Chart

No words

...

Hangover, A Play in Two Parts

Paul's in town from L.A. for a few days. It's been I-don't-know-how-long since I've seen him and he's apparently he's making a mint out there designing websites for plastic surgeons... and I'm not jealous... at all. He came by last night to hang out for a bit -nothing crazy because, hey, it was a work night. He brought me a case of really amazing wine from a vineyard that a friend of his owns. Did I mention that I love Paul very much? I do. Anyhow, we drank a bottle while we caught up-it was great to reminisce about college and ex-girlfriends and such. I have really missed hanging out with him. By the time we had rationalized ourselves the way through a third bottle of wine, it was 4 in the morning.

That means that work today has been an titillating little series of vignettes in which my supervisor walks within sight of me and I orchestrate several brilliant performance of acting rested and sober (some performances lasting minutes long!). I have been very comforted by that fact that I wasn't the only person shaping themselves into a model employee all night. Today, Jessica is, by far, outshining me in boozy scumbaggery. She had a blind date last night that turned out really well for her. Being the Jess that we all know and love, she, of course, got drunk, got laid, and got up late for work. She said that she woke up at 8:40 (we're here at 9:00) and barely had enough time to grab her clothes off his floor before catching a cab work and popping into the bathroom to change into the clothes she had the forethought to keep in her purse, should the date go very well. Unfortunately for us all, she lacked that same discretion when she accidentally pulled her black and pink lacy panties out of her handbag along with the red pen she handed to Perry. The shocked horror had barely announced itself on her face when we heard the jangling of keys which heralds the approach of our supervisor. This caused Jessica, Perry and I to freeze, thus creating a perfect tableau of some kind of cheesy sexual-harassment reenaction. Bill, whose savvy in office politics I had underestimated, paused by our office only long enough so that we could still question whether or not he had registered what was in front of him. Smart man. It was fucking hilarious.

Au Bon Pain, Vegetarianism, and Feminism

Lunch today was from Au Bon Pain -Tomato Basil Bisque with an Asiago Cheese Breadstick. I was feeling a tad gratuitous and was craving to something rich and creamy-corn chowder perhaps? but unfortunately the vegetarian options were all “light” or “lower in sodium” so as I pined for the Broccoli Cheddar (made unavailable with a hearty golden chicken stock) I filled my paper bowl with the unsolicitously healthful red puree. Normally I inhale my lunch while browsing over the day's Metro, but my lack of reading material forced me to acknowledge the whirring electric-caffeine storm of my mind. I tried to focus of the flavours of the Tomato Bisque, heightening its flavour to near Broccoli-Cheddar status with the power of thought. You know how they say to eat slowly and savor the nuances of flavor, yada yada. Like that. Like a good child of the ADHD generation, my thoughts couldn't focus of nuance for too long, they quickly moved on and I found myself considering the vegetarian bent I have. When I became vegetarian, I did so because I find it to be a more sustainable way of life, and also because I am a sensitive, artistic soul who doesn't want to eat Mr. Bunny (childhood pet). As I ruminated the thoughts and the breadstick, I sae that the more I massaged those ideas into the prizefighter cravings for meat that I had, the more I realized that I feel so comfortable in the identity of a vegetarian because I'm rejecting that masculine, beef-blood loving, fraternity BBQ party of carnivores of which I feel I'm supposed to be a part. The power orgy of blood never sat well with me, but I never consciously rejected it, I suppose this makes me a bit of a feminist-- soemthing I never consciously identified with. The next time someone asks me why I became a vegetarian, I'm going to say it's because I'm a man-hating lesbian stuck inside a man's body. Au Bon Pain...soup, sandwiches, and self-discovery.

What is the hardest part of rollerblading?*

Sad news. I recently heard that a former co-worker of mine, Eddie Clement, chose to end his life two days ago. He was an aspiring comedian and was well-liked by everyone.

Eddie was one of the doormen at Abbott's back when I used to tend bar there. I can't imagine what work would have been like if Eddie hadn't been there with perfectly timed jokes such as: Nah, I don't really care so much for doing coke.... I just like how it smells.

I will miss you, Eddie.





*Telling your father you're gay.

Worse than Diabetes

88 years ago to this day, 25 people met their end via a crashing wave of sugar that swiftly enveloped them, trapping them like flies in....well, molasses.

In Boston's North End in 1919, The North American Alcohol company pumped its tanks full of molasses in preparation for the glut of booze production that needed to take place before the Prohibition Act came into effect. At this same time, a rapid and unusual pattern of weather ran across the Northeast. In 24 hours, the temperature swung from 2 to 40 degrees Fahrenheit. The sudden warmth caused the walls of one molasses tank to give out and surrender its contents to the busy streets below. The familiar simile, slow as molasses, must have been bitterly recanted by all those who were taken asunder by the 30 mph onslaught of sucrose.

The rescue teams had a very difficult time accessing the victims who were literally stuck. They had no choice but to shoot all the horses that were mired in the sludge. The clean-up process took years, and for more than a quarter-century afterwards, molasses would seep from the ground in hot weather. People living in the area still claim to detect its sweet smell on occasion.

Now, tell me you couldn't go for a Starbucks' Molasses Chew Cookie after reading all that, you sick fuck.