Crystal Jackson

Archive for the ‘food and drink’ Category

shouldn’t have tried to be fancy

In animals, burger, food and drink on January 27, 2012 at 1:16 pm

Being an old pro at visiting burger joints, shacks and shanties, I should have known better. It was an amateur mistake, and it led to my not having any lunch yesterday.

Here’s the deal. I needed to hit an old school and previously unvisited (by me) burger stand so I could gather information to write a profile about it for a client. I’m the perfect person for this job, no? A few coworkers came along for the journey. It was a pretty, breezy day, just right for sitting outside and chomping on a burger.

It happened so fast. The menu (multiple pages) was plastered on the window of the stand. Too many choices. Tacos, burgers, fried shrimp, tortas. There were people in line behind me, so I didn’t have the luxury of perusing my options. I had to go for it. This is where I went off script. See, they had a sign proclaiming the arrival of chicken strips, which they seemed to be very excited about. The excitement was contagious because out of my mouth came, “Chicken strips, please” instead of “cheeseburger, all the way.” And that’s when the train went off the tracks.

Don’t know if the chicken strips they’re so excited about are good or not because that is not, in fact, what was in my bag when they handed me my order. I ended up with fried chicken. On the bone. Though I’m an avowed meat eater, I draw the line at eating things on the bone. The act of ripping meat with my teeth grosses me out. A silly thing, but a thing just the same.

I tried tearing bite-size pieces of the chicken off with my fingers, but the skin was so greasy and hard it was an impossible task. The pigeons that quickly surrounded our table seemed pretty interested, but I don’t feed bird to birds. I looked at the fat pigeons that were so barrel-chested I doubt they can fly anymore. I looked at my chicken, which was of a similar size. I made an uncomfortable connection between the two. I gave up.

The lesson here? When visiting a burger joint, don’t try to be fancy or you might end up with an order of fried pigeon-chicken.

Chic-fil-Asshole

In civility is dead, douchebags, fighting stupidization, food and drink on December 2, 2011 at 12:41 pm

learn how to spell, stupid cows

I’ve mentioned before that I hate Chick-fil-A’s stupid cow marketing campaign:

I saw a Chick-fil-A billboard yesterday that featured a couple of cows writing about eating more “chikin.” You know, because if you’re eating chicken, you’re not eating cow. All of the company’s cow-related marketing features kitschy bad spelling, which makes no sense. If a cow has somehow learned how to communicate in English and hold a pen or paint brush in its hoof to write out its thoughts, it is obviously off-the-charts brilliant in the bovine world and would probably be a pretty good speller.

That post was written three months before I got this job. It  probably won’t surprise you to know that the billboard pictured above is directly outside my current office. I took that photo from the window by my desk. I see the billboard on my way to work each morning, and I see it every time I look out the window. Yeah.

In light of the company’s anti-gay agenda being “outed,” every time I look at those cows I see possibility for an enterprising person (who isn’t afraid of heights or freeway fumes) to make a statement. You know how the homophobes among us (and those running C-f-A, evidently) reduce being gay to being about butt sex? Even though there are plenty of gay men who choose to do other things, and gay women obvs don’t really get into that at all? And sexual orientation is about to whom you are attracted rather than one specific sex act? You know?

Well, if you check out the way those two cows are standing–one on all fours and the other on two legs–it would be pretty easy to move the cow that’s on top and place it behind the cow on all fours. The company probably wouldn’t hear about it for a little while, and they really couldn’t get mad anyway. I mean, aren’t they saying that Santa shouldn’t give gay people (beef eaterz, if you will) presents? It’s just helping them be more honest about their message.

thanks, giving

In family, food and drink, holidays on November 25, 2011 at 1:28 pm

My boss gave us a half day off on Wednesday, which worked out perfectly for the Thanksgiving meal prep. I figured I’d knock out all of the side dishes on Wednesday so I could have a relaxing Thanksgiving that focused on socializing instead of cooking (no one likes a martyr). As I was halfway into the first dish, the kitchen sink decided that it was not interested in draining anymore. We took apart the plumbing under the sink in hopes that maybe that was where the problem was. Nope. James picked up a drain snake at the hardware store and tried that. A.) disgusting and B.) nope. We had to call a plumber (John Moore Services) to come on Thanksgiving morning. In the interim, I had cooking to do. So we set up a big orange bucket under the sink that we dumped in the backyard when full. Klassy. But it worked, so what the hell.

The appointment was supposed to be between 8 and 11AM, which would work out perfectly as far as getting the meal on. The guy showed up at 10 and was gone by 10:30, leaving behind a functioning kitchen sink and only setting us back $70. Whew.  A word of warning (which perhaps everyone but me already knows): don’t put potato peelings down the disposal. Evidently the starch gets all bloated and shit in the drain and can effectively block the outflow. It was an expensive lesson to learn, and I’ll never forget it.

Another lesson I learned: you don’t have to cook a turkey to have a good Thanksgiving meal. We had a small group this year, so instead of messing with the drama that is roasting a turkey, I opted to buy a roasted turkey breast from Honeybaked Ham. It was glazed, pre-sliced and a great accompanyment to the side dishes (which are the best part of the meal, as far as I’m concerned). I don’t know that I’ll ever go back to roasting a turkey. Having to reach inside and yank the guts out, washing the thing, putting it in the oven at 5 in the morning, keeping a constant eye on the temperature…screw that. I’d rather hang out with the family and whoop it up. Also new this year was the dressing recipe. Tamale cornbread dressing. I used my own cornbread recipe and left out the cup of corn kernels but otherwise followed her recipe. It was a delicious, spicy side that nicely complemented creamy/garlicy mashed potatoes, haricot vert with shallots and cranberry sauce.

I’m grateful for this four-day weekend spent at home with James and the dogs. The weather is great, the food is delicious, the beaujolais nouveau is a delight, the house is clean, the candles are burning, there’s no schedule to keep. Life is good. I give thanks. I hope you’re having an equally nice holiday and are avoiding the pepper spraying throngs desperate to save money on plastic things made in China.

 

don’t make me put my bra on, or why Russo’s NY Coal-Fired Pizzeria can suck it

In douchebags, food and drink, Houston, stupidization on November 5, 2011 at 10:18 pm

My first clue that this wasn’t going to end well was the fact that Russo’s NY Coal-Fired Pizzeria is located in the following states: Texas, Tennessee, Florida and Arkansas. Nothing makes me think of NYC pizza more than Texas, Tennessee, Florida and Arkansas. I ignored this blinking warning sign and forged ahead with my delivery order. Why? Because Russo’s offers gluten-free pizza, and I’m off the wheat. Plus, it’s good to try new places. Right?

James and I are busy all week–and often all weekend–so when we have the opportunity to just relax, we do it. For me, laid back weekends at home = avoiding unnecessary bra wearing. I don’t know if you gentlemen can appreciate this state of being, but there’s nothing finer than being cut loose from the bonds of propriety and just letting it all hang out. What I’m saying is, I was free-titting it tonight and loving it. But that was then.

I should back up. I ordered my gluten-free pizza from the Russo’s on Bunker Hill. I thought we were closer to the one located in the Marq-E, but they don’t deliver to our neighborhood.  The guy taking my order at the Bunker Hill location had a hard time understanding the name of my street. I said it slowly. I spelled it out. He spelled it back to me. Incorrectly. I tried again. It seemed we had reached some sort of accord, though I was worried he still hadn’t mastered my location. I gave him my credit card information and placed my order. He said it would be 45 minutes. He was wrong.

When we were at the hour and 15-minute mark and deep into hunger territory, I called the restaurant. The girl who answered the phone checked on my order for me. She said that the delivery dude was en route. Uh huh. I gave her our cross streets in case he called in because our street is very dark, and you can’t see numbers on any of the houses. In an effort to help the guy, James and I were even standing on our front porch at this point, ready to flag him down.

Another 30 minutes goes by. My slight irritation has blossomed into full-grown OH HELL NO. (I realize that there are lots of people on this twirling ball of rock who have horrible lives and deal with nastiness I can’t and don’t want to imagine. So my not getting my bullshit gluten-free pizza in a timely fashion sort of pales in comparison.) (But I’m still going to tell you my story.)

I call the restaurant. Thanks to the handy iPhone, I don’t have to look up the restaurant’s number because it’s in my recent calls (this is now my third time to call them). The young woman answers again. I introduce myself, again, and say that I’m calling to check on the status of my delivery, again, worried that if the driver was indeed en route last time I called (30 minutes ago), our pizza will be a congealed mess. She puts me on hold and an older woman answers “hello,” then promptly hangs up the phone. I stand there in my driveway, staring at my phone, pondering whether or not I need to drive to this restaurant to work it out in person, when my phone rings. It’s not the number for the restaurant. I answer.

There’s a lady on the other end of the phone who says that I just called her restaurant and asks what I want. I tell her my tale of pizza woe. She asks my name and address and (too quickly) tells me that they don’t have an order for me. Um, yeah you do, I say. The young lady confirmed my order 30 minutes ago and said it was on its way. “Oh, she must have not really looked up your order,” the woman tells me. Way to sell your staff down the river! “We have an order for…” At this point she starts rattling off the addresses of people they have orders pending for. None of the inappropriately shared addresses are mine.

“You didn’t place an order with us,” she again tells me. Yeah, I did, I say. I’ve called you three times now. “I don’t have your number in my caller ID,” she says. “You must have ordered with another location.” At this point, I hear the deep-voiced man who took my order talking in the background. She confabs with him for a moment and then FAKES A CALL to another Russo’s location, asking if they have an order for me there. She doesn’t say my name, nor does she completely state my address. She says something about a gluten-free pizza and the name of my street and then “hangs up” the other call. Doesn’t say good bye or thank you or that this bitch thinks she ordered from us when she ordered from you. Worst faked call ever.

She now tells me that I ordered my pizza from the Marq-E location. I already know the Marq-E location doesn’t deliver to my hood, plus I have her restaurant’s number in my phone, not the other location, plus I can hear the man with whom I placed my order talking in the background, so I let her know that she is incorrect. She then says, “they said your pizza is on the way, so I can’t help you.” OH HELL NO. She did NOT just blame her shitty service on another location! We are now at the two-hour mark. And she is gaslighting me.

Until this moment, James was going to be the point person for the transaction because I wasn’t dressed for company. Now imma get up in this business. I put on company-appropriate attire, get out $2 to give to the delivery driver for gas and prepare to send those pizzas back.

And nothing happens. Another hour has passed, so I think it’s safe to say that the pizzas, they aren’t coming.

It’s one thing to lose an order. Or maybe the delivery driver couldn’t find our house and returned with cold pizza. Mistakes happen, and most normal people are pretty reasonable if you apologize. But to argue with me about where I placed my order (and then lie to me that it’s on its way) is inexcusable.

I’m not sure which makes me the maddest – not having any dinner or having to put on a bra on a quiet Saturday night.

I need to get out more

In awkward, food and drink, Houston on October 21, 2011 at 12:36 pm

Dark Star Orchestra

New drinkin’ hole: Went to House of Blues Saturday night to see Dark Star Orchestra. It was my first visit to the venue. I liked it okay, though the drink prices are like you’re at the airport. Before going to HOB, we had a drink at a cute little bar across the street called Reserve. They pour a nice glass of wine and have an extensive whiskey selection. I’ll go back, even though the median age of the clientele seemed to top out at about 25.

Rolling jackass: Between the parking garage, Reserve and the HOB, we encountered a beggar on a bike. He was one of those panhandlers who tries to give you a line of bullshit, and when you don’t respond by handing over your money he becomes aggressive and belligerent. On our second encounter with him, with us again acknowledging him and again not handing over any money, he called us “dumbass motherfuckers.” Oh you smooth talker. I can’t be certain, but I think he may be the guy I encountered a few years ago when I worked at the Alley.

Dark Star Orchestra: This band strictly plays songs written and/or performed by the Grateful Dead. Specifically, they recreate Grateful Dead shows, song by song. The show they played Saturday night was a recreation of a show at Winterland, December 29, 1977. It’s great fun for the Deadheads in the audience (that would be James in my scenario) to try to nail down which year the concert they’re recreating happened, based upon the song list. I like to drink wine while this is happening.

Dead can(‘t) dance: Look, I don’t want to be mean about this. I think it’s great when people feel moved to dance and do so with abandon. I dig it. But here’s the deal. I don’t know if it’s the weed or the booze or the whiteness or the fact that jam band music isn’t really meant to be danced to, but the dancing at a Dead or DSO show is this herky-jerky, twirling, wiggling, spaced out thing without discernible rhythm. It makes it especially hard to work your way through a crowd. You can’t judge the upcoming movements of the dancers because they’re pretty all over the place, jerking this way and that and then suddenly twirling around. At least they’re nice when you run into them. Which you will do.

Funny money: Around midnight or so as the band was in the middle of its second set, I saw a grizzled old dude in a tie-dye tee shirt (that actually describes about 1/5 of the audience) drop a folded bill. I bent down to retrieve it and saw that it was a $100 bill. You might have smelled a rat at this point, but I’ve actually found a $100 bill on the floor of a bar before (granted, it was at Disney World where magical shit like that is supposed to happen). I chased after the dude to return it. He wouldn’t take it. Said, “It’s only money.” Yeah, it’s great to be all hippy and shit, but come on. After insisting he take it back, and after his consistent denial of the bill, I realized it had to be fake. Do you know how much weed and patchouli this guy could have bought with $100?

you can tell it's a fake in the bright light of my house but on the floor of a dark bar toward the end of the evening between the shuffling feet of dancing people and pools of spilled beer, this looked damn real

The paper is a nice weight and the bill was folded in half, so you don’t notice at first that it’s only about 2/3 the length of a regular bill. On the back of the bill it says:

This shit is BUNK!
Your drugs probably are too…
The Bunk Police are here
to solve your illicit mysteries.
WWW.BUNKPOLICE.ORG

According to their website, the Bunk Police go to music festivals and other places where illegal substances are most likely being sold/shared and test the product. I don’t mean “test” it like they smoke it in front of you. I mean with chemicals and shit. And it would seem that the stuff people are smoking/snorting/placing on their tongues isn’t very pure these days. Not my problem until they start diluting wine, but others might find this of interest.

quite peculiar in a funny sort of way

In food and drink, people be trippin', theatre, work, writing on May 5, 2011 at 1:58 pm

My new play The Singularity came in second for the Leah Ryan prize. Very cool.  I love this play more than anything I’ve ever written. I’ve submitted the script to a few workshop opportunities around the country and am currently trying to get some of my Houston peeps together for a reading. The play has only been read in its entirety by the voices in my head. It would really benefit from three-dimensional, flesh-and-blood artists reading it and giving feedback.

As a rule, I never mention my job in my blog, but two things today merit mention. One, as I walked in this morning, I crossed paths with (and said hello to) two astronauts who were in the building for a taping. That was cool. When I was a kid, after I realized you couldn’t be a magician for a living, I wanted to be an astronaut. Almost as likely.

The other surprise happened when I opened the work fridge to put my lunch inside. This greeted me on the top shelf: Read the rest of this entry »

I was merely acting, or save the drama for yo’ mama

In food and drink, stupidization on April 27, 2011 at 7:56 pm

I like it when the internet tells me about places like this

I unsubscribed from the Houston Chowhound list today. They won’t miss me – I was a lurker not a poster. The list hasn’t been fulfilling my needs for a while, so this was an overdue decision. I joined it because I wanted the skinny on good places to eat and liked hearing about new restaurants before they opened. But at some point over the past year, the list has gotten bogged down in stupid “controversies.”

Today’s controversy? Someone posted a link to one of those Hitler parody videos – there are lots, and they’re almost always funny, combining the vitriol and hatred of (an actor playing) Hitler with subtitles that are usually about something incredibly mundane and not worthy of such drama. The version posted on the chowhound list today is about Franklin Barbecue in Austin. Harmless. Funny. A couple of people responded that it made them laugh, but most of the messages discussed other good places to eat barbecue. Which is what the chowhound list is supposed to be about, of course.

Then one of the list members interrupted the delicious barbecue talk to let everyone know she was horrified, “outraged,” in fact, that someone had posted the video. She shared links to information about WWII and the Holocaust (from wikipedia, natch). Here’s a quote from one of her many messages about this topic:

Read the rest of this entry »

ch-ch-ch-ch-changes (we’re quite aware what we’re going through)

In fighting stupidization, food and drink, the internets on April 11, 2011 at 1:30 pm

hahahahaha

[Unrelated to this post: Last night's dessert. When I purchased the box of frozen bananas dipped in dark chocolate at the grocery store, I guess I wasn't quite prepared for what I'd find. Frozen awesomeness. Delicious, semi-nutritious and funny? Can't beat that. James almost made me leave the room when he ate his because I found it all so hilarious.]

You may notice a few changes happening around this blog. I’m dismantling my website and moving some of the content over here. In the near future, this site will have the new address of www.cryjack.com. I think you should still be able to access it using the current address – it’ll just redirect you. One way to be sure we don’t lose touch would be to subscribe, either through your RSS reader or by signing up for an email alert (bottom right of this website).

The reason for the remodel is because the FIGHT STUPIDIZATION campaign is ramping up, and a necessary part of that growth means the campaign needs to have a life that is totally separate from mine. My little baby is going to move out and go to college and quit speaking to me, only calling on my birthday and…sorry. Change is always exciting and often sort of painful.

I’ll have to rename this blog (I may revert back to the original name of Pithy, or I may do something else entirely). What will not change will be the content, and I hope I can get back to posting four or five times a week. I still have plenty to say, I just haven’t had the time to say it.

Regarding the future for the FIGHT STUPIDIZATION campaign: We’ve had two planning meetings so far and have begun to formulate our attack. The first part of the plan is to get the website up and running, so that’s where a lot of my energy is focused right now. In addition to a new site full of information about fighting the stupidization, we’re also going to start having public gatherings in the Houston area. More on that as things develop. Just know that we’re working on it, and we’re all very excited about the future.

Finally, I ordered some FIGHT STUPIDIZATION tee shirts to sell. They are black with white lettering (to match the bumper stickers) and will be available for $10 each. If I have to mail it to you, that will be a couple of bucks extra. I’ll pick up the shirts tomorrow and will post pictures for your shopping pleasure. New stickers are on the way as well, and we now have a PO box for sticker requests (see: GET A STICKER at the top of this page). You mail me a SASE, I fill it with a sticker and some love and mail it back to you. Easy-peasy. Do it.

Friday list

In animals, cabin in the woods, dogs, family, food and drink, the internets on March 11, 2011 at 12:47 pm

- I need to send around this link to the entire office. We have a number of offenders who “reply all” to practically every email they get. The only problem with sharing the link is that I know a number of people will reply all to say they totally agree, and that will make my head explode.

- My recommendations on Amazon are becoming a bit…unreliable as I purchase more and more stuff for my niece and nephew. The first book on the list for me right now? My Big Girl Potty. I may not know a lot, but I do know how to go potty. Because I’m a big girl.

- I saw a Chick-fil-A billboard yesterday that featured a couple of cows writing about eating more “chikin.” You know, because if you’re eating chicken, you’re not eating cow. All of the company’s cow-related marketing features kitschy bad spelling, which makes no sense. If a cow has somehow learned how to communicate in English and hold a pen or paint brush in its hoof to write out its thoughts, it is obviously off-the-charts brilliant in the bovine world and would probably be a pretty good speller.

- This video of little kids playing guitars doesn’t look real, like maybe they’re robots or their baby heads have been photoshopped onto adult musician’s bodies. I can’t believe they have the finger strength to pull this off, not to mention the artistic ability.

- One of my favorite bloggers has his moment in the New York Times. I’ve mentioned The Field Lab before (and literally have the tee shirt – for a while he was selling gray tees with THE FIELD LAB stenciled on the front with red spray paint) (because I’m a hipster), and I find Wells’ actions out in the West Texas desert inspirational as I daydream about my future cabin in the woods.

- A man performs CPR on a dog, saving her life, and it was captured on video. Because isn’t everything? My grandfather Ted once saved his Welsh Corgi Toby’s life by giving him mouth-to-snout resuscitation. That dog hated everyone but my grandmother and spent the majority of his life under the table in the kitchen. My grandfather also saved my grandmother’s life, giving her the Heimlich Maneuver over dinner. Ted had a profound impact on everyone, dog-level on up, and was obviously paying attention during first aid classes when he was in the military.

please report suspicious behavior/cheese enchiladas

In food and drink, travel on January 26, 2011 at 11:09 am

I’ve had this running joke with my coworkers over the years that if they see me walking down the hall with a can of gasoline, they should grab their shit and get out of the building. It’s a harmless little joke, meant to show that we’re all down in the trenches together. Obviously I’m not being serious. Obviously.

Inappropriate jokes in the workplace make me think of the signs at the airport that expressly tell you not to make jokes about the ridiculous security measures. As in, don’t say, “Man, I’m sure glad I stuffed that bomb up my ass where the rapescan machine can’t see it.” It’s the immature child inside me, but every time I see that sign, I have to clamp my mouth shut to not say something stupid. Which, in turn, makes it look like I have something stuck up my ass.

I flew in/out of the San Jose airport last month. A recorded announcement on a loop stated that, among other things, one should report “suspicious behavior.” The thing is, one person’s suspicious behavior is another person’s Tourette Syndrome. Or hangover. Or fear of flying. Or stifled inappropriate joke. As the bombing at the Russian airport shows, you can’t totally secure the airport. Or the train station. Or the subway. It doesn’t mean you should give up trying, but it does mean that security theatre is just that – something designed to make you feel safety that isn’t really there. Someone making a stupid joke is the least of your worries.

Unrelated:

I’m taking that cheese enchilada class at Robb Walsh’s house this weekend. I can’t wait! Enchiladas are not something I’ve had very good luck with – I always end up breaking the corn tortillas when I roll those bitches up, so I’m looking forward to learning from the master. The other thing I’m interested in is seeing exactly who will be taking this class with me.

There are twelve slots total. I figure there’s bound to be a Comic Book Guy guy in the group, someone who thinks he knows just a little more than everyone, including the host. Worst. Enchilada class. Ever. There will be one or two long-in-the-tooth fan girls (who haven’t been “girls” for many decades), who will wear their cutest cat sweatshirts for the occasion. A couple of foodie types who are there in part to learn Robb’s method but really just want to see his kitchen so they can snark/praise it in their blogs later that evening. Maybe one or two lonely people who just like to do stuff and aren’t necessarily that interested in the particular topic. And then the rest will be people like me – home cooks who like to get they grub on. You know I’ll report back after the fact.

suddenly, my faith in humanity was restored

In douchebags, food and drink, stupidization, travel on January 14, 2011 at 12:45 pm

Leaving work yesterday, I saw a bumper sticker on a car in our parking lot (a visitor’s car, not staff) that said:

Annoy a Liberal
Work, Succeed, Be Happy

I stood by the car for a moment, hoping the person would exit the building so I could ask if they really believe that “liberals” want non-liberals to be unemployed, unsuccessful and unhappy. Because, though I do hope that anyone who spurts hateful, divisive political rhetoric gets a bad case of explosive diarrhea and ass pimples, I don’t wish  unemployment, failure and misery on them. Or anyone else. And I think that most people, regardless of their political affiliation, generally hope that their fellow citizens have fruitful, happy lives.

The person didn’t exit the building (or saw me standing there and decided I wanted to make them unhappy) (which, now that you mention it, is sort of true), so I got in my ride and drove homeward (with my own bumper sticker on the back exhorting people to fight stupidization – I guess maybe that could be insulting to stupid people).

On the freeway, I saw a black Corvette with the license plate: bone md.

Then I stopped at Spec’s to get a bottle of wine. There were only two employees running registers, so each line had two or three people in it (the usual post-work rush). The guy in front of me wanted to pick out some cigars and a lighter, so my checker had to go open a case for him while he stood there trying to decide what he wanted. On the other register, there was an issue determining the price of an item. So both lines became backed up. And you would have thought that, in the midst of a famine, we’d been in the bread line for 8 hours and when we got to the front they said they were out of bread. The people behind me were sighing and bitching and moaning and rolling their eyes and stomping their feet like this was the worst fucking thing to happen to them in their lives. And all I could think was: REALLY?

In my usual yin/yang approach to things, the more irritated they became, the more at peace I became. And, this probably says something bad about me, but I sort of enjoyed how pissed they were getting. Because it was so ridiculous and unnecessary and melodramatic and American. I turned around and smiled at their scrunched up, angry faces. They didn’t smile back.

I walked back to my car (parked in the usual no ding zone), and there was a black Corvette parked next to me. It wasn’t the bone doctor, sadly. Because that would have been awesome.

Anyway, I was not impressed with my fellow citizens by the time I completed my 30 minute journey home. But today is a new day. When I arrived at my office this morning, there was a little surprise waiting for me.

two tastes that taste great together - the marriage of two of life's infinite pleasures

That would be chocolate covered bacon, handmade by my coworker Shannon. A little parcel of the stuff was dangling from the handle of my office door, wrapped in red cellophane–reminiscent of uncooked bacon–with a twisty silver star ribbon wrapped around it for that extra splash of panache. And just like that, my faith in humanity was restored. By surprise bacon and a thoughtful friend.

Yes, of course it was delicious. Do you even have to ask? The saltiness of the bacon was balanced by the sweetness of the chocolate. The bacon was thick and just a bit chewy and the chocolate was thin and smooth.

Is this a great country or what?

list: search terms

In food and drink, lists, the internets on January 13, 2011 at 1:14 pm

I haven’t done much blog posting in 2011. I’m trying to get through draft two of my full length play, so I’ve been using available lunch time to work on that instead of writing here. I did try writing a post yesterday about the shootings in Arizona. I’ve decided to just leave that in the drafts folder and move on.  Know when to hold ‘em; know when to fold ‘em.

Today, I’d like to share a few of the interesting search terms that have brought visitors to my blog over the past few months. They have not been corrected for shitty spelling or overall weirdness.

  • trippy pictures to look at when your high
  • sexist baby clothing
  • book cover pink tricycle book masculinity
  • tricycle michael jackson
  • adult riding a tricycle
  • radio flyer trick tricycle 1950
  • big man on tricycle
  • fat man on little tricycle
  • untightened lug nuts
  • see through silence birthday cake
  • happy 11 birthday cake that said elizabeth
  • christmas party through the window
  • gravestone in backyard
  • shittay
  • turtle show
  • baby pushing baby
  • “everyone thinks my boyfriend is gay”
  • holly hunter bunions
  • trippen hermit black
  • tiny white caterpillar in house “not fuzzy”
  • heights houston douchebags
  • what direction to place giraffe pen holder on a desk in fengshui
  • stuffed dog dances to who let the dogs out
  • accidental nudity
  • who is that spooky singer in the hyunda commercial
  • hyundai commercial hipster douchebags
  • twitchy cletus
  • the generation that swore it would never get old, didn’t
  • just for men touch of gray,bullshit?
  • stupidization real word
  • doe ray me far so la tee doe scale
  • waiting for your arrival sister
  • bacon strokes
  • freaky paula deen
  • little kings beer
  • assumptions about people drinking beer
  • get unplugged tvs and verbs that are turned “off”
  • you can see me when you see monkeys flying out of my but

As usual, the search terms are more interesting than the blog. What I found most odd were the various “man on tricycle” searches. Guess there’s some interest on the internet in men who are riding something that is inappropriately sized. Ahem. The most common searches (which are not included above) are a variation on cabin in the woods (cabin at night, writer’s cabin, how to build a cabin in the woods, building permits for cabin in woods, etc.). This suggests there are plenty of other people who have cabin fantasies. Probably other city-dwelling writers who think that bucolic splendor and simple living will be a growth tonic for their work. And also manifesto-creating, sunglasses wearing guys in hoodies. And militia members. And gnomes.

In other news, this is exciting. I’ve signed up for a class. Maybe it’ll serve as a sneak preview to El Real Tex-Mex Cafe, the restaurant Robb Walsh is opening later this year.

In further other news, the winners of the two copies of Travels with Charley are: Conn and Janel. Next book I read that grabs me like that will be treated in a similar manner, though I may not always give away multiple copies. I’m almost done with Trout Fishing in America by Richard Brautigan. It will not be receiving this treatment, bless its heart.

there will be bacon

In family, food and drink, holidays on December 27, 2010 at 10:33 am

Yesterday was Mason’s birthday. Since he’s no longer here to celebrate it, we celebrated for him. In true Mason fashion, the menu was focused on something bacon-centric that he first brought to everyone’s attention a couple of years ago (he was also the first person I know to have made it): The BACON EXPLOSION. [The name has to be in all caps. Your computer should format it automatically because it's so epic.] If you aren’t hip to the BE, here’s a pictorial. I had to wash my hands between each step so I wouldn’t get raw meat on my camera. I think that’s not good for it or something.

first, create a blanket of bacon

after sprinkling the bacon with BBQ rub, cover it with a blanket of sausage

top the sausage with cooked, crispy pieces of bacon

add BBQ sauce and more dry rub

once the fillings are in place, roll it up and pinch the ends closed

sprinkle with even more dry rub

smoke it in the smoker at 225 degrees - don't peek - if you leave it alone, it will cook at the rate of an inch per hour - our three-inch thick loaf was complete in right at three hours

it comes off the smoker looking quite charred - the bacon carmelizes into something that's both crunchy and tender because directly underneath that black crust is softer bacon

slather with BBQ sauce and enjoy - the sausage and bacon create a lovely meat pinwheel design that is revealed when the thing is sliced like a meatloaf

Guest list: James, Robert, Dennis, Lisa, Abby, Rob and me. The usual suspects. What’s awesome is that one of those people is vegetarian and another doesn’t eat pork. They brought a vegetable pot pie to share, so our BE was balanced by a green salad and tasty veggie pie. And wine. And beer. And whiskey.

Thanks, Mason, for introducing us to such a ridiculous creation. It was certainly memorable. And funny. How often can you say that your meal made you laugh?

UPDATE: I somehow neglected to share the most important thing – it was DELICIOUS. The BE had a wonderful, deep smokey flavor (which is why the creators said you shouldn’t bake it). The sauce and dry rub added a bit of zing, and the texture was multi-layered – the crispy outside gave way to softer bacon inside which gave way to solid sausage, sauce and crispy bacon the further you traveled. Well worth the journey.

Friday list

In food and drink, lists, the internets on October 22, 2010 at 1:41 pm

hanging out in master control, where I am neither a master nor in control

- HoustonPBS is broadcasting a food-related evening of programming next Wednesday night. My talented friend Abby is hosting the evening, which will feature food docs plus clips of Abby’s visits to a few local restaurants. We’re encouraging people to tweet during the programs to talk about what they’re watching or to share tips on local places to eat. For some reason, the powers that be over here thought it would be a good idea for me to type up the various tweets to broadcast live over the course of the evening. We had a training session today, and my understanding is that the master control operator will be the person to push the button before the tweets actually go on the air, so I’m not sure I’ll be able to sneak any fight stupidization propaganda onto the tube. I’d love to enter some of your tweets so please join the conversation that night, you tweeter.

- If this is true (that intelligent people drink more alcohol than their more dim counterparts), then why do I feel so stupid when I have a hangover? Maybe I’m not drinking enough.

- Have you seen that horrible commercial about whooping cough? Or, more importantly, have you heard it? It features the sound of a baby, presumably with whooping cough, whooping coughing. Only it sounds like something you’d hear on your way into the infinite dark abyss. It’s a horrible, wet, hacking, no intake of air, worst-thing-I’ve-ever-heard noise. I have to lunge for the remote to mute the TV every time it comes on.  Same thing happens with that ’50s-style insurance chick. Nails on a chalkboard my soul.

- In addition to the “like” button on facebook, I wish they would add a “you’re being self-righteous” button.

- I encourage you to go to watch Zach Galifianakis’ Between Two Ferns series of interviews. Awesome stuff.

assumptions, beer

In food and drink, random, travel on October 7, 2010 at 12:38 pm

written yesterday at the coffee shop :
Taking artistic license here, but I’m pretty sure I can nail the situation going down at the table next to me. There’s an attractive young lady – looks to be 25 at the most – and a not so attractive “old” guy – who’s probably just slightly older than I am but in comparison to the woman looks old enough to be her dad. And, technically, someone slightly older than I am is old enough to be her dad. When I first sat down, he was laying an unimpressive line of bullshit on her, and she seemed taken with it. She keeps touching his arm. I’m guessing he’s a professor. Most likely her professor. You grow out of that eventually, buying the bullshit of a guy like this – something he already knows and she’ll find out.

I must be relaxed right now. A huge leaf just landed on me, and I didn’t freak out. My heart rate didn’t change. I didn’t immediately assume it was a rat falling on me or an extra-large tree roach. Didn’t jump up out of my chair with a yelp. I just casually grabbed the leaf and tossed it aside. This is highly unusual behavior. Especially after so much caffeine. Must be the fresh air and blue sky.

written today at my desk:
On my way to work this morning I saw a sticker on the back of a Budweiser truck that suggested I visit www.beeresponsible.com. Now that can really go a couple of different ways. I can read it as BEEResponsible, which tells me that if I visit this website I’ll find tips on how to drink beer responsibly. I can also read it as BE-eresponsible, which, though spelled incorrectly, makes me think I’ll find a website that gives tips on stupid things I can do while drinking beer. Like I really need any ideas in that category.

Okay, so I just visited the website. Looks like they’re going more for the former interpretation of beeresponsible. The site has images of healthy young college kids hanging out and a mom/dad/boy/girl combo smiling and looking at the camera. I don’t know what these people are happy about since not a single one of them is holding a beer. They should show the “after” pictures of these same groups. The college kids are puking and making bad decisions about whom to sleep with. The mom and dad are fighting over the light bill and how they never go out to dinner anymore while the boy and girl are sneaking sips of warm Budweiser. Ahhh, America. Love it or leave it, commie.

duck fat fries? don’t mind if I do

In burger, food and drink on September 20, 2010 at 5:01 pm

shortly after he took his first bite, Dennis said, "I should slap you," which in Dennis speak means he really loves something

I became aware of a new burger joint - The Burger Guys – a week or two ago and immediately sensed that it needed to be visited. When we did the burger journey a few years ago, we stuck with places within five or ten miles of the Alley. The Burger Guys wouldn’t have qualified back in the day because it’s far west – Westheimer between Kirkwood and Dairy Ashford and Simpson. Now that the burger journey only happens once or twice a month and is generally only populated with me and Dennis, we have more options. So we headed west.

As I’ve mentioned before, the burger that is in Dennis’ hand is often his favorite. I’m able to maintain a bit more emotional distance though, and – I’m not kidding when I say this – my Burger Guys burger was top five delicious. More expensive than the places we typically frequent, but the quality of the ingredients was a good trade off. The meat was still pink in the middle with plenty of juice and the bun looked handmade. I think they buy local, though I didn’t pay close enough attention. The burger was great, but I really want to talk about the fries.

I thought perhaps they were fried in magic, but according to the restaurant it’s actually duck fat. They were light and crispy and pillowy and delicious. You can order two sauces on the side per order of fries (we went with Tabasco aioli and an herbed ranch), but the sauce isn’t necessary. Almost gilding the lily. One order is plenty for two people – Dennis and I even left a token few in the cone. Dainty.


nice buns

You’ll notice the basket of onion strips in the background. They appear on some of the sandwiches and are probably great in that capacity, but as a side they didn’t do much for me. We totally ignored them and just ate the fries. (side note: They have Dublin Dr. Pepper on draft. Didn’t even know such a thing existed.)

One word of warning – not sure what was up with the floor, but I was wearing flat shoes with a rubber sole and almost ate it. It was like the floor was humid. Hopefully they’ll spray something to take care of that problem. Nothing will make you feel like a fatass more than chowing on a burger and fries and then wiping out on your way out the door.

PS – The nice thing about having a personal blog versus being a food writer is that I don’t have to worry about a dozen anonymous trolls telling me I’m a hillbilly for never having eaten duck fat fried fries before. So there’s that.

Friday list

In cabin in the woods, food and drink, lists, the internets on September 17, 2010 at 12:50 pm

A quick Friday list because I’m trying to finish a play over my lunch break.

- Watch this short film for a bit of insight into Lloyd Kahn. He creates really awesome books on hand-built shelters and is currently working on his latest book, which will be about tiny houses. Many of which, I’m sure, are cabins in the woods. Bliss.

- Normally I drink “good” coffee at home and don’t touch the stuff here. This week that has been different. Guess I needed more caffeine. Anyway, each time I’ve visited the coffee machine, there has been only about half a cup of coffee in the pot. Which means that the previous person who got coffee left just enough in the pot to not feel like they had to make a fresh pot. Man, people can be so fucking lazy.

- I turned off Google Instant. Too presumptuous for my taste. And obviously a lot of other people.

- Back to the play. It is interesting to me that as I continue to write plays, I’m writing fewer and fewer profanities. Yet my work is getting more and more edgy. I dig that. Can’t say the same for my fucking blog.  I still cuss like a motherfucker here. Shit yeah. Tits.

foiled by the burger place

In burger, food and drink, sartorial issues on September 9, 2010 at 3:51 pm

Today for lunch, I joined my burger buddy Dennis at Hubcap Grill downtown on Prairie. It was a short walk from the Alley, so we hoofed it. There is limited seating inside and a small patio outside. No way were we eating in the 90+ degree heat, so we found a cramped little corner near the counter and sat there. And sat there. We had lots to talk about, so we ended up sitting in the corner for over an hour. (side note: at no point was someone standing there with no place to sit – most of the downtown folks were in and out quickly – so we weren’t those jerky people who linger over the newspaper while other people are standing there with cold scrambled eggs on Sunday morning, waiting for a table to open up)

The side effect of being in a tiny little burger (and fries) place is that I now smell like fried food. Which is a pretty gross smell when you’re sitting in an office. But the worst thing is that I’m going to see a play tonight with Robert, and I’m self conscious about my eau de hamburger. Instead of worrying whether or not I’m grossing out other audience members or making them hungry, I’m going to jet home after work to change and then swim back upstream to the pre-show happy hour. Eh. There are much worse fates, so I’m not really complaining.

As for the burger – it was great! Fresh-never-frozen meat patties truly make the difference. Dennis said that Hubcap would probably be in his top five, but I reminded him that he says that a lot – I think his most recent burger is often in his top five. I’m looking forward to visiting again when it has cooled off so I can sit on the patio and just smell like Metro exhaust instead of french fries.

PS – Hubcap has a burger with peanut butter, bacon and cheese on it. No lie.

Friday list

In food and drink, housing, lists, the internets on September 3, 2010 at 2:07 pm
  • When I moved my blog over to wordpress, I decided to utilize categories. I went back as far as the beginning of 2008, I think, adding categories to hundreds of old posts. This is useful for me and anyone who is in the mood for a particular theme. What I find interesting is that for the category “lists,” of which this post is a member, I almost always post on a Friday. I guess Friday must be my catch-all day for tidbits that occur to me during the week but don’t get their own post. So I’m going to try to do that every Friday. We’ll see how it goes.
  • This illustrated blog post perfectly displays why I tend to prefer internet-based communication. The entire blog is pretty funny stuff.
  • Have you checked out Regretsy? It’s a website that posts the most ridiculous items for sale on Etsy (a place where people sell hand crafted items) and then makes fun of them. I gave the site a cursory glance a few months ago but didn’t really dig into it until a couple of nights ago. I ended up staying up late and going back to the beginning of the blog and moving forward through time (I’m a wizard), and after 15 or 20 minutes, I was literally laughing out loud. Even though the site features things made by hand, many of the items are not appropriate to look at on your work computer and will invade your dreams if you view them right before bed. Trust me on that last part.
  • My post the other day about missing old school Houston seemed to resonate (positively and negatively) with some of my fellow citizens. I had offline conversations with a number of you about this topic. I think it’s fairly typical for people to have issues with the place where they grew up. Just as I’m upset with some of Houston’s changes, I’m also often first (well, maybe third) in line to defend Houston. Unlike other cities in Texas and beyond, Houston doesn’t obnoxiously push its quirkiness. Nor do you feel like you have to have money to be “somebody.” As I’ve said before, Houston is like that dorky kid in high school who doesn’t come from money and isn’t particularly attractive or athletic. In order to not be a total outcast, Houston has developed other skills. Art cars, Texas Medical Center, an openness to everyone no matter their ethnicity or background, copious amounts of tasty food, a growing arts scene, Lights in the Heights, etc. Houston is a city that doesn’t try too hard to be any one thing. But the weather sucks four or five months out of the year, there are huge flying cockroaches and ravenous mosquitoes, and a number of the places I used to go to with people who are no longer on this plane of existence are disappearing. Those things suck. Part of being in a relationship is being honest about the good and the bad. Houston and I have been together for a long time – I know its faults just as it knows mine. And, for the time being, I’m still here.
  • Today was the monthly potluck lunch for my department. There’s a bit of culinary roulette when we have this meal together, and some months are better than others. This was a good month. Plus, my coworker Holly brought sausage (Kielbasa), providing a great launching pad for inappropriate lunch conversation. Hopefully HR was not listening in.

    ghost stories

    In food and drink, spooky on August 28, 2010 at 8:04 pm

    What is it about James being out of town that makes me seek the scariest shit I can find on TV? I do this every time he’s gone overnight, and tonight is no different. I’m sitting here working on my website and watching My Ghost Story, which is a one-hour program that shares three or four stories about encounters with ghosts/entities. The difference with this show versus others I’ve watched is that each person’s story is enhanced with their own photographic/video/audio “evidence” instead of some cheesy reenactment of the event. Some of the stories are obvious bullshit, but others are fairly creepy. And will get creepier as the darkness settles in.

    Party.

    UPDATE (written the next morning)

    Well, I kept on watching scary shit on TV until about 9PM when I realized I’d truly made an error. Every noise the house made (and it makes plenty, all the time) started making me jumpy. Jumpier, I should say. So I searched around the channels to find something less scary but still interesting (not always an easy task with the old boob tube). And then, there it was. Two Fat Ladies, an awesomely ridiculous cooking program that features two fat English ladies who ride a motorcycle and sidecar combo and cook awful British food. I’d forgotten about that show (it aired during the 90s), so it was a happy surprise. The ladies dislike vegetarians (as does Anthony Bourdain) and are always cooking things such as rabbit and deer and other cute furry creatures. It scared me in a different, much better way.

    As for the sleeping part of my evening, other than dreams about spiders building huge webs above my bed, ’twas a quiet night.

    there will be bacon

    In food and drink on August 16, 2010 at 12:52 pm

    bacon + booze = party

    Back in May, my theatre company performed in the Houston Fringe Festival. Being a co-op, we generally split all income from our shows (minus expenses). When we received the check for our Fringe performances, we decided to throw a little get-together at my house rather than give each of the 7 actors, 2 playwrights and 1 director a small check.

    As I prepared the menu for the gathering, I tried to keep the attendees’ various dietary needs in mind. One person is vegetarian, another doesn’t do dairy or pork, others only eat things that are unhealthy…a variety of requirements, in other words. So I went from one end of the culinary spectrum to the other. A little something for everyone.

    The menu:

    • fresh fruit
    • hummus and fresh vegetables
    • black eyed pea salad
    • 7 layer dip
    • little sandwiches (brisket, homemade green onion/cheese)
    • artichoke dip
    • various sweets
    • two pork death

    That last one might be of interest to you, if for no reason other than science. There is a very simple hot appetizer recipe that I found online – over 7,000 people rated this recipe as five stars (out of five), so I thought I’d check it out. Here it is – wrap a little smokie in 1/3 piece of bacon. Stab with a toothpick and place on a cookie sheet. Sprinkle brown sugar over the top. Bake those bitches for 40 minutes at 325 degrees, turning them over halfway through. Place them in a crock pot on low to keep warm, if they last that long.

    If you can get past the utter ridiculousness of the things, what you will find is a little piece of pork candy on a toothpick. Everyone (except the vegetarian) loved them. Even people who normally eat healthy food were taking a gander (with perhaps the smallest glint of humiliation in their eye). I don’t know if I’ll ever make them again, but they were certainly a big hit.

    This week James and I will be eating fish and vegetables and lean turkey to try to get the blood flowing again.

    I HAVE NO REGRETS.

    dilettantes and assholes

    In food and drink, stupidization, the internets, travel on August 10, 2010 at 12:04 pm

    Recent search terms that brought visitors to my blog:

    • big naturals brandy
    • untightened lug nuts
    • dilettante psychology
    • dilettante prostitute
    • what to do with a dabbler dilettante
    • my husband is a dilettante and an asshole
    • don imus throat fungus
    • something rotting in the walls
    • masochist getting in a fight
    • dead fish galveston july
    • local houston armwrestling

    I like the new variations on the dilettante-related searches – my favorite is “my husband is a dilettante and an asshole.” You have to wonder what the motivation was to search for that. Was the person looking for other people who are married to asshole dilettantes? Was the husband the one searching, trying to figure out what his wife meant when she yelled that at him after the wine tasting/company party/class reunion?

    [imagine a smooth segue here]

    Back when I was a bartender, I always worried about getting in a pickle like this. I did my best to cut people off when they’d had too much, and I drove many a drunk regular home in an attempt to keep them (and the cars they would have swerved past on the way home) safe. But when you’re working in a busy bar, you can’t keep an eye on everyone, you don’t always know who is driving and you hope that at least some patrons are able to handle their business like adults.

    If you don’t feel like clicking the link, here’s the story. A drunk guy hung out at a bar after hours. Well, he hung out upstairs from a bar after hours with the bar owner and other people. While hanging out up there (and continuing to drink), he fell through an opening on the second floor to the street below. Instead of blaming the fall on his own drunkenness (assuming the guy is smart enough when sober to not fall through an opening in the wall), he decided to sue the owner of the building for not providing a “safe” place.

    This story reminds me (tangentially) of the trip I took to Grand Canyon a couple of years ago. I was amazed at the fact that the potential for certain – and sudden – death greeted me at every turn. Being an over-protected American, I’d grown used to “stand behind this line” and safety rails and “do not enter.” At Grand Canyon, honey, you’re on your own. There are a few places that have waist-high railing, but for the most part it’s just you, the edge and a steep drop. It was invigorating to be in a situation where I was responsible for myself. I appreciated the challenge to not do something stupid, which is harder than you’d think. At least for me.

    There’s an interesting book (Over the Edge: Death in Grand Canyon) that chronicles all of the deaths at Grand Canyon. There are stories about deaths from early trips down the Colorado to falls as recent as a few years ago. There’s the tale of a father who was trying to make his family laugh by “pretending” to jump off the edge – he’d planned to land safely a few feet below the path but ended up falling to his death. That’s the kind of stupid shit I am prone to do, though I was glad to find that I had enough sense to save the jokes for a time when I wasn’t standing near the edge of the world.

    What I’m saying is – if you are an adult, stay away from the edge. It’s your fault if you fall off.

    [and another segue here]

    Finally – my favorite part of this story is the fact that he grabbed a beer on the way out. Way to go, Steve Slater! You, sir, are awesome.

    this is why the terrorists hate us

    In burger, family, food and drink on August 5, 2010 at 3:44 pm

    My brother Mason was a bacon aficionado. He loved (and ingested) the stuff more than seemed possible for such a slim guy. I still remember when he excitedly shared the news that there was a place near College Station that served…deep fried bacon. As in, bacon that was battered and dropped in the deep fryer. In this modern age of fried butter and fried coke, deep fried bacon doesn’t seem that exotic. But this was a few years ago, before America had completely given up and just strapped the permanent feed bag to its mouth. We talked about taking a trip to this magical bacon wonderland, but, like many plans in life cooked up over too many beers, never actually made it there.

    All this to say, when Dennis and I went to Christian’s Tailgate for burgers today and Dennis spotted “Country Fried Bacon Burger” on the menu, it seemed a crime not to give it a try. As the title of this post suggested, the Country Fried Bacon Burger is an example of all that is wrong (and yet so, so right) with this country. One of Christian’s already large burgers was topped with all the usual trimmings PLUS about three pieces of battered and fried bacon PLUS two onion rings. I’m almost regurgitating as I type.

    You can see the sheer height of the burger in the shot above. No way my dainty mouth was getting around that thing. So I removed the fried materials from the burger to munch on the side. I was disappointed in the bacon. It seemed to have been thrown in the fryer raw, so it was limp and chewy. The breading was a little too thick, too. I have no idea what voodoo is necessary to deep fry something like bacon, but it seems to me that at least partially cooking it first would make the bacon feel better in the mouth, taste better and allow for less of the batter to be stuck to the outside. Hard to believe there can be overkill on something as ridiculous as deep fried bacon, but overkill there was. Too much breading.

    As per usual, Christian’s burger was still very tasty, though I only ate about half of it. The majority of my country fried bacon sat wilted and forlorn in my little red burger basket. Though the bacon didn’t live up to the fantasy, I’m glad I tried it. Instead of pouring some out for my homie who isn’t here, I ate a piece of ridiculousness in his honor.

    clearing the air

    In animals, food and drink, housing, sartorial issues, stupidization on August 2, 2010 at 1:28 pm
    • I’m pretty sure that whatever died in our wall(s) and is decomposing has finally reached the point of not-so-stinky. It’s hard to be certain since James bought a number of plug-in air fresheners that have filled the air with the scents of “fresh linen” and “apple-cinnamon.” Going from one room to the next is like entering different smell zones. I look forward to getting back to our house just smelling like air.
    • We attended a wedding over the weekend that featured an entirely vegetarian spread. The people at our table who had come in from Tyler didn’t quite know what to make of it. I thought it was all delicious except for the tamale, which tasted like glue. I wore a dress for the first time in almost a decade and had to remember how to sit correctly. I’m like the awkward girl from the movie before the makeover.
    • Still waiting on the latest round of fight stupidization stickers to arrive. I’m happy to report that some folks who received theirs last week have already sent back photos of the stickers in place on their vehicles. Hoping more people will do the same, especially those who live in places beyond Houston (and beyond Texas).
    • For lunch today, I ate flavored tuna. It was “sun-dried tomato and olive oil” flavor, and though it tasted okay, I feel kind of gross for having eaten it. Tuna is best when it’s just tuna flavored.
    • I’m thinking about creating a website that specifically pokes fun at the stupid, ign’ant, racist, hateful, completely lacking-in-anything-related-to-reality comments that are left on every news story posted on the Houston Chronicle’s website. Is that giving the morons too much attention? Maybe the fight stupidization blog can feature a dumbass comment of the week or something. It’s either that, or I’ll have to throw my computer out the window. Don’t tell me to just stop scrolling down there. I’ve tried that. It doesn’t work. It’s compulsory.

    you say potato, I say don’t point that crazy at me

    In food and drink, luddite vs. iDevice, people be trippin', the arts on July 13, 2010 at 1:07 pm

    the view from the sanitarium

    • I realized/remembered/was reminded yesterday that I can deal with crazy and I can deal with aggressive, but I really have a hard time dealing with crazy AND aggressive from the same person at the same time. It gets my back up. And makes me aggressive. But not crazy.
    • Happy to hear that Joe’s is back in business. I loved their cheesesteak and look forward to being reunited with it.
    • If The Wizard of Oz were made today, instead of sweet little Judy Garland in the lead it would be someone like Miley Cyrus, and she’d be wearing short shorts and cowboy boots while nipping out a tube top (but would, of course, have a “heart of gold”). The Scarecrow would be JayZ, the Tinman would be Lady Gaga and the Cowardly Lion would be The Rock. I would not see this movie.
    • For two days of my recent vacation, I made beaded jewelry. As I was working on, like, my 10th or 11th bracelet, it occurred to me that it was like I was in a sanitarium where they give you crafts to occupy your time while your brain heals. I guess that’s sort of what vacations are for, right? I blame this thought on you, D.D.
    • When logging in to an account on my phone, I accidentally typed “cryhack” instead of “cryjack.” Sometimes I wonder if my brain is fucking with me.

    Miss Molly

    In family, food and drink, things that make me happy on July 12, 2010 at 1:53 am

    Had a great visit with sweet little Molly today (and her parents and my parents). She’s a very laid back baby. Rowan is still figuring things out – he knows that there’s a new world order, but he’s not quite sure where he fits within it. It’s hard going from a geocentric (Rowancentric) universe suddenly to a heliocentric one.

    We had magical chicken for lunch. A group in Fayetteville – I think it’s the Knights of Columbus – sell finger licking barbecued chicken once per month. I’ve been lucky to have been visiting two months in a row on chicken day. Total coincidence. I’m not yet at the point of planning my travels around food (though I’m not saying I’m above it).

    Back to work tomorrow. The week off flew by, as weeks off tend to do.

    conversation I just had

    In food and drink on July 1, 2010 at 12:23 am


    James and I both like the mint gimlet at Beaver’s. The thing costs $9 or $10 a glass, though, so we thought we’d cut out the middle man and drink some at home. I used to be a pretty good mixologist, back before anyone cared about that kind of shit, so I figured I could recreate the drink. It took me three rounds to get it right, but I finally pretty much nailed it. Then came this exchange (after the THIRD round, mind you).

    JAMES
    Wait. Gin makes me mean, right?

    CRYSTAL
    No. Tequila makes you mean. Gin makes me mean.

    JAMES
    Oh yeah. Right.

    We’ll see how the night progresses. If you’re wondering why I’m drinking gin on a school night, there’s a simple explanation. I’M ON VACATION! I’m off through July 12. I refuse to use a stupid term like “staycation,” so I will just say that I’m not going to work until the 12th, and I have no particular destination during that time. Except my little brother’s wife is due to have her baby any day now. So I’ll be traveling for that. Otherwise? Who knows. Everything. Nothing. I’ll either be blogging a lot or not at all. If something interesting happens after more gin, I’ll let you know.

    large (chicken) breasts, dumbasses

    In douchebags, food and drink, stupidization, the internets on May 3, 2010 at 7:01 pm

    I bought a package of chicken breasts for dinner last night. They were supposedly of the no hormone/organic variety. Looking through the plastic, I thought the 1.5 pound package had four breasts – two for dinner and two for lunches today. But inside, there were three. Two regular sized breasts and one DDD. I don’t know what was up with that particular chicken, but I hope she was popular with the boys. Still, it was kind of creepy. No one really wants to eat a mutant breast for dinner. At least, I don’t.

    I’ve written before about my frustration with internet bullies, specifically of the anonymous flavor. They feel free to spew vitriol and misinformation that they don’t have the conviction or balls to express around 3-dimensional people. People who could, for instance, kick them in the nuts when they start going off on some bullshit tangent. There’s an article on Houston Press today about the immigration rally over the weekend. Of course the story is bringing the cranks out of the woodwork – most of whom I’m sure never read the HP.

    Anyway, here was my slight contribution to the bullshit in the comments section. For context, I wasn’t addressing my comments at any one particular person, but USA1 wrote about a third of the 50+ comments on this story, so I’m not surprised he felt the need to respond. Twice.

    CRYSTAL WROTE:
    I may not be remembering my history correctly (lord knows we like to change it around here in Texas), but didn’t our ancestors who arrived in Ellis Island basically just have to survive the trip by boat? And then give a name and some simple paperwork when they got off the boat?

    Here’s something from about.com regarding the process at Ellis Island back in the day:

    “Once the immigrant arrived in Ellis Island, he would be questioned about his identity and his paperwork would be examined. Inspectors were usually foreign-born immigrants themselves and spoke several languages so communication problems were nearly non-existent. Ellis Island would even call in temporary interpreters when necessary, to help translate for immigrants speaking the most obscure languages.”

    USA1 WROTE:
    Crystal- Common sense would tell you that alot of the immigrants that came through Ellis Island didn’t already know English.

    How many of those immigrants took the time and effort to learn English after they got here? THAT is what we’re discussing here. Do you think our Gov’t printed everything in their native language like they do now in Spanish? Hardly.

    CRYSTAL WROTE:
    USA1 – I never claimed to have common sense. But thank you for taking the time to tell me what “we’re” discussing here. Judging by the number of times you’ve felt compelled to comment on this story, I wouldn’t really call this a “discussion” so much as one of those parties where there’s that one obnoxious drunk guy who keeps telling people the same boring story over and over again and people feign having explosive diarrhea just to get away. But I digress.

    If I did have common sense, I would suggest that the number of different languages spoken at Ellis Island would have made printing up forms for each language cost-prohibitive. That, and the whole thing about “printers” having not been invented.

    USA1 WROTE:
    Crystal- You do realize the majority of my postings here are answers to questions, right?
    Your ridiculous posting about Ellis Island is
    not a epiphany, I already know this. Everyone already knows this. Like I said, it’s common sense. Thanks for your 4 cents tho!

    HAHA! He got mad because I told him that if I were to interact with him in public I’d fake having explosive diarrhea rather than talk to him. What a jackass.

    quickly (overheard at lunch)

    In food and drink, people be trippin' on April 13, 2010 at 6:26 pm

    Overheard at lunch today (from the older, effeminate, East Texas gentleman at the next table):

    I saw a woman yesterday who had the biggest, widest, heaviest, largest, fattest, most humongous ASS (he turned “ass” into three syllables) I’ve ever seen. (long pause) She could have used her panties for a parachute. (long pause) I’m sure she had to have her jeans special made.

    This from a chubby man who couldn’t stop looking at himself in the mirror (he did have lovely feathered gray hair) and whose waistband was inching toward his armpits. Not exactly a glass-free house for his stone throwing.

    I had to try really hard not to laugh out loud as he vvvveeeerrrrrryyyyy slowly moved through that list of adjectives. I knew it would end with “ass,” but he managed to build an enormous amount of suspense on his way there, pausing a bit between each word. Bravo, sir, bravo.

    accidental nudity, burger with a side of schlong

    In burger, food and drink, things that make me happy, things that surprise me on March 7, 2010 at 2:29 am

    I’m like Mr. Rogers when I get home from work. I walk in the door, take off whatever I’ve been wearing all day and put on something more comfortable. Usually yoga pants and whatever random tank or tee grabs my fancy. It’s partly about comfort, but I think a lot of it is mental. It divides the day in a concrete way. (In addition to the act of physically leaving my office and driving 13 miles to get home…)

    One of my favorite tees to wear at home belonged to Mason – it’s a concert shirt for the band The Darkness. I like it for two reasons. One: I remember Mason playing this song for me when he first got the album. Two: There’s just something funny about me wearing a tee shirt that says THE DARKNESS across the front. It’s like an unnecessary warning for James (trust me, he already knows). Anyway, I woke up in a funny mood this morning, so I thought I’d wear that tee today. Have never worn it outside of the house. This becomes important.

    We went to breakfast at Harry’s, then roamed around inside Spec’s, then Party Boy and Arne’s. Then I did the weekly grocery shopping at the huge HEB on Bunker Hill. In a tee shirt that has this image on the back. I didn’t realize it until I took the shirt off at the end of the day. It’s not that it is such a scandalous image, but it’s not something I would typically wear to the fucking grocery store. I doubt that Mason wore it very often, either. It’s from 2003 and is still black.

    That was good for a chuckle.

    Sort of related – Dennis and I grabbed lunch yesterday at a chain burger place that isn’t very good. The meal was more about the company than the food. There was a guy at the next table who kept looking over. I asked Dennis if there was a TV above my head playing a baseball game or Nancy Grace or something. (side note – I asked this first before saying some guy was giving me the eyeball because I always think I’m being checked out and then find that there’s a TV behind me or a guy picking his nose or something more interesting than I) Dennis says there’s no TV, so I tell him that this dude is checking me out. Dennis starts paying attention. This guy isn’t doing some sort of casual flirty glance. Not even a stalker stare. He’s, like, aggressively looking at me. As if I hit his car on the way in. I’m starting to get slightly creeped out when Dennis says, “It’s like he wants to wear your skin.” BINGO. That was exactly what it was like. Fast forward to the evening and guess what movie was on – yup, Silence of the Lambs.

    Just put the lotion in the basket.

    Anyway, this place has a lot of large framed black and white posters on the walls. They are probably sold in packets to restaurants that don’t want to have to do their own decorating. The usual Americana images of farmers and old cars and moms and pops. And sailors. Sailors with…huge schlongs. I’m not some creepy crotch starer, and it’s not like I was looking for it. But there it was, watching me eat my burger. Think I’m exaggerating? I knew the moment I saw it that I’d have to write about it, so I took a picture for backup. It’s not the best shot because who really wants to be busted for taking a picture of the crotch of a man in a sailor suit in a framed black and white poster on the wall of a not great hamburger joint.

    You’re welcome.

    yeeHAW

    In food and drink, things that make me want to punch someone in the face on February 27, 2010 at 3:01 pm


    James and I went to the rodeo cookoff/carnival last night. What a clusterfuck. We wanted to get there around 5:30PM, so we left our house (16.2 miles as the car drives on a Saturday night) at 4:45PM. Plenty of time to drive over there, deal with traffic and park, right? I mean, the HLSR people must have this down to a science. They’re used to dealing with big crowds. (Please note: it had been 19 years since the last time I attended the cookoff. So what do I know.)

    I didn’t bother to look into where we should park before we went nor what entrance to use when we got there. A couple of James’ bandmates were playing in another band in one of the tents at the cookoff, and one of them told us where to park. Mistake number one. Instead of parking on the naked corpse of AstroWorld, we took the bandmate’s advice to park on a lot on Kirby. We followed the electronic signs for “cash parking ahead” until I was pretty sure they were just fucking with us. About 30 minutes and less than a mile later, the next electronic sign said “no cash parking.” Dammit! We ended up parking at a park-n-ride lot on Fannin on the other side of 610 from the Astrodomain. We’re at about an hour and a half or more into our night now. We were hungry. And we had a long walk ahead of us.

    Knowing we’d eat dinner at the cookoff (mistake number two), once inside the carnival we thought we’d have dessert first: a fried twinkie. I don’t like twinkies in their normal state, but I must tell you that a fried twinkie, which looks much like a corndog, is surprisingly delicious. And should only be eaten once every decade.

    Neither of us is interested in riding roller coasters (I have a hard time just being a passenger in a regular car), so we opted for the ferris wheel. It was about as tall as the top of the Astrodome and about as old.

    I took a few more shots of the carnival before heading to the cookoff. I didn’t take any pictures at the cookoff because I didn’t have enough room to move my arms to get my camera out of my bag. Here’s a birds’ eye of the cookoff from the ferris wheel, to give you a sense of how many people were crammed into the area:

    We finally reached the tent where we had an “in.” As we were going in, a drunk woman (describing anyone at the cookoff as “drunk” is redundant) (minus me and James, sadly) exited saying there was no more food. Perfect. We got inside just as they were shutting the bar down to restock. Double bonus. The band was not really my taste (of course, I could say that about pretty much everything related to the experience). The girlfriend/wife of the main guy in the band was handing out band t-shirts that featured a drawing of a woman in a bikini straddling a motorcycle. Klassy. She then informed the room in general that she was the woman featured in the song and was the model for the image on the tee. Amazing stuff.

    We hung out for maybe 30 minutes to justify the amount of effort we’d made to get there before calling it a night. When we left the carnival/cookoff, we went out the wrong exit – ended up on Kirby instead of Fannin – which meant we had to walk halfway around the entire Astro-complex because there was no re-entry. This was no small feat, and it furthered my suspicion that we should have zigged instead of zagged. Almost each decision we made last night was the wrong one. Should have turned left instead of right. Should have jumped on board with the banana and the grapes and skipped the rest of it.

    If I were to do it all again, which I won’t, I would park downtown and take the light rail. And bring a sandwich and a flask of scotch. Or maybe just stay home and hit myself in the head with a small bat.

    these things aren’t related

    In family, food and drink, things that make me happy on February 7, 2010 at 7:19 pm


    We celebrated my nephew Rowan’s 1st birthday yesterday. Here he is, enjoying his first taste of cake. Some of his cake ended up in his lap, some in his ear, but enough made it into his mouth for him to realize this weren’t no strained carrots and peas.


    Mmmmmmmm…cake…


    One of Tohner’s neighbors gave Rowan a little plastic vacuum that makes a whirring sound. I like this shot because it looks like Rowan is having to clean the house while James eats cake.

    (here’s where the unrelated stuff comes in)

    I am suffering this weird sort of insomnia lately. In the past, my sleep disturbances generally fell into two categories: 1 – I couldn’t fall asleep for hours or 2 – I slept soundly until 4 in the morning and was then awake for the rest of the day. For the past couple of months, I’ve been dealing with intermittent insomnia. I’ll sleep for a couple of hours, then wake up and stay awake for an hour or two, then back to sleep for a bit. Not fun. On the bright side, I’m remembering more of my dreams (though most are fairly odd, even for me), and I’m thinking about a lot of things in the quiet part of the night that I can’t always focus on during the day.

    (related to the insomnia)

    Early this morning – a little before 5AM as I lay in bed not sleeping – I heard 12 (yes, I counted) gun shots. When we moved away from the Heights (our house half a block from North Main) I thought the middle of the night gunfire was behind us. Damn city dwelling.

    notes

    In food and drink on July 22, 2009 at 9:38 pm

    If I ever refer to myself as the “princess of Houston theatre” – or the princess of anything, really, except maybe sarcasm – please feel free to kick me in the ass. Hard.

    I can’t do the speed bag at the gym for a bit because I rubbed the skin off on the side of my left hand when I worked out Monday night. I’m now forced to either put the hand wraps on or wear my biking gloves in order to protect my hands. Nerd.

    If you want to eat a healthy lunch, check out Bowl on lower Richmond between 59 and Montrose. It shares a wall with the bar Absinthe. You choose 10 ingredients for your salad (they have about 60 to choose from) plus a cheese and a dressing. Awesome, fresh and healthy. And the soup is good, too.

    If you want to lose your appetite (while being oddly hungry), check out this link.

    Che Colbert, shittay service

    In douchebags, food and drink, sartorial issues on June 19, 2009 at 7:36 pm

    This is the image on the new t-shirt I’m wearing today. Just got it in the mail a couple of days ago and thought I’d take it out for its virgin journey. Sadly, not everyone is noticing right away that it’s Stephen Colbert, as if I’d wear a fucking Che shirt. I guess when you’re dealing with such an iconic image, people don’t even really “see” it anymore. So the downside to this totally awesome shirt is that some who see it might think I’m an old lady trying to be a hipster. Eh, I still like it.

    Speaking of crotchety, I went to a new-to-me bar last night. Loved the interior, the drinks were great but the service SUCKED. There were four bartenders serving a crowd of maybe 65. Even rounding up to 100, that’s only 25 people per bartender. But you had to wait for a good ten minutes to get a drink. Unless you were a regular. Regulars got drinks fairly quickly and were able to have lumbering conversations with the bartenders while the new people were standing there waving money around trying to get someone’s attention. One of the most simple things people can do in the service industry goes a long way with me – look me in the eye and acknowledge that you know I’m there, waiting. If you do that, give me a slight nod or a finger-in-the-air “I’ll be right with you,” I’m fairly patient. But when you’ve never made eye contact with me and you’re standing there with your ironic tattoos, shooting the shit with your emo buddy, it makes me think that you haven’t seen me. Or that you have seen me but misunderstand what it is you’re supposed to be doing for a living. See, you make me a drink, and I give you money. Very simple transaction. But I can’t give you money if you won’t even wait on me.

    I’m going to give the bar a second chance, but I’m going to make sure not to go on a busy night. Maybe if there are only 10 customers per bartender they can keep up with both the volume and the striking of cool poses.

    burgers, trash can, festival

    In food and drink, housing on May 6, 2009 at 3:10 pm

    I see that Dennis and I were (are?) not alone in our quest to find the best burger. I don’t know how those guys can keep track of their ratings, but I do agree with the once-per-month schedule (versus once-per-week, which was not the smartest idea we ever had).

    When I left for work Monday morning, I noticed that our big trash can was gone from the curb where it had been placed in anticipation of trash collection. I did a quick glance up and down the street but didn’t see it. I’d heard the trash truck doing its thang about an hour earlier, and I thought that maybe the can had fallen into the truck. So I called the City of Houston about getting a replacement, and they told me that I’d have to file a report with the police stating that the can had been stolen. As if anyone would want to steal our stinky trash can that has dog hair in the bottom. So I filed a report – online – and then called the City back with my case number. They assured me that a can would be delivered to our house in 3 to 5 working days. We’re about to leave town, so I was dubious about whether or not the can would get there before we left.

    Then, when James got home from work Monday evening, he found the can – down the street. I guess the truck didn’t drop it off right away but instead took it on a little joyride. Maybe to get some fresh air. So that night I called the city and the po-lice to rescind my “theft” report. Wouldn’t you know, there was a brand new trash can delivered to our house on Tuesday morning. Of course. It’s still sitting there at the end of the driveway, waiting for the city’s paperwork to catch up with itself. I have to say, I’m impressed with their fast service. Even if we don’t need the second can.

    I’ll be gone until the night before my show The Hirsute Pogonophobic is performed for two nights during the Houston Fringe Festival. So this will probably be my last chance to bug you about it. It’ll run under an hour, and it will feature a few pieces from the show we did at DiverseWorks as well as the first Houston production of Militia Slumber Party, or Embracing the New World Order. Also, our show will be immediately followed by a new short piece from Bobbindoctrin Puppet Theatre. Both are included in the price of admission ($7). The festival benefits Writers in the Schools, a very cool local program that puts, well, writers in the schools. Guess that’s a pretty descriptive name.

    another year over and a new one just begun

    In birthday, food and drink on March 30, 2009 at 1:52 am

    Today is my 39th birthday. It has been a great day. James made me breakfast, we went on a bike ride to enjoy one of those rare cool blue days in Houston, and I heard from numerous friends far and near. The celebration started last night with dinner at Dharma Cafe. I highly recommend the place if you haven’t already checked it out. Get a table near a window – the action on Houston Avenue is fantastic. Yuppies getting out of their shiny Mercedes, art cars, crack heads (we saw a guy carrying an AX through the neighborhood last night), low riders, ambulances. A constant parade of interest. And the food’s great, too.

    Though I wasn’t appreciative of the menopause catalog I received the other day, I’m very happy to be where I am. My 30s have proven to be the best decade so far, and I have high hopes that I’ll say the same for the decades that are to come.

    uh, yum!

    In food and drink on February 12, 2009 at 9:34 pm

    My friend Marisa took me to lunch today. She picked a place on Lawndale at Wayside called the Dinner Bell. It’s an old school cafeteria and just the kind of place I like to go. Here’s the menu board that greets you near the entrance:

    We, of course, laughed about the first item on the list. I opted for the roast beef, black eyed peas and sweet potatoes. I ordered something called the “mini plate,” but, as you can see below, it was a load of food.

    I completely expected to be underwhelmed by the meal, assuming this was one of those places you go strictly for the ambiance. The women working the line are grandmas-with-attitude, the patrons are mostly blue collar workers or old folks (thankfully there were no yuppies) (oh my GOD, were we the yuppies?) (shit) and the decor hasn’t been updated in fifty years. So I was surprised that it was real food. As in, I think they actually make it on the premises rather than from frozen or cans. It was true “home cookin’” in the best sense. I ate about half of the food on my plate and was more than satisfied.

    When you’re ready to pay, you have to go into their adjacent little bakery. There were multiple pastries, cookies, cakes, etc. that looked pretty good if you’re into that sort of thing. I was full of meat and veggies, so I opted not to partake.

    You should check it out.

    breasts

    In food and drink, sartorial issues, the arts on December 18, 2008 at 8:19 pm

    I had lunch at Baba Yega with a friend of mine today. We were talking about the movie Fatal Attraction and how it would be considered kind of a shitty film by today’s standards. This was the opinion of my friend – I haven’t seen that movie since the 80s, so I don’t have an opinion about it. He also mentioned that Glenn Close’s breasts in that film are a bit…deflated. I said they only look that way because so many of the breasts that appear on screen are round, plastic, unnatural looking orbs. That led to us talking about how creepy it will be as the women who got breast implants a couple of decades ago get older. Who wants to see an 80-year-old woman with perky tits? 80-year old men? Maybe. Then I said that maybe they won’t stay perky as the skin ages – they’ll just stay round. So they’ll end up with something that looks like tennis balls at the bottom of a couple of tube socks.

    Literally moments after having this conversation, I saw an older lady get out of her van in the parking lot. She was wearing some kind of steel bra that had lifted her ladies up and above where nature had left them (clue number one). I had a moment to observe her because she was having a hard time getting her purse strap onto her shoulder (clue number two). She eventually did some sort of hopping jump to force the strap on, and then she straightened her shirt and entered the restaurant where her dining companion was waiting for her. Unwillingly, I noticed that her nipples were very much in evidence (clue number three). What the hell is going on here? Then I realized that she was wearing falsies and was, in fact, a man (final clue). I think that perky fake boobs are fine if they are on an older man who’s dressed as a woman. When she walked by our table, one of her shoes got caught on the rug and she tripped (but didn’t fall). I felt badly for her – she needs to practice putting her purse on her shoulder and walking in those shoes, poor dear. It’s not just about wearing the clothes – you’ve gotta walk the walk.

    And look like you’re cold all the time, evidently.

    still here

    In family, food and drink, holidays on December 11, 2008 at 7:15 pm

    It’s rare that I’m too busy to post at least a couple of blogs a week, but that has been the case for the past month or so. I’m starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel now, and I’m hoping it’s not a train.

    Thanksgiving was a success. I’ve been intimidated by that meal (the making/serving part of it, not the eating part) for a long time, so it was good to face it. It was less scary than I’d worked it up to be. A lot of work, sure, but technically not that hard if you know how to follow directions. Or, I should say, if you know how to follow directions AND your directions are good (which mine are, thanks to my mother). My only complaint about the meal is that we didn’t have enough left-over turkey. I bought a bird based upon the size recommended for meal and left-overs for the number of people who were coming. I should have realized that the recommendation only works if your people eat the entire bird. We tend to only go for the breasts in my family. Ahem. So I’ll buy a bigger bird next time.

    My sister-in-law’s baby shower was last weekend, and it was also a success. Since I gave a friend a shower the day before Halloween and then had Thanksgiving and this shower, I sort of feel like I’ve been running my own events company. And it’s been fun. If only I could shrug off the day job. It really gets into the way of all of the fun shit I’d like to do. Ahhh, but the fun shit doesn’t pay the bills.

    Usually I’ve completed my Christmas shopping by now, but this year I didn’t even start until Monday. I’m almost done though, thanks to the internet. I let my fingers do the walking. Put little shoes on them and everything.

    Thanksgiving

    In food and drink, holidays on November 27, 2008 at 1:25 am

    It’s 7:30PM on Thanksgiving eve. The washing of the turkey proved to be not nearly as horrid an experience as I’d expected. For whatever reason, I’d envisioned blood flying around the kitchen as I pulled gizzard after innard out of a dark, cold hole. As it was, each collection of the “insides” was nicely packaged in an opaque wrapper (which meant I didn’t have to look at the specifics). The main cavity was so large and empty, it didn’t bother me that much. Done and done.

    I’m about to have a glass of wine and relax. The house is clean, the table has been set and there’s nothing more I can do with the meal until morning. I thought this would be a good time to mark the things for which I am thankful. Since I don’t like to get that personal in this blog, I’m going to keep my list to myself. I suggest you make your own. Always good to take a moment to count your blessings.

    Whatever you do and wherever you go tomorrow, I hope you are surrounded by people you love who love you back. I know I will be. And I am forever grateful.

    Happy Thanksgiving.

    she’s on to me

    In family, food and drink, holidays on November 25, 2008 at 5:42 pm

    I’m hosting the family for Thanksgiving this year – for the first time. I’ve had them for Easter on a few occasions, but Thanksgiving seems like a bigger deal. I’m lucky that my mother handed over all of her notes related to the meal, including a timeline for the week leading up to it. Doing the meal “right” (by which I mean all from scratch, no shortcuts, real deal) takes a lot of planning.

    One of the things I must do tomorrow, according to her notes, is “wash” the turkey. I’ve been waiting for two weeks to make the following phone call (this morning).

    “Hi, Mom. I have a quick question about the turkey. Do you wash it with dish soap or Comet or what?”

    She didn’t miss a beat and said, “I like to use a combination of Lysol and bleach.” I was sort of hoping she’d stammer for a moment and say, “Uh, what?” but I’m also sort of relieved that she knew I was kidding.

    Last night I saw a commercial that features a woman trying to wrestle a huge turkey she’d just rinsed out of the sink. She ends up dropping it multiple times, eventually shooting it out the window, hitting her husband on the head. I find it funny now – catch me in two days and see if I still find it amusing.

    Happy Thanksgiving!

    damn, this tomato soup is delicious

    In food and drink on November 10, 2008 at 6:42 pm

    Yesterday I made a delicous creamy tomato soup that I’m eating for lunch right now. My only issue with it is the color – it’s a light orange, like you’d expect in a butternut squash soup. So though my mouth is tasting tomato, it is getting some talk back from my eyes. This makes me wonder what restaurants put in their tomato soups to make them so red. And, yes, I used tomatoes to make it. They were fresh – maybe fresh tomatoes end up being lighter in color? Regardless, I dig it.

    Other than getting a few hits on my playwriting website, last night’s report hasn’t made much of a ripple. It gets down to this – the people who come to my shows (and probably go see most of the other theatre in town, from the Alley on down to the independent theatremakers) understand that you can’t judge a piece of “art” by one line. Or a three-word description. Or a one-inch-square portion of a 10-foot canvas. The people who feel comfortable making assumptions like that probably wouldn’t be coming to see one of my shows anyway.

    San Antonio

    In food and drink, travel on October 9, 2008 at 4:55 pm

    Sorry for the lack of posts. I’ve been finding it much more fun to write about stupidity in my other blog than to write stupid things in this one.

    I was in San Antonio for most of last week, and I was surprised by how much I liked that town. I drove up a day early and saw some of the sights. The Alamo was smaller than I remembered. The last time I saw it was 20 years ago, and, much like your elementary school cafeteria, it was bigger in memory than in reality. Not to compare the Alamo to Gordon Elementary’s lunchroom…

    Because our hotel was on the River Walk and my coworkers didn’t feel like getting in the car to go further, we ate dinner down there almost every night. At one of the restaurants, the host at the door was a hispanic guy with a ridiculously fake “Texas” accent. So I interrupted him during his schtick and said, “That’s not a real accent.” He became offended (shocking) and said, “Yes ma’am. Born and bred in San Antonio Texas.” One of my coworkers is from there too, and I asked her why she didn’t talk like that guy. He decided then that he didn’t like me. I hope he didn’t tell anyone to poop in my food. Now that I think about it, it was a shitty meal… Then a couple of nights later we were at a different restaurant, and our waiter said his name was Billy Mac or Jimmy John or some such two-name nonsense. Maybe the tourists like the fake hokey shit they’ve come to expect from watching movies that never capture the essence of this state but instead rely on stupid stereotypes, but it turned me off. I think if we’d ventured beyond the River Walk I would have found more “normal” service staff. Of course, this is the place I’d really like to go.

    I didn’t take off to do some exploring on my own because I had a horrible cold. I rarely get sick, and the fact that I became so while out of town really sucked. I felt good enough on the drive back to take my coworker passengers to Luling City Market for some barbecue. One of the chicks is a vegetarian, so it wasn’t her thing. But she did appreciate the ambiance. Not only do you have to walk into the smoker room to order your meat (the outer room is where you eat and order sides from little old ladies), but there’s a lot of pressure to have your order ready to tumble out of your mouth when it’s your turn. This may be a small town, but the line for the BBQ was about 30-deep on Saturday afternoon. For good reason.

    grocery shopping, fruit

    In family, food and drink, shopping on August 17, 2008 at 5:18 pm

    Every Sunday morning, I go grocery shopping at Central Market. Early. It’s really a pleasant experience, fondling the produce, when there aren’t a lot of people around. For the past few weeks, the strawberries (in bulk) have been especially pretty. And for the past few weeks, as I’ve hand-picked a dozen or so, this keeps running through my mind: the darker the berry, the sweeter the juice, the darker the berry, the sweeter the juice. I’m not kidding. And it’s not something I’m thinking in a funny way. It is literally what I use to pick the best strawberries. It works, so what the hell. At least I’ve moved beyond giggling when picking out cucumbers. That only stopped recently.

    My folks had a big family gathering yesterday. I was talking to Tohner when I noticed a couple of oranges in the kitchen that had…nipple-like protrusions. They made me laugh, and I (once again) felt kind of embarrassed (and kind of liberated) that I sometimes have the sense of humor of a 12-year-old boy. Then, not ten minutes later, Dad walked by and said something about the oranges, too. Then Mason pointed out that they were directly under the air vent in the ceiling so maybe they were cold. Mom wondered aloud what is wrong with all of us. I’m glad that I have a family like I do. We egg each other on and keep each other in check fairly well.

    country burger

    In burger, food and drink on July 21, 2008 at 7:59 pm

    My dad alerted me to one of Robb Walsh’s columns in the Houston Press recently. He’s the food writer (Walsh, not my dad).

    Walsh’s columns have always been worth a read. Especially when he talks about old school burger joints. So Dad mentioned this review of a place out in the country, the 105 Grocery and Deli, north of 290 near Washington-on-the-Brazos. Here’s the article. After being turned on to Christian’s Totem/Tailgate and Barbecue Inn by Mr. Walsh, I believe what the man says. So Saturday afternoon, on a whim and about thirty minutes past hungry, James and I decided to make the hour-plus drive to the burger place out in the country. Man was it worth it. The wait for the burger was about thirty minutes, which I didn’t mind because there was a lot to look at. There was the chain-smoking, Miller Lite drinking lesbian in tight Wranglers sitting to my right. She and her teenage daughter and two teen boys sat there shooting the shit and scratching lottery tickets. And they kept winning. At least one of the boys won $50 on one ticket. Congratulations?

    And there was a constant stream of people in and out. I have no idea where these people were coming from. This place is really kind of in the middle of nowhere about ten miles from Navasota. But there was almost always someone in line. And there were some great signs on the deli case by the cash register. My favorite:

    No smokin (the “g” had been erased) cigars in the store, and if your pants aren’t pulled UP you will not be served. Thank you.

    One guy actually came in smoking a Swisher Sweet and was chastised by the chick at the counter. His pants were pulled up, though, so she ended up serving him.

    As for the burger…ahhh, the burger. It’s been a long time since the burger journey at the Alley. I don’t eat that kind of meal very often anymore. But I still know a good burger when I eat one, and this bitch was delicious. The patty was fresh, and it had a lot of black pepper on it. The bun was toasted just right. The veggies were crisp. It was altogether a terrific meal. I recommend it if you’re looking for something different to do on a Saturday afternoon, and it’s too hot to be outside. It’s an easy drive up 290, and the ten or fifteen miles north of the interstate is pretty and green. It’s easy to miss the place – the sign doesn’t actually say 105 Grocery and Deli. It says DK Gen Store, Café, Meat Market, Feed Store.

    Just make sure you pull your pants up before you go in.

    [NOTE: regarding the picture above - I quickly snapped that shot with the camera on my phone. I don't like to be a tourist, snapping pictures of the local "color" to show my big city friends back home. So this was taken on the d.l., as was a picture of the sign mentioned above (I wanted to get the words right). Though the shot isn't very good, you can see the delicious, crisp tots, the big burger with meat that has uneven edges - the hallmark of a fresh patty - and the Dr. Pepper made with Imperial sugar. Nice.]

    for the birds

    In animals, dreams, food and drink, writing on June 9, 2008 at 5:16 pm

    Interesting weekend. I attended an all-day artist workshop at DiverseWorks on Saturday. This was something you had to apply to in order to participate, so I had high hopes for the experience. Had it been something anyone could do that cost $250 or something, I would have been dubious. Actually, I wouldn’t have gone. But this is something that DW gets a grant for and invites Houston artists to participate in. I was blown away by the experience. My head is swimming with ideas and possibilities for the future. The presenters were from a group called Creative Capital, based in NYC. They teach artists how to manage their careers and actually make a living off their art. I was the lone playwright in the group. Most everyone else there was a visual artist. And almost every single one of them (there were 50 of us) worked in more than one medium.

    Though I never expect to live off my playwriting, I do have hopes of creating a work situation that encourages more creative writing. And I’m hoping that by the time I do the extensive “homework” from this weekend that I’ll have a better game plan. Something that I thought was nice timing: on a break at the workshop, I checked my email. Received notice that Militia Slumber Party has been chosen for a fest in NYC. It made me feel like I was on the right track Saturday, especially since this is the first hit for that play (other than the original commission) since I wrote it in February. I was worried people were viewing it as too “regional.” That’s what a producer in LA told me. That he thought it was funny but his audience wouldn’t be into it. I don’t understand what my problem is with getting a west coast production. This will be the third time for my work to be done in NYC but I can’t catch a break on the other coast. Weird.

    Saturday night I had a dream. I have dreams every night (as do we all – I just happen to remember many of mine) that are odd, so this one didn’t stick out. At first. I dreamt of a dead bird in our yard. It ended up being thrown in the washer with my clothes, and I demanded that my cousin (who lives in another state and who I’m sure has never shown up in one of my dreams) remove the bird. I guess he was the one who’d put it in there. He pulled it out as if it were a shirt or a towel, but it was really a dead bird. And that’s not the worst of the dream, but it’s the part that is relevant to the next day. So I go to the grocery store early Sunday morning. When I get back, there’s a little (alive) bird in the front yard. It doesn’t fly away as I walk right by it. I guess it fell out of the tree. James checks it out and while looking at that bird, finds its brother or sister. DEAD. Don’t you think it’s random to have a dream about a dead bird and then the next day there’s a dead bird in your front yard? I find it odd. But not disturbing. I’m not sure why.

    What I do find disturbing is what happened last night. After dinner, I thought I saw James pinch a little piece of leftover chicken. Then I heard him go outside. He’s not giving that little bird…CHICKEN, is he? Yes, that is exactly what he was doing. Making that poor little bird commit cannibalism. I don’t know if the bird ate it or not. Mama bird has been keeping an eye on things, so she may have recognized it for what it was. The fact that it was chipotle lime chicken only adds to the wrongness of the situation. When I left for work this morning, I saw that he had put out a little bowl of water for the baby, which is still sitting on our garden hose (not that we have a garden) and mama bird is still in the crape myrtle keeping an eye on things. I hope it works out for them and one of the asshole neighborhood cats doesn’t come by for a visit. I hate cats.

    big O

    In food and drink on September 17, 2007 at 12:43 am

    When we moved into this house, the acquisition of a wonderful, large kitchen and a mouth to feed other than my own made me a semi-regular cook. That has ebbed and flowed over the years, dependent upon my schedule and cooking mojo, but I have worked on the art of cooking ever since. I’ve hosted my family here for Easter a few times and will do the big eat (Thanksgiving) one of these days (years).

    So the combination of cooking on a regular basis and having cable for the first time in my life has led to reading cookbooks and watching Food Network. I love watching people cook almost as much as I like eating what they cook. I said almost. Here’s something I don’t like. When people on these cooking shows (either the host who made the food or a friend/family member/crew person on the set) take a bite of the food and make the big O face/sound. Yes, food is great. And really great food can be a transcendent experience. But the big O thing is not necessary. In fact, I find it creepy. Just take a bite, maybe make a small noise (do NOT do the face) and tell the cook how wonderful the food is. Then eat the food and quit making a spectacle of yourself. Weirdo.

    end of the world?

    In food and drink on September 5, 2007 at 1:30 pm

    I just wanted to let everyone know that the end of the world may be coming. I’ve considered wearing a sandwich board and standing on the corner of Westheimer and Montrose to spread the word, but this will have to do.

    Here’s the thing – I’ve almost completely quit drinking.

    I know! Let it sink in for a moment.

    About a month ago, I just stopped. I still occasionally have a beer or a glass of wine, but compared to years of major intake this is almost nada. Things had gotten to the near-wino point, so I pulled back. My approach with drinking has always been that I like it too much to become an alcoholic and be forced to quit completely, so I’ve occasionally given my liver a break. I just haven’t given it a break in some time. And I gotta tell you – the difference in the way I feel is huge. My sleep is much more sound (though, surprisingly, the dreams are even more bizarre than they used to be), and I feel better when I wake up. No, I’m not bounding out of bed ready to greet the day – I’ve never been a morning person – I’m just not dragging ass.

    Last night, instead of getting drunk on the front porch (how country, right?) I watched a NOVA about black holes. Did you know there’s a huge black hole at the center of our galaxy (and most every other galaxy)? I didn’t. I also now know that it will devour us some day, but that will be well after we’ve blow ourselves off the face of the planet, so no biggie.

    Eventually, I plan to find something else to do while sitting on the porch. Maybe I’ll take up whittling.

    water, questions

    In food and drink on July 31, 2007 at 11:09 pm

    Went to lunch with co-workers at a medium-fancy place downtown. By “medium-fancy” I mean not a deli/sandwich place but also not that expensive. Medium. Maybe on the higher end of medium. The waiter always approaches the table with two bottled water options (a fizzy and a still, I’m sure). They try to up-sell you right from the start. To me, that sets the customer/waiter relationship off on the wrong foot. We don’t eat there enough for the waiters to remember us, so every single time we go we have to hear about the water. Always with the water. I usually end up short-stopping the waiter to tell him that we will not be ordering the $10 bottled water. They seem embarrassed, and I know if they had a choice they wouldn’t bother with the up-sell. I guess they’re mostly targeting the older male bidness clientele that is often dining there, not the non-profit people.


    I’m still writing my Dilettante column, and I’m now at the point of begging people for questions. It’s tough coming up with bullshit to write about every week (though it might seem as though my bullshit is endless), so I’m asking for your help. Please send me a question. It can be about anything (that’s the great thing about claiming to be a dilettante – jack(son) of all trades, master of none). If people actually start sending in letters, I’ll start putting names on each question. As it is now, the majority of questions are written by me. My friend Lisa has contributed a couple (most notably the chocolate Jesus and the when is a banana just a banana). Send questions to my email or post as a comment. [I reserve the right to edit your question for space, as necessary.] Come on, bring it.

    moochie

    In douchebags, food and drink on July 27, 2007 at 6:45 pm

    There’s a mooch at work. Far as I know, he earns a salary just like the rest of us, but for some reason he’s always scamming food. When I first came to the Alley, lunches were constantly being stolen from the refrigerator. People were considering lacing their food with laxatives (or something worse) in order to punish the culprit. Then the thievery stopped. We never knew who it was UNTIL a couple of years later when we were in an all staff meeting. We had to go around the room and share a personal fact that no one else in the room knew. When it was time for the mooch to share, he said that he’d been the one stealing lunches (no, I have no idea why he confessed – it didn’t earn him any fans). He is the kind of person who will see you eating a sandwich at your desk, you’ll get up to grab something from the printer, and you’ll return to find him circling like a shark. “Are you going to finish that?”

    When the season changes (June/July), a lot of people leave. That’s the way it is at a theatre. We had a going-away party last Friday, another one yesterday and yet another tonight. My department hosted yesterday’s party. It was a fairly intimate gathering – about twenty or so people. The Alley provided wine, and we brought in cheese, crackers, homemade dips, fruit, etc. I made a hot artichoke dip that is fanfuckingtastic. The mooch was first to arrive. Not surprising. He grabbed a plate. Then he grabbed a spoon and, I shit you not, scooped ONE QUARTER of the artichoke dip onto his plate. ONE QUARTER. Then he moved on to the other offerings and filled his little cocktail plate full. Didn’t really talk to anyone. Just kept eating.

    He makes me want to shake him. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? Have you no social graces? Why are you so greedy? Can’t you save the binging for the back of your dark closet like the rest of obese America? Oh, and that’s another thing, even though he eats constantly, he’s not one bit overweight. Maybe that’s why he bothers me so much.

    insomnia, fat people

    In food and drink, people be trippin', stupidization on July 23, 2007 at 3:07 pm

    Sunday’s Dilettante. Please read it so I have justification for spending my Sunday mornings writing this crap.

    I always have insomnia on Sunday nights. The little monkeys start running around my brain and I go over all the things that I need to accomplish in the coming week – both job-related and personal. Last night, rather than staring at the ceiling in bed, I watched TV in the living room. I don’t usually watch TV before bed because it often impacts my dreams. Maybe I should be more choosy about my viewing choices and watch things that I wouldn’t mind dreaming about… Eh, I read or write instead.

    Not last night. The Learning Channel was airing a show about fat people. No, not fat people. Morbidly obese people. It was grotesquely fascinating. Mostly because I couldn’t figure out how they were making it. One guy weighs 700 pounds and lives in NYC. His family members make a lot of his food for him because they claim that if they didn’t, he’d order for delivery. I wondered how he could do that, since he’s been bedridden for 10 years. Then I saw the bucket. He had a little system. He’d lower the bucket, with money in it, from his bedroom window four or five floors down to street. The delivery person would take the money and place the food in the bucket. He’d haul the load back into his room.

    This guy spends $500 A DAY on food. That’s roughly $15,000 a month and $180,000 per year. Though he has family members who are also living with him (obviously, since someone has to change his diaper) and probably pay some or all of his rent, how in the hell can a bedridden person who seemingly does not have any sort of income afford a drug, I mean food, habit like that?
    You have to wonder at the emotional/psychological problems that would lead a person to eat themselves into non-relevance. And why does his family cook so much food for him? They showed his dad making his lunch, and he put literally HALF A STICK of butter in the fat guy’s rice. Now come on, you’re not exactly helping the situation, Pops. Give that guy some steamed broccoli and lean meat. If he wants to eat something unhealthy, he can drag his ass out of the bed to do so. And if you don’t have bad foods in the house, he’d have to lose enough weight to get down the stairs and walk to the store. He’d have to get his shit together somewhat, and maybe when he reached that point he wouldn’t want to be so fat.

    Or not. Maybe he can make enough of a living whoring himself out for documentaries to get people to bring the stuff to his house for him, whether his family is there or not. Eh.

    MPLS

    In food and drink, travel on June 10, 2007 at 5:07 pm

    I have a few hours to kill before my flight brings me back to Tejas, so I’m sitting in Caribou Coffee enjoying a delicious Americano (my dad turned me on to this drink and it’s MUCH better than coffee). I hope this chain makes it to Houston. Seems like it has more soul than the typical Starbucks. I’m sure it’s just as corporate as the next guy, but it’s a little less obvious. Reminds me of Diedrich’s, RIP. That’s probably why I’m having such a favorable reaction.

    In my six days in MPLS (yes, that’s how they abbreviate it), I’ve been struck over and over by the friendliness of the people who live here. Bus drivers tell you good bye when you get off at your stop. People who work in restaurants and coffee shops are patient and kind. Random people on the street are happy to give directions. I got some Mediterranean food to go, and the guy gave me a dessert for free because I’d been quizzing him about all the different treats in the glass case that were not familiar to me. What is the deal with these people? Does living in a place where you’re snowed in half the time affect your personality? Is it the large student population? The ridiculously great theatre scene? Does Target Corp, which is based here, pump Xanax into the water? No, that can’t be it because I’ve been drinking the water and am just as bitchy and short-tempered as always. It isn’t the good food. I’ve only eaten two decent meals here. One was a tuna melt at an organic coffee shop. The other was last night, and it was a super expensive restaurant (I wasn’t paying) involving lots of wine.

    Having gone out many of the nights I was here, I will say there seems to be a lack of self-consciousness among the “younger” people. They hang out in old school, Fargo-esque bars and restaurants with no sense of irony or kitsch. And they like to get their drink on. Walking around the bar areas at night, even in the middle of the week, we saw lots and lots of drunk young ‘uns. Maybe that’s why everyone’s so friendly…it’s a town of drunks.

    My favorite bar experience was Nye’s Polonaise. You enter to the sounds of old school karaoke. A guy at a piano surrounded by drunk people singing shitty songs. Or singing songs shitty. Or both. The piano player would occasionally sing back up, and that didn’t help matters any. The bartender and waitress were both in their 50s or so. The waitress had her hair piled on top of her head and was cracking on gum and saying “hon” a lot. As one of my companions said, it was like walking into a bar created by David Lynch. Terrific, in other words. I took a few clandestine pictures that I will upload when I get back home. Didn’t want to be too much of a tourist, so I put my camera in my lap and just shot a few frames.

    When TCG announced that the annual theatre conference would be located here, I (and many others) wondered what the hell the deal was. I since have found out. Target is and has been for decades a huge supporter of the arts in this city, and other funders have followed suit. I can only attest to the theatre part of the arts. Wow. They have over SIXTY theatres here. Houston has, like, fifteen. Maybe twenty. I can only name about ten. I saw some really amazing productions while I was here, including Figaro at Theatre de la Jeune Lune. Jeune Lune did The Miser at the Alley last season, and I’ve been obsessed with seeing another one of their shows since then. And the “big” theatre here – the Guthrie – just got a new $125 million home. Such ostentation! I mean, it was really fun to wander around in, but seriously. It has this section called the Endless Bridge that is supposedly the longest cantilever of occupied space in the world. What does that have to do with theatre? Who the hell knows. It is cool, though.

    I’m ready to get back home, though I’m not ready for the 95+ degree weather and humidity. It was great getting a break from the heat for a bit and even experiencing COLD. Today in MPLS is getting into the mid-80s, by far the hottest day of the past week. Maybe that will make it easier to come back to mosquito town.

    free drinks this Thursday

    In food and drink on May 14, 2007 at 4:13 pm

    Houstonist is hosting another free happy hour for our readers. Though the venue is outside my Acceptable Drinking Radius (ADR), I will be there getting my drink on. Please come if you can.

    The deets:
    Thursday, May 17th
    Kay’s Lounge
    2324 Bissonnet
    6-8PM

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