Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Category Archives: Friends o’ mine
One-upped, snap!
Restaurant openings don’t make front page news in Brookings, but they should. They’re rare as golden goose eggs and (as far as I’m concerned) every bit as valuable. Imagine my delight that we have two new upscale restaurants, a reopening under new management of one of my favorite Mexican restaurants, and an expansion of my friends’ Elliot and Suzie’s restaurant, Suzie Q’s.
I had to share this knowledge with the first person possible: my favorite pharmacist, whom we’ll call Nicole.
“Some new restaurants opened up,” I said.
“Yeah, I know. The Grill is great. Good food, good service, reasonable prices. I’m going to the Nautical Inn tonight, though.”
“Eeeew.”
“Oh, I don’t want to hear that,” said Nicole. “I heard they were good.”
“They’re painfully slow. I hope you like spending all night waiting for your food.”
“Nicole’s an awesome chef,” said Stevie, Nicole’s pharm assistant.
“Really?” I said. “We oughta have a cook-off.”
“You’re a chef, too?” said Stevie. Nicole smiled like the Cheshire Cat.
“Yeah,” I said, bold as Keanu Reeves in Speed. (In other words, a total doofus who acts ballsy, and does a damned unconvincing job of it at that.)
“WELLLLLL, Nicole went to Cordon Bleu, and stayed on as faculty.”
For a moment, we all listened to the sound of tens of thousands of pills settling in their respective bins.
“You’re kidding me,” I said. “Then what the hell are you doing here?”
Nicole told me that the only folks who make any money are the executive chefs. Unless she landed one of those gigs, she’d be making eleven bucks an hour. What she really wants is to save up enough money to open a bed and breakfast.
“So what’s your best dish?” Stevie asked me.
In the face of the real thing, I gagged. No, really. Now I can think of my best dish (sweet potato ravioli in sage and brown butter sauce), but at the moment, I could only come up with focaccia.
“At least, my family seems to like it,” I said, suddenly and unusually humble.
“Yeah,” said Nicole, “focaccia’s easy. Not too many ways to screw it up — you just need to avoid overworking the dough.”
I thought: I knew that.
“Desserts are my weak suit,” I offered, now wallowing in my newfound humility.
“I would have been a pastry chef,” said Nicole.
“She makes an incredible Bundt cake,” said Stevie. “Oh, gaaawd.”
“I’m not baking for you,” Nicole told her.
“How’s your spaghetti?” Stevie asked.
“Nothing special,” I said. “But I do great meatballs.”
“Round meatloaf,” Nicole said.
“Nothing special,” I agree. “But they’re from Marcella Hazan’s cookbook and they’re awfully good.”
“Nicole has tons of cookbooks.”
“I’m drowning in them,” Nicole said.
***
Meanwhile, I’m thinking, I must cook for this woman.
Maybe she’ll reciprocate.
D.
My friend Dan has way too much time on his hands
He sent me the link to San Francisco in Jello. And if Dan has too much time on his hands, what can you say about the woman who crafted such a thing?
D.
Let’s make plump the new black
I like my women zaftig, probably because I’ve never had a zaftig woman. You always want what you can’t have. (Well, there was Carmela, but she wouldn’t let me touch her. Death threats from her longshoreman dad, you’ll recall.) I wish Karen were heavier, not only for my own gratification, but also for her health. She needs some padding for dem bones.
I’m thinking about these things thanks to Demented Michelle, who yesterday wrote a post you all ought to read. Michelle responded to a post over at Morphing into Mama, wherein Mama discussed whether women have a responsibility to remain thin for their husbands. Michelle gave a well written and moving response which the other commenters sadly ignored . . . leading me to wonder, what is with these women?
From Michelle’s comment:
As someone with a medical issue that makes it incredibly hard to lose weight, I simply cannot relate to any of the discussion on this topic. The current debate presupposes we have a choice, when I never really did.
Now, after 10 years and multiple doctors, I am making some progress and losing weight and I’m disturbed.
Disturbed by the way that fat seems to have some twisted relationship with morality and it’s this facet of weight, I think ,that really wreaks havoc with people’s self-esteem. I am perceived now as being virtuous because I’ve lost weight. I am doing ‘so good’, looking ‘so great’ and am ‘statuesque, like a model’. I have morphed into Super Me, someone I never asked to be.
Emphasis mine. Do yourself a favor and read the rest.
D.
The Friday morning spew
Comments to my Pad Thai post jogged a few memories.
Alton Brown mangling the recipe reminded me of a horror Karen and I witnessed during my Stanford days. (more…)
There’s criminal child abuse. And then there’s war ball.
Note before we get rolling: I’m updating my blogroll. If I have been neglectful, drop a note in the comments, and I’ll get you added. I really do like to keep tabs on all the people who visit this place.
Remember this post, where I dropped some names in the hopes my old pals would find me by egomaniacally googling their own names? Great idea, but it didn’t work. My pal Sharon (whom I’ve known since Mrs. Bisetti’s kindergarten class) found me because I dropped a reference to Malice, cuz she had a bit role in the movie. I think you were in scrubs, Sharon, but I knew it was you. No one else in that Hollywood OR knew how to act.
So Sharon dropped me an email, and we shot the shit, and she mentioned that a friend of hers might know something about an old friend of mine, whom I had googled once upon a time and came up with bupkes. He recently entered the blogosphere, though, and with Sharon’s additional information that he’s a freelance writer, I tracked him down. His name is Mike Imlay, and I’ve added him to my blogroll.
Mike, this post is for you.
***
Mike and I had to be the littlest kids in our junior high school class. I haven’t seen Mike since 9th grade, so I’m guessing he had a late growth spurt and now I’m the only little kid left from our junior high. My life is kind of like that.
Because Mike and I made up a weight class all our own, we paired off together for wrestling. This worked out to our advantage since we were both bright kids and the other boys would have murdered us, given the chance. We didn’t do so well at other PE activities, and in particular, our lives were in jeopardy every effin rainy day. That’s because rain meant indoor activities.
Rain meant war ball.
Sunday morning eye candy
Artist pal Kenney Mencher has a new show in Oakland. (I’ll edit this on Monday morning to give a link to the show.) He sent me the announcement last week, which reminded me — it’s been a while since I shouted him out.
Neat pix below the cut. (more…)
Pimpage for a friend
Psyched, by Kenney Mencher
My pal Kenney is having a show in Atlanta:
blue line gallery
465 Boulevard, S.E. #203
Atlanta, Georgia, 30312
Phone: 404-635-0622
GRAND OPENING RECEPTION
NOVEMBER 4, 6-10 pm
So, what do you think — does that guy look like Andy Dick, or what?
D.
Jump for joy
After the Game, by Kenney Mencher
You know what I love best about this one? The expression on the cheerleader’s face. What is she thinking?
I fell in love with this painting and almost bought it. Instead, we bought one we could hang in our office without fear of giving elderly men angina.
It’s fun following the comment thread to PBW’s latest writing exercise. Check it out. In brief, the idea is to summarize your current writing project in 25 words or less.
Several writers are working on multiple projects. This blows me away. I feel daunted by my ONE project, and here are folks with three, four, or more pans in the fire. Meanwhile, I’m thinking editing doesn’t feel like the best word for this activity. Crawling is a better word. Crawling through molasses studded with fire ants.
Why? Because no one freaks out over mad buffalo disease. Here’s the recipe:
1 lb ground buffalo
1 package Lipton’s onion soup mix
1 egg
Several turns of freshly ground black pepper
Combine thoroughly. Let the mixture sit in the refrigerator at least one hour. Cook ’em over coals. No, not under the oven broiler, you heathen. Some people.
D.
Howdy, neighbor!
A very special welcome for the lovely, talented, and soon to be published novelist Lisa Adams, who I hope will be stopping by sometime soon. She may never come back here, or she may beat me up the next time she sees me. You never know with some folks.
Lisa works as the Yurok Indian Tribe’s in-house counsel. That means we have two lawyers here. Scott, Lisa. Lisa, Scott. This painting is for the both of you:
I’m sure either of you could supply the identity of the judge in question. And I’m certain this is all quite innocent — doubtless he’s reviewing some vital piece of evidence.
I’d write more today, but I was up late last night taking this
out of this
I pinched that X-ray off the web here at emedicine, since in my opinion, image-napping is a far smaller sin than violating doctor-patient confidentiality.
I’ll try to do better tomorrow. Hi Lisa!
D.