mychai's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From Raisin Bran to Poboys: my life in food. I did something completely new today. Something wild and wacky. Something that I will one day tell my grandkids about. I mean, this. is. BIG! I at in the school cafeteria. Ok, so it isn't really all that big. But it is something I've never done before. And the food was good and it was prepared with love. Y'know... The can of corn was opened with love. The fake chicken was processed and frozen with love. And the bag of salad greens was probably both sealed and opened with love. Ok, so, it wasn't a 4-Star meal. It's cafeteria food. Whatdya expect? It beats the hell out of the four bowls of Raisin Bran every day. Because that's what you eat when you are broke. I finally came home after a long So, thank you Columbia College cafeteria for extending your dining hours. My toilet thanks you, too. I have loads of news. That happens when you skip a day of updating your diary. You are able to drop a load. (what's that? We quit talking about my bathroom habits? That's what that seperator line means? Sorry... my bad.) What would you like first? How about updates of old news. Remember when I told you that I was going to be an uncle? Well, I am still going to be an uncle. And the gender has been revieled. I was the only person not rooting for a boy, and my wish came true!!! I'm going to be an uncle of a little niece! I can't wait to corrupt this new life coming into this beautiful world! Oh, wait... I'm supposed to say "I can't wait to love her and spoil her and guide her through her years with wisdom and restraint." Nope. I'm going to be the kewl uncle who teaches her how to cuss, how to kick guys in the nuts, and I will let her taste her very first sip of beer. I tell ya... This uncle is going to RAWK. Knowing her mom and dad, I'm going to have to get there quick in order to let her have that first taste of beer. Maybe my sis will let me in the delivery room. "Puuuush! Ok, it's out, and it's a beautiful baby girl!" I got me a cooking gig on Friday. It's not a paying job. This one's purely for the sake of experience. I met a guy here in town who does kind of what I wanna do for a living. He cooks privately and for small parties. He's a black guy. Last name: Brown. Kinda like me. 'Cept I'm a whittie. I got me a white ass. So, he's got a larger party at a bank here in town on Friday. A luncheon -- one of those things only rich people have. He asked me if I would like to help. And I said, "Sho do!" That's black person speak for, "Yes, you kind sir. I would really enjoy and appreciate the kindess and experience you are offering me. I gladly accept your offer, Lord Brown, and I will see you on Friday." Now, curb your "JP, you're a racist!" emails. Nobody's getting ugly here. I mean, look who's getting paid for this job. Hint: It ain't me. On Friday morning, I'll be getting my whittie ass up at 7am and will cook until about noon. I think this is very exciting, and it will give me a taste of what I hope to be doing in about six months. If I get a chance, I'll get my pic of me in my chef garb, cutting and dicing and cooking, so you can all see what I look like when I am doing something I really love. I got a few emails about my Thanksgiving trip. People keep saying, "I am sorry you had a bad trip." I didn't have a bad trip at all. I was just grumpy the other night, and I was just being... well, grumpy. It was a rather nice trip. I went to Lambert's Cafe with my mom in Foley, Alabama, on my way over to Florida. Chances are, you've never been to a Lambert's Cafe. It is truly a wonderful dining experience. When a resturaunt's trademark is flinging piping hot food at you from across the room, you know it has got to be a great place to eat. I've now been to all three Lamberts' cafes. Never have I left there with any desire to eat ever again. The menu is all-you-can-eat EVERYTHING. Meaning, you order a pound hamburger, you eat as many as you want until you are full. Not only that, but they are constantly flinging hot rolls your way, and they are always coming at you with tons of other freebies. Damn, it's good. I also went walking down the beach. I even rolled up my pants legs and got into the salty Gulf of Mexico. I didn't roll them far enough for Grandma Kramer to see my newest tattoo. She woulda pinned me on the sand and witnessed until I repented. But the gulf water was cool and beautiful. It felt like pure life washing over my feet. I ate my share of oysters this year. My uncle, who VERY closely resembles Hulk Hogan, was hogging the oyster shucker. That is, until I got a baseball bat to his bad knees. That showed him. So, I ate me a good two to three dozen oysters throughout the day. Damn, I love oysters. Mmmm... Know what sounds good right about now? A sandwich from home. One of the few things you can get from a gas station that tastes better than getting it from a resturaunt: A Poboy (yankees and those uncultured call them "poor boys." Call my sandwich a poor boy and you have a smack-down coming). An overstuffed oyster poboy with sprinkles of shrimp and crawfish would make me wiggle in ways unmentionable right now. Beats the HELL out of Raisin Bran. That's for damn sure. Well, we've gone full circle in today's entry. I promise, no more potty talk in tomorrow's entry. Unless I decide to write an entry on the potty... ...which wouldn't be a bad idea! 11:35 p.m. - Wed., Nov. 28, 2001 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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