Hep Cat Brigade Parties at PX

My birthday is Wednesday. A night of hard drinking is not a good idea in the middle of the week, so six of us boozed it up on Saturday last. I chose PX as the site. The master mixologist of the place was recently written up in Playboy magazine. Perhaps some of you saw the item while reading the articles, which is why most folks buy the magazine, as I understand it. ANYWAY, back to the most important part: MY DRESS. It is no secret that I love vintage dresses, and this one is great.

My date was great, too. I am drinking a Rosemary Gibson, which was delicious, but made my friend Megan have a puss face when she tried it. "Don't give me any more sips of your drinks!" was her request. I like drinks that are heartier than most, which is why I like PX. The drinks taste clean and not too sweet. The Grog is probably the sweetest thing on the menu and it goes down quick.

Astute Craftsman or Talentless Hack?

The special guest performer on an episode of Chappelle's Show a few days ago was a rapper called "Fat Joe". He was very fat. His act consisted of a lot of people performing vocal and musical repeating phrases while he hollered what! uh! and chimed in off key to the chorus from time to time. Why is this person famous? Why are so many like him the toast of the hip hop world? Are they the same sorts of people that keep putting Marion Barry in office?

Watching and listening to his act it was easy to see several things:
1. The performers were replicating what machines created in the recording studio.
2. Having to watch Fat Joe holler his exclamations in front of a beatbox with a taped track playing would be boring and pointless, but probably more like how it really is.
3. The singers performing the vocal loop had more talent than the featured performer.
4. Quilted fabric is a mistake for the "festively plump".

Then I thought, "Maybe I"m wrong about Fat Joe and those like Fat Joe." Perhaps the whole composition was his brainchild. Could he be like Mozart or Bach, leading others in the performance of a work that was solely his creation? Did he listen to old school jams over and over to find the right hook? Did he slave away over his lyrics notebook, first inspired then despondent that the words would never flow then elated to pen the lines that perfectly fit the mood of the piece? My suspicion is that a truly talented producer is using the charisma and appeal of this front man to advance his own interests.

12 of 12 January 2007

7:16 AM - A last minute review of the recipes that I'll be fixing for my dinner with friends tonight. I have a few things to pick up on my lunch hour.

8:36 AM - I only talk on my cell phone in the car. I just got this Bluetooth headset that makes driving a whole lot easier, not to mention keeps me legal in DC. I have a friend who will tease me now that I'm one of the "Borg".

9:16 AM - The Washington Post website always loads so frickin' slow when I'm trying to use it at the office. I hate that. All I want is to scan the headlines. Is that too much to ask? For Pete's sake, Post, analyze your peak usage rates and get more server power. Geesh.

11:58 AM- I just finished picking up the few things I need for dinner tonight plus a burrito for lunchie.

3:56 PM - It is much more cold and gray when I leave than it was when I came in. I decided to scoot out a little early to get a head start on my holiday weekend. As my blog will tell you, I love Dr. the King and I choose to celebrate in a non-violent way by avoiding DC rush hour traffic.

5:56 PM - Pepper views the vaccumn cleaner with a hatred born of fear. Not like the "don't sass me or you'll get the beat down" hatred he holds for the humidifier. He knows the Dyson will kick his ass, and since it never loses suction, it will always win.

7:18 PM- I peek in on the pork roast I'm making for dinner. I've made more than I need for this meal with the intention of fixing Carolina pork barbecue later in the week. In about 40 minutes a roasting pan of oiled sliced fennel and leeks will join Mr. Piggy in the oven.

10:23 PM- My friends Robert, Will and Heather join me for dinner. We always end up talking more than we eat, so we didn't sit down to dinner until late. The lemon rice was still warm, though.

12:05 AM- I have to pile all the dishes with food in them on the small counter and open the dishwasher so that the cats won't jump up and try to eat it.

12:13 AM- Pepper would like to know why a) he can't sit at the table like people when we're eating and b) why I didn't save him a plate, since he couldn't be served like a regular person. As you can see from his fatness, he doesn't really need any more food from a plate, out of a bowl, with a fox or wearing socks.

12:34 AM- I liked dinner so well, I posted my menu to the food board I participate in.

12:58 AM- With the leftovers put away, dishes in the dishwasher and everything squared away I gratefully turn in for the night.

BONUS PICTURE- Something New. Will brought me white tulips; new flowers in the house. Thanks! : )

Outline Adjustment

My body image has always been skewed. I was a chubby 'tween and uncomfortable with my looks for most of my life. About four years ago, I lost the unhealthy amount of weight I gained after my mom passed. Just now, looking in the bathroom mirror before returning to my office, I realized that I didn't need to stand up straighter or suck in my stomach to appear fit and slender... I AM! The constant disappointment that I felt when looking at my face and body in any reflective surface is gone. Yay me!

Why I'm Grateful For Refrigeration

As one of my favorite comedians, Chris Rock, once said: "Back in the day, a pork chop would kill you! Now, pork's your FRIEND." I dreamed last night of pulling package after package of opened bacon from the meats drawer of my refigerator. I thought to myself, "How much bacon does one person need?" It reminded me of the SNL skit featuring Ed Grimley and Tina Turner where she calls to borrow oranges but his cupboards are filled with nothing but onions, sending Ed into a frenzy. Thank you, refrigerators, for making my dreams of pork come true!

I Have A Red Sock In My Laundry

Depression is like a red sock in my white load of laundry. It colors everything it touches. What do you do when the most exciting thing you can think of is finally getting home and pulling the covers over your head? These days I look forward to it more than lunch. I make plans with friends, buy tickets to events I know I'll enjoy and talk with the people who care about me regularly. It all feels forced to me. Do my friends notice or is this how I always seem to them?

Right now, the most upsetting thing is not coping with this illness, but how it colors my relationships. I am not broken, but this may make me seem damaged; unable to care for myself and eventually become a burden too heavy to bear. I am responsible for getting better, seeking help and remaining faithful to my course of treatment. Me. Not my family, friends or anyone else. I am not in denial about the quality, severity or duration of this illness. Still I am ashamed of my depression. A part of me believes that I am less than whole because of it. A part of me believes that the person that matters the most to me believes it, too.