Monday, May 09, 2005
Asshole Black!
We had a birthday dinner at Pauline's Pizza on Friday night. I got tanked but good, and that probably helped out with the enjoyment. It's such a long dinner, and could easily do without the fashion show segment, even though that was pretty cool. I requested the "meatzeroni", to which the waiter failed to respond. We ended up ordering some meat combo with Italian sausage and salami among other things and added double-baked ham, procuitto or however you spell it and PORK SHOULDER. So much meat was piled on that beast that you had to eat it with a fork and knife. It turned out the restaurant did serve us the meatzeroni. It's definitely nutty and screwy and actually sort of charming in that completely escapist, "let's all deny the real world", 2000's San Francisco sort of way. While those ladies were getting spa treatments and buying expensive dresses and perfumes, my grandfather was busy trying to grow dirt in some backwoods corner of North Cackalackie. But I guess things weren't quite so depressing for rich, white, society dames from NYC. Also, I don't know tits about feminism, but I'm sure this pizza don't gibe with that a'tall. Still, some entertainment, and that was before taking over a bar called Sadie's Flying Elephant, guzzling shots and beers all night, the Brah throwing up after our first shot, and the afterparty at Phil's that I don't remember.
The next day the missus was somehow more hungover than me, even though I woke up in my clothes (white pants, white button up shirt, and burgandy dickie [fake turtleneck]), shivering on top of the covers, and it was nicht good. Later I watched a few innings of Friday's mets game, an alright game that would be awful if it weren't for Mike Cameron amongst others. Cameron's one hell of a player, and I can't figure out why we don't see more of him on the Baseball Tonight. Watching the mets reinforced something I've felt for a while now, that television shows that are self-contained and non-serial are kind of a waste of time. It's hard to get emotionally or intellectually invested in a show that hits the reset button every thirty or sixty minutes*. But after the game, and after avoiding a couple of deliriously hungover phone conversations with Big Brah and Thrilla, I bought some nachos, made Mook get out of bed at 5pm and wathed Saturday's mets game. I had attempted to take in some of the Derby, but was completely beyond any concept of comprehension at that point in the day. But the return of Mike Cameron's deft play was welcome, indeed, and the mets game was reliably excellent. After the match I stayed up 'til one watching the Wire and listening to records; I refused to leave the house to watch a Who cover band.
I slept off my hangover the next day too. Again, we didn't do shit. We talked to our moms, ate some lunch, and then returned to the couch for some television. It was cold and rainy all weekend, so it's not like there was much else we could do. We caught a few more episodes of the Wire (still the weakest of the Williams St shows), and then Undertow, which wasn't as good as I was expecting. Not too bad, or nothing, but not the absolute best shit ever I anticipated. Actually I was only expecting "good." And that was our weekend. Oh so unbelievably exciting. What a hell of a way to live one's life.
*: as usual with television, The Simpsons is the exception that proves the rule.
We had a birthday dinner at Pauline's Pizza on Friday night. I got tanked but good, and that probably helped out with the enjoyment. It's such a long dinner, and could easily do without the fashion show segment, even though that was pretty cool. I requested the "meatzeroni", to which the waiter failed to respond. We ended up ordering some meat combo with Italian sausage and salami among other things and added double-baked ham, procuitto or however you spell it and PORK SHOULDER. So much meat was piled on that beast that you had to eat it with a fork and knife. It turned out the restaurant did serve us the meatzeroni. It's definitely nutty and screwy and actually sort of charming in that completely escapist, "let's all deny the real world", 2000's San Francisco sort of way. While those ladies were getting spa treatments and buying expensive dresses and perfumes, my grandfather was busy trying to grow dirt in some backwoods corner of North Cackalackie. But I guess things weren't quite so depressing for rich, white, society dames from NYC. Also, I don't know tits about feminism, but I'm sure this pizza don't gibe with that a'tall. Still, some entertainment, and that was before taking over a bar called Sadie's Flying Elephant, guzzling shots and beers all night, the Brah throwing up after our first shot, and the afterparty at Phil's that I don't remember.
The next day the missus was somehow more hungover than me, even though I woke up in my clothes (white pants, white button up shirt, and burgandy dickie [fake turtleneck]), shivering on top of the covers, and it was nicht good. Later I watched a few innings of Friday's mets game, an alright game that would be awful if it weren't for Mike Cameron amongst others. Cameron's one hell of a player, and I can't figure out why we don't see more of him on the Baseball Tonight. Watching the mets reinforced something I've felt for a while now, that television shows that are self-contained and non-serial are kind of a waste of time. It's hard to get emotionally or intellectually invested in a show that hits the reset button every thirty or sixty minutes*. But after the game, and after avoiding a couple of deliriously hungover phone conversations with Big Brah and Thrilla, I bought some nachos, made Mook get out of bed at 5pm and wathed Saturday's mets game. I had attempted to take in some of the Derby, but was completely beyond any concept of comprehension at that point in the day. But the return of Mike Cameron's deft play was welcome, indeed, and the mets game was reliably excellent. After the match I stayed up 'til one watching the Wire and listening to records; I refused to leave the house to watch a Who cover band.
I slept off my hangover the next day too. Again, we didn't do shit. We talked to our moms, ate some lunch, and then returned to the couch for some television. It was cold and rainy all weekend, so it's not like there was much else we could do. We caught a few more episodes of the Wire (still the weakest of the Williams St shows), and then Undertow, which wasn't as good as I was expecting. Not too bad, or nothing, but not the absolute best shit ever I anticipated. Actually I was only expecting "good." And that was our weekend. Oh so unbelievably exciting. What a hell of a way to live one's life.
*: as usual with television, The Simpsons is the exception that proves the rule.
