Thursday, July 28, 2005

Tiny Whine

WCOOP 50 FPP qualifier last night, 39th place out of 600, and I’m having mixed feelings about it. It’s the deepest I’ve made it into a tournament in some time and considering how sporadically I’ve been sidling up to the virtual tables as of late, I know that I shouldn’t be too unhappy because it’s not like my game is super sharp at the moment. But goddamn, when that variance whore is constantly striking you down even as a 4 to 1 favorite, it’s difficult not to turn into a fucking grumpy bastard about it. Let’s not even get into the coin flips.

Poker = That crazy unpredictable mood-swingy bitch that I can’t help but go back to time and time again. One of these days when I’m stronger, I’m going to leave her for good.

Oh, who am I kidding, she’s got a hammerlock on my ass. [/whine]

That’s it for today. Now I must return to asset inventory reconciliation, fun stuff. (Geez, just saying those 3 words makes me die a little inside)

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

I haven't ranted in a while. Guess what I'm doing today?

A new show with Anthony Bourdain called No Reservations aired last night on the Travel Channel, and true to his style it kicked much ass. If you missed it, make an effort to catch it when it inevitably re-airs so you can see him make fun of Rocco DiSpirito, it's priceless. The point of the episode was to demonstrate that France isn’t as bad as you would hear a lot of folks here in America tell it. Basically, you get to watch him donk his way through Paris for an hour talking to and about the people and places while he eats a lot of fantastic food and gets drunk. Last night he was drinking absinthe (which, after being on my “to-do” list for many years, still remains undone) and I was jealous.

He traveled to one of the meat markets (literal, no euphemisms today folks) to look at all of the wonderful wares for sale. While there, he ate breakfast with all of the workers. One might ask, “What do french meat market workers have for breakfast?” Everyone was eating rare roast beef on awesome looking baguettes with glasses of red wine.

Mouth watering. Getting jealous-er.

More great bread. Great coffee. More wonderful meats, cooked rare, of course..

All of the above were resplendent with various butters and creams; beautiful stuff.

“Why can’t you ever get good coffee like that here?’ asked Mrs. Head.

“Because we’ve turned into a society of loud-mouthed pansies” I pontificated loud-mouthedly in a pansified manner.

I’m not saying that you can’t get good coffee here in America. But you usually have to seek it out and pay through the nose for it. It’s the exception and not the rule. Order it at any random eating establishment you may go to, and more than likely it will be served in the form of useless light brown water. Not a huge deal though, right? Coffee is not something we’ve ever necessarily been nationally known for, so why am I talking about it? Because following this train of thoughr leads me to a more depressing destination.

As surely as I sit here ranting, everything surrounding us is becoming more and more vanilla-fied, and it’s fucking depressing. While in Phoenix this last week, I had no choice but to go with the group (no rental car, beggars can’t be choosy and all that) to T.G.I.Fridays for lunch. Of course, despising 98% of all chain restaurants, I stepped inside with a heavy heart and prepared for all manner of “flair” After wading through the shiny happy cheeriness of the wait staff (who the fuck is that bubbly and why are they allowed to speak?) I finally settled on a nice and simple Jack Daniels Burger, which would have made me moderately happy except for the options given for how I would like that burger cooked.

Medium, Medium-well, or Well-done.

I (very wrongly) assumed the fact that the word “rare” could not be found anywhere on the menu was just a strange naming convention peculiar to this chain. Medium must mean medium-rare in Friday-speak. Nope. They refused to cook my meat in medium-rare fashion even when I demanded it and stated that I would sign whatever waiver they liked.

What. The. FUCK.

In case anyone is wondering, and just for the record, I did a comparison amongst all of the meats at the table cooked in all three manners and they were all the same; cooked to death. Once again, just like the coffee, if I want a piece of rare meat I have to search it out and more often than not pay through the nose for it.

Do you like hot Italian sausage? Head down to the grocery store and try and find a package. Like me, chances are high that you will have an increasingly difficult time locating some. Sure, I could head to the butcher and procure some and it would be of much higher quality, but what if I just want to pick up something reasonable and decent while I’m at the store? I guess I’m just S.O.L these days, but don’t you worry about that, they stock plenty of mild sausages for me to feast on. (GAG)

Oh, and the cherry on top of it all? I can’t smoke ANYWHERE.

I want to open a new establishment called Hot and Bloody (or something). Here’s how it will go:

  • The entire restaurant will be smoking. There will be a special glass-walled room with two or three tables for the non-smokers so they don’t contract any of the evil cancer wafting around the place. “I’ve been waiting for over an hour!” the pissed-off self-righteous douchebag will yell. My hostess will reply in her best patronizing corporate phone voice, “I’m sorry, sir. The non-smoking section is still full so you will just have to wait your turn. We have smoking available if you’d like.” (smarmy smile)
  • The hot wing options will be Fucking Hot, Hiroshima, Hell’s Basement, and You Need an Ass Transplant. Go ahead and order mild, you’ll still be served the Fucking Hot option at a minimum.
  • Ordering a steak well-done will not be an option. Medium-well might be an option (TBD), but utilizing it automatically gives the wait-staff the option to freely sneer at you. Realistically though, anything over the level of Medium and you will more than likely be told to leave until such time as all of that “society friendly” crap is out of your system.
  • All vegans or forms thereof will be hung. (This may require a permit that allows my restaurant to be its own country, and therefore make its own laws. I’m looking into it.)
  • White Zinfandel will be banned from the premises. Once the above permit comes through, requesting it will likely be a hanging offense alongside the vegans.
  • Dessert? We have absinthe and hashish. Which one would you like? Both? Very good, sir.

Alrighty then, who’s with me?