Random Esquire

1. Tomorrow night, I’ve been invited to, and will attend, a tasting at a seafood place. The last tasting I went to I was served 5 appetizers, 9 entrees and 4 desserts. I’m not sure I want to contemplate eating that much seafood. I think shrimp are over-rated. I realize this is blasphemy to some but, there you have it. I am so-so about shrimp. I like scallops and oysters. But here’s the thing with oysters – and mussels, too, for that matter – I sometimes have to not think about the fact that I’m eating its digestive system. Like, the things that were on the way out.

I figure that if the mussel has eaten it and I’m eating the mussel…I’m too high on the food chain to be eating the parts of its food that even it has declared as waste. It’s clearly a matter of how large the animal is and how difficult it is to clean and perhaps how offensive the taste must be – but it still strikes me as odd that at some point, we simply shrug and swallow it down. It’s a little disgusting, quite frankly.

2. I read through the Sleep Quirks comments again. Good God, you guys are a bunch of weirdos. I shouldn’t read them a third time or I’ll start trying half of them just to see how they feel.

3. As I walk to work, I often watch the feet of the people in front of me. The women in their heels avoiding the grates, etc. Okay, so maybe I’m looking at some of the legs attached to the heels since it is summer. But I’ve noticed something that only men seem to do. Some guys bounce up on to the balls of their feet, lifting their heel, immediately after taking a step. As a result, they appear to bounce along as they walk. It isn’t always dramatic, but their heel leaves the ground long before it is getting ready to take the next step. Women never seem to do this. Probably because it looks a little stupid.

4. I sometimes say some things that I think are ’sayings’ but may, in fact, just be stupid things I say. Like:

a) Don’t drop your blob.

b) Sleep faster; we need the pillows.

c) She’ll smoke your sausage and eat your cigarettes.

Surely I didn’t make this kind of nonsense up.

1. I find it humorous that I somehow manage to be a bit of a foodie and to enjoy some incredible meals and yet yesterday, I found myself banging two frozen waffles together over the sink wondering if too much ice had formed on them to get them crispy. And then I burned them in the toaster oven. Foodie FAIL.

2. I noticed a bulge in the bathroom ceiling yesterday. I quickly figured out that the air conditioner’s condensation drain was clogged (the AC is above the bathroom) and that the kill switch to prevent the pan overflow had obviously failed. But for a moment, as I stared at the bulge, I hoped that it would beat and pulse and indicate the presence of a evil spirit or poltergeist in the hopes that I could avoid calling AC repair and just opt for a priest or crazy little old lady to tell me that ‘this house is clean.’

3. Last night I saw Plush and she is just as great as ever. She’s a peach, that one.

4. My friend (new nickname: Sitcom) had a bit of a wild night at a bar a while back. It began with a bit of a slap-fight that turned into kissing that then ended with a night of passion, as they say. So life continued on after that evening and then Sitcom finds out that this person she’d had this fight/night with? Yeah, he won an Oscar. Sitcom calls up her friend to tell said friend about this bit of news but before she begins her story, Sitcom’s friend excitedly tells her story…that she (friend) just slept with a guy who designed a Target circular and wasn’t that terribly exciting?! Sitcom’s friend was so excited to have actually slept with the guy who decides if the video games belong in electronics or toys. And Sitcom then had to tell her that her wild fling was with an Oscar winner. Talk about raining on someone’s parade.

This made me think that I need a more exciting job.

1. Little Filthy likes to dig in any bag you happen to leave on the ground. Laptop bag? Check. Gym bag? Check. Purse? Check. The last few times Besos has been over, he’s managed to get into her bag and take out a metal tin of mints. We realized only when we heard him shaking it with his mouth, trying to open it. He’s eaten a pack of gum out of Boss’s purse, as well. Today, I heard him in the other room and Besos said, “I zipped my bag. He can’t get in it.” I wasn’t so sure. I walked back and saw Little Filthy with his head entirely inside her overnight bag. His head emerged and something dropped out of his mouth and on to the ground. I leaned over, picked it up and blinked.

It was a g-string.

I handed it to Besos. She sighed, took it from me and said, “Well, he’s definitely your dog.”

2. My buddy (the same who suggested I upgrade to first class on our ride to hell) participated in the Chicago Dragon Boat races this past weekend. (See picture example here.) Apparently, he wasn’t on the winning team. He complained about the difficulty of competing against the fire department and the police department. He said, “Those dudes are all like 6 foot 3…and I know you’re required to have six women on each team but they ought to make you have six actual Asians on a team.” Yeah. He’s Asian.

3. I am once again struck by the fact that I find the borderline offensive funny. I said something *cough* tongue-in-cheek to Boss tonight to which she responded, “You’re RIDICULOUS.” But you know what? I don’t think you’re allowed to tell me I’m horrible if you’re laughing when you say it. In fact, I’m pretty sure that just encourages me.

4. Take a look at that handsome devil! Chip off the old block, that g-string stealin’ little monster.

I attended the Wine.Dine.Donate event in Chicago, sponsored by Epicurious at MK. I had been invited as a guest of Epicurious and took Instigator, foodie that she is. If you live in San Francisco or New York, these events are coming to your city and I highly recommend them as they are for a good cause (America’s Second Harvest) and, as an added bonus, you can meet Tanya Steel, editor-in-chief of Epicurious and James Beard recipient. Instigator and I were fortunate enough to be seated at her table and I had the good luck of being next to her. She was well spoken and quite charming. On to the food, yes?

The best hors d’oeuvres of the night, in my humble opinion, was the spicy bison tartare on a housemade cracker. Second to that was the wild mushroom bruchetta. We sipped on Pol Roger Brut nv Champagne while mingling. My apologies for the low lighting in the food pictures. Here’s a shot of the restaurant prior to seating.

Dinner was a yellowtail tuna (seared rare, wild watercress, roasted red pepper, new potato, white anchovy, quail egg, black olive) and duck breast (patty pan squash, roasted spring onion, chanterelle mushrooms, pancetta and a red wine sauce.) The tuna was served with a Pascal Joviet Sancerre. Instigator loved the cracked pepper and I thought the anchovy made the dish. The duck was served with a Museum Crianza.

Dessert was a cherry tart with creme fraiche sorbet, bittersweet chocolate sauce and almond streusel. It was served with a Churchill’s 10 year tawny port which tasted a hell of a lot better than my previous experience.

And a generous swag bag came at the end of the meal. Thus concludes my dake with Instigator.

In an earlier entry, I discussed spooning and sleeping close, noting that I have a few sleep quirks. Here we go.

1. I don’t like used air. If someone is breathing out near my face where I am breathing in…I don’t like it. It’s used air.

2. I don’t like warm air. I don’t get how some people can sleep under covers or with their head buried in a neck. Warm air feels like used air.

3. I don’t like to be tilted. Man, I hate being tilted. I can’t take a bed that sags in the middle. I have a memory foam mattress specifically to avoid the issue of tilting. Spooning doesn’t cause tilting on this kind of mattress. If someone sits right next to me on a couch and that causes me to tilt…I move. I do not like to be tilted.

4. Don’t touch that spot on my neck. Women often put their hand on my collarbone or shoulder. I like that. A lot, in fact. But if a finger strays toward my throat…I have to move it. I don’t know why but it makes me feel like I’m choking. Shirts never make me feel this way, even a turtleneck. But a hand on the front, base of my neck makes me shudder.

5. I turn my head to the right. If I turn it all the way to the left, I feel like I can’t quite breathe. A little to the left is fine.

I’m sure there are probably more but those are probably the oddest and I don’t think they’re terribly odd. Come on. Fess up – what’re yours?

[Edited to add:  After reading about some of your sleep quirks, I'm afraid I'm going to get them.  Like a contagious disease.]

1. Little Filthy is resting on the couch with me. He has an odd habit. He moans. When he’s really sleepy, he moans and groans. And if you touch him, he moans like it’s the best thing since walks and parks and biscuits. It’s actually a bit disconcerting because it is so loud, people can hear it on the other end of the phone. Which, I imagine, is rather disconcerting for them, as well.

2. The Seattle Gang is comin’ to Chicago. Bev, LynchSeattle, and Avitania. I suspect we will get blynched, which is code for getting drunk. I would like it if they met Boss, Plush, and Besos. However, upon some reflection, I realized perhaps not all at once.

3. Instigator and I have a date Thursday night. It’s a fake-date. A fate, if you will. Wait, no, that isn’t quite right. It’s a Dake. Well, you get my point.

4. You can’t make this stuff up, people.

“APPLETON, Wisc. (NEWSCHANNEL 3) – A couple in Wisconsin telephoned police in the middle of the night after finding a man in their basement covered head to toe in barbecue sauce.

“He told the officers that it was urban camouflage,” said the homeowner.”

5. QTMama did an entry on spooning. About a week ago, she asked me if I was a sleep-toucher and said that I didn’t seem like one. I don’t think I know any more. But I was surprised that she could get this impression because I didn’t even know it was an impression people gave. I don’t seem like a sleep toucher?

You know who loves to spoon? Little Filthy. The second you are on your side, he jumps on the bed, flops down and pushes his back as close as it can get to your chest and puts his head on your pillow.

And moans.

I spoke with my sister tonight.  My niece is 2 and my nephew is 4 1/2 months old.  She said, “I’m going to get the kids baptized.”

I said, “Oh, yeah? What prompted that?”

(Just for the record, I realize the correct answer is “Jesus” but I asked, nonetheless.)

My sister said, “Well, you know I’m not all Catholic but it’s easier to do this when they are young. Otherwise, it’s a pain in the ass if they decide to get baptized later.”

Did I mention that my sister and I both went to Notre Dame?  That might have backfired.  We’re not all Catholic.  We’re Cafeteria Catholics.  (I’ll take some of that…a little of that…none of that please…)

She continued, “But if I do it here in town, I have to join the church and all that.  So instead, I have this friend…and she knows a priest.”  She might have whispered that last part.  I can’t remember because I was already laughing.

She said, “Yeah, I just have to make a donation.  To his mission.  In Sri Lanka.”

So I’m going to go visit and sign the paperwork to be a godparent.  And then, when the kids get older, I can tell them all about how their mother acquired a black market baptism for them from some beatnik poet dressed in black making money on the side by painting white-out on his collar and blessing the children with Pellegrino.

You know, since he’s for hire, maybe I’ll get Little Filthy baptized.  Anyone want to make sure my dog grows up properly? He’s going to need some godparents.

1. You may recall the previous entry in which I briefly discussed The Italian’s gratitude toward someone who helped his girlfriend pick out a certain something for her to wear. There was some natural curiosity about what exactly this outfit was. I couldn’t figure it out from the description he gave me so today, while we were on the phone, he found it online and sent me the link. I opened it up and looked at the picture. And then I said to him, “You. Fucking. Lucky. Bastard.”

Calling it an outfit is accurate. Because…parts of it were cut out. And the rest of it was see-through.

Bastard.

2. I sent flowers to Besos on Friday. Her reaction? She called me and sing-songed, “Youuuu liiiike meeeee.” It made me want to laugh and pull out my hair at the same time.

I told The Italian that I sent her flowers. He was shocked. He said, “You sent her flowers?! Flowers are a declaration. And it ain’t the declaration of independence.”

Bastard.

3. The other day, Besos said to me, “I have big feet.” Unless a girl’s feet are slapping around like clown shoes, I am unlikely to notice or care. I had never thought her feet were big so I was unsure how to respond. I mean, she doesn’t look like she’s going to topple over or anything but I’ve also never looked at her and thought to myself that it would take a pretty healthy gale to tip her over, either. I just don’t notice these things.

Today, she sent me a text message: “I also have a big head. You might want to trade me in for a smaller model.” She’s 5′4″. How big can her head be? Here is our exchange:

RE: “Oh yeah? Trade you for someone with a smaller head and smaller feet?”

Besos: “Exactly.”

RE: “I’ll take out an ad.”

Besos: “Oh.”

RE: “Yeah, I thought about it some more and I’m just going to deal with your big noggin. But we’re going to lop off your feet. That seems like a good compromise.”

Besos: “Hey! But they are pretty.”

RE: “Okay, you can keep the feet and we’ll just lop off the toes.”

Besos: “Okay…I guess.”

See? I am solution oriented.

1.  Jesse Jackson sure stuck his foot in it with that open mic.  Turns out he actually said the N-word.  And I don’t mean the word ‘nuts’ when he said he’d like to cut Obama’s nuts off….which is so ridiculous, I hardly know how to respond to it.  The odd thing is that just about 2-3 weeks ago, I ran into Jesse Jackson here in Chicago.  I was surprised to see him alone and not with anyone.  I hope someone is with him now, protecting his nuts.

2.   Will some nice gay man please take Bev to see Mama Mia?

3.   Speaking of nuts and gay men, The Italian’s current girlfriend wore a particular outfit in the bedroom that made him very happy.  Her gay male friend chose it for her.  The Italian wanted to thank said gay man and mid-ramble, casually said he’d lick this guy’s nuts.  I said, “Whoa whoa whoa, back up, back up….”

He said, “Yes?”

I said, “Did you say lick his nuts or suck his nuts?”

He said, “I said lick.  I’m not that gay.”

Intelligent repartee:  don’t look for it here.

1. I said something remarkably stupid to Besos. Here’s the thing…sometimes I forget that she’s Mexican. I realize that sounds stupid. But I forget. (Hey, pretty women do this to me…) Until at one point last weekend, I looked at her and sort of did a double take. She said, “What?” I said, “Sometimes I forget that you’re Mexican.” I could sense her resisting the urge to groan or roll her eyes. She said, “What?!” I said, “I forget and then I look at you and you look distinctly Mexican and then I realize that it’s like…it’s like I’m dating Maria from Sesame Street.”

I know. I know.

I’m an idiot.

2. Do extra-large eggs come from extra-large chickens? Or does the same size chicken lay different sizes of eggs, which are sorted later?

3. This morning, on the news, a reporter said, “Three masked men banged on the front door and burst in…and that’s when things turned bad.” I don’t know. I think the turn happened a little earlier, myself.

4. Emma Thompson is out. I have a new soccer mom crush. It’s Natalie Morales from The Today Show.

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