The following is yet another bathroom post, because unlike most people, I spend a lot of time thinking about going to bathrooms.

In the stalls there is a binary function of cleanliness. When the bathroom has been cleaned, the lid of the toilet is lifted into the UP position. I do not know why they do this, but it does signal to me that I can use that toilet. You see, I really REALLY don’t like sitting where someone else has sat. I don’t know how they feel about personal hygiene, daily changes their under-garments or how much sweat they produce per ass cheek. These are all variables that I’m just not comfortable discovering by plopping my bottom down onto an unclean seat. It’s just… Not kosher.

Also, Yes. They do have those weird tracing paper toilet seat thingies, but I have NO idea how they function nor do I know what the hell I’m supposed to do with it once I’ve sat down. I guess I could take one back to my office and trace super-heroes from How To Draw Comics the Marvel Way, but that doesn’t help me on the crapper.

The cleaning people clean the toilets twice a day. Once during the Lunch Hour and once at night. If I come in for my shift at noon and check the stalls, the chances are that all of the lids are lifted. I’m free to go! Unfortunately, I never have to go right when I come in, barring some dire illness. Some days I do have to go right after my lunch, and there have been VERY LUCKY days in which the middle stall lid remained lifted, as though waiting JUST FOR ME. On these lucky days I shout with gleeful excitement for a clean stall making it through the whole day! I’d laugh at the damned fools who had been using the other stall, spreading the unclean around like Brittney on an 8-Ball. (Yeah, theres a third stall but as you’re aware, I’m deeply opposed to anyone using the handi-shitter if they are not gimps).

One day, I noticed that the middle stall seat, which had earlier been down, was now up but off of cleaning schedule. I thought to myself, “The others are still down…. That means… That MEANS… SOMEONE PISSES INTO THE STALL! SOME SEAWARD CORK-SOAKER IS BREAKING THE RULES AND MAKES ME SIT ON NON-KOSHER SEATS!”

I was filled with the fury of a trillion suns and one of those really awesome Gamma Ray Bursts. I stopped doing any work, which wasn’t a hard decision to make because I loathe my jobs, and pent months upon months trying to catch the culprit. I would suddenly pop into the bathroom and check to see if someone was standing. I needed to know WHO it was that had destroyed my sacred cleanliness.

A year had passed and I had all but given up, but Fortune and Fate were on my side. I walk in, now habitually looking at the floor for feet and saw them. I saw feet facing towards the pot! I knew this must have been the peeing equivalent of a never-nude, so I unzipped, flushed, zipped and opened the door ONLY TO LET IT CLOSE AGAIN, so Mr. Unclean would think I’d left. I snuck back to my urinal and quietly waited until he exited. He saw me, I looked over to see his face in the mirror. He was panicked, sweat had quickly began to pour down his bald forehead. This short fat little Brittish bloke knew he’d been made.

I know it’s anticlimactic, but I did nothing. Although, now that I know who it is, I will follow him into the bathroom someday. I will occupy the stall next to him, and then I will piss on his feet.

Another 3rd Sunday, but this time I’m going to food blog (flog) about it. Now there are a lot of people today flogging. My favorite being the wonderfully funny and amusing Carol Blymire who is currently running through the Alinea cookbook and having recently finished Keller’s French Laundry cookbook. Again, a special thanks to Mark MacLeod who taught me how to be a foodie.

My dish this evening was an attempt at a reproduction of Bobby Flay’s Spicy Chicken Sweet Potato Hash with Poached Egg and Green Chili Hollandaise. In my last post I spoke about the Vegas trip and having eaten at MESA Grill in Ceasars Palace. Mark had told me to have the pumpkin soup (we did) and the SCSWHw/PEaGCH. It was phenomenal…

((Several of the images aren’t being properly shown so I’ma fix that in a bit, but for now here is the rest of the blog.)) The prep started out boiling the sweet taters and poaching the chicken, while roasting the (not poblano because we couldn’t find them but a reasonable faxamilie) peppers and chopping up the canned chipotle in adobo.

Isn’t that chipotle cute all chopped up next to Erin and the wine?

We then chopped up the cilantro and started throwing it along with the chicken and chipotle into a bowl to combine with additional seasoning. We were supposed to add honey, which we remembered after I had formed the first hash…mound.

It was about time to start poaching eggs, so I very carefully placed them into a pan of gently boiling water.

Sorry about the odd angle there… I’ll speak with the photographer.

The hash ended up exploding as I tried to remove them from the frying pan, so we reformed them on the plate. They are also hash-mounds rather than hash-rounds. In our defense, we did not use any of those fancy-pants metal rings.

We carefully placed the poached eggs atop the mounds

And dolloped the hollandaise atop the egg. The hollandaise turned more green than I had anticipated due to the pepper, but it was amazingly tasty. Well, two sticks of butter makes ANYTHING tasty.

Once everything was ready and plated, people came ’round the table and dug in. Everyone said it was amazingly good, so shut up about the presentation already. I know it doesn’t look like it does at MESA Grill, but it was still damned good.

I hope you’ve enjoyed my first earnest effort at flogging.

I haven’t blogged in such a long time that I NOW have too much to write about. I’ve been to Bobby Flay’s Mesa Grill in Vegas for a pre-wedding party/meet & greet of the families involved. I went back to Eddie V’s for my Prima Novia’s birthday. I was really mean to a person in order to change they way they felt about me. I drank too much one night, and another night I didn’t drink at all when I really should have been. I even bought a set of used golf clubs and a kitchenaid stand mixer on the cheap!

More than anything I want to talk about my first monthly “Third Sunday” dinner.

I will start with a brief explanation. Because of Mark Macleod I really started to like not just eating food, but MAKING it. A group of girls who have become my friend since I started dating Prima Novia (I was too threatening before to be my friend?), who are collectively called “Girl Squad*”, learned of my love of food and wanted me to make dinners with them. Several months of hemming and hawing pass and we finally decide on making dinner on a Sunday. It was my job to come up with the menu, and thanks to that foulmouthed Scot and The F Word, I had an idea. Sheperd’s pie.

I originally wanted to make ShepARD’s pie, but all I could find on the interwebs was Shepard’s Prayer. After a few minutes of searching with the help of my lovely assistant, google, I found 13 Gordon Ramsay sheperd’s pie recipes. I’d like to mention that he probably only has ONE perfected recipe and everyone else is just speculating poorly. ANYWAY, after making the decision I was met with the horrible revelation that one member of the “Girl Squad” wasn’t a fan of eatingcute meats. We made an executive decision to lie about the contents.

I cooked. I cooked like a champ. That lamb was perfectly seasoned, AS ALWAYS. We reduced red wine in there with the onion and carrots. Threw the mashed potatoes on top and as the whale-sized harlot says, “Yum-O”. The recipe also called for some herbs with the carrot side. I am not sure, but a half-cup of brown sugar is a delicious herb with carrots! I realize I should have taken pictures, but …Well, we wanted to make the mashed potatoes presentable, so we stuffed them into a bakery bag and tried to poop it out through a star tip. The tip may have been too small and the bag CERTAINLY was too weak. Weak enough that the mashed potato exploded out the side of the bag like some kind of giant… Nevermind.

This next third Sunday is the day after valentines, so my initial thought was to make lamb hearts! Stay tuned!

*Since Teen Girl Squad was taken AND age inappropriate, and aging liberal mostly single Girl Squad seemed to be a little… TOO accurate; they settled for JUST “Girl Squad”.

It is completely necessary, on occasion, to take one of your girlfriends out somewhere nice. After having spoken with a few friends of mine, and even inviting two, I decided on Amy’s Baking Company. I had heard that it was often empty due to the location NOT being the Biltmore, but having Biltmore deliciousness and Biltmore prices. This time was no different. Just so we also know what an awesome boyfriend I am, I bought the Prima Novia some flowers as well.

I have to pretend that we all ordered for everyone or the next section will get entirely too confusing.

As the delightfully accented Israeli Sammy, husband to Amy, came over to take our orders, we decided on a few hors d’oeuvres. The French Onion Soup, which was quite tasty due to the sweetness of the caramelized onions and the deliciously savory toasted-cheesy-delicious-bread-thingies on top. We also ordered a plate of fresh pita style flat-bread, cut like pizza topped with a fantastic mix of (I believe dill and thyme) herbs. Since I felt like sparing no expense on this dual couple dinner-date I ordered a bottle of Pinot Noir Row Eleven Vinas-3
which had a very nice cherry pie finish. This even impressed the Prima Novia who isn’t a big fan of that which is wine.

After several minutes of swishing the wine around in our glasses and pretending like we are ‘in the know’, we ordered our entrees. First ordered was the Ceasar Salad which the menu describes as Fresh Crispy Organic Romaine Tossed with Crunchy Prosciutto, hardboiled egg, white anchovies (which are black, and were separated then avoided like “clever simile”) & a creamy house made Caesar Dressing. The dressing was delicious, and everyone loved the prosciutto and egg combo. What amuses me about the menu is that the “Crunchy Prosciutto” actually has an ellipse definition of (Italian cured ham). I had no idea that so many people would not know what that was as to need the definition printed!
Next up was the Lasagna Bolognese, which the menu described as “Fresh Pasta Sheets Layered with a Creamy Meat Bolognese Sauce, Fresh Spinach, Ricotta Cheese and Hard Boiled Eggs Baked Inside, topped with a fresh Tomato Basil Sauce and fresh Mozzarella Baked until Golden and Crispy”. It also had nice paper-thin slices garlic cloves and enough cheese that I nearly cried at its beauty. I mean that. I almost cried three times during this meal due to the amazing food, and for a guy with an emotional range equivalent to the range of Steven Hawking’s singing voice, that is impressive.
Next up was the Lobster Pasta Pillows which the menu says are “Hand Crafted Ravioli filled with a mixture of Ricotta Cheese and 100% Lobster Meat gently tossed in a Creamy Lobster Sauce topped with one small Baby Lobster Tail”. They were NOT kidding about the small baby lobster tail. I believe the small baby lobster MAY have just been a crayfish, or a crawdad, maybe even a crawdaddy. However, none of that mattered when I tasted the sauce and ravioli. I was in heaven, and again felt emotional.
Finally there was the seasonal Butternut Ravioli which allowed them a chance for further usage of the “pasta pillow” term. The menu describes the dish as “Hand Crafted Pasta Pillows filled with a Mixture of Sweet Pureed Butternut Squash and Mascarpone Cheese, Gently tossed in a Creamy Butternut Sage sauce, topped with Caramelized Butternut Squash and Mascarpone Cheese” So, the dish was basically squash and cheese, but the menu forgets to describe the wild mushrooms accompaniment. Again, we lack words to describe the simple yumminess of this dish. It did not, however, make me cry.

I find it extremely hard to choose deserts. Everything looked fantastic yet I am only supposed to order one! HUMBUG! We ordered the Lemon Tart, Crème brûlée AND something called Mango Mousse. The Prima Novia misheard Sammy the Israeli, and thought it was something called mongohmoohs, which apparently is a middle-eastern dish. The hit by far was the mousse, which was a very light and fluffy mango-cake with a sweet mousse squeezed through a pastry-bag in the star-bit pattern all around the cake until it was a dome shape full of stars. It was then topped with a sugar glitter for a beautiful effect. It was a brand new dish that the owners had wanted to try, and put it out for the first time that day. We spoke with the owner and he assured us that after our review he would be putting every flavour of the mousse out there to have!

I honestly loved this place and in spite of the hefty price-tag, would definately recommend it to all of you.

When James Hetfield asks, “Have you been waiting awhile for your friends in Metallica to show up?”, he is talking directly to me. You can stop there, because I do realize I’m writing this blog about 15 years too late. I’m sorry, I just didn’t have the means back then to see any band I wanted, nor did I live in an area frequented by what the industry calls “anyone”. So, that chubby teen boy who didn’t get to see Metallica 15 years ago became this chubby man who finally has seen them. Was it worth the wait? In a word; yes. In a more accurate word… well, there are no more accurate words, but still yes. James didn’t even start on fire this time.

I’m was going to plagurize Martin Cizmar of the Phoenix New Times, but I might as well give him credit where it’s due. Although, some chick at Rolling Stone also had some good things to say, it seemed she was more intent on the cardio workout routine available to Hetfield by having microphones all around the stage. Martin said, “It’s not often that a band’s only top 10 hit is the low point at a concert – let alone by a band that’s been around 25 plus years and released 40 plus singles – but that’s exactly what happened Tuesday night in Glendale.” and “Metallica played an exceptional three-hour set to open their North American tour.”

Aaron had asked me before the show what songs I wanted to hear Metallica play. I was too nervous to answer him, because the last thing I wanted was for Metallica to let me down… Like they did… when they released a certain album that rhymes with ‘Saint Anger’. Honestly, I would have been happy if they had just avoided that certain album and kept the stuff on the new album to a minimum. Not that it’s not good, because it’s not bad… I just don’t know it that well. What I wanted to hear was One. I wanted to hear Master of Puppets and Nothing Else Matters. I wanted to hear Enter Sandman and Seek and Destroy.

At this time, I want to thank Metallica for talking with each other before the show and saying, “What do you think that dude in row B wants to hear tonight?” and then playing EVERY SINGLE SONG I WANTED.

It was an amazing concert full of awesome and I’m really happy that I got to see them before another one dies.

I’m not saying you NEED to keep both hands on it at all times, but doing the superman just seems dangerous. Last time I tried a no-hands approach I had to wash my pants. That’s all I’m saying about that.

It all started when Abbi uploaded some photos to Facebook… And Mark thinks the one of HIM looked bad.

It was the usual Thursday evening faire. The Von Handorf twins, Yarsh and I sat around watching yet another compelling episode of Superman’s Creek Kent Tree Hill My So-Called Superman The CK… Ahem, We were watching some random show on the CW. The nice thing about the CW in SD (standard def to all my luddite readers) is that the audio track has a lot of distortion. We even got to the point where we’d download the East Coast showing so we’d have a better audio-track while we watched the show. Anyway, we were all tired of it and Yarsh vowed upon Grabthar’s Hammer and the sons of Worvan that we would have HD TV. Little did he know the process is slightly less than painless.

First is the call. The call is always easiest. The problem with the call is when you ask for a deal. Unless you’re a new customer they tell you that you have two options and they’re pretty much the same thing… One just offers more lubrication. We have to wait two weeks, but we’ve also tacked on the Superfan HD package and NFL Gameday per request of Yarsh, so they did us a favor and set the appointment back half a week. We sit and wait excitedly.

The day finally comes and the service man arrives… in…some…kind of shitty…pickup. I mean, this isn’t the DirecTV van, but… Hell, it’s okay. HD! George Lopez comes in and was quite friendly, that is until I ask him to do his job. He was having none of that. We basically live in a neighborhood with awnings that cover everyone’s porch. Many people have taken to installing their satellite dishes up on the awning and having been in enough trouble with the HOA, we had decided to put ours there. Horhay looked at the awning, and then at me. He smiled like a grifter.

“Aww, no meng. Joo won’ git signal up ‘dere ‘Ombre’. Joo-no? We can put a tri-pod up in yer walkway holmes. Only cos’ sebentee.” He said. At least that’s what I believe he said now that I’ve become angry and racist towards him.

I told the gentleman that there was no way in hell I was going to block our walkway with a tripod, AND pay 70 dollars for the inconvenience. I again pointed to the awning and said I wanted it up there.

“Can’do’eet hoolmes. We pay fur’dah caable, meng. Soo, maybe 250 fer the job?”

The man was trying his hardest, but I’m pretty sure he wasn’t used to cracker not paying up at the first sign of trouble. I replied to him, “Well Sir, far be it for me to say you shouldn’t get paid for an honest day’s work. The thing is I won’t be the one who’s paying you today. DirecTV can take care of that part, and if they didn’t tell you that it was supposed to be up on the awning, then I’ll have to call them. Good day to you, Sir.”

Lopez was confused. “Hokay meng, I jus’ setup jer DVR… twen’ee buck?” He asked in a desperate act.

I insisted that I’d get the situation taken care of with DirecTV and that he could come back and get paid. He thanked me and left. Then he came back with his cell-phone and what he portrayed as his service manager. She gave me a number to call back after I spoke with DirecTV so I could get the install pushed up.

A few hours later (I had to get a hair-cut), I called DirecTV and told them what happened. The Lady was stunned and flabberghasted. She said that the tech had noted that the customer was not home. After I told her what happened, she gave me 6 months free of HD and DVR. It was kinda nice to suddenly have service again. Alas, all good things come to an end. We had to wait another two weeks.

Two weeks. Yep. We waited two MORE weeks for them to NOT show up. I call DirectSat, the install company. I am on hold for 15 minutes when they hang up without ever having said a word to me. That… was… frustrating. I call back and this time I figure I’ll just leave a message when the prompt comes up. The cute little voicemail system tells me that the “King of Prussia Customer Service” mailbox is full and I cannot leave a message. The call auto-restarts and now I’m last in line again. That’s what I get for trying to go through the back door.

I call DirecTV, who again is apologetic to the tune of a Benjamin, and they try calling DirectSat to get my appointment rescheduled. Even they can’t get through, so 25 minutes later the lady tells me to try DirectSat back in about an hour, but she’ll wait on hold and try to leave a message. Ummhmm. I call back in an hour - and discover that the company takes calls from 8 to 4 - east coast. I would have left a message, but… well, you already know. Damned Prussians. Couldn’t even beat France until they changed their name.

I call back the next day and after a mere quarter of an hour a human named Steve says hello. Praise be to Steve for he is good. Steve, the one who knows the way, the path, the Tao. Steve said Dan would call me. I didn’t care who Dan was, because Steve gave me an appointment for the next day.

Richie Aprile shows up in his DirecTV van with George Lopez Juior. George’s actual name was German, which I took as a sign that at least the damned thing was going to be engineered correctly. Richie tells me that there is no problem running the dish where we wanted it. However, in true east-coast half-assery, he decided to keep the single LMB dish around for the bedrooms. Are these guys all stealing copper or something on DirecTV’s dime?

So, is HD really worth it? Is it worth all the pain and time wasted? Is it worth staying with a company that one the one hand tries to steal from you but on the other apologies for stealing?

Yes.

You’re damned right it is. HD TV is amazing.

Alright, I’ve filled my quota. Sometime this week though I will go into the oh so fun story about getting HDDirecTV

I find that I sometimes write short fiction. Usually macabre, and always very short. I only write a few paragraphs, because by then I’ve run out of paper and I really am too lazy to flip to a new page.

See what I mean. Short and macabre.