Monthly Archive for June, 2006

Ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch.

I do not exercise.

This point became apparent when Jay and I spent Sunday digging weeds, pulling down chain link fences and paving (mostly me, on my knees, fitting bricks and sand into uneven ground. Pa-ving. They should re-name that action pain-ing, as in I spent the day pain-ing.

Because I do not exercise, I spent most of Monday and Tuesday muttering expletives as I tried to get my body to do normal things, like, oh, GETTING OUT OF BED, bending down to pick up my shoes, walking.

My conclusion is this: Exercise regularly and include in your regimen lots of squats.

That failing, don’t buy a house that needs any work done to it except choosing what Hello Kitty mat to use in your bathroom.

Summertime…and the burgers are cookin’.

Throw on some meat (and veggie patties) on the grill, blow up an inflatable pool, build a fire, add three dogs, one two-year-old, beer and playdoh—and you have this.

I take no responsibility for this last frame—which is Jay working his way through a plastic tube. Don’t ask.

Working with words all day makes it that much harder to work with words again when you come home.

But only by a little bit.

Don’t get me wrong, I still love words. However, I am a mite exhausted.

So here’s a random picture from the company convention in New Orleans. (There, I said it, that’s where we were.)

Miracle water. In New Orleans. Free.

I didn’t know where to begin wrapping my mind around that idea.

I have a confession to make.

But you already know what I’m going to say.

So I’ll just show you instead.

When family buys you gifts like these, you know you are truly loved. Because admitting and embracing the fact that you have a family member who worships the fat-faced kitty is like having a crazy aunt who collects ice-cubes, but loving her anyway.

Only in this case, I imagine having an aunt who collects ice-cubes in the shape of Hello Kitty may be pushing it.

[I was going to blog about my foray into corporate America since returning from a 4-day company conference in a secure, yet to be disclosed location, but something happened tonight that changed my mind. You have to read this first.]

I like ama ebi sushi. I will eat it anytime.

For those who’ve never tried it, it is raw sweet shrimp, usually served with its head deep fried.

But tonight, fresh took on a whole new meaning.

We decided to go to Shiro’s, one of—if not the—top sushi places in Seattle. When at the sushi bar, we tend not to order, we trust the chef to select the most exquisite seafood of the day and feed us till we stumble out.

Midway through the meal, Shiro-san dug into a plastic bag and plopped two large shrimps on the counter. They looked fresh enough; until I realized they were still moving.

In the time it took me to gasp, he had expertly prepared the sushi.

I like distance between me and my food. Now I felt like Anthony Bourdain on his mad-cap show.

I was about to pick up the piece of sushi when it moved.

When It Moved.

Mind you, this shrimp had been filleted and its head was in a deep fryer somewhere.

I think I said, “Fucking hell.”

Jay laughed. That’s easy for him, his shrimp wasn’t swinging its tail.

I couldn’t eat it. I prodded it and it moved. Shiro-san prodded it with a metal skewer and it jerked.

After staring for a few minutes, I said, “Fuck it,” put it in my mouth and chewed as hard as I could.

But Shiro-san saw my hesitation. He looked displeased. There is nothing worse than offending a sushi chef. (Especially one you depend on to feed your addiction.)

Now all I can think of is my oyster posting.