Ghostdog

erm, dogs in kendo outfits

There ain't no nothing

we can't love each other throooo-ooooough. What would we do, baby? shanananaaaaaaahh

Restaurant Review #1 - Quaker Steak & Lube

When my boyfriend, visiting from out of town, said he was hungry, I ventured to suggest we might go to Casbah for some feta cheese and eggplant. Inside I knew better, and we predictably wound up at Quaker Steak and Lube.

The Steak is decorated with car parts and entire motorcycles which have been made to look as if they had crashed through the dividing glass between the restrooms and bar area. The latter effect is achieved by hanging irregularly-shaped 'glass' pieces from the ceiling with fishing twine, as if it were the class project of a very well-funded eight-grader. That aside, the "Steak" was apparently hosting some sort of bike rally, meaning that the place was rife with drunken girls, ages 16-67, in all manner of mesh and lace. So the entry fee ($0) was worth it at twice the price. Boyfriend and I rejoiced in the ogling and avoided discussing our motivations.

As for food, Boyfriend ordered a ginormous burger "rare as you can cook it," which, apparently, was not very rare." While I declined comment for the sake of good times, it was distinctly gray. Having wolfed a bagel for dins at 5:30 I was only moderately hungry and so ordered some breaded, fried zucchini sticks, a bastardized version of what we in the civilized world call "zucchini fritti." It was accompanied by a horseradish dipping sauce which, while predictable uninspired, motivated me to finish my zucchini-like vegetable product. All in all, two stars. G0, drink strong drinks and mock the regulars, but get dinner first.

PCL

DIY

Here is a recipe for bacon soap

Snerp.

So I haven't blogged in a minute, as the hip-hoppaz say. My boss has encouraged me to read Sarah Vowell's book, since she's SOOOO FUUUUUNNY and he, like my boyfriend, wants to bone her. (They also both want to bone Mrs. George W. Bush, so I'm not investing too much envy energy into it.) In any event, I started "The Partly Cloudy Patriot" in the half-hour per week I've reclaimed from this wretched class. Frankly, I find her punchlines tired and predictable, so I was moved to get my blog back on.

In the past few weeks there has been much illness in my family and the families of those I love, plus the overwhelming stress of working and attending an intensive summer class, so I have been hard pressed to shower and pay bills, much less blog, so I extend my deepest apologies to those who have had to endure the hardship of life without the porkie.

Last weekend I drove to Appleton, home of my boyfriend and some paper plants, to spend time with his teenaged sisters. These girls are aged 13 and 15 and are uncannily adult, so much so that my foul language filter (such as it is) lapsed a few times. Also we let them watch "Cruel Intentions," after which I thought to give them a debrief along the lines of, "dude, that's a caricature of teenage jaded-hood. Not cool, as you'll find out, er, not cool. Also, cocaine is not fun."

On the homefront I reluctantly quit my job in preparation for an overloaded fall semester (13 creditzzz, negro.) My boss said that I was obviously "frayed" and that he supported my decision, which is a relief. I have been pretending that I was on some sort of A&E documentary about obsessive-neurotic disorder these days to push myself onward. I'll be riding my new bike on University, turning to an imaginary camera and saying, "see, here's the worst part of my morning. The streets are in such need of repaving, it's like getting hit in the crotch with a blunt hammer every two yards or so."

I have been making jokes about my ganzta dog for a minute and discussed the possibility of making my fortune from a novelty internet-only dog novelty rap track with my dog park friends. To my surprise and dismay my friend Adam came up with a background track and asked me to pen some doggy rhymes. To which I have agreed. Seriously.


I am now trying to figure out my fellowship situation. Apparently I am entitled to some sort of health care. Honestly I just want a plan that enables me to: simulate the thyroid gland I had assassinated in 1997, protect my uterus from potential inhabitants, and keep my mood sufficiently buoyant that I can face a day of school. This should cost, as I see it, less than $100.00/month, so let the bidding begin.

Also, here are some pictures of cats who fell asleep and had things balanced on top of them, then photographed: link