warning!

This here site is dangerously close to becoming another food blog. The majority of my daily procrastinate-at-work emails involve discussing with friends 1.) where we're going to eat next, 2.) how awesome what we just ate was, 3.) our gastric situations following a culinary outing.

Example of a Number One:

gina: how about hearth or centovini?

sl: i think i lean more toward centovini than hearth, but only because i saw some negative reviews of the service there. what about blue ribbon bar? though i can't really find much on it. or klee brasserie? which, i'm pretty sure, i'm spelling wrong.

gina: i'd looooove to go to blue ribbon bar. but i'm afraid it's going to be packed. although if i'm off on monday or tuesday.... maybe we could try blue ribbon bar and then have centovini as a plan b? and i'm always very skeptical of people who write on citysearch about bad service. people take one or two mistakes made by one waiter on one night and determine that it's a problem with the restaurant as a whole. also, service has to be very far from flawless for it to ruin my experience, provided the food is good.

anyway, you spelled klee brasserie correctly. my problem with going there is that the creepy colon cleanse informercial guy who compares the size of his daughter's bowel movement to his forearm is named klee.

Example of a Number Two:

Stay tuned tomorrow (or, if I'm too hungover from tonight's belated holiday staff party, Thursday) for a full Los Angeles recap, including my first experiences with the following: guanciale, steak tartare, epoisses cheese, baked pork buns, yellowtail belly, brain tacos, fish tacos, baby eel, and spicy Szechuan.


Example of a Number Three:

Fortunately for you, the reader, I will say no more other than that you should be prepared to suffer for your spicy Szechuan. Please pass the Metamucil.

love (and cold dryness that is making my fingernails break off) is in the air

It's kind of sad that the spam comments to my blog posts are more interesting than my actual blog. But I've been busy! Busy working! And getting kicked out of bars! (Namely, Hooters.) But mostly just hibernating in my windowless furnace of an apartment. Last week I completed the Thursday crossword puzzle for the first time. It's probably my greatest accomplishment since college graduation. Anyway.

*So I have actually been a wee bit productive. Here's my latest contribution to the wonderful world of internet service journalism. Awesome header photo courtesy of my horndog editor. Bless his heart. (Also, please don't stalk me.)

*Next Tuesday, we're closing the restaurant early and, finally, having our holiday party. There's no way it won't be ridiculous, but, unfortunately, probably not this ridiculous. Note to self: Get hired at the Spotted Pig by next February.

*This new service is pure genius. It reminds me of college, when if we locked ourselves out we had to go to the housing office across campus to fill out a little form and get a key copy and the numerous times I had to go there barely clothed and barefoot. And of my first apartment after college and the time I left my keys and cellphone in the apartment so I couldn't call any friends and I took a cab to FAB's on the Upper East Side and rang the bell but she wasn't home so I went up to ol' alma mater and figured I'd crash in a dorm's common room but was able to use a computer to look up an old teammate/current student's number and beg to sleep on her floor. And of my current apartment, specifically when I hadn't given S a copy of my key after they changed the outside door's locks and got home from work at 5am sans keys and had to wake her up and spend the night on her futon in Greenpoint. I've since wisened up and hidden keys outside my apartment.

*I thought it wasn't possible for me to love Pies 'n' Thighs any more than I already do, but then this guy came along. Score one for Homie the Cat.

And, in case anyone was wondering, I will be spending Valentine's Day working at the restaurant. And then, most likely, enjoying a nice six pack alone in my apartment. Maybe I'll even spring for something imported.

don't drink and diet

There is a bump on my forehead the size of a golf ball and I have no idea how it got there. I think perhaps it has something to do with last night, when, after spending two nights in a row this week alone at home watching the Oprah 20th anniversary DVDs, eating ice cream, petting the cat, and, yes, crying (judge me after you watch that dear little 11-year-old poet boy with muscular dystrophy and a desire for world peace), I decided to give up on the whole virtue thing and hang out after work at work with my coworker. We essentially re-tasted every wine we pour by the glass, in full glass proportions. I didn't really learn anything about the wine, but I definitely learned that a chicken salad is not a sufficient alcohol absorber. Needless to say, my head hurts, and I will be having sparkling water after work tonight in preparation for tomorrow's outing to Hooters for a friend's early retirement party (she's giving up on the ol' NYC and moving to Miami). Pictures to come.

calgon...

Yeeeah, it's a little nippy in New York right now. As luck would have it, I'm headed to LA next week to stay with these food lovin' boys and spend over a month's rent on restaurants. I'm not sure of the exact plans they've (not) cooked up, but I know that our itinerary looks something like this: eat, eat, eat, drink, sleep, repeat times four. We might go shopping once too. Definitely not for jeans.

the not-so-new-anymore 'hood

Aaaah, South Williamsburg. That beautiful melting pot of Hassidic Jews, Puerto Ricans, condo-buyers, and destitute young white chicks who don't mind living in windowless basements. It's a weird place, but I kinda love it.

Unfortunately, I do pay rent for my "apartment." And I quite enjoy when my super puts a sign inside the outside door reminding us not to let in anyone from ConEd. Screw utility bills!



I am really, really curious to find out who is going to live in all these shiny expensive condos. The subway is a solid 10-minute walk away, there are no decent convenience stores or places to buy groceries, and cabbies always take the wrong exit after the Williamsburg Bridge.

(the building on the left is occupied by exclusively hassidic families. on the right? who knows...)


One thing I love about my block is Vince's auto repair shop. I don't know who Vince is, but he must be pretty good since there are always cool old cars around, like this lil' guy parked across the street from my place. If puppies had an automobile equivalent, it would be this Porsche.

(it barely came up past my waist.)


Another thing I love about the 'hood are Dressler's onion rings. It's an all-around solid restaurant, with fancy yet not too ridiculously priced food and stunningly beautiful yet subtly quirky decor, but oh my fucking god the onion rings... For $5 you get two stacks of rings, each about eight inches high. The outside is light and crispy (the secret, I learned recently, is tempura batter) and the onions themselves aren't overcooked and soggy so the whole thing doesn't get pulled out when you take a bite. And I'm not a big cocktail person, but Dressler's are perfectly balanced (i.e., more booze, less sugar) and wash those rings right down.

(the aftermath...i wasn't thinking about pictures with those gifts from heaven in front of me)

gap's "reverse fit" should be illegal

Is it just me, or has Saturday Night Live maybe gotten kinda good again? It probably is just me, considering I don't watch TV (and I say that not in the "I don't watch TV and am therefore better than you" sense, but in the "I don't watch TV because I live in an illegal basement apartment and cannot furnish Time Warner with a copy of my lease as I don't actually have a lease and they won't hook me up without proof that I live there since the last resident was delinquent and owes them almost $1,000" sense) and haven't seen an episode of Saturday Night Live in years. Nevertheless, "Dick in a Box" renewed my faith in humanity, and "Mom Jeans" made me want to kiss my new $39 Uniqlos. I spent the entirety of my teenage years telling myself I would never have my mother's body. Now, of course, I totally have my mother's body. If only I'd realized it was all in the jeans...

dispatches from the front lines

The latest news from the Most Over-Qualified Target Employee Ever:

Today I had my 90-day performance review at Target. I scored "below expectations" in the "fast, fun, and friendly service" category. Just thought you should know.

Although, just for the record, I am 99.9% sure I'm the fastest cashier they have.

I have no doubt. Keep up the good work, Sis!

Ellen reports that a pair of tickets for one of the five sold-out upcoming Arcade Fire shows in NYC sold for $1,525.00 on Ebay. That's one thousand, five hundred, and twenty five dollars. For two tickets. To one show. By a nice little indie band from Canada. I have officially lost all faith in humanity.

i tried to nap but the cat woke me up

So 2006 went out with a big drunken bang--the only way it should have, really. Having spent the days prior to December 31st working full-time at both jobs, drinking too much and sleeping too little, I was already operating at about 62% when I arrived for the internship at 11am. Thanks to unlimited coffee and free lunch, I managed to remain conscious until 6pm, time to head to the restaurant. Actually, it wasn't time to head to the restaurant just yet, but if not for those two beers at my favorite new LES bar, I might just have jumped in front of an SUV full of guidos before my closing shift.

The night progressed as I imagined it would. We were so busy before midnight that I was too preoccupied to notice how absurdly exhausted I was, and we were so slow after midnight that I was able to drink enough wine to keep me from noticing how absurdly exhausted I was. By closing time the bartender, the manager, and I were completely and utterly hammered. Time to do the closing work! It was around this time that I blacked out, but from what I hear we were a special bunch, indeed. Apparently, it took me two and a half hours to do the math-intensive paperwork, my manager pretended to hit me on the head with a chair and actually hit me on the head with a chair, the bartender passed out face down in the cash drawer, I fell up the stairs, and I fell down the stairs. The wine director, who was stuck there even later than we were semi-soberly taking inventory and stocking bottles, said I made his night. I am nothing if not eager to please.

I spent the next two days sleeping, napping, drinking lots of water, and working just a couple short shifts at the restaurant. It's now day three of 2007, and I've pretty much blown my wad on New Year's resolutions. This morning I started my day at 8am. Granted, the only reason I did so is because after I woke up at 7:30 to get a drink of water, my daydreaming about the 20-year-old busboy I have a crush on and the beautiful life we'll certainly have together was interrupted by the sound of the cat scratching in the litter box. Only he wasn't in the litter box. He was in my brand new suitcase that I had yet to unpack after returning from Wisconsin a week ago. The combination of my anger over the incident, a clear and sober head, and extreme hunger due to an attempt to reduce my calorie intake to somewhere around that of a male Olympic athlete overcame my desire to return to bed.

It is currently not even noon, a good hour before I usually wake up, and I've already accomplished the following:
- cleaned the cat pee out of my brand new suitcase
- unpacked the suitcase and cleaned/threw away pee-covered items as necessary
- put away all the clothes, shoes, books, DVDs, and assorted other crap lying all over my apartment
- threw out a couple weeks' worth of the New York Times
- changed the litter box
- took out the trash
- finished two-thirds of the Wednesday crossword puzzle
- read the "Dining Out" section
- deposited my rent check at the local HSBC per my super's somewhat ridiculous request
- bought a new shower head for the shared bathroom since the old one blew off and smacked me in the head the last time I attempted to shower
- took a shower
- shaved my legs (!!)
- did two loads of laundry
- washed the dishes
- dusted all dusty surfaces
- swept the floors
- vacuumed the rugs
- Dust-Busted the futon
- blowdried my hair
- painted my fingernails

For the remainder of the day, I plan to head to UPS to mail some things, the pet store to buy some cat food, the drugstore for toiletries, the internet cafe to email some thank you notes and pay for something I bought on eBay (I'm writing this from home on good ol' Microsoft Word), and the yoga studio to pick up a schedule. Either all of that or a long fucking nap. Stupid cat.

well well well, look what the cat dragged in

FABulous!

a lohan holiday

Listen, if you dare. Just like the Shins, Ali Lohan will change your life.

greetings from central wisconsin

Look at those happy little trees.

quotes of the day

*Another dispatch from the most over-qualified Target employee ever, my little sister:

You wouldn't believe how many old ladies in Target stop to talk to me about their hot flashes. Sometimes I really think somebody stuck a sign to my back that says "Tell Me About Menopause."

Aaaand the countdown to grad school begins...

*Because I tend to veer toward the lazy end of the human motivational spectrum, I love all the "best of" lists that come out around New Year's. They allow me to catch up on good music, movies, books, etc., without having to spend a year slogging through all the crap. And then by the time I'm done with all of those, it's almost January again. Beautiful. Anyway, the whole New York Times Magazine "Year in Ideas" article was fun to read, but I particularly enjoyed the bit on psychological neoteny, which is the "retention of youthful attitudes and behaviors into later adulthood," aka immaturity.

...social roles have become less fixed in modern society. We are expected to adapt to change throughout our lives, both in our personal relationships and in our careers, and immaturity, as Charlton added, is “especially helpful in making the best out of enforced job changes, the need for geographic mobility and the requirement to make new social networks.” In fact, he speculates, the ability to retain youthful qualities, now often seen as folly, may someday be recognized as a prized trait.

Take that, Dad!

*MUG vs. Daily Candy: No contest.

Daily Candy on the new wine bar/restaurant Varietal, 138 W. 25th [6th/7th] 212.633.1800: puff, fawn, ooze. MUG on Varietal: ugly, bad lighting, noisy, unfriendly.

Another reason MUG is better: concision.

*From the dear, departed Fat Asian Baby:

[photo source]

We miss you, pookie.

always have cheese when you need it, with virtually no waste

It's probably a good thing I still don't have internet access at home. If I did, I would come home in a post-fried chicken/beer/whiskey haze and write about my cat's latest crrrrazy shenanigans, like, every other day. At least. And then I might as well go out and buy myself something from the Quacker Factory. Like last night, after some fried chicken, beer, and whiskey, and, in this particular case, Battlestar Gallactica (thanks, R!), I turned off the light to go to bed when I noticed the suspicious absence of high-pitched whiney meowing. Sure enough, I'd forgotten to shut the door and the cat was nowhere to be found. I went into the hallway and asked my fellow basement dweller, who was cooking some kind of meat--probably goat (don't ask), if he'd seen old Walter. Nope, he hadn't. Then out came another fellow basement dweller, who said Walt was hiding above the walls of his room. Sure enough, the cat had run into his room and managed to wedge himself in the shoebox-size space between FBD's wall and ceiling at least 10 feet off the ground (I like to call our apartments "architecturally quirky"). Then I cursed the little turd, went back to my room, and Walt was there in 20 seconds. Sometimes to get guys to chase after you you just have to be a bitch. And now I'm comparing my cat to guys, which brings me back to the beginning of this post. And probably explains why I haven't made out with anyone except the alcoholic bartender in six months.

But I still wish I did have internet, because then I'd have more time to find heart-warming news stories like this. And finally give my mom a list of things I want for Christmas.

my marc jacob bag and frankie b jeans

One of my duties at the internship-cum-temporary-almost-full-time office job is posting and editing party listings. It would be tedious if not for the fantastic material I get to work with. It's also heart-warming to know that the illiterate children of the world will always have a future as party promoters. A sampler (unedited, obvi):

This stylish penthouse is the epitome of what a real nightclub is supposed to be. Stride by the limousines in your nicest get-up as you enter this stunning high-rise. There is a doorman in a suit, he will escort you to the first elevator. Forty-three flights later, you clear your ears to adjust to the altitude. Another elevator and then you find yourself amongst the celestial and the divine - scenesters strutting their Armani suits and Louis Vuitton purses, 737 feet above ground level. And then you ask yourself, how do you define class? And you look around and find over 737 ways to do it. Does it get better than this? Really.

Really.

New Year's Menu Appetizer (choice of one) Cashew dusted Maryland Crab Cake with a strawberry horseradish emulsion,wasabi crème fraiche Prada PurseRoasted pheasant, sun dried tomatoes, arugala, goat cheese,wrapped in phyllo with a champagne citrus beurre blanc (Choice of Soup or Salad) Lobster Bisque and a sweet corn ragu Butternut Squash with arugala pesto, aged balsamic Haystack SaladMixed greens, haricot verts, yellow was beans, oven dried to tomatoes, peaShoots, truffle vinaigrette Wedge SaladCrisp iceberg, red and yellow teardrop tomatoes, crisp bacon, roasted pear and Gorgonzola dressing, balsamic reduction, basil oil Entrees Herb Roasted Rack of Lamb
Wild mushroom orzo, balsamic thyme reduction Four Peppercorn Crusted Beef TenderloinParsnip pear puree, fennel tempura, grape Riesling jus Lobster Stuffed HalibutPuff pastry, julienne vegetable sauté, herb emulsion Pistachio Crusted GrouperPeruvian purple potato puree, pineapple papaya relish, ginger beet essence Dessert Chef's New Year's Selection

I always prefer my pheasant roasted with a Fendi purse, but Prada'll do, I guess.

dreams

You know a band is a great one when it can make the Roseland seem like an acceptable venue to have a concert. Despite an epic beer-getting adventure involving waiting in the bar line and then waiting in the bracelet line and then waiting in the bar line again, our crappy distant vantage point, and geeky out-of-shape white dudes getting their grooves on, I had a shockingly good time at the My Morning Jacket show. I really, really, REALLY want to marry a mountain man and move to Tennessee. Working two full-time jobs in New York and hooking up with a skinny alcoholic bartender is a close second, right?

volume of beer consumed is directly proportional to miles walked

Given my extremely limited readership (and ability to post anything worth reading) I am always amazed when I'm contacted by a blogfan. One time it was pretty cool (hey, KB!), but usually it's just older dudes on the creepy end of the spectrum. Ahem:

I just read some of your blog. Ihave never done this before. Is this some type of self therapy to write your daily thoughts and doings on line. I mean it is ok and all but I just find it interesting. I notice that you live in New York. I just left new York and I love it up there. I wish I could move there, but my wife refuses to move somewhere where we cannot afford a house. Well , I enjoyed your blog although it seems you may drink a tad too much. I do wonder what you look like. I figure you are about 5'5 and about 140lbs with light brown hair. Am I close? Anyway, have a great life and may God bless you in your future endevours. Please rememer to call on God whenever you are having problems. He may not seem to be there, but he is, and he will carry you through the most difficult times you could imagine.

jeff

He totally thinks I'm fat.

good thing there was no responsibility section on the sat

Those naughty Bush girls sure like their booze! Last night at work Lauren Bush and her boyfriend David Lauren (please God let them get married) had a six-top reservation at a table downstairs. I did not have the pleasure of being their server, but apparently all were very nice. Too bad for her, because the responsible server she did have had no idea who she was and carded her when she ordered wine. Her awesome response? "I'm 17." None of that "I forgot it at home" bullshit. The girl has a monkey for an uncle but at least she has some dignity.

Speaking of responsibility, here's how my week is going so far:

Sunday Night
Finish article in record time after inviting self to dinner at Otto with friend S. Gorge self on red wine and a surprise assortment of gelati, including gorgonzola dolce (yeah, it was as weird as it sounds.) Go to work and drink more wine while waiting for fellow servers to get off and go to going-away party. Volunteer to trade my early Tuesday night shift for the Tuesday closing shift when closing server complains about it. FATAL ERROR NUMBER ONE. Drink some beer and turn in my worst Big Buck Hunter performance thus far (note: my best Big Buck Hunter performance was really, really bad).

Monday Afternoon
Wake up around 1:00, blissfully ignorant that this is the last time I will sleep for 48 hours. Eat muffaletta sandwich. Solve the shit out of the New York Times crossword puzzle. Take bus to work.

Monday Night
On the bus, curse hangover, resolve to take sparkling water for a shift drink, and ponder what I need to pack and clean before I leave for Thanksgiving. Learn at family meal that the chef of a famous restaurant that's affiliated with my not-quite-as-famous one (though we're totally gonna be on Rachael Ray!) is having a going away party in the downstairs room on Tuesday night, attended by his staff and the owners of my place, starting at midnight. Die a little inside, knowing that they will be boozing like restaurant folk (rockstars schmockstars) until the sun comes up. Smoke post-work cigarette, and decide that one glass of prosecco won't kill me. FATAL ERROR NUMBER TWO. But hey, it's free, the novelty of which will never wear off, even though about 62% of my drinks these days are free. Drink prosecco. Decide that one beer across the street with a fellow server and former server won't kill me. Drink beer. Drink another beer. Split a cab home to Brooklyn at 3:30 a.m.

Tuesday Morning
3:40 a.m., Bartender calls. (Didn't I just resolve the other day not to sleep with him anymore because I accidentally started liking him? Whatever.) 3:42, call cab to take me to Bartender's house. FATAL ERROR NUMBER THREE. [Use your imagination. Actually no, that's creepy.] 8:00 a.m., leave Bartender's because he has to go back on tour selling t-shirts. Go home and pack. Lie down and pet the cat for an hour. Leave for internship in Midtown. Take really long time to write blog post because of diminished brain function.

Tuesday Night
Projected: Feel like complete and utter crap at work. Drink a double espresso every 45 minutes. Fear the clock striking midnight. Try really hard to be pleasant despite being sober and surrounded by drunk people, at least three of whom have the ability to fire me. Try really hard to replace everyone's cocaine with Equal. Pray they leave by 5:00 so I can catch my train.

Wednesday Morning
Off to my friend's parents' house in beautiful Cockeysville, Maryland! (Assuming I haven't passed out in a ditch somewhere. Oh wait, New York doesn't have any ditches. You know what I mean.)

better than minesweeper

I am currently working on my first article for a tangible publication. Naturally, I am taking this task very seriously. It's due tomorrow morning, and the plan was to work on it yesterday afternoon before work. After 25 years as the reigning Queen of Procrastination (I took a good extra three years to give up my pacifier...damn kindergarten), I don't know why I continue to kid myself. My friend and Thanksgiving cat-sitter stopped by the Internet Garage (yeah, that whole wireless plan didn't work out so well) to retrieve my keys about a half hour into my "work session" during which I'd caught up on Gawker and looked for black boots on eBay. Before she could finish explaining why she had time to kill before her dinner plans, I was logged off and putting on my coat. We wandered around the neighborhood and shopped a little (I spent two hours' pay on a bronze chain-link bracelet with a heart charm that says "wonder buns") until we deemed it an appropriate time to start drinking (4 p.m., if you were wondering.) Now it's 4 p.m. again, and I have four hours until a work friend's going away party. With a whopping 250 words to turn in and 50 already done, that's exactly 50 words per hour. Ooooh, it's going to be a close one!

squat, goblin-like creatures

May the Good Lord bless the BBC, the British in general, and my friend Dan. This gem of science journalism actually made my eyes a little moist.

attention target team members!

Reason number 2,349,886 why I love my sister:

The other day at work I got called to the back office to chat about how I'm apparently too dismal while I'm cashiering/answering phones/etc. It seems some "guests" have been "worried" about me, and they wanted to remind me that I'm the last thing people see in Target before they leave, and they don't want anyone leaving with a bad impression.

It's weird because I actually don't really mind working at Target.

Perhaps she should look into a gig at Duane Reade in New York City, where cashiers won't even acknowledge your presence at their registers until they've finished their cellphone conversations.