Long time no blog.

Why, happy T-giving, dear readers. It's been a while and I have some thoughts to share with you.

Beer shits suck. I've taken several today. And the farts that precede them are downright . . . well, they're just wrong, that's what they are. However, 'twould seem cheap beer leads to fine darts-playing so beer shits are the price to be paid. So be it.

I spent the night with a chef a year and a halfish ago. I didn't sleep with him, much to his disappointment. I think that was when I was trying to be non-sluttish, or at least keep my pants on, for chrissake. At any rate, he was tall, lanky with a nice tan from surfing in the Hamptons where he was a personal chef for the rich. His hair smelled like gourmet cuisine. Wasn't no Tony Bourdain, that's for shit sure. Just finished Kitchen Confidential, which the aforementioned chef had displayed on his plywood shelves behind his bed The tall skinny chef had no personality and was kinda a jerk. Tony Bourdain has personality with a fist that slams you right up your asshole. Not to mention he's quite a good writer:

"Writing anything is a treason of sorts. Even the cold recitation of facts - which is hardly what I've been up to- is never the thing itself. And the events described are somehow diminished in the telling."

And, 'twould seem he's a monogamist, which does the heart good.

It's 4:45pm, the day before Thanksgiving and I'm still at work. With a slight hangover, bloodshot eyes and a Fat Daly-like asshole. Still have to get my dad's mail, pick up my dry cleaning, do laundry and clean my apartment. I'm sure some people don't do these things before they leave town for, in essence, a day and a half but . . . there you have it.