Sans Vie is a French film I've been working on ad nauseum, except that I enjoy it, and was shown to a relatively large audience last Friday night.
I think I stopped breathing once or twice, and I know for a fact that my hands went numb while I was watching it. It wasn't so much that I wanted other people to like it, I was entirely concerned that the software used to create the whole thing had barfed somewhere and I hadn't noticed.
Just my luck it worked out OK. And people liked it, to boot, which was gratifying.
Matthew Morris, the director, was calling people up onto the stage, got the lead actors, the cinematographer, the cameraman, the key grip, and couldn't remember who else to call up. He and I had spent all summer in my basement, editing and fighting over little points of continuity and other things. RG pointed at my head, and you could see the palpable embarrassment. Which was gratifying.
The way he explained the "why a French film?" question was intriguing to me. It had to do with someone who told him how to learn guitar, and it had something to do with the learning process, i.e, if you learn from a particular person, you will end up sounding like them, so he decided that he wanted to make movies, and French movies are more like the blues, and since he learned the guitar by learning the blues, he learned to make movies by making a French movie.
Foux de fa fa
Still, a worthwhile project, if I say so myself, and a huge learning experience for me. And it's not over. He plans to finish the movie as a feature, shooting from next weekend, through February. In the meantime, I will be spending a lot of time in my basement learning the tools I've been using for the last four months, including the cool Color program Apple released.
And I kind of need to finish my basement. And the back yard. And the front porch. And the windows. And the plumbing.
Breathe....
Monday, October 1, 2007
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
On The Rude Again
September 16, 2007 Tracy, CA
Barnes & Noble cafe, with coffee and cheesecake from that Factory where they make Cheesecake.
Barnes & Noble cafe, with coffee and cheesecake from that Factory where they make Cheesecake.
Why doesn't the "Factory" thing clue me in a little? Tastes just like a factory.
Wearing an earwig for my phone has turned out to be a really good thing. I can better hear the person I'm talking to, and they can hear me. On the other hand, having Tom D saying "You've got something in your ear" over and over gets a little wearing...
The Last Depot September 11-17, 2007
A long time to be on the road. Nice people, all of them: Tom D, Robert W, Gail G and Mark S, with a Special Guest Appearance by Chris S (AKA, the Big Boss).
I arrived on the anniversary of the Big Bang in New York City. I'm not sure why but my flight was full. I was hoping a few people would stay home, but no such luck. I arrived before my teammates and began my work, unboxing what seemed like an endless parade of dumb terminals and big printers.
Fire Drill
While we all hang around outside a building that would have considerable difficulty in catching fire. Concrete, steel, metal studs and modern drywall. Oh, yeah... the Desks. Big Goddamned Desks. Crammed up against walls so that it's impossible to find the ethernet jacks.
Not without getting a shiny new hernia, anyway.
Desks made of thick, solid wood. Excellent burning profile. So I guess, don't smoke at (or under) your desk.
Back to unboxing. For all of my company's attempts to be and do Green, everything I unpack is made stable with lots and lots of Styrofoam. Enough to fill a 6' x 6' x 8' dumpster.
Once I'm done for the day, I go to the hotel to await my comrades-in-nerd. Dinner is at Chevy's, a mildly authentic Mexican chain. The beers take for-f**king-ever. The food is acceptable. Road food. What is it, exactly, that makes us choose the restaurants we do? The food almost invariably seems canned (even the rice).
The Wednesday From Hell
Everything going relatively smoothly, though I've misled myself about how many terminals I have to deploy. We thought we had world enough and time, but found ourselves at 5:15 PM (45 minutes from when we said we'd be done for the day) with issues out the kazoo. We end up working until 8:20 PM (nearly 14-1/2 hours), which put us at 9 hours between meals. And Chris S is just arriving, so we wait for her to join us in this new food adventure.
We go to a restaurant called Texas BBQ. As soon as I get past the blare of country-western music (yep - both kinds) at the door, across the floor with the used-peanut shell coating, I was presented with what looked like a butcher's case. Row after row of steaks.
Thick
Juicy
Meat
We didn't talk too much. Too tired. Chris S was subjected to Tom D and Robert W's drinking habits (endless Coors Light). I'm usually annoyed by my cow-orkers' insistence on drinking cheap, weak beer. But Gail G had something I'd only read about in horror novels - the Red Beer. Beer and tomato juice.
That's just wrong.
Thursday in the Cold
Work, work, work. I'm the only one crazy enough to work in our refrigerated buildings without a jacket. I dunno, they're bulky, they get in the way, and I tend to overheat in them, which makes me sweat, which freeeeeeezes to my body. Lots of workstations, and it all comes together pretty quickly. We eat breakfast at the International House of Carbohydrates. And again, I think about why we eat where we do on these trips. In this town, the choices are admittedly limited, but surely there must be something better...
Wound up at 6 (on time) and everyone wanted to go to the Olive Drab Garden. Italian food created by a marketing department trying make Italian food more "acceptable." Less "unusual."
You know - bland.
I begged off.
My cow-orkers are mystified by my antisocial behavior on these trips. Part of this has to do with the restaurants that seem to be popular with everyone else, but a big part of it is my own peculiar psychopathology. As I've told every therapist I've ever been to, my feelings about this are based on a joke by Groucho Marx: "I would never want to belong to a club that would have someone like me for a member."
Funny, but also sick.
It's not like I feel like I'm above these people; snobbery is only called for when you can look down on someone. And I only get really condescending when I'm drunk (on really good beer). I am in awe of people who do the kind of work we do and gain a measure of satisfaction from it. You plug the cable into the switch and the light changes from off to yellow to green. Happiness!!!
Which I do feel, but for such a fleeting moment it's not enough to base a career on. I meet people who've been working at my company for over twenty years, and are moving very slowly up the food chain. I used to think it would be easier for me to do some sort of menial job for a straight eight-hour workday, so I could free up the little grey cells for the creative stuff after work. I'm usually so wasted after that kind of day, that all I can think about is beer, food and TV.
Friday, Near the Edge of Done
Again strange food.
The work moves along smoothly, not much for us hardware folks to do. I feel a bit bad for the boss, as until the network is perfect, the hardware part is as far along as it can be.
She leaves after lunch. And I'll I can think of is "nap time."
Dinner at Texas again. More meat. And this time, bourbon - Woodford Reserve, gotta get me some.
Got it all Did
Saturday morning cleanup. Spent an hour and a half, carefully moving one cable after another to create a neater appearance and better organization in a network hub called an IDF box. I still don't know what that stands for.
Intermediate Data Fuhhhhhhh....
No food til noon.
As soon as Tom D saw the PBR tap, he knew this was the right place. We waited for a table. Waited for beer. Waited for beer. Waited for beer. Got wings. GOT BEER. Got wrong food. Everyone else got right food. Stopped waiting. GOT RIGHT FOOD. Tom D was not going to have another beer. Neither was Robert W. Robert W orders more beer for him and Tom D. I order more beer.
Everyone else leaves.
Nothing much to do do until the next morning. Play on the internet, nap, watch bad cable. Bought a bottle of Woodford Reserve, but won't open it until I get home.
Resident Men In Evil Black Blade 2
Work on Sunday lasts about four hours. Lots of cleanup, lots of packing. Back to the hotel, and on to Barnes and Noble. Which is where I write this diary up. Off to a very good, bloody movie, called 3:10 to Yuma. Terrific performances from Russell Crowe and Christian Bale. Dinner at a brewpub in Manteca (Lard?) California, called Kelley's Brewery. Lightish beers and lightish Fish & Chips. Not terrible, just not much to write home about.
Monday starts at 6. Ends at 6. Including a flight home, more cleaning, and an epileptic seizure in the airport.
Just like every other day.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Enough is too much
Off to yet another delightful bit of corporate travel tomorrow. RG hates it when I travel, and I'm just dumb enough to be persuaded to fly on Sept. 11. I'll be gone for a week, attempting in my spare time at the location to work on another screenplay. This one's about a disfunctional family gone tragic.
I mean, how hard could that be?
Meanwhile, I'm feeling like a major dumb f**k, since I scheduled the meeting for the travel for the week after I've returned. Holy Jeebus. What's missing from my brain this year?
Tired, sad, and tired.
Also completed yet another class in my "BA while-u-wait" college. Waiting to see my final grade, as I'm none too convinced of my abilities in this department. I'm a good writer, but literary criticism has always struck me as a lot of intellectual masturbation. Unless I really like the piece, and then of course, it suits me fine.
Too many poems out there about God.
Anyway, meetings, bloody meetings.
Move on the 28th at the Seattle Art Musem. If you want to come, you need an invite, so send me an e-m,ail address (just in case I've lost it) and I'll get the deirector to send you an e-vite.
I mean, how hard could that be?
Meanwhile, I'm feeling like a major dumb f**k, since I scheduled the meeting for the travel for the week after I've returned. Holy Jeebus. What's missing from my brain this year?
Tired, sad, and tired.
Also completed yet another class in my "BA while-u-wait" college. Waiting to see my final grade, as I'm none too convinced of my abilities in this department. I'm a good writer, but literary criticism has always struck me as a lot of intellectual masturbation. Unless I really like the piece, and then of course, it suits me fine.
Too many poems out there about God.
Anyway, meetings, bloody meetings.
Move on the 28th at the Seattle Art Musem. If you want to come, you need an invite, so send me an e-m,ail address (just in case I've lost it) and I'll get the deirector to send you an e-vite.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Oh God Oh God Oh God - I'm SUCH AN IDIOT
noooooooooooooooooooo - I'm SO DUMB
A man in Colorado has had his thumbs altered so he could use his iPhone better. NO, he DIDN'T
The procedure is known as "whittling." Actually, it ISN'T.
OK
I get that with new technologies, sometimes you have to adapt - slightly - to a new interface, or a new behavior system associated with them. My favorite Jargon Watch word from Wired magazine was "beepilepsy" - the jerking, surprised motions of someone who's beeper has been set to "vibrate." However...
This is not mental adaptation. This is beyond the usual physical adaptation. Forget about Carpal Tunnel Syndrome. Tennis Elbow. Now we're talking, "I had my thumbs whittled down to work on my new phone!"
That sentence shouldn't ever come into existence. This is a $500 gadget that should allow any sort of user to adapt themselves to it, and not require whacko surgery that then prevents the end user from being able to open a jar of spaghetti sauce.
That's the only side effect that he's noticed, anyway. Stay tuned for more.
Oh, my gentle Jeebus. The doctor involved in the surgery glowingly spoke of this as being an improvement over the usual reasons for plastic surgery. He's not getting pec implants, or a nose job - that's just vain. No, we're improving his workplace efficiency. Yeah. That's a great reason to alter your body. So you can be a better tool for someone else.
GET A F**KING TATTOO. It might improve your self-esteem, and might even persuade you that your money is better spent on a phone that can be used to call people, not one that connects you to everyone and everything, and even kind of knows where you are all the damn time.
See, I'm an Apple FREAK. I love all products Apple. I've gone somewhat drooly over one of my colleague's iPhones. He gets his thumbs reduced so he could use it better? I'd be calling the guys in the white coats with the butterfly net. I'd buy a gun so I could beat him to death with it. Or maybe an old AT&T phone.
The DSM IV needs a new entry: "iPhone madness."
Ahwell... punk'd again. This story was mad eup and posted ina semi-reputable newspaper. Maybe I shoudl start distributing not news as news and see what happens. Be another Joey Skaggs.
A man in Colorado has had his thumbs altered so he could use his iPhone better. NO, he DIDN'T
The procedure is known as "whittling." Actually, it ISN'T.
OK
I get that with new technologies, sometimes you have to adapt - slightly - to a new interface, or a new behavior system associated with them. My favorite Jargon Watch word from Wired magazine was "beepilepsy" - the jerking, surprised motions of someone who's beeper has been set to "vibrate." However...
This is not mental adaptation. This is beyond the usual physical adaptation. Forget about Carpal Tunnel Syndrome. Tennis Elbow. Now we're talking, "I had my thumbs whittled down to work on my new phone!"
That sentence shouldn't ever come into existence. This is a $500 gadget that should allow any sort of user to adapt themselves to it, and not require whacko surgery that then prevents the end user from being able to open a jar of spaghetti sauce.
That's the only side effect that he's noticed, anyway. Stay tuned for more.
Oh, my gentle Jeebus. The doctor involved in the surgery glowingly spoke of this as being an improvement over the usual reasons for plastic surgery. He's not getting pec implants, or a nose job - that's just vain. No, we're improving his workplace efficiency. Yeah. That's a great reason to alter your body. So you can be a better tool for someone else.
GET A F**KING TATTOO. It might improve your self-esteem, and might even persuade you that your money is better spent on a phone that can be used to call people, not one that connects you to everyone and everything, and even kind of knows where you are all the damn time.
See, I'm an Apple FREAK. I love all products Apple. I've gone somewhat drooly over one of my colleague's iPhones. He gets his thumbs reduced so he could use it better? I'd be calling the guys in the white coats with the butterfly net. I'd buy a gun so I could beat him to death with it. Or maybe an old AT&T phone.
The DSM IV needs a new entry: "iPhone madness."
Ahwell... punk'd again. This story was mad eup and posted ina semi-reputable newspaper. Maybe I shoudl start distributing not news as news and see what happens. Be another Joey Skaggs.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
OK OK OK
Friends and RG are telling me to blog more, post more, more more more!
Fine.
The final installment of Harry Potter (and the Deathly Hallows) was certainly a wonderful, entertaining read. It's kind of a shame Ms. Rowling isn't better with her prose. The plot and the thought behind the plot was pretty dang wonderful, but her waffle-stomping prose often subjected those ideas and plot developments to the worst kind of abuse. I can see how this book will make a great film, in the hands of a competent director and screenwriter (where are you, Alfonso Cuaron?). There is much flashbacking and twisting, but there are also long stretches where our dear friends are waiting. And waiting. And waiting.
If there's one thing that's hard to write about, it's what people do and think when they have nothing to do at all. And Ms. Rowling doesn't quite have the chops for that.
On the other hand (lest anyone think this is all just one big HP bashing session), when she does have something for these folks to do, it gets interesting, and it gets complicated. I like complicated. There are many legalese twists of wizard logic in this story, and she handles those threads quite deftly. Harry has many trials to deal with, and some highly adult choices to make. He fulfills the series' promise of a brave, reluctant hero. And the humor (which there is less of in this installment, as it's basically wartime) is quite well done. My favorite being an exchange between Ron and Harry, where Ron is essentially saying that he didn't do anything particularly spectacular. Harry then enumerates the achivements Ron managed in a single act of bravery. Ron's response is "well, when you tell it like that, it sounds a lot cooler than it was." Harry says something like, "I know. It always sounds cooler than it was. I've been trying to tell you that for five years."
Which sums a lot of it up, and in many ways, is probably what soldiers go through. You do your job well, occasionally save a friend, and afterwards what you did seems to be far removed from what you remember having done, and certainly sounds better than when you were actually doing it.
In other news (and speaking of Alfonso Cuaron), I saw Children of Men while ill. I have to say, as an editor, I envy the bugger that got to do that movie. Aside from about ten scenes that involve actual cutting, there are many very very long single takes that are so completely immersive, you can't stop watching. You know that bad things are likely to happen, but you don't want to turn away. One of the most moving film experiences I've had in a long time.
Also saw Rataouille and the new Harry Potter film. In a theatre!!! JOY!
Gotta do that more often - makes my day every time, even if the film doesn't.
Fine.
The final installment of Harry Potter (and the Deathly Hallows) was certainly a wonderful, entertaining read. It's kind of a shame Ms. Rowling isn't better with her prose. The plot and the thought behind the plot was pretty dang wonderful, but her waffle-stomping prose often subjected those ideas and plot developments to the worst kind of abuse. I can see how this book will make a great film, in the hands of a competent director and screenwriter (where are you, Alfonso Cuaron?). There is much flashbacking and twisting, but there are also long stretches where our dear friends are waiting. And waiting. And waiting.
If there's one thing that's hard to write about, it's what people do and think when they have nothing to do at all. And Ms. Rowling doesn't quite have the chops for that.
On the other hand (lest anyone think this is all just one big HP bashing session), when she does have something for these folks to do, it gets interesting, and it gets complicated. I like complicated. There are many legalese twists of wizard logic in this story, and she handles those threads quite deftly. Harry has many trials to deal with, and some highly adult choices to make. He fulfills the series' promise of a brave, reluctant hero. And the humor (which there is less of in this installment, as it's basically wartime) is quite well done. My favorite being an exchange between Ron and Harry, where Ron is essentially saying that he didn't do anything particularly spectacular. Harry then enumerates the achivements Ron managed in a single act of bravery. Ron's response is "well, when you tell it like that, it sounds a lot cooler than it was." Harry says something like, "I know. It always sounds cooler than it was. I've been trying to tell you that for five years."
Which sums a lot of it up, and in many ways, is probably what soldiers go through. You do your job well, occasionally save a friend, and afterwards what you did seems to be far removed from what you remember having done, and certainly sounds better than when you were actually doing it.
In other news (and speaking of Alfonso Cuaron), I saw Children of Men while ill. I have to say, as an editor, I envy the bugger that got to do that movie. Aside from about ten scenes that involve actual cutting, there are many very very long single takes that are so completely immersive, you can't stop watching. You know that bad things are likely to happen, but you don't want to turn away. One of the most moving film experiences I've had in a long time.
Also saw Rataouille and the new Harry Potter film. In a theatre!!! JOY!
Gotta do that more often - makes my day every time, even if the film doesn't.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Slow on the outflow
RG has already blogged about the Maui trip, and said pretty much everything I wanted to say about it, so there you go.
Except for...
Is my current existence only for the furtherance of other people's bulls**t? The movie work is worthwhile, but the regular job...
Maui cut through a lot for me. Made me look at what the hell I think I'm doing. Made me think that it's time, that no matter what, I have to find something else and soon.
Otherwise, you might as well laminate me to my chair and call me a fixture.
Pictures of the grand vaca soon!
Except for...
Is my current existence only for the furtherance of other people's bulls**t? The movie work is worthwhile, but the regular job...
Maui cut through a lot for me. Made me look at what the hell I think I'm doing. Made me think that it's time, that no matter what, I have to find something else and soon.
Otherwise, you might as well laminate me to my chair and call me a fixture.
Pictures of the grand vaca soon!
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Traveling with Crazy People for Fun and Profit!
Friends, Romans, Countrymen -
Get me the F**K outta here!!!
I digress...
I traveled to a lovely garden spot on the east coast of our dear Nation. I'm not revealing names or places for the protection of the innocent.
And if you can find anyone innocent in this crew, I'll give you money.
The Flight In
First of all, it takes forever. You start fairly early in the morning, just to show up. Then the flight is meant to last five and a half hours. During which (if you're willing to pay) you can have a burger-y thing or canned tuna and applesauce. If you're not willing to pay, a cookie and pretzels are what you have to look forward to, along with all the free water or soda or juice they can stock on the plane. All of which sounds OH, so appealing. There's also five dollar beer or wine or cocktails. Which I should have had, except I'm trying to do homework or entertain my brain with a fairly kinky novel set in the sex-trade industry of Thailand. Bangkok 8. Great mystery novel, and darn weird.
So, as we're approaching our destination, the pilot comes on to tell us (in faint, static-y wisps of english that still required translation via the stewardess) that we would be circling for a little while, as there was terrible wind shear, and an attempt at a normal landing might end up with all of us nose-down in the Atlantic ocean. So we circled.
And circled.
And circled.
And circled.
Then an approach was begun, from waaaaaay far out there.
The flight ended up being about an hour longer than originally anticipated.
We then split up into our respective cars, me with Robert W, Tom D with Amy G, and Heidi G with Jim R. (I think - I may have the dance cards mixed up) I immediately misdirected Robert (who was being closely followed by one of the other cars) onto the wrong offramp from the airport. We quickly recovered, and found ourselves on the right turnpike, heading south. Got to the hotel, checked in, showered, scoured, and headed out for the evening to a restaurant called Charlie Brown's (which I'd never been in). Drinking begins in earnest for the trip.
Food and Drink
Jim is the teetotaler of the bunch, and speaks of his drinking days with a certain fondness. Heidi dives into a watermelon (I think - pink for sure) martini. Amy orders water?!? I order a guiness draft. Robert and Tom order a pitcher of pee. AKA Coors Light. And proceed to drink it down in less than five minutes.
Another pitcher. Then large slabs of meat.
The work we do at the location, well, the less said the better, since it only makes sense to those of us doing it, and to outsiders it might sound like a big yawn. Or a big clusterf**k. Except that it all went pretty well. There was, however, flatulence - hence the above link.
Our first breakfast (the next day) is at a strange little countrified place that used to be someone's living room, or maybe their sunporch. The food involves various remakes of eggs, pork and velveeta. Comfort food for people who want to become uncomfortable. We actually eat here more than once.
We also eat at a little Italian place that appears to make a dozen different types of pizza, grinders, and salads, and they bring the food out to you. Genuinely Italian, the food has depth, subtlety and FLAVOR, and I could have easily gone through twenty slices of pizza without getting bored. I might have died, but I'd have died happy. We only manage to eat here twice.
Dinner conversation at TGI Fridays: "Throw her nuts on mine," "Put it in my mouth, now," the Dessert Exchange, "Open up." And my favorite, a new band name: "Jerry Springer Spaniel." Severe drinking. Margaritas, mojitos and beer (oh, my!).
The next evening, on our way to the best food of the trip, the conversation gets, well... a little of the old TMI. Nipples referred to as "party hats," certain sexual practices, High-Def pornography, "a** pimples," small hands, "a little head is OK"...
You get the picture.
The food is fantabulous! It's a BYO restaurant, so we first hit up the little tiny liquor store down the strip mall for six packs and airplane bottles of liquor. I find a beer called Hopnotic IPA, which is pretty darn tasty. Others are ordering Coke and adding booze to it. The food... the food...
Raw oysters and clams on the half shell, a ceviche of squid, scallops, and crab claws. Shrimp with a very decent cocktail sauce. And deep-fried rock shrimp with some kind of hot sweet sauce. Everyone orders large entrees, too. One order brings up yet another strange quote of the day, possibly the best one of the trip:
I can't top that.
We leave a day early. Another long day full of sleep and homework, and a lovely novel called Clowngirl, by Monica Drake, whom Chuck Palahniuk refers to as his "Arch-Enemy." Which is quite a compliment, coming from him.
Goodnight for now.
Get me the F**K outta here!!!
I digress...
I traveled to a lovely garden spot on the east coast of our dear Nation. I'm not revealing names or places for the protection of the innocent.
And if you can find anyone innocent in this crew, I'll give you money.
The Flight In
First of all, it takes forever. You start fairly early in the morning, just to show up. Then the flight is meant to last five and a half hours. During which (if you're willing to pay) you can have a burger-y thing or canned tuna and applesauce. If you're not willing to pay, a cookie and pretzels are what you have to look forward to, along with all the free water or soda or juice they can stock on the plane. All of which sounds OH, so appealing. There's also five dollar beer or wine or cocktails. Which I should have had, except I'm trying to do homework or entertain my brain with a fairly kinky novel set in the sex-trade industry of Thailand. Bangkok 8. Great mystery novel, and darn weird.
So, as we're approaching our destination, the pilot comes on to tell us (in faint, static-y wisps of english that still required translation via the stewardess) that we would be circling for a little while, as there was terrible wind shear, and an attempt at a normal landing might end up with all of us nose-down in the Atlantic ocean. So we circled.
And circled.
And circled.
And circled.
Then an approach was begun, from waaaaaay far out there.
The flight ended up being about an hour longer than originally anticipated.
We then split up into our respective cars, me with Robert W, Tom D with Amy G, and Heidi G with Jim R. (I think - I may have the dance cards mixed up) I immediately misdirected Robert (who was being closely followed by one of the other cars) onto the wrong offramp from the airport. We quickly recovered, and found ourselves on the right turnpike, heading south. Got to the hotel, checked in, showered, scoured, and headed out for the evening to a restaurant called Charlie Brown's (which I'd never been in). Drinking begins in earnest for the trip.
Food and Drink
Jim is the teetotaler of the bunch, and speaks of his drinking days with a certain fondness. Heidi dives into a watermelon (I think - pink for sure) martini. Amy orders water?!? I order a guiness draft. Robert and Tom order a pitcher of pee. AKA Coors Light. And proceed to drink it down in less than five minutes.
Another pitcher. Then large slabs of meat.
The work we do at the location, well, the less said the better, since it only makes sense to those of us doing it, and to outsiders it might sound like a big yawn. Or a big clusterf**k. Except that it all went pretty well. There was, however, flatulence - hence the above link.
Our first breakfast (the next day) is at a strange little countrified place that used to be someone's living room, or maybe their sunporch. The food involves various remakes of eggs, pork and velveeta. Comfort food for people who want to become uncomfortable. We actually eat here more than once.
We also eat at a little Italian place that appears to make a dozen different types of pizza, grinders, and salads, and they bring the food out to you. Genuinely Italian, the food has depth, subtlety and FLAVOR, and I could have easily gone through twenty slices of pizza without getting bored. I might have died, but I'd have died happy. We only manage to eat here twice.
Dinner conversation at TGI Fridays: "Throw her nuts on mine," "Put it in my mouth, now," the Dessert Exchange, "Open up." And my favorite, a new band name: "Jerry Springer Spaniel." Severe drinking. Margaritas, mojitos and beer (oh, my!).
The next evening, on our way to the best food of the trip, the conversation gets, well... a little of the old TMI. Nipples referred to as "party hats," certain sexual practices, High-Def pornography, "a** pimples," small hands, "a little head is OK"...
You get the picture.
The food is fantabulous! It's a BYO restaurant, so we first hit up the little tiny liquor store down the strip mall for six packs and airplane bottles of liquor. I find a beer called Hopnotic IPA, which is pretty darn tasty. Others are ordering Coke and adding booze to it. The food... the food...
Raw oysters and clams on the half shell, a ceviche of squid, scallops, and crab claws. Shrimp with a very decent cocktail sauce. And deep-fried rock shrimp with some kind of hot sweet sauce. Everyone orders large entrees, too. One order brings up yet another strange quote of the day, possibly the best one of the trip:
"Easier to get rid of veal than crabs."
I can't top that.
We leave a day early. Another long day full of sleep and homework, and a lovely novel called Clowngirl, by Monica Drake, whom Chuck Palahniuk refers to as his "Arch-Enemy." Which is quite a compliment, coming from him.
Goodnight for now.
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