Monday, March 13, 2006
A river rock runs from it |11:02 PM| This is a post about rocks. My head is filled with them.
My girlfriend, her roommate, the roommate's boyfriend, and a mutual friend went to a place called "Uchi" the other night.
Goddamn, I must have spent $30 alone on one kind of sushi, but it was worth every penny. The total for the evening was some staggering amount of money, that I don't even want to type lest I suffer a wallet related aneurysm. The more notable part of the evening (for me, at least) was the appetizer I ordered, or more to a point, the way it was prepared.
I've been to places that let you cook your own meat at the table, that's nothing special. This was all about the presentation, the method. They serve a (fantastic) cut of raw meat, and provide you with a salted, 800 degree flat river rock "from Japan". You sear the meat on this rock, which is sitting on salt and small pebbles, and it's hot enough to cook meat for about 5 minutes or so. It was amazing, and straightforward. Did they actually go to the trouble of importing a damn rock from Japan? I don't care, it was still innovative and surprising. The dish was called, naturally enough, "Hot Rock". Who'd have thought you could take the chore of cooking your own meal, add a dangerously heated rock, and voila, $7 that I was happy to spend.
While I was dropping Wonderlust off at Cas's place a couple weeks back, I walked past what could have likely become a "Domestic Disturbance". There was a dude who I judged by his cover (White trash as all get out), a very young girl probably about 8, standing in front of a door that opened just as I walked by. The dude asked quickly of the woman that had partially emerged from behind the door "Can we talk?" With a hint of both aggression and frustration in his voice.
The woman, who I saw only briefly, had that tired, sallow look, hair pulled back, dressed in a bathrobe and clothes that barely ranked above pajamas. She recognized the guy and the look on her face spoke volumes. Surprise, anger, a little fear, and this strange kind of frustration, I'd get that look of frustration if I found out that after having my leg broken once, the doctors were going to have to do it again. A much more minor version of that "I have to put up with this BULLSHIT again?" feeling that villages being attacked by Vikings again might have felt.
As I headed towards the elevator I heard the little girl say "Mommy!" Stretching the y sound to make it clear she was excited and hadn't seen her in a while.
This was a bad scene.
I got to the first floor (they were on the second) and lacking a phone with which to call the cops if it got ugly, I looked around for a brick. I was hoping a nice solid chunk of masonry would be handy for my plan. My plan was, hang around for a few minutes, if things started to sound ugly for Mrs. "I keep my bissel power steamer outside of my house for some reason", I would throw the brick at the dude, yell some truly clever remark, and run like my ass was on fire.
I continued to look for a proper brick when I found a big pile of river rocks. Someone had gone to the trouble of erecting a strange concrete planter-thingy in the center of Cas's complex, and part of the ornamentation were these very smooth, very pretty stones, that also happened to be the perfect size for throwing at a redneck. If you asked a master rock craftsman to make the rock you needed to toss at the head of someone you wanted to distract, he'd probably say "I don't fucking exist, idiot." but it's possible he'd give you a rock like this.
I gave up on trying to come up with a witty comment to go with throwing the rock, something like "Tally-ho, why not tangle with someone who doesn't regard you as a monument to every wrong thing they did in their life!" It was probably going to have to be "HEY FUCK-O!". Luckily by this time it sounded as though the argument was winding down a bit, and I mosey'd off.
I would probably have forgotten this anti-climatic tale if I hadn't left the damn rock at my girlfriend's place. I don't want to just toss it out, but bringing it all the way back to Cas seems an awful waste. Hopefully there isn't some Hawaiian curse on the damn thing.
A river rock runs from it |11:02 PM| This is a post about rocks. My head is filled with them.
My girlfriend, her roommate, the roommate's boyfriend, and a mutual friend went to a place called "Uchi" the other night.
Goddamn, I must have spent $30 alone on one kind of sushi, but it was worth every penny. The total for the evening was some staggering amount of money, that I don't even want to type lest I suffer a wallet related aneurysm. The more notable part of the evening (for me, at least) was the appetizer I ordered, or more to a point, the way it was prepared.
I've been to places that let you cook your own meat at the table, that's nothing special. This was all about the presentation, the method. They serve a (fantastic) cut of raw meat, and provide you with a salted, 800 degree flat river rock "from Japan". You sear the meat on this rock, which is sitting on salt and small pebbles, and it's hot enough to cook meat for about 5 minutes or so. It was amazing, and straightforward. Did they actually go to the trouble of importing a damn rock from Japan? I don't care, it was still innovative and surprising. The dish was called, naturally enough, "Hot Rock". Who'd have thought you could take the chore of cooking your own meal, add a dangerously heated rock, and voila, $7 that I was happy to spend.
While I was dropping Wonderlust off at Cas's place a couple weeks back, I walked past what could have likely become a "Domestic Disturbance". There was a dude who I judged by his cover (White trash as all get out), a very young girl probably about 8, standing in front of a door that opened just as I walked by. The dude asked quickly of the woman that had partially emerged from behind the door "Can we talk?" With a hint of both aggression and frustration in his voice.
The woman, who I saw only briefly, had that tired, sallow look, hair pulled back, dressed in a bathrobe and clothes that barely ranked above pajamas. She recognized the guy and the look on her face spoke volumes. Surprise, anger, a little fear, and this strange kind of frustration, I'd get that look of frustration if I found out that after having my leg broken once, the doctors were going to have to do it again. A much more minor version of that "I have to put up with this BULLSHIT again?" feeling that villages being attacked by Vikings again might have felt.
As I headed towards the elevator I heard the little girl say "Mommy!" Stretching the y sound to make it clear she was excited and hadn't seen her in a while.
This was a bad scene.
I got to the first floor (they were on the second) and lacking a phone with which to call the cops if it got ugly, I looked around for a brick. I was hoping a nice solid chunk of masonry would be handy for my plan. My plan was, hang around for a few minutes, if things started to sound ugly for Mrs. "I keep my bissel power steamer outside of my house for some reason", I would throw the brick at the dude, yell some truly clever remark, and run like my ass was on fire.
I continued to look for a proper brick when I found a big pile of river rocks. Someone had gone to the trouble of erecting a strange concrete planter-thingy in the center of Cas's complex, and part of the ornamentation were these very smooth, very pretty stones, that also happened to be the perfect size for throwing at a redneck. If you asked a master rock craftsman to make the rock you needed to toss at the head of someone you wanted to distract, he'd probably say "I don't fucking exist, idiot." but it's possible he'd give you a rock like this.
I gave up on trying to come up with a witty comment to go with throwing the rock, something like "Tally-ho, why not tangle with someone who doesn't regard you as a monument to every wrong thing they did in their life!" It was probably going to have to be "HEY FUCK-O!". Luckily by this time it sounded as though the argument was winding down a bit, and I mosey'd off.
I would probably have forgotten this anti-climatic tale if I hadn't left the damn rock at my girlfriend's place. I don't want to just toss it out, but bringing it all the way back to Cas seems an awful waste. Hopefully there isn't some Hawaiian curse on the damn thing.
Labels: Cass
1 Comments:
Y'all need to calm down. Don't playa hate, negotiate.
By 
Wonderlust, at
7:51 PM
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