DJ Hits Home

The truth hurts, but it needs to be put out there nonetheless. Sometimes it can be a first step in recovery. I got a note from The Wolv today. He may be on his way to the straight and narrow.

“OK, you win. In true Masshole style, I've fired my research staff, advance team and publicist. The handlers are next. Maybe even the hangers on. Of course I take full responsibility for exactly none of this, and will now enter sex rehab. When I emerge a new and remorseful Masshole in a few months, I hope you'll be quoted on MTV with something like, "Hey, at least he didn't go all John Mayer on us." “

DJ is going on a listening tour. #2, your house is the first stop. I also have to check back in with SB1. I had a chat with him last night and he indicated his dismay with the subject matter of my 2/12 post. He's a sensitive boy but I must admit that he's not bum. Just a student. Last year he was a student-athlete. Hopefully by the end of this semester he'll be a student with a job. For subliminal inspiration, I played “Get A Job” by The Silhouettes for background music during the call. It sounds like school is going well. He has an interesting English class, where they are reading the works of one of his favorite authors, John Dos Punkass.

In motor vehicle news, I saw a Bentley pulling out of the Foster City Costco the other day. Even the super rich need the 50 roll pack of toilet paper, and Draegers just does not carry them. I was on my way home on 101 today when a motorcyclist passed me. I noticed his leg was at an odd angle. I then realized he was riding side saddle. No worries. He reverted to the regular position, at 70mph, when he got a couple car lengths in front of me. I anticipated slow traffic ahead, in which we would all have to inch past his lifeless splotch, but fortunately that did not occur.

Logomachy

As I imagine has happened to many a blogger before me, I've come to the sad realization that my readership does not deserve me. First off, I get a lame comment on my last post from The Wolv, who clearly does not know a ting about The Ting Tings. I'm sad to say this, but I think he has now come to epitomize the term with which he used to denigrate residents of his adopted home state: The Masshole.

Then I get an email from #2 last night, stating that he had to spend 10 minutes on The Google figuring out my references. Was it Zager and Evans that threw you for a loop #2? Stop whining, you freakin' amateur! The Exec doesn't get half the crap I put up here and you never hear him complain.

That's Not My Name

I saw The Ting Tings on SNL a few weeks ago. What the hell is that all about? They're even worse than the freakin' Black Eyed Peas. Remember that old Zager and Evans tune? In the year 2025, all music will suck, DJ will be in his PJs sitting in his lazy boy, more hair coming out of his nose and ears than his scalp, yelling at the teevee.

Hey Kids

I realize we haven't been able to spend as much time together as you'd like. But Mommy has been very busy getting hair extensions, posing for the cover of People, meeting with lawyers, and helping the ghost writer. I'll make it up to you. Promise

Define Private

My Son's a Bum

And my wife is shirking her responsibilities.

First off, to the best of my knowledge, my son has not done a damn thing but play video games for the last week. He could be getting ahead in his coursework but that is highly unlikely. Since he's in DC, school has been shut down all week. I trudged through plenty worse back in my Binghamton days, but today's kids are coddled.

My wife has chosen this weekend to go down to San Diego to see her mom, regardless of the fact that she's well aware Valentine's Day is the most important Hallmark holiday of all to me. I'll be taking solace in the company of the FC boys at dinner tomorrow night, along with some of their wives. The ones who apparently care. #1 is wifeless as well so he'll be my date.

Hey, have you been to the Foster City Safeway lately? It's quite a place. They installed self checkout a few months ago. I was going to use the regular checkout today because I had a lot of stuff but the lines were too long so I went self serve. There was a geezer next to me grumbling about the lack of express lanes and the difficulty of using the machines. He was looking to me for concurrence but I was minding my own business. This guy had a band-aid positioned vertically on his bald pate, kind of like a racing stripe. In five years, I'm that guy. I had a bit of trouble with the machines as well. It shut down a couple times and the clerk came over and explained to me that leaning on it throws it off due to the scale. I said “Is it me? Am I uncoordinated?” He assured me that was not the case.

Cawl My Cell

My wife never sends me flirty texts like she did when we were first going out. Actually, I'm glad there was no such thing as a cell phone back then, especially in my college days. Otherwise I would have had to listen to girls from Long Island talking even more.

Dalí

I'm not a restaurant reviewer, but I'll take the gig if anyone is offering. The wife and I had a great meal Saturday night at Dalí. No town is complete without a quality Spanish joint and now San Mateo's got one. It's taken over half of the old Gator's space. I was sorry to see the neo-soul entry in the local dining scene bite the dust, but at least it wasn't replaced by an Applebee's.

http://www.sdalirestaurant.com/index2.html

There is quite an array of tapas on the menu so we had to mull it over a bit. I want to go there with my FC posse soon so we can order 20 plates or so and get a bite of each.

We were comped the Gambas al Ajillo (garlic shrimp) and they did not disappoint. The sauce was more broth based than what I've had in the past. I made my version for dinner last night, to rave reviews.

The Jamon Serrano was good but not the ethereal paper thin slices of Iberian ham I had conjured up. One of my future recipes calls for it but at $18 for 8 oz. at latienda.com, I think I'll have to make do with prosciutto.

The mainstay tapa you'll find in every bar in Spain was next. They called it Tortilla de Patatas but I've called it Tortilla Española ever since I was wolfing down chunks of it with a beer or coffee when I was roaming Madrid in the fall of 1980. I've had, and made, better than the Dali version. I've also had, and made, worse. Theirs was a little dry but pretty good.

We also had a damn good beet salad before they brought out the piece de resistance, Paella de Mariscos. My old land lady in Madrid cranked out a heavenly version but this one came close. The rice and seafood were cooked perfectly and it had chunks of chicken and chorizo. I've tried making this before and have only embarrassed myself. When I was living in sin on 7th Ave in SF many moons ago, I had friends come over for what has since become known as the “crunchy paella”.

Towards the end of the meal, we were visited by the Argentinian owner. We told her we saw The Chron review. She said the phone was ringing off the hook for days after that. She also informed us of the flamenco and tango shows they put on. I'm not sure how they make room for it in their tight space. I practiced the tango in my closet when I got home to get a feel for it. Anyway, at 8pm all the tables were full so I think we have a winner here.

As we walked down B St. to the car, I noticed a 20 something kid bopping down the road with his headphones on. I can't figure the younger generation out. When I'm walking the mean streets of San Mateo, I want to be alert to every nuance. Like the fact that a foot race was breaking out. Two prepubescent longhairs decided to take each other on, but they were polite enough to wait until we got out of their way.