A good meal? Love 'em when I get 'em but I'll make do with a damn cheese sandwich if I have to do so. Or I'll go shoot one of the damn big ass resident geese that hang about every golf course 'round SoCal, it's all the same to me.
But that Bourdain bastard! Off to all corners with his little leather jacket and his fucking thumb ring and no matter how much he eats he's pencil thin. Fucker. I wish I were him, except that he sort of sucks as a fiction writer and he gets real spoiled real quick and he's old and weathered while I'm just old. Yeah, that Bourdain bastard has some gall running all over the place making me want to go eat. Last night he was in Prague eating sausage and all things good and porcine and drinking pint after pint of well crafted Czech beer and bam! It hits me that I should go get some sausage and a pint so that's what we did tonight.
The whole little trio of family that I now have went to the Red Lion Tavern over in Hipsterville (aka Silverlake). It was a bit of a haul and not at all Czech as it is, in fact, a German beer joint. Ah, that's a disservice as "beer joint" makes it sound like I took my kid and fiance to some sort of corporate bar like BJ's or some damn shit. No, The Red Lion is a true German beer place where you can sit and drink some pints with your friends and family and consume large quantities of German food. We went with the sausage sampler plate (three different kinds of meat in tube form!), potato pancakes, french fries, and pickled cabbage. The midget even got a little beef and veggie soup. It was a damn fine meal, everyone was stuffed, and I got to drink a nice Spaten with my girl.
Ok, so maybe that damn Bourdain ain't so bad after all but I tell you this: If I can get him to start paying for some of these culinary snap decisions I'll be a lot less likely to think of him as a damn bastard.
Peace out, bitches!
Yep, every damn time I watch "No Reservations" I end up getting worked up about food and then I go out and spend a bunch of damn money and eat like a fucking champ. Nevermind I'm really just a working chump, making it by or not with whatever is on hand at the time. A good meal? Love 'em when I get 'em but I'll make do with a damn cheese sandwich if I have to do so. Or I'll go shoot one of the damn big ass resident geese that hang about every golf course 'round SoCal, it's all the same to me.
But that Bourdain bastard! Off to all corners with his little leather jacket and his fucking thumb ring and no matter how much he eats he's pencil thin. Fucker. I wish I were him, except that he sort of sucks as a fiction writer and he gets real spoiled real quick and he's old and weathered while I'm just old. Yeah, that Bourdain bastard has some gall running all over the place making me want to go eat. Last night he was in Prague eating sausage and all things good and porcine and drinking pint after pint of well crafted Czech beer and bam! It hits me that I should go get some sausage and a pint so that's what we did tonight.
The whole little trio of family that I now have went to the Red Lion Tavern over in Hipsterville (aka Silverlake). It was a bit of a haul and not at all Czech as it is, in fact, a German beer joint. Ah, that's a disservice as "beer joint" makes it sound like I took my kid and fiance to some sort of corporate bar like BJ's or some damn shit. No, The Red Lion is a true German beer place where you can sit and drink some pints with your friends and family and consume large quantities of German food. We went with the sausage sampler plate (three different kinds of meat in tube form!), potato pancakes, french fries, and pickled cabbage. The midget even got a little beef and veggie soup. It was a damn fine meal, everyone was stuffed, and I got to drink a nice Spaten with my girl.
Ok, so maybe that damn Bourdain ain't so bad after all but I tell you this: If I can get him to start paying for some of these culinary snap decisions I'll be a lot less likely to think of him as a damn bastard.
Peace out, bitches!
Monday, February 1, 2010
There's something out there waiting for us, and it ain't no man. We're all gonna die.
Oh what an inglorious end to an otherwise wonderful duck season! I went to San Jacinto and nailed a Northern Shoveler and managed to miss three very easy shots on more Shovelers. Total bullshit, I shot like hell. Then I drove all the way to Wister and managed to not even see a duck at two different blinds until I got up to leave. Epic fail. It's like I had a sign above my head that said "duck hunter here." All the ducks just flew high or around everywhere I was.
I think part of the problem is I need to spend more time on the range. Shooting ducks is nothing like shooting quail or dove or pheasant. Shooting ducks and geese is deceptive as they're large and always seem to not be moving as fast as they actually are, except teal. Teal are small and fast and for me a lot easier to hit. I've missed some amazingly close shots on ducks, shots that left me thinking that maybe there was no shot in the shells I was firing. I've looked at ducks eyes as I'm shooting at them they're so close and yet I miss. Anyway, I'm going to find a range that can simulate duck shoots and get this shit done next season!
Peace out, bitches!
I think part of the problem is I need to spend more time on the range. Shooting ducks is nothing like shooting quail or dove or pheasant. Shooting ducks and geese is deceptive as they're large and always seem to not be moving as fast as they actually are, except teal. Teal are small and fast and for me a lot easier to hit. I've missed some amazingly close shots on ducks, shots that left me thinking that maybe there was no shot in the shells I was firing. I've looked at ducks eyes as I'm shooting at them they're so close and yet I miss. Anyway, I'm going to find a range that can simulate duck shoots and get this shit done next season!
Peace out, bitches!
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