The Meaty Efreeti

Thursday, July 28, 2005

Alas poor Foley's, we hardly knew ye. On a purely historical note, when I was a young lad, living HERE in Wickford, there was a little blonde girl that lived across the street from me who had a huge crush on me. And I was, in turn, terribly mean to her, having already had a "girlfriend" at the time named Jessica. What's the significance of this you ask, where is the parallel? Well her name was Meg. Meg Macy. Sigh... j.s.

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

Purple, Green, or not there at all? Keep staring at the "+" sign in the center of the purple dots...neat huh?

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

For those who get excited about this kind of thing, we're a scant 2 weeks away from the first NFL preseason game...arriving on my birthday this year. And I am so ready. And for those of you who get excited about THIS kind of thing (not that the two are mutually exclusive), I am definitely down with seeing the Blazing Sword cleave a Robeast in half on the big screen... Ahem. They have not approached me to play "Keith" just yet. But again, I am so ready. And I can only hope that THIS starts a anti-spam revolution the world over. That's right you mooks, we're not taking the porn ads sitting down anymore...now hold still and quit whining. *crack!* j.s.

Monday, July 25, 2005

So, let's talk about Katy. I have no idea how I survived growing up out there. Nothing to eat but miles of fast food and doppleganger restaurant chains, all serving the exact same menu with a slight variance in interior decor to distinguish themselves. (Landry's, Chili's, Bennigan's, Black-Eyed Pea, J. Carino's, etc.) And when you're done gorging yourself on plates of fried? You waddle your jiggling, harpoon-scarred ass back to your SUV, sweating grease and salt, and weee, weee, weee, all the way home. There are no coffee/music/patios with drinks to be had and comfortable reading areas... With the exception of the ubiquitous 'Bucks of course. And those are bursting at the seams with soccer moms and their screaming rugrats at all hours of the day, fanatically demanding their frozen coffee-esque concoctions and subsequently wondering why it is their 10 minute treadmill sessions aren't sculpting their legs into Tina Turner's. It's because you're drinking a fucking milkshake every morning, Miss Caffeinated Homemaker 2005. And if you decide to venture out of the house after the street lights have come on? Prepare to be glared, tailed and eventually pulled over and harassed by the local lawdog zealots. Katy cops are notoriously sans senses of humor, which is suiting since they're also sans functioning cerebral cortices. Not that there's a reason to leave the house after 9:00 mind you, because they roll up the goddamned streets around that time. All good Katyites have to arise at 4am to allow for rush hour traffic you see... And finally, there's just a general melancholy to life there. I won't go so far as to say the city breeds an air of existential futility, but it sure as hell isn't too far from that. I mean, I sat on the couch for 2 days, willfully allowing hours of my life to ebb away via "Finding Nemo" and "The Chronicles of Riddick," And I just couldn't make myself get up and leave the house...for anything. Which is a pretty serious paradigm shift for me, since I was really only about 45 minutes out of the city... I'm therefore hypothesizing that it's something the Katy city council is putting in the air/water/batter to keep people, and their dollars, safely confined within Katy city limits. Anyway, being out there made me realize how I'm normally never bored. And how there's rarely enough time in the day to get everywhere and do everything I want to. This versus being out there, where I kneeled before the clock offering pieces of my soul for quicker revolutions of the hour hand. In fact, the only thing that kept me from sinking into the despondency of suburban nihilism was hanging out on at Carol n' Wesley's on Saturday night, and then going with them to "Q," one of the local bars. I'm pretty sure we all had a good time, and I know we all had way too much to drink. This was in part a defense mechanism against the very strange people that were wandering around the bar... A smashed 40-something woman saying "s'cuse me" (to no one) each time she stumbled or staggered; a old man fanning out $20 bills in front of his face while his girlfriend (with too much eyeshadow) stared over his shoulder, eyeing the cash hungrily; a server wearing a towel with sewn-in elastic bands as a top, and 2 guys with girlfriends that had to have been about 19, one of whom had a penchant for lifting her skirt up and resting bareassed against her friend, her boyfriend, the pool table, the wall, etc... That, was really entertaining...easily the highlight of my weekend. And hanging out with Wesley and Carol is always a good time. Sunday I made my escape promptly at 5, after feeding the dog, and headed home to shower and hang out with J.T. First stopped off at O.C, had a couple buskets, then decided to go by Volcano, a bar in Rice Village which was cool...but very dead. So we headed back home, with a waypoint at the O.C. for another drink. Called it a night at around 12ish. And there you have it. Going to the gym tonight I think, and the bosses are in town so I'm guessing they're going to request a dinner meeting. See you around, j.s.

Saturday, July 23, 2005

It's official. I am incapable of living anywhere outside of the loop. I've only been in Katy for 18 hours, and I'm already crawling out of my skin out here. I've watched movie after movie, read for a while, paced around the house...I even went to sleep early last night. But I'm going to escape the sticks this afternoon to grab some coffee, go home to shower and change and then, theoretically, get ready to go out tonight. Talk to you later. j.s.

Friday, July 22, 2005

Oy. I don't recall writing that last one...it needed a bit of editing today. Yipes. Rough night. But, I'm heading out to Katy tonight to recover by lounging around Dad's place, reading and taking care of his mutant dog for the weekend... And to hopefully catch up with the aforementioned Katy peeps for a beer or something as well. I seem to recall the usual O.C. suspects and I making plans to clean ourselves up and go out on the town on Saturday, rather than shlubbing around a patio in t-shirts, jeans and sneakers. (That's "tennis shoes" to you southern folk.) Perhaps the Belv, Red Door, Escobar...maybe Europa. We'll see... Okay, I'm out of here. Have a great weekend kids...unless of course you've made other plans. =] j.s.



Hello there. Well, in what has become a regular posting for me, I'm laying here in bed on Friday morning at around 3, still drunk from hours spent at the O.C. earlier, and ready to discuss the fragmented remnants of the evening I've had before I (somehow) got here. O.C. was good. Many buskets of beer, many good conversations, many laughs. And I'd also like to take a moment to apologize to my friends in Katy for keeping them out so late. They will no doubt be cursing my name and creating little Jeremiah dolls to burn in effigy tomorrow... After everyone else went home, a friend and I sat outside and talked for a bit, and then I go inside to close my tab and ready myself to go home... "Hey there Shaw," says one of the particularly cute bartenders. "Hi." "All done tonight?" "Yep. Heading home. And by the way, are you going to continue to call me by my last name forever?" "Well what's your first name? "Jeremiah." "Jeremiah... That's a beautiful name." "Thank you, so is [her name]" She smiles. "So, you know that all of us that work here think you're beautiful right?" "Uh..." "The girls, the girls that work here, you knew that, right??" "Er, well no...not really," I lie, "but thank you." Smile. "But, since we're all into you, none of us could actually ever go out with you since it would drive all the others crazy...so we just admire you from afar." "Well, I'm flattered, but I really don't think I'm so cool as to deserve that kind of admiration..." "Yes you are." I smile sheepishly, look at the floor and bite my bottom lip. "Perhaps you're right... But are we still going to see The Walkmen/Mates of State/M83 together?" "Yep. We're good. See you next Thursday...Jeremiah." "Okay. Good night...[her name.]" Sigh. So I went back outside, read a few websites with the same friend, dropped a few inebriated comment bombs on random sites (which is the new "drunkdialing), and got dropped off at home, which is where I am right now. Where I'm also tired. And blurry. And hungry. But more than anything, I'm ready to crash. So good night kids. Hope you're all sleeping well. j.s.

Thursday, July 21, 2005

Apparently terrorists are pissed off that they didn't cast a lasting, fearful, freedom-shattering shadow on the streets of London (like they did here), so they tried it again today. Keep taking the high road Brits...that's how you'll beat them. Meanwhile, back at the Hall of Justice... This kid instantly becomes Jeremiah's hero. Poppin' n' lockin' during your old man's SCOTUS press conference... Utterly fucking brilliant. See you kids 'round the O.C. this evening. j.s.

Wednesday, July 20, 2005

Greetings and salutations. I'd like to talk about billboards for a moment if I might...specifically, a billboard that I pass every morning on my way to work. You inner-loopers will know the one I'm talking about. Half of the sign is taken up by the portrait of a 30-something blonde woman, her two-dimensional eyes gazing seductively at the crawling 9am motorcade... Yet the lower half of her face is contorted into a strange, open-mouthed smile/grimace, reminding me of the time I took too much LSD and was caught in endless, uncontrollable laughter. The horror...horror... Ahem. Anyway, as terrifying as this woman's visage is, it is hardly the most unsettling part of this sign. You see, behind her is a vignette of an empty kitchen with tan colored counters. And, floating next to her head, are the words "I Am Kona Beige," printed in bold lettering. I. Am. Kona. Beige. I feel a Tyler Durden moment coming on... Correct me if I'm wrong here, but this woman is using her "Kona Beige" countertops as a defining characteristic, right? Her countertops reflect who she is as a human being. Her countertops are such an integral part of her personality that she would identify herself to millions of strangers by their color. I mean, identifying yourself by your clothes, or your haircut, or even (maybe), your car, is one thing... Granted, it's still pretty shallow, but semi-acceptable since each involves your personal method of presentation to the public world. Sort of like human plumage. Sorta. But your countertops? How can someone anthropomorphize, and subsequently identify with, something that was designed with flour cans, raw chicken, and spilled Kool-Aid in mind? Have we really come down the twisted road of commercialization that far? Where it's common for women to self-actualize via the color of their fucking kitchens? Perhaps I'm wrong though... Maybe one's choice of interior kitchen surfacing is an important turning point in human development. And once chosen, it's either a ticket to unabashed, hallucinogenic-induced happiness, or an irreversable Scarlet (or "Kona Beige," or "White Dune," or "Orange Fuego") Letter, emblazoned on you for life, not unlike your social security number. Or herpes. Alas, I have absolutely no idea what color the counters are in my house. I think they're greenish? Maybe grey? And I don't have a clue in hell as to what they say about me as a person. Damn. j.s.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

Now if we could just get them to yell "BANG! BANG!" during live exercises... [[a la BoingBoing]] I have also been unable to get The Arcade Fire's cover of Talking Heads' "This Must Be The Place" out of my head for days now... Be wary of their simplistic Canuckygroove people. Damn you Canuckygroove! (Yes, I made that word up. But I'm the first one to do it. Me. Don't believe me? Google it and see what happens. That's right.) Possible side-effects to a few listens may include: utilizing the "repeat" button on your CD player for the first time; flashdancing in little tight circles around your office; grinning in rush-hour traffic like you've been sucking whip-its all afternoon; and decreased sensitivity to all other musical stimulation...at least for a little while. j.s. C'mon, screw with Google's collective hivemind. Canuckygroove! Kangroove is for suckas.

Sunday, July 17, 2005

*recorded earlier* Hi there. It's early Sunday morning, and I'm at home, in bed. I went out with [TGFTP & Friends] tonight to a bar that, in all honesty, had a 15 foot metal armadillo sitting on its back haunches outside, replete with nefarious glowing red eyes, and a cowboy hat. Yes, I still went in after seeing it. And no, the horror didn't stop there... Once inside, we sat beneath a quad-spotlight, which brutally assaulted the eyes of anyone who leaned beneath its incandescent din. Through the glare I could just make out numerous bovine heads, affixed to the wall at their necks. One of which (whom in I dubbed "Esmerelda Villa Vaca"), had her ID "earrings" still attached, as if this disembodied head would somehow wander from where it was dead and bolted to the goddamn wall, and therefore plastic fobs with distinguishing numerals would be required in order to identify it from the other beheaded cattle that graze about the bar after-hours. This, of course, leaves out the shotgun arsenal encased behind glass next to us, the small, creepy, Satanic rocking chair made entirely of bull horns and red velvet, the barstools that were actually leather-bound saddles with "Armadillo Palace" branded on the backs, and of course a lone stuffed bobcat, frozen mid-swipe, perched above an "employee only" door. Take all this, add a country/western soundtrack from a band I couldn't see, a moonshine hobby kit, fossilized livestock jaws hanging from strings like a southern version of Quint's place from "Jaws," and a horribly unattentive server, and you'll have a recipe for a nervous Yankee. Yet, I think I remained relatively stoic. This is partially due to [TGFTP] and her friends continuing to be the interesting and lucid people that I vaguely remembered them being from Red Lion. We talked of the drama of family gatherings, about where exactly the ubiquitous obese of our city should go in order to meet people of similar girth, the fact that cows are just plain creepy, and I was thoroughly enterained by one of them repeatedly "shooting" sugar packets...since she'd been cut off from additional alcohol. (In fact, I was so entertained by it that I smuggled a few extra packets out of the bar, just to see if she'd continue to down them with reckless diabetic abandon... Yes, I'm a bad man.) An amusing group those girls, I like 'em. Anyway, we left "Armadillo Palace" and headed to "Brian O'McShanablahblahblah's" at around 12:30, which was an inconvenient resource for additional drinks given the throngs of people crammed inside. Nevertheless, we sat on their couches, drank "Bull Blasters" and Red Stripe until last call, [TGFTP] nearly started a fight, the "SugarShooter" apparently switched to salt at some point as it was all over the couch, and I flirted with the bartender, like I do. Good times... We eventually said goodnight, and I drove [TGFTP] back to her car...during which we had a slightly uncomfortable conversation, the content of which is really none of your business. Suffice to say, a Leonine ego is a very difficult thing to keep in check. =] Anyway, it's a quarter-to-five, and my eyes are narrowing quickly at the keyboard, so I'm off. Good night all. j.s.

Saturday, July 16, 2005

This is a Meaty Public Service Announcement. Do not go see "Dark Water." The first 45 minutes were spent in depressing, recent-divorcee, wrist-slicing, single-parent misery... And from there, we leap immediately into a ridiculous, pseudo-ghost story involving a little girl and that spookiest of spooky elements...water. I also missed the memo that explained how ceiling leaks equate to creepy, but that's neither here nor there. The only redeeming quality of the movie was the adorable little girl who played Jennifer Connelly's daughter. Outside of that, the rest of it should've had Trent Reznor floating around the set playing single piano notes...at Sea World. You've been warned. G'night. j.s.

Friday, July 15, 2005

Hi. So, once again, it's early in the morning on a random Friday. You're asleep. And I've just gotten home. The bar was fine, in case you're wondering. We did take off for a little while at around 10 to catch up with a few girls I knew at another bar. Hung around there for a bit, then got bored and dropped by The Belv for a few minutes to say "hi" to Jen the Ludicrously Hot Bartender, and to commiserate about the Red Sox losing to the Yankees tonight. Then we decided we'd take our leave, and head back to the O.C. Once we arrived, the bartenders seemed rather excited to see my triumphant return, and were strangely interested in whether or not I'm planning on going with them to the SHOW that I linked here a couple weeks ago. "Of course," I reply. "Good!" they say in unison. "We've met the people you hang out here with and we know they're not cool enough to want to go." "No?" "No," they say. "We decided you must be their 'cool friend' that they keep around to make them cool." they say. "I sure hope I'm not that guy...they'd be sorely disappointed." "Right. So we're on for the concert then?" "Absolutely." "Good. We'll pick you up a ticket when we get ours." "Hey! Awesome, thanks!" "Sure 'Shaw.'" So, once again I'm going out with the bartenders of the establishment that I've chosen as my local haunt. And somehow, even though I'm getting a free concert out of it (and probably free drinks as well, although I didn't notice any tonight), I find it hard to see how that somehow equates to a "good thing." Okay, enough. I've had too many Stripes to talk coherently about the evening... I should really just go to bed now. 'Night kids. Enjoy your Friday...knowing that I will not. j.s.

Thursday, July 14, 2005

And, in the same breath as I encourage someone to run over a 55-year-old chief-of-staff with a Boeing 747... THIS, conversely, makes me very sad... j.s.



"Punch it Chewie." j.s.



Hello, hello, hello... So it's that time again. The time where we gird up our loins and take to strangely comfortable wooden benches for another night of Red Stripes, hipster tunes, cute girls, lurid conversations, more Red Stripes, Nag Champa, and inexplicable Ziploc bags filled with water, dangling by strings, hung all around the bar. Yep. It's O.C. night. I've no idea who's coming to join in the debauchery, but it's a given that somebody will be at the bar... Er, which is actually kind of scary now that I think about it...since that pretty much makes me a "regular." People know me there. Belvedere, Champps, Dean's, Drink, Knuckleheads, O.C, Tribeca... That's right, I come bartender-preferred. Although, it's absolutely pouring out right now...so tonight might be a difficult sell. We may just have to create an escape bar, to be used in case of inclement weather... Perhaps Jimmy's. Or Cahle's. Or Cecil's. Bah, we'll see. Apparently there's a Bastille Day party going on tonight as well, so it may well be that I'm be storming a Parisian prison and overthrowing a monarchical regime this evening instead... Good time either way. See you 'round. j.s.

Wednesday, July 13, 2005

Well, I originally had intentions for this evening that didn't quite pan out. Which in turn caused me to miss out on going out with a few friends. Sorry about that you guys, but I thought that I already had plans. j.s.



K, I'm off for the day. Heading to the rock gym (hopefully) before the masses arrive and I can't boulder along the wall without bumping into smackerheads. Oh, and THIS has sucked quite a bit of my time up this afternoon... Enjoy. j.s.

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

Hey, not much of an update today, as I spent most of the day working at Texas Children's Hospital. But I did want to mention the MLB All-Star Game tonight... Ahem, and leading off for the AL? "'ehh Joh-NAYY!" (And unless you're a fellow New Englander, that particular inflection isn't going to make any sense, although it'd probably help if you heard me say it.) So I'll be watching, probably at D's place if I were to guess, replete with pizza and a delicious frothy beverage. Talk to you tomorrow. j.s.

Monday, July 11, 2005

*TRENTA COUNTDOWN: 31 DAYS* Okay, I'll sort of recap the weekend...although with the "edited for content" volume turned way up. Sorry. Friday I did go to T.'s place for the entire evening. Drank some Hennessy, watched "Anchorman" and "Zoolander," and basically had a relaxed night at her apt. A good time was had by all I think. Saturday I spent the day cleaning my apartment (the dishes in the sink were organizing rallies to demand improved working conditions), then had dinner with J.T. and K. during which I caught them up on sundry and sultry tales of singledom, and then J.T. and I went to Cecil's to catch up with [TGFTP] et al. for drinks. Once again, good times...although this one involved way too many Bass, and J.T. and I had to do a "sobriety pitstop" at my place for a few hours before the attempt to drive him home. We left my place at around 5. Sunday I spent the day with Why, thus completing the trifecta. Laid about at her place for a while, had dinner with her Mom, whom I hadn't seen in years. (And who still espouses my perfection.) wicked grin And then we went back to my place, watched Fahrenheit 9/11, and crashed early. Drove her home at 8am today, amidst whirling work stress, which proved to be too much for my early morning fragility, so I followed her inside her apartment and promptly crashed in her bed while she prepared for work. Woke up at around 10 feeling horrible, nauseated and dizzy. But I went home, cleaned myself up, and am feeling a little bit better now, although still not 100%. Tonight is the final softball game, weather permitting, and I'm thrilled at the prospect of having my Monday nights back once again. Especially since it keeps screwing with my Bally's/rock gym/yoga schedule that I've got worked out. That and I think I've simply grown tired of playing outside in the Texas summer heat. Nothing but air-conditioning from here to October for me. In other news, it appears that Jenny and I are going on a 5 day cruise out of New Orleans in late August (sailing to Playa del Carmen and Cozumel), with a couple days afterward to spend on the Quarter at The Olivier House. Promises to be yet another installment in our series of extraordinarily good times. And with that, I'm off for the day. Talk to you soon. j.s.

Friday, July 08, 2005

Hi. It's early Friday morning, and most of you productive types are fast asleep in preparation for the workday tomorrow. I'm awake. Laying in bed. And bit drunk, although much less so than I'd usually be after an O.C. Thursday. I did go to the Astros game, which was an utter farce and took way, way too long. (Read as: they lost.) Afterward I was dropped off at the bar and had several drinks with T. and her volleyball team. Good times ensued. T. was a bit more physically demonstrative in her affectations than in evenings prior, which was a bit strange, since I seemed to have a kind of detached interest in what was happening. "Oh, she's leaning her legs against me and resting her head on my shoulder...hey, that's kind of nice...hmmmm..." However, given the events of this week, my detachment isn't entirely surprising. My thoughts were naturally with someone who had already gone to bed before I went out tonight. But that's really neither here nor there I suppose. So anyway, Luis and I stayed and talked with T. and her friend until well after 2, and then headed back to my place where he is now crashed out on my couch, and I'm sitting up in bed writing for all of you. She and I have made plans to hang out tomorrow night at her place and watch movies, and then apparently we're going to church together on Sunday. (We're both Episcopalian you see.) I just gave her a ring to make sure she made it home okay, and although she hasn't, sobriety isn't a distant leap from a Whataburger drive-thru line, so I think she'll be fine and I can therefore rest easy tonight. Which is my next stop from here. Mind the gap. j.s.

Thursday, July 07, 2005

KaCHING! That's going to be brilliant...if only it weren't at #'s. Hi there. Not a whole lot is going on really...went to the gym last night and didn't drink nearly enough to rehydrate myself afterward, so I'm a bit sore today as a result. Not in a bad way of course, just a little tight. You know, it's uncanny how, when I'm not busy at all, everyone's computers/printers/network connections run along swimmingly. But those times that I'm so swamped under work papers that I look like an albino Trash Heap? Yeah, that's when people decide to cock up their systems... Sigh. So the docket for this evening is yet another Astros game at 7 (who'd have believed a 2nd place spot for the 'Stros at the all-star break? Not I.), followed closely by drinks at O.C. Apparently T. will be in attendance there tonight, along with her entire sand volleyball team... cheshire cat grin That should be (at the very least), interesting. And finally, I have to give a shout to my B'more peeps Beez and 71mm3r5...who were married a couple of weeks ago and have now returned from honeymoonin'. I so wanted to be there for the wedding. Alas, the IRS arrived a week before I was supposed to fly out, and had other plans for the $$$ I'd saved to come up. I'll give you guys a ring tonight or tomorrow and see how it went and apologize "in person." I just wanted you to know right now that I felt really bad for not being able to make it. I'm sorry. =[ Talk to you later. j.s.

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

Hi there. Long weekend...and it gets increasingly blurry the farther back I try to go. Thursday was O.C., and drinking heavily did, in fact, ensue. Although most people left at around 11ish again, with the exception of a friend of mine, a gaggle of 23-year-old girls, and myself. And they were horrifying...truly. One of their collective favorite movies was "Kindergarten Cop." And I'm so not making that up. Worked Friday afternoon, and then headed over to Red Lion to catch up with [TGFTP & Friends] for drinks. Many drinks. Many, many drinks. And may I say, that after Thursday night it was so very refreshing to talk to people who were interesting, had intelligent insights on literature, film and pop culture, and who could actually carry on erudite conversations without looking like glassy-eyed victims of hippocampi theft. Although honestly, to sit at a table of folks, the majority of whom had all been to this site and had thusly read about me and my life, and know many of the myriad ridiculous things that I do...all while I conversely know absolutely nothing about them? Well that was a little unsettling. At least at first. Fortunately there were plenty of drinks involved and I rather quickly got over it. Anyway, had a really good time there. I thought things might get a bit bumpy once [TGFTP'S] boyfriend arrived...but alas, everything seemed to work out fine. Saturday I got up and did Fountain View with the fam (status = still drunk), and then caught up with Bitterness, Luis, another J, and several others to caravan out to Russell's party in Columbus. By this point, the good-natured drunken residuals had ebbed, leaving behind a nauseating and dull-minded hangover in their stead. Fortunately that too passed once I got out to Columbus, and we all cavorted and hollered and did such things as would befit a party in the middle of Texas. I got to hold my 7 month old cousin for a while, whom I've given the unfortunate moniker "CuteBacca," which was beautiful and heartwarming, and also made me very sad. But all in all, it was also good time... The only thing I left concerned about was whether or not people remembered why we were there. With the exception of his immediate family, and the folks I came with, I didn't hear a single person mention his name... Which truthfully bothered me a little, as I'd kind of hoped to swap stories about him and do more of a remembrance thing. I mean, to each her/his own of course, I'd simply expected something with a bit more encomia and a bit less gaiety. Went home and crashed at around 2. Sunday had breakfast at Ft. View with "Why," on the way to which there was a fledgling chimney swift that was crouched unmoving outside her door. It wasn't hurt, but it had grey down around its neck, hence was probably just too young to fly and had fallen out of the nest. So I wrapped it in a towel from my Jeep, scooped it up, and hid it deep in some nearby bushes. I'm really hoping the little guy is okay... =[ We went back to my apt, did laundry, and watched a parade of movies for the rest of the day/evening. Crashed early, and more importantly, sans alcoholic intake...which was exactly what I needed. Monday was the 4th of course, and having the day off, we originally tried to create our own pizza at home for breakfast. And while the attempt itself was adorable, it instead turned out to be less of a pizza gestalt than it was a doughy mass of tomatoes, flour and cheese...with a texture not entirely unlike warm Silly Putty. After a couple bites, we gave each other gold stars for effort, and headed to Star Pizza. After lunch, and a post-meal nap, we headed down to Bolivar where we'd originally believed there would be a party going on at N's beach house. No such luck. So instead we picked up a beach mat, a metric ton of sundry flavored chips, a 6-pack and some fireworks, and drove onto the beach for the remainder of the day. After the sun went down, we realized that all the pockets of people we'd seen on the beach had brought copious amounts of fireworks along with them; so we sat in the back of the Jeep, watching them light up miles and miles of the coastline. Quite beautiful. On the way out a truck in front of us had almost made it out of the sand and onto the pavement when it slowed, stopped, and stalled. So I glide through the sand, stop on the road, and then hop out of the Jeep to go help. Turns out it was an elderly man and his wife, who explained that they come out to that beach every year on the 4th, and this was the first time they'd ever gotten stuck. So he and I get behind the truck, he instructs his wife to "punch it darlin'" and then advises me under his breath that "it'll take 'er 5 minutes to find the clutch boy, so save your strength until them wheels start movin'" We easily push them out, and they thank us profusely for stopping. I smile and wish them a happy 4th. Anyway, it ended up being quite the nice night. We went home, rinsed off and then crashed. And today I worked for most of the day at Texas Children's Hospital, after which I had just enough time to swing by the office and check my email before D. and I headed to the Astros game. (Which should explain the tardiness of this weekend update post.) Speaking of which, we have tickets for this Thursday, and for this Sunday I think, if any of you are interested in going... And right now I'm at home, safely wrapped in my comforter, and my eyes are sliding more and more closed with each occasional yawn. So I think I'm done for today. G'night. j.s.

Sunday, July 03, 2005

So I wrote this a few years ago for friends in Utah, and promptly misplaced it after I finished. So to the amusement of all, and so I don't lose it again, I'm posting it here. --- "Okay, I can't sleep, so here's the recipe for Uncle Jeremiah's Tabouli. It may be a little wacky, but it's 2:15am, so bear with me. Ingredients: 2 bushels of curly parsley 1 bushel of mint 5 green onion stalks 6 Roma tomatoes 8 lemons Bulgur wheat Olive oil Salt Materials: Colander Juicer of some sort A big honkin' bowl A normal honkin' bowl Sharp knife Cutting board How To: 1. Start by filling a normal bowl about 1/2 full of Bulgur wheat then add hot water. Let soak whilst Tabouli-makin'. 2. Pluck the leafy bits of parsley off of the stems and put these bits into the colander. What you're shooting for here is parsley leaves sans stems. (This is traditionally the responsibility of the "Tabouli Baby," or the person with the least amount of Tabouli making experience.) When the colander is about 3/4 the way full, rinse thoroughly. Now, squeeze the water from a handful of leaves at a time and chop FINELY. (Going twice is more nice!) Dump all the chopped parsley into your big honkin' bowl. 3. Next, follow the aforementioned instructions for the entire package of the mint. (though if your colander is 3/4 full of mint you didn't see the all important "1 bushel" in my Ingredients section. Bushels/packages of mint are small. There should be about 15 to 30 good-sized leaves in there.) Again, attempt to get only the leafy part of the mint, stems are bad mmkay? 4. Now get your green onion stalks. I personally use no more than 4 onions in mine, but I'm not a huge onion fan. Dig onions? Go crazy. (Try holding a piece of bread in your mouth while you chop them. It'll absorb the onion fumes so you won't look like you've been watching Oprah. Just a lil' nugget of WIS in case you didn't know.) Rinse and dice them up finely. Into the big honkin' bowl with 'em. 5. Tomato time. Rinse, dice, dump. The goal here is for DICED tomatoes. No big chunks or you'll detract from the Tabouli Induced Nirvana [tm.] later. 5 1/2. Check the Bulgur wheat. Has it soaked up all the hot water? If so, pour some more in there. Dry Bulgur is unhappy Bulgur, and makes for unhappy teeth later. 6. Now the good part, the lemons. Juice all 8 lemons. Then slowly pour the lemon juice through a colander and into the big honkin' bowl. If your Tabouli begins to float, you may want to stop...you can always add more later. (I likes it tart mahself, sos I use all 8 lemmys.) 7. Sodium. The one thing in Tabouli that might be construed as being bad for you. This is entirely a personal choice, but I usually open the pour spout on the salt container and shake gently from one side of the bowl to the other and back. Sparingly is the key here, especially with new Tabouliers. Again, you can always add more...but many a batch of Tabouli has fallen short of it's full potential due to poor salt management. 8. And now, the olive oil. I should be preaching to the converted by now, but be careful here too. My method is, starting from the outside edge of the bowl, pour the olive oil gently around in a spiral towards the center. It should take about 3 or so revolutions to get to the Tootsie Roll center. 9. Lastly, the bulgur wheat. Taste a few pieces. Is it soft? Or is it still a bit crunchy? If it's the latter you are a tabouli speed demon and you didn't fully recieve the Zen-like calm achieved from Tabouli making. Dump out your Big Honkin' Bowl and start over... I'm kidding. Just wait a while and when it's soft enough, grab handfuls of the stuff, tightly squeeze the water out of it over the sink, then drop the oddly shaped ball of bulgur into your Big Honkin' Bowl. Stir. Repeat. This is yet another time for individual preference since there is no right amount of Bulgur necessarily. A good rule of thumb is about 3 to 4 handfuls. (For me anyway, adjust accordingly for hand size.) 10. Take the first bite and decide what it needs. More olive oil? More lemon juice? Add it smidgen by smidgenita so as not to ruin all your work thus far. 11. If it is up to snuff, then take another bite before the hordes can get to it, and then pop it into the fridge to chill for about 4 or 5 minutes. You may want to take this time to survey the damage to your counters and kitchen. (Or if you're an immaculate cook, perhaps take this time to write a sestina about how much you appreciate my Tabouli guide and put it on the fridge. =] ) 12. Pull out your tabouli, stir again and you're done! Now kick back, don your flannels and a sweatshirt, pop in a movie, and relax. Let those antioxidants do their thang. I may have over dictated the instructions, but you should have seen the bizarre bowl of stuff I came up with on my virgin Tabouli run. Ugly man, real ugly." Enjoy. j.s.

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