I just got back from Chinatown. Ate at a Chinese restaurant (duh) that had one of those menus with pictures of the various dishes. One that caught my eye was the deep-fried pigeon. It was a whole fucking pigeon, with the head and everything! OK, they removed the feathers and feet and presumably the innards, but still....
You know, I think I'd have to be drunk and have lost a bet in order to eat deep-fried pigeon. Or perhaps drunk and trying to impress a girl.
Oh, and the worst t-shirt I saw on the train: It was a cartoon guy smiling and holding up a sign that said, "Free Gas!" The cartoon guy was farting. Somehow this guy had a girlfriend.
Fancy Fast Food is genius.
I'm watching a televised production of Camelot from last year, which I've had on tape since before we moved. It's...not very good. Gabriel Byrne can't sing, Mordred is a gay goth, and I am forewarned that Fran Drescher appears as Morgan LeFay.
To be fair, Richard Harris couldn't really sing, either. But the rest of it sounds pretty appalling.
Lancelot is fantastic, and Marin Mazzie is playing Guinevere. But. Why do they cast people who can't sing, especially in a concert version?
GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.
I just found my passport. AFTER, natch, spending $179 expediting a new one.
Universe, 1, Jess, 0.
I'm trying out veggie italian sausage on the grill. Also brussel sprouts and sweet onions. I'm not entirely optimistic at this point.
I wish obtaining sushi didn't require outside pants.
I think my dad tried to fix my sink. He did solve the water pressure issue. But. It leaks now. (Pretty sure it is the valves on the faucets that are shot.) They are off for a walk, so I'll have to ask when he gets back.
I'm laughing, honest.
Who needs outside pants? Both my brothers go out in their jammy pants and slippers all the time.