It’s been quite a while since I’ve written anything of note here. No one seems all that interested in commenting on the past few blog entries, and Old Man went to Asia because he was so bored with what we had to say. Well get the lead out of your rectums, whazzers, because today is an all-you-can-eat smorgasbord of good times and great eats (in the Art of writing).
I’ve got a list a mile long of things to write about, but after Thanksgiving and Tha Move and so and so forth, I was exhausted to the point where, when we finally got internet access at home, I just said “fuck it” for about a week straight and did nothing on the site. Yesterday Erin unpacked our office while Scientist and I watched the World Poker Tour: Ladies Night, and finally I have room to sit down, relax, and pound out a damn blog entry. Thank, honey, for all your hard work. It was not for naught.
Due to my seemingly bottomless reserves of laziness, I only posted the first two days of Whazzgiving memories. Fortunately, what never got written wasn’t all that exciting to begin with, so no harm done. Two items of note:
1. On The Day After Whazzgiving, we all went into San Francisco for the day. Wirkuswhazz and bellgirl just wanted to be romantic and hold hands while hobos assailed them from all sides. Rock Chalk and Jen just wanted to go shopping for a few hours. Cal just wanted to show everyone some junko motto on the side of a church in Chinatown. I just wanted lunch. Nearly everyone ended up fighting or angry by the end of the day. It just goes to show you that a day trip with a cast of thousands to Hobo Fantasy Island is not the best way to have fun. We should have scattered into 4 or 5 groups as soon as we stepped out of the car, but alas we were dumb. On the plus side, I got to eat at this fantastic, great, authentic Chinese place that Cal knew about in Chinatown. It was like a dream come true: the dream where I’m hungry as hell and Cal drags me through the front door of some guy’s kitchen, up some rickety stairs to a small, 10 table room where a Chinese man gets angry at me for not knowing what I want.
2. Saturday evening, before we had to drop off Jen at the airport, we went to Palo Alto for some sushi dinner action. Gentle readers of this site will be familiar with the restaurant we went to get our raw fish: Miyake’s. The Disco Sake-Bomb Sushi Restaurant. It was a great time that saw those assembled (Wirkuswhazz, Bellgirl, Jen, Madd Scientist, and Rach-o) do quite a few sake bombs before tearing to a whole lotta fish. When the waier asked me if I wanted sake bombs I said, “No thanks, I’m driving.” He responded, “Oh, you want water then?” “Hell no, I’ll just have beer,” was my response. After we finished dinner we still had about a half hour until we had to go to the airport, so we walked to another bar close to to Miyake’s. It was on this small journey that we all got to see someone who doesn’t make many appearences anymore: STUMBLY WUMBLY JEN! She was in force, stumbling around the sidewalk, punching BMWs that pulled across a crosswalk she was walking in, and shouting to Palo Alto that people from California are motherfuckers. Oh, it was great. Then we drove up to the airport and said, “Here airport, she’s your problem now.” I love dumping my problems on the airports of the world. Jen sat in O’Hare for a while, then threw up, then threw up again, then got mad at some kids for spouting bullshit art/literature/cultural criticism, then she went home to the warm glowing warming glow of Wisconsin. She’s just a simple girl from the country!