Holy Blessed Leaping Ganesha! I can dance! 
yes, like a rather large elephant dances atop a mouse, I have rhythm in my feet and lower leg shaped appendages... (all minds please to be removed from the gutter)
Here's the lowdown ho-down rundown:
I cooked kuritsa stroganov and krabovii salat for some friends this evening - the above being *ahem* chicken in a stroganov sauce avec the pommes frites (el fries a france) and salad with crab - though a salad that wholly consisted of krab (registered trademark pollack product), rice, corn, hardboiled egg, mayo and green onion. In all, it was very good apparently (I do not judge my own cooking) but a touch bit too much tomato puree and flour thickened the sauce a hair more nacho consistency than it should have been. But, it was a hit (as I was informed).
Apres the cook-off, I went to go watch the Motorcycle Diaries which is a very amazing film. Though my stance on Che not being bad for a fucking pinko commie has not changed, the movie was breathtaking. Why, in this country of ours can we not make any good movies anymore? Why oh why? No, the Aviator does not count - though What's Eating Gilbert Grape does if you want to talk DiCaprio (who I want to take a hammer to, preferably one with a claw... Who remembers Doctor Claw from Inspector Gadget and that cool, creepy cat of his?)
I did agree with the fact that Latin America needs more indigenous revolutions - the EZLN fighting against disappearance and assimilation in the Chiapas is but a wake up call to the world. Support the Zapatistas, they need our help. With enough effort, it could be what Spain could have been in 1936.
After the movie, I went with my buddy Gabe to our local divebar hangout for his b-day. The little sucker just turned 24. We were there for less than an hour and the man got himself plowed in record time - 8 shots and 4 pints in that tiny window of time. As I was leaving, a girl I know pulled me on to the dance floor and somehow I wound up tangoing with her to a Hepcat tune... apparently, I can dance. And well enough that I was asked by two other girls to dance with them before I left. Like high school all over again... though without the rampant heroin abuse and dormitories and cattle waking you up at 4am. But, on a good note - got two numbers with lusty, forceful 'Call me tommorow.' Sadly, sans 'sailor'. Tacky, but I've always wanted to hear a girl say to me 'Call me tommorow sailor' or 'Hey, sailor!' C'est la vie, I'll see what the morrow doth bringeth.
George Lopez is one funny motherfucker btw
On my Stereo:
Palatka
Joshua Fit for Battle
Zegota
Converge
Song of Zarathustra
Orchid
Yaphet Kotto
Severed Head of State
Bouncing Souls
Asian Dub Foundation
Bangalter
Supermachiner
Catharsis
Encyclopedia of American Traitors
Stay Gold
Circle take the Square
Planes Mistaken for Stars
Great Redneck Hope
Heroin
Horse, the Band
Rites of Spring
Moss Icon
blessed are the mp3 player and blessed are those who use it!
Postscriptum - if anybody missed the last post or cared, pics in the pics section or something resembling all that in the form of a statement, question, verbal tirade...
yes, like a rather large elephant dances atop a mouse, I have rhythm in my feet and lower leg shaped appendages... (all minds please to be removed from the gutter)
Here's the lowdown ho-down rundown:
I cooked kuritsa stroganov and krabovii salat for some friends this evening - the above being *ahem* chicken in a stroganov sauce avec the pommes frites (el fries a france) and salad with crab - though a salad that wholly consisted of krab (registered trademark pollack product), rice, corn, hardboiled egg, mayo and green onion. In all, it was very good apparently (I do not judge my own cooking) but a touch bit too much tomato puree and flour thickened the sauce a hair more nacho consistency than it should have been. But, it was a hit (as I was informed).
Apres the cook-off, I went to go watch the Motorcycle Diaries which is a very amazing film. Though my stance on Che not being bad for a fucking pinko commie has not changed, the movie was breathtaking. Why, in this country of ours can we not make any good movies anymore? Why oh why? No, the Aviator does not count - though What's Eating Gilbert Grape does if you want to talk DiCaprio (who I want to take a hammer to, preferably one with a claw... Who remembers Doctor Claw from Inspector Gadget and that cool, creepy cat of his?)
I did agree with the fact that Latin America needs more indigenous revolutions - the EZLN fighting against disappearance and assimilation in the Chiapas is but a wake up call to the world. Support the Zapatistas, they need our help. With enough effort, it could be what Spain could have been in 1936.
After the movie, I went with my buddy Gabe to our local divebar hangout for his b-day. The little sucker just turned 24. We were there for less than an hour and the man got himself plowed in record time - 8 shots and 4 pints in that tiny window of time. As I was leaving, a girl I know pulled me on to the dance floor and somehow I wound up tangoing with her to a Hepcat tune... apparently, I can dance. And well enough that I was asked by two other girls to dance with them before I left. Like high school all over again... though without the rampant heroin abuse and dormitories and cattle waking you up at 4am. But, on a good note - got two numbers with lusty, forceful 'Call me tommorow.' Sadly, sans 'sailor'. Tacky, but I've always wanted to hear a girl say to me 'Call me tommorow sailor' or 'Hey, sailor!' C'est la vie, I'll see what the morrow doth bringeth.
George Lopez is one funny motherfucker btw
On my Stereo:
Palatka
Joshua Fit for Battle
Zegota
Converge
Song of Zarathustra
Orchid
Yaphet Kotto
Severed Head of State
Bouncing Souls
Asian Dub Foundation
Bangalter
Supermachiner
Catharsis
Encyclopedia of American Traitors
Stay Gold
Circle take the Square
Planes Mistaken for Stars
Great Redneck Hope
Heroin
Horse, the Band
Rites of Spring
Moss Icon
blessed are the mp3 player and blessed are those who use it!
Postscriptum - if anybody missed the last post or cared, pics in the pics section or something resembling all that in the form of a statement, question, verbal tirade...