Tuesday, June 20, 2006

fruit, glorious fruit

i have been eating the heck out of some fruit since we moved to georgia. i've been making up for eating all those sour, hard, dried up peaches that show up every year in northern grocery stores. the kind where you see them in spring and think, "Oh i'd so love a good peach!". and then you bring them home and will them to ripen and nothing happens. so you get frustrated and bite into one anyway, and it's so dissappointing and unfulfilling that you end up eating the whole thing out of spite (an action your stomach will thank you for later while you're hitting the porcelain god). i hate those days.

so i've more than made up for past peach actions by eating as many as i can in the past month. fresh georgia peaches are so fucking good, i could cry. i bit into one just now and was rewarded with peach juice gooshing all out and all over my shoes. it's okay, cos i'm wearing new laceless chuck taylors and they need to be broken in. and it's okay because it's the best damn peach i've had since yesterday. this is forgiveable. if it didnt goosh out everywhere i'd send him flying across the sea of cubes, surely to hit one of my engineers dorking away three aisles from mine.

this weekend i saw that cherries were on sale for cheap, which means we've now entered the Golden Two-Week Window when cherries are in season and abundant and cheaper than 7 dollars a pound. this is prime time to grab all the cherries you can lay your hands on. i have yet to buy some, but will. an abundance of cherries in one sitting can send you to the porcelain god as well (dont i know this all too well), so one must be creative and integrate them in small portions throughout the day. such as pitted cherries bobbing around in sangria; THE BEST THING EVER.

Friday, June 16, 2006

the last chapter of the poop and other tales

so i dont know if the Gods are playing tricks on me or what, but the poop i mentioned yesterday? it's gone.

so now i'm beginning to wonder if all my wishes will come true if i write them down. i can write about all kinds of crap, but most of it is best left to grow in the dark in the back of my head and never see the light of day.

i mean, if i can write down that i wish the City would remove the poop from the corner of Ivan Allen Jr Blvd and Peachtree Street, and within 12 hours it actually happens, what else can happen? i can only imagine. and i've got a vivid imagination too.

the possibilities are endless.

emeril's last night was amazing. outstanding service, and the food was fantastic. drink-wise, i started out with a glass of Pommery (mental note to myself to buy some when i'm feeling the need to drop a few bills), then continued on with a half bottle of Siduri Sonoma pinot noir which was so tasty. it went well with both my appetizer (boudin and other delicious sausages) and my entree (grouper with shrimp and other sea creatures in a delicate cream pasta). i ended it with a glass of austrian eiswein, which itself was a dessert in a glass. so unctuous.

i didnt feel silly last night, especially as the boy split part of my half-bottle of wine (he had the seafood chowder and the tenderloin and was pleased), but this morning i'm feeling a bit rough. i kept waking up for no reason at all, and twice i got woken up because Mrs P was leaning on me and chasing rabbits in her sleep.

going to Table 1280 for lunch with the office girls. it's been nominated for best restaurant in atlanta, so we'll have to judge that for ourselves.

Thursday, June 15, 2006

beware: this entry is about poop

every morning and afternoon this week on my way to work and back i've had to encounter the big pile of human feces that rests on the sidewalk on Ivan Allen Blvd.

On the corner of Ivan Allen and Peachtree is Mayor's Park, which is probably about 40 feet by 40 feet. the local homeless use this park as their haven. i walk past it every day, and at 7 am there are about 20 people in various stages of sleep curled up or stretched out in there. one of them took it upon himself to drop trow and dump in the middle of the sidewalk in an area that's not even protected or hidden. every day as i sidestep The Poop i wonder when or if the City will clean it up. i doubt it. every day, The Poop gets flatter and flatter. it looks as though it's been run over by many a biker or runner. the thought makes me want to vomit. i've stepped in my fair share (and more) of dog shit when i lived in France (the French arent big pooper scoopers; and somehow this shouldnt surprise anyone), but there's nothing worse than the smell of human feces that's been left to rot and bake in the summer Southern sun. I could walk down the other side of the street, but frankly, until today i usually have tried very hard to forget The Poop almost as soon as I see it. i try not to take that mental image with me as i go on about my day. except for today, where i've just about had it with the stench.

every day i see one particular homeless man, and i recognize him immediately because he's in such a state of visible decay that i believe he's been in his condition for too many years. he wears a dirty leather biker jacket. his pants are ripped down the back in such a manner that you can see everything... and i mean, everything.. the family jewels all the way up to the Grand Canyon. he watches me as i walk by. one day on my way back from work, i saw him standing on the edge of Mayor's Park, rather catatonic-like except that he was swaying side to side. the next morning on my way to Marta, he was still standing there, swaying. he didnt look as if he'd budged all night. he seemed in a trance.

Friday, June 2, 2006

in atlanta

so we've embarked on a tour of restaurants in atlanta, starting with last night when we walked up the street to Spice. overall, we gave it a C+. our waitress was fantastic, the booze was good, and the food was okay. just okay. we think the chef is bored. although we're probably going to go back for drinks at the bar (and i need to bring some friends for bottomless wine and hors d'oeuvres from 6 to 8 on thursdays) because they have an open kitchen. the boy hates working in open kitchens, but he's aching to watch them in action and see what they can do. we both thought our food was adequate, but not worth the price.

i'm going to One Midtown Kitchen tomorrow night with a bunch of people from work and some of patty's friends, and afterwards we're going to a gay strip club (Swingin' Richards) to stare at some gay booty. j is coming over today to spend the weekend at "Club Med", as he likes to call our place. i guess if i lived with my sister in a condo surrounded by cats and cat pee and had DIAL UP internet access, coming over to our gated Eden would seem Club Med-ish.