mychai's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- So... When is the Super Bowl this year? I almost prefer a boring, uneventful Super Bowl over an exciting one. Why? Well, it spurns from the fact that I am not at all a sports fan. Since sports don't interest me in the least, I don't keep up on all of the special statistics that everyone takes pride in knowing. You know... how many rushing yards So-and-So made (I don't even know what a rushing yard is); How many TDs, FGs, RBIs, TOs, there were; and the overly reduced, concentrated statistics that don't really amount to a hill of beans, like "Joe Smith scratched his crotch before 87% of all throws equalling 54 yards or more in games that are played on days that have a "t" in them." Ok. So, not literally. But you know what I'm saying. I know you do. It absolutely blows my mind that people can get so involved in a game that they make those kinds of observations. Keep in mind, I'm not criticizing anybody who does. But I was somehow born with a brain disorder that prevents me from being interested in this kind of thing. The reason I cheer on a boring, waste-of-time Super Bowl is that, since I don't really care about the actual game, it makes the next week or two easier on me since I am a guy. Now, when I am at work and the other guys at work want to sit around, sip their coffee, and talk about the big game, I can make the face of someone who is dissatisfied (I've had much experience seeing that face. You know... after every date...), make a grunting noise, and say, "Man. That was the most boring game I've ever seen in my life." Then I storm out of the room like it genuinely pissed me off. I'm an observant man. This is what other guys do when they watch a boring game. It's easy enough to replicate. What happens when there is an especially fun game to watch is that I have to sit through all of the guys talking about how "my boys" did this and what "I would tell Coach next time." I have to hear statistics, and I am expected to chime in with my own statistics. So, I am thankful that this Super Bowl was such a blow-out. The past two years have been hell on my reputation as a man around the work place. Actually, I slept through most of the Super Bowl. I was super tired, as you will see why later. I woke up just at the end of the 3rd quarter. Just as the commercials had turned to crap. I'm watching Jimmy Kimmel Live as I write this. I thought it would be funnier. But I'll give him some slack, it being his first episode and all. And Sniff Doggie Doo is his co-host this week. Or Snoop Dawg. Or whatever his name is. When Jimmy introduced him, the door opened, and you don't see anything for a few moments. And just as you think Dawg Crap had stoop Jimmy up, you see these big black hands coming from the door, all of his fingers bent in some gangsta symbol. Like I am supposed to be afraid or impressed or something. Actually, every time I see Snoopy the Dawg, I just want to roll over his wiry body with a steam roller. I think the world would be a better place without him. Boy. That's cheery, ain't it? ... Heh. Snoop just got censored because he flipped off Bill O'Reilly since Bill raised a stink about Snoop being in a porno and then trying to be in the Muppets. Why am I tired, you ask? Because it was a busy-ass weekend, that's why. It started on Friday when I observed my friend Carrie (the girl who I will beat in the weight loss contest I am in) close on the house that she now officially owns. I then drove back, went to my other friend Terra's house, ate lunch, then piled in a car with four other people and drove to Kansas City. We went to the Imax theater there and watched this movie about a character whose father was killed by his brother in order that his brother could become king. Then the father appears to the son -- who has exiled himself -- as a ghost telling him to go back and avenge his murder. The son goes back to the kingdom, everybody dies, yada yada yada. The end. It was either Shakespeare's "Hamlet" or Disney's "The Lion King." I got confused somewhere around the musical numbers about farting warthogs. Seriously, though, it was an amazing movie on Imax. The audio was just as good as the larger-than-hopefully-reality worms being sucked down by Mariah. Or whatever those animals were named. Seriously, though. I forgot how moving that opening sequence is with all of the animals rushing to see the presentation of Simba. I got the little goose bumps and everything. It was a great presentation. We got in from Kansas City pretty late, and I had to be at work at 5:30 the next morning. Needless to say, I missed a few hours of sleep. On Saturday, Carrie moved into her new house from her apartment, so I drove over at around noon to help her out. Thankfully, she had four other people helping her out as well, so we got the moving done pretty quickly. In the spirit of full disclosure, since I had to work, I got there later in the day and the move from apartment to house had already been done. I arrived in the "unpack" phase. I was given the kitchen to organize, surprise, surprise. I got the entire kitchen unpacked and organized within two hours. Knowing Carrie, she'll undo everything I did and redo it all to her very specific tastes. After getting most everything unpacked and made the house into a home, we showered and went to a restaurant that served authentic Spanish fare. We all ordered two plates each of tapas. If you are in the dumb when it comes to tapas -- like I was before last night -- let me fill you in about what they are. Tapas are small portions of foods, both hot and cold, that are served as companions to alcohol and as appetizers. When done right -- and, in the case of the restaurant where we ate, when done perfectly -- they are little explosions of incredible flavor combinations and concentrations of pure culinary joy. That meal definitely ranked in the top five meals I have ever eaten. It would rank up there with the best meal I've eaten. It was absolutely amazing. When I was full, I wanted to keep eating just because it was so good. Also good was the two pitchers of sangria that we drank. And then, when everyone was good and toasty from the sangria, we had two rounds of shots to toast the new house and something else. Things got a little fuzzy. We were all pretty hammered. We made a lot of phone calls to people we probably shouldn't have. And we learned stuff about each other that we probably would have lived just as decent lives if we wouldn't have learned this information. It was 1:00 by the time I dozed off. I woke up at 3:30 so I could drive the two hours back to Columbia to work my 10-hour shift. So, by the time I finally got back to my own apartment by 3:30 this afternoon, I could care less about staying awake to see some ball game. While writing this entry, I got hungry and went scouring my kitchen for food to toss together. I ended up making this, a chicken dish that was just delish. I tell ya what... If you reduce balsamic vinegar, there is very little wrong you could do with it. I've even put it on top of ice cream! Sounds weird, but it tastes fantastic. How you can get such an intense flavor out of such a small amount of actual substance blows my mind. Maybe I should talk about that when the guys at work ask me about the football game. Yeah. Sure. I'm just begging to be called Julia Child for the next six months.
11:07 p.m. - Sun., Jan. 26, 2003 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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