switching gears now, I hate the web. It's like one of those crappy warehouse parties where there's a bunch of inter-connected rooms with different themes or some other ridiculous shit and you keep running into folks you either fucked over, fucked under or hooked up with and never wanted to see again. I got an email from someone I used to work with at the presidio grill when I was still doing the kitchen bitch thing. This grilltard was one of those guys who had obvious mental disabilities but would never submit to any kind of testing so it could never be verified. He once rolled his hightop in panko mix and deep fried it, resulting in a crispy golden brown chuck taylor. I admit the rest of us got into it and garnished the plate with rosemary aoli and tangelo slices, sprinkled with a little lime and chili powder. It looked damn tasty for a shoe. He ended up wearing it for the other 4 hours of his shift trailing greasy breading in and out of the walk-in and to the bus station. He told us this story about how, when he was growing up in NJ, he lived near some stadium but a couple blocks away was this swampy area where there were pipes sticking out of the ground about waist high. I guess the story goes that he and his buddies would ditch school and go out to these marshes and inhale deeply from the pipes, providing them with hours of brain killing fun. He said one time he woke up from a 'pipe-huff session' and it was dark and he was alone, when he got home his dad hit him with a broom stick and made him sleep in the garage.
You know - having a blog is like putting up an internet signpost that says "hey assholes, here I am."
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