This 'n That

I think it's time to change the name of this blog to something more indicative of it's random, sporadic nature. It's less "word for word" in the classical Kilgariff sense and more "blah blah blah" with pictures. I just want you to know I realize I've stopped reporting on my day to day and now I'm just trying to string my iphone photos together with some kind of logical narrative. It's the hackiest kind of blogging and it will not stand. I'm onto me, big time.

It's just that my life of late has been boiled down to work, pizza and the bi-weekly New York night life moment. Let's see if I can dig out a nugget of interest for my people. Auntie Ping, this one's for you:

Can you smell the fame?

OK, here's me writing at Jerry's desk. I can't remember why, but I had to leave the writer's room that day to write by myself. There was no internet service in my office, so Tom said I could use the office he shares with Jerry. Of course, I sat at Jerry's desk because I am a rebel and an upstart, then figured I should take a picture of such an epic moment. Just so you know, there is not one personal item in or around this desk. Even that tangerine is mine. There's a good chance he's never even sat there.

But still, I know how people love celebrity desks, so I thought I'd share. 

This is a traveling see-thru antique truck. Talk about class.

So, remember my friend Lisa Leingang? She was the manager at The Improv in SF back in the day? Red head? Now she lives in NYC and she's going to have a baby in December. Aren't you fascinated by what the connection could possibly be between Lisa and this picture? THERE IS NONE!!! I was walking to her baby shower and I passed this screened-in flatbed truck full of antiques and lo and behold, there's the lion drinking fountain from Fairyland!

This is a picture from Children's Fairyland, Oakland CA. Trust me on this. 

So this became one of those bittersweet moments where I was so excited to see the lion fountain, but then I realized I was alone in a strange city where no one really knew me. I mean, I could've run into a bodega and quickly explained the magical happenstance to the cashier, but that's not really my style. I just decided to take a picture before the see-thru antique truck drove away with one of my earliest childhood memories. (I know it's not the exact same one, but it's symbolic, goddammit.)

Focus on the left side of the screen.

And finally- this picture was taken as I passed the front of Bergdorf-Goodman in a cab at night. Do you see the fashion atrocity being presented as a choice for winter wear?! Red pants! Where am I right now, Paris France? 

All right, this post has been as disappointing for me as it has for you. But I promise, my shame will be the catalyst for my improvement. That's how I did it in high school!

My eyes!

It’s the second show day of our first week of shows and I gotta say, I show am tired! (I love that joke.)

We taped on Tuesday and although it all went great, I’m pretty sure I’m not legally allowed to talk about the details in this public setting. Let’s just agree to not discuss it at Thanksgiving (wink wink).

After the Tuesday show, we went to a VERY fancy restaurant (name withheld for legal reasons) and fittingly, they had the fanciest butter I’ve ever seen. 

Like buttah...

When the waitress put the bread basket down, she started explaining how there were four different types of butter and how each bread went with a different one, blah blah blah.

I wasn’t paying attention because it was 11 o’clock at night and my eyes were burning and I could barely read the menu. When I was able to make out a word, it was either Italian or one of those fancy restaurant words I’ve never seen before, which made my attempt at ordering to sound something like this:

“Could I ask, what is machantato?”

“That’s a beef stock lightly blended with Wondra and drizzled over the meat.”

“So, it’s gravy?

“Well…technically yes.”

“All right. And what is supsinteri?”

“That’s codfish with some parsley next to it.”

“Can you come back to me? I’ve lost the will to live.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

I ended up getting a tootsie-roll shaped pasta with gorgonzola inside. It tasted like something only people who live in castles eat. Rich like you wouldn’t believe. It was delicious, but delicious in the way that eating frosting out of the can is delicious. A little goes a long way.

I started with a salad that looked like a handful of something you’d feed a goat. Weeds and clover and dandelions and lawn trimmings, topped off with just a drizzle of balsamic to help you choke it down. I decided I’d man up and eat everything that wasn’t spiky or thistled. You know, make the best of it. After about three bites, I had to stop. It was like someone had walked through a field, spilled their salad dressing and didn’t want to waste it. I realized it wasn’t my problem and the butter lady came and took it away.

The desserts seemed nice, but at that point, my eyes were closing up shop and I knew I only had about seven more minutes before I went face down in the profiterole. 
The good news is, we're going there again after the show tonight, so I'll have another chance to get it right.
(EDITOR'S NOTE: I don't know why the text gets all big like this sometimes. It's not intentional. It's actually kind of embarrassing.)