And when there was no fowl, we ate crawdad and when there was no crawdad to be found, we ate sand.

Last night in NYC was a blast. Venard, who I ain't seen in a long-ass time, picked me up at JFK and I got to meet his kids and his ex-girlfriend. She's apparently a lot like The Fucking Ex-Wife: mean, loud, bitter, and mad at the world. They broke up  and now he's dealing with life and working nights and taking care of the kids during the day. As always he's still upbeat but damn, it's rough out here! We drove in, stashed the gear at Crille's hotel, had a beer and some buffalo mozzarella with Crille and then we were off to Crif Dog.

Crif Dog is the best hot dog joint in NYC. I don't care what anyone else says, this place has it all. Crazy combos (The Spicy Redneck: dog wrapped in bacon, covered with chili, jalapenos, and coleslaw), great prices, and PBR and Jager. Whoops, they got busted since last I was in New York and now no booze. Not a problem as Martina and Becky met up with us and away we went. First stop, crazy tequila bar complete with a staff that didn't speak Spanish or pronounce anything correctly. Everyone got stupid mixed drinks (Micheladas and Sneakers and who the fuck cares) while V and I went with top shelf anejos and beers. Good but not great. Next up, Mars Bar. Total shithole. One bathroom busted, the other stunk to high heaven. Super narrow and cramped and slightly gross smelling. Covered in really cool/rambling/psychotic graff and possessed of an absolutely fantastic jukebox. From Frank Sinatra to the Cramps with several odd stops in between. Our friend Helene had shown up by this point with her boyfriend and she and I proceeded to kill the jukebox. Beers for all my friends.

I also at this point had a long heart to heart with cousin regarding girl and I think all is well now. Go cousin!

Are we done yet? Nope. One more bar who's name I now forget and the next thing you know people start dropping like flies. It's 3am and time to call it a day. Jet lag not yet setting in so I knew the next morning would suck.

It did. I prepped. I ate a pastrami on rye. I took a cab to Brooklyn. I sat on set waiting for the camera to show up. I moved two cameras worth of stuff by myself and set up cameras. I sat. I left. 

We ate snails at fan-fucking-tastic Chinese place in the newly remodeled Bowery. Congee Bowery Restaurant has real Chinese food. No chicken kung pao here, nope no way nevah. This place is as real as it gets and while the service staff can all suck my sweaty balls the food killed. Snails in black bean sauce, shrimp spiced rice noodles, "juicy buns," snow pea leaves, beef chow mein from heaven, and spicy fried tofu. Add a few rounds of Tsingtao and away we go.

TSA stole/lost two t-shirts, a pair of swim trunks, and one sock. I shall smell for the rest of this trip unless I can get at least one shirt. I hate TSA.

OK, up early tomorrow for work and then sleep and then work and then drinks and then up and on the plane. Work next week!

Peace out, bitches!

Fortune and glory, kid. Fortune and glory.

I am packed up and ready to go. I have packed lightly for stealth and ease of movement. I am infiltrating NYC and dammit I am excited about this. I shall visit with friends I have not seen for awhile, friends I made through The Goddamn Ex-Wife. Strangely enough I have the feeling that they like me more than The Goddamn Ex-Wife. Funny how things work out. Anywhat, I got almost everything done I needed to do today except for my laundry and that does kind of suck balls. Oh well, I won't look as sexified as I'd like but so it go. So it go.

Peace out, bitches!

Haven't you ever heard of the healing power of laughter?

What? Seriously? So the midget is all laughter and fun and running around and acting like a brat this weekend and now, Monday morning when there's swell, she's suddenly sick. I don't like kids. There, I said it. Obviously we can't send her to school because then she'll infect everyone else but now my day is compromised. No early surf and dog walk. No taking care of the grocery shopping nice and early, beat the crowds, you know? No, I now get to clean the house and sit around until Melah gets off work early. At 11am. That's half the day stuck in the house! Dammit! Is there any way to be single, mid-20s and living in SF again? Just drinking and skating and not worrying about too much else? No? Fuck. Better get started on the dishes then.

Peace out, bitches!

Did Doogie Houser just steal my fucking car?

It's so funny, just when you think it can't happen again someone goes out and makes another Star Trek movie and what can I say? I saw it. It ruled. Nice blend of old Star Trek movie madness and new school snarkiness and CG work. There were a few scenes on the bridge that were completely over stylized but overall it worked. The nicest part was that I saw it with both the brothers. The not nice part was that we saw it at one of those super malls: The Americana at Brand. You know, trolley car for no good reason, overdone lawns, super expensive niche stores, and a ton of people wearing either their pajamas or their Sunday best. I found it completely annoying and couldn't get out of there fast enough.

Last night I took the girl to AOC on Beverly. The prices are steep but the food is phenomenal. We started off with a fine selection of cheeses including a stunningly complex and delicious Italian blue. After the cheese came the artisnal salamis: four different types whose names are now lost to me but by God they were good! Next up was an amazingly simple but flavorful salad of arugula, radish, fried calamari, and an aioli salad dressing that killed. It was a small plate and I truly wish I knew how to make it as I'd have that for dinner every night. Our entrees showed up in quick order and the lamb skewers with artichoke and almonds and salsa verde were stunning. Melah had ordered diver scallops wrapped in prosciutto with English peas in a saffron butter sauce. Oh. My. God. The dark horse was the fingerling potatoes in creme fraiche. So damn good it made me want to slap myself. For dessert I went out on a limb for me and ordered a warm blueberry gallette with ice cream and whipped cream. The girl got the bittersweet chocolate tart and it blew my dessert out of the water. All in all a wonderful way to celebrate Saturday and a great way to spend a few hours.

Mother's Day: what? It's Hallmark crap. On top of that I have to go to what will probably be a crappy restaurant with Melah's parents. Damn holidays.

Peace out, bitches!

I asked for it. 'To be heading into the inexorable, where only reality reigns.'I was drunk with those words. Well, this is reality.

After Sunday I was too depressed to even bother writing. Spring Turkey Season 1 was a complete failure except in the sense that I realized I need to work on my mouth calls and my Primos Turkey Strap Vest sucks balls. I killed my self all Sunday morning and still ended up with nothing to show for it except a few bizarre encounters with people and animals. 

I got into the field at dawn and suited up in a ghillie suit and headed out with only a hen deke. I had read that the big ass tom deke I had would likely scare other toms away in late season so, being an adherent of book learnin', I headed out with only one deke. It didn't matter. Best camo system ever, good looking deke, patience, and every call I could muster and six hours later no turkeys. Not even a hen. Not even a peep from anything. Sure, a covey of quail walked out of the brush an arms length away from me but so what? I couldn't shoot 'em so who fucking cares? OK, I watched doves battle in the skies above my head but so what? I was there for a turkey and it didn't happen. I am depressed.

In other news, I worked for two days on a Jonas brothers video and didn't really mind as I was the B-cam guy and happy to have the work. The only real highlight to the whole 48 hours was the taco cart guy at the end. Who doesn't want freshly made carne asada and carnitas tacos at the end of a long day? Production even sported for a bottle of tequila and gave all what wanted a shot. It went well with the case of Pacificos we had chilling on the truck. Good times.

In even more other news, my aunt went batshit and kicked her 16 year old twins to the curb. Guess who's stuck with them now.

And in a final installment of otherness news, I'm going to fuck off now and purchase a ticket to NYC for to make it the one JC Penny commercial with Swedish DP. I'm going to go to Crif Dog immediately and scarf for awhile and then try to get into Bourdain's old joint. Yeah, it's all about eating when I go to New York. What a bum I am.

Peace out, bitches!

Ok, so why are we here? Probably to answer the most basic question: "What is wrong with you people?"

Seventeen and eighteen year olds are funny wehn grouped together in your living room. They're awkward and odd and lean on things they shouldn't and spill food all over your freshly cleaned floors. God bless 'em, at least they didn't raid the booze. We hosted Sister 3's birthday party and it seemed to go well. Melah's parents brought over a gang of geek, I mean greek, food and everyone drank soda, didn't smoke dope, and listened to music and hopefully managed not to scratch any of my CDs. Good times. Lazlo showed up and helped me kill a case of Newcastle and that was that except I needed to wake up at 4am to head up to Ft. Hunter-Ligget. Traffic fucked me but I made it and now I sit forlornly in yet another motel room, turkey-less. I might cry a little.

I hunted Training Area 29, which is a gargantuan chunk of relatively untouched bit of California valley beauty. I love it here. It's gorgeous and, aside from the occasional sound of .50cal rounds going off in the distance, it's tranquil. I actually fell asleep for about twenty minutes while posted up looking for turkeys. Full ghillie suit and face mask and decoys set up and bam, asleep. Silly man. I walked and called and staked out a couple of spots but nothing came of it except I jumped some of the biggest jack rabbits I've ever seen and found a million and a half quail and dove. It never fails, you go hunting and find millions of whatever is out of season and nothing that you can actually shoot. I saw deer everywhere and even stalked up to within twenty yards of a doe. It was funny, I don't think she knew I was there until I popped up and used my mouth call. How's that for fun? You're a deer and you're just chilling, lying around when all of a sudden a tree pops up and screams at you like a turkey. What the fuck?!

Anyway, I'm a bit depressed. Tomorrow is the last day of turkey season and I think I'm going to come up with a goose egg. In my defense, it's my first season and I worked most of the time. Tomorrow is only going to be day six for my first spring turkey season. How unsatisfying. I guess I'll have to cheer myself up by going pig hunting sometime soon. Not that I was particularly successful at that the two times I went but hey, that's why it's called hunting and not shopping.

Peace out, bitches!

What's the point? Hooks and lines...

I spent Wednesday night in a Motel 6 in Oceanside and it felt like heaven. A real bed and a hot shower, good times! I was going to surf but it was pretty flat and all I had was my 6'4" which doesn't really come alive until it gets to at least chest high. Oh well, I had a good time driving up the coast, checking out spots and listening to the radio. When I got into LA I had to get to the doctor as my arm was killing me. Turns out I have a pinched/fucked up C8 nerve which has rendered my left arm semi useless. Not completely done, just in pain all day all the time. So fun. my doctor gave me a clean bill of health and says I still don't need to come in until I'm 40. Hmm, that's right around the corner, isn't it? Am I to believe that one day I'll wake up and just be in bad shape? Sounds fun. 

I took Melah and Bog out to dinner at Harold and Belle's last night and all I have to say is, "Damn, it feels good to be a creole." Perfectly good meal and then a table full of loud, drunk imbeciles sat next to us and proceeded to be as loud and annoying as humanely possible. Um, just because the President is black doesn't mean we get to act like stereotypical loud-ass niggers when we go out, does it? I dunno, I didn't get a memo regarding this type of crap. Melah thinks my family is just as loud when we're all together. I pointed out that at least our loud conversations are at least a lot more interesting, witty, and generally more fun. Jeez, I hope we don't sound as ignorant as the table next to us!

Surf time and then clean house for Sister 3's 18th b-day party. Out in the woods for a few days and everything falls to pieces...

Peace out, bitches!