MEALS TAKEN IN PUBLICA
the chicken quesadilla at chester creek cafe can actually be held like a piece of pizza without sagging sadly and barfing tomato and chicken chunks onto your plate.
chester creek cafe, chicken quesadilla: i think that if you are a chicken quesadilla person, your tongue has gotten bored, fat and lazy. chicken quesadillas represent a lack of creativity and an acceptance of a flimsy doughy food, stuffed with dirty grill debris.
that said, the chicken quesadilla at chester creek cafe won me over with the words "sun dried tomato" and "avacado" on the menu. i'd just woken, so i decided to dabble in nonoffensive applebees fare while my tum-tum sparked to life.
wrong. this quesadilla is made of a sort of light and flakey pastry. the chicken was so fresh, so not-canned, and cooked to such a perfect whiteness that it looked and tasted like it had just been surgically removed from a fresh kill. a fresh kill that had been allowed to freely roam on a very wholesome farm where it was showered everyday, buffed dry and fed brocolli. this chicken probably never even took a shit and if it did, it looked at the ground and said with a british accent: oops, it appears i've shat. and the sundried tomatoes ... gah. i'm a convert.
thai krathong, drunken noodles: this best-food-in-the-world is not on the menu at our local thai restaurant. it's written in flourecent ink on the special board behind the host stand nearly every day.
drunken noodles are the spiciest food i've ever eaten. "you're eyes are watering," chuck noted. "your lips are bright red," he added. "you just steeled yourself before you bit into that mini corncob," he laughed.
i love drunken noodles. as we walked home after dinner i was full and firey. i imagined five thai men sitting in my stomach around a bonfire having a sweat out, passing a giant stick and talking about feelings.
breakin' 2 electric bugaloo 1984: in the 24 years since i last saw this movie i'd forgotten that it is a musical and that the bicurious cast dresses in geranimals. the plot line is a bit flawed: neighborhood kids must break dance their way toward 200,000 dollars to save their community center from the evil clutches of the city government. seems like a community center wouldn't require private funding ...? they learn a valuable lesson in: in times of adversity, a dance-off usually solves the problem. i'm going to say this was a better movie when i was nine.
foxes, 1980: jodie foster, with the face of a 14 year old girl and a body suggesting menapause, is a troubled teen with troubled teenaged friends -- particularly annie, who's hair has the most righteous natural feather to it. adults talk like characters in a tennessee williams play and the whole thing is a little uncomfortable to watch.
"the night of the gun" by david carr: There are so few ways to deviate from the addiction memoir outline, short of posthumous publication. The plot lines are easy, like a murder mystery or a romance novel. Your hero is a drunk/junkie/bulimic/sex addict. Your hero faces a lifestyle change in which the options are extreme: change vs. death. Your hero dusts himself off [typically more than once], washes his hair, excavates the past for meaning and and writes something intelligible about how at one point he poked drugs into his eyeball and seemingly assaulted a cab driver — according to police reports. Now he writes for the NY Times.
see full review here.
"what i talk about when i talk about running" by haruki murakami: Haruki Murakami’s novella-sized memoir What I Talk About When I Talk About Running is part passive-aggressive self-help, part stream of consciousness journal-writing. Plotwise, he writes about training for the 2005 New York City Marathon and struggling with the limitations of his body as he gets older. He throws in occassional memories of how he started running at age 33 and the day he was simply a bar owner sitting at a baseball game and decided he wanted to write a novel.
The whole thing is really simple, common sensey and above all else charming.
full review here.
WATCHING TEENS CAVORT ON THE TELE:
"90210" henceforth to be known as 9021-NO. although i'd missed rob estes since silk stalkings went off the air, rendering usa network simply gilbert godfrey's tomb. anyway, i'm giving this six-to-eight weeks to develop into something that doesn't look like a SNL skit, but only because i have redeveloped some loyalty to jennie garth since "what i like about you" came into my tivo.