I have returned from my Midwest Dream Vacation with a definitive answer to all those "um, why are you going to Indiana for vacation?" questions: strawberry pie from the Gray Bros. Cafeteria in (Fucking) Mooresville. It's a small slice of culinary heaven.
Indiana (well, the Midwest in general, I suppose) is a dangerous place for comfort food lovers like myself. There is a reason why people are larger over there -- I put on 8 lbs in as many days.
The chronological list of everything I ate during my stay in Indiana:
Sat: Quattro Formaggio at Bazbeaux, White Castle
Sun: "Hoosier lunch" at Chez Chastain, El Sol with the Ericksons
Mon: tenderloin sandwich at Hob Nob, a half-yard of Smithwick's + Blarney puffballs at Irish Lion, Chinese takeout followed by the aforementioned strawberry pie
Tue: Skyline Chili and LaRosa's Pizza at Kings Island, Steak 'n Shake
Wed: Reuben sandwich at Shapiro's, BBQ at Chez Chastain, Ritter's frozen custard, Steak 'n Shake
Thu: Tuna steak sandwich at Broad Ripple Brew Pub, pan-seared scallops and "award-winning" bread pudding at Scholar's Inn
Fri: Cobb salad at Cafe Patachou, hot dog + sundae at Victory Field, White Castle
Sat: Grilled tenderloin at Mug 'n Bun, more Gray Bros. goodness (fried chicken, mashed potatoes, mac & cheese, strawberry pie), Todd's amazing homemade dinner (crab cakes, French onion soup, flank steaks) followed by even more Gray Bros. pies (strawberry *and* pecan)
Another break from the iPod alphabetpalooza: I scored Thom Yorke's solo album, which doesn't come out for another month. Give me a holler if you're in the mood for some shiny happy tunes holding hands.
As we both stared at two men, one in Reeboks (white), lacy blouse/vest combo that bared his 50-something body, one that was both skinny and slack, topped off by silver-sequinned and brazenly skimpy shorts -- and his friend in the black cape, boots, bikini and nothing more -- my friend and "Instinct" editor Robbie said, "I want to know what that phone call was like. 'Hey girl, it's Pride! Let's get sexy!'"
- Dave White
For David's big 3-0, we got hammered on champagne and spent hours being bitchy and making fun of the ubiquitous, fashion-impaired gays, most of whom were of the cruise variety. I lost count of how many times "oh, that's unfortunate" and "wow, that's tragic" were said. The best dig came from the Birthday Boy, who spotted a guy in a mesh tank and screamed "Look! It's the only gay in the village!"
I also witnessed a real bumfight at English Bay. The street-involved can be so entertaining.
By the way, greatest and most under-appreciated gambling story ever: William Bennett, he of one best seller after another lecturing Americans on moral values and virtue and the bankruptcy of our culture, turns out not only to be a degenerate gambler, but a gambler who only played the slots. The slots! Had he been a great poker player -- even a decent poker player -- I'm in his corner. But the slots?
- Malcolm Gladwell
The same Bill Bennett talks gay marriage with Jon Stewart. My favorite line: "Divorce is not caused because 50% of marriages end in gayness."
You'd think that by now 1) I'd be too old to be breaking out, and 2) I'd have learned not to pick at them, but you'd be wrong and wrong. I look like a motherfucking face of meth.
Gone largely unnoticed in the myriad of other 06/06/06 events yesterday? Roger Clemens' triumphant return to baseball. I can't believe Jim Caple or Bill Simmons wasn't all over that.
Other random notes:
The missing paycheck from Google finally arrived after 2.5 months. And it only took 32 emails back and forth. I'm totally not James Freying.
I had no idea Michelle Wie was Korean.
I have invites for Farecast. Hit me up if you wanna give it a whirl.
I flew through PostSecret in about an hour last night, mostly because it was boring. Frank Warren really needs to be more selective and/or stop taking himself so seriously. Like, PostSecret is soooo last year anyways.
Next up: A Million Little Pieces. The timing couldn't have been worse -- I have a dentist appointment tomorrow.
Maat: How was the film?
Me: I was very disappointed with its lack of swordplay.
Went to see The President's Last Bang last night. As with most recent Korean movies, the best parts were the deadpan, snappy dialogues which, naturally, didn't translate very well.
Semi-interesting factoid: Sim Soo-bong, the singer who was present at President Park's assassination, used to rent a house from one of my mom's friends back in the 80s. I once met her very briefly, but was too young to realize who she was. She would go on to launch a big comeback shortly afterwards with a song called Men are Ships, Women are Ports, which still remains a karaoke favorite of mine.