Thursday, August 19, 2004

HAIL TO THE IRON CHEF

I love Divo. I come home after a long night out on the town dancing in circles around my friends who are in town this week to play shows and can collapse on my bed or start nodding off on my couch while watching the Iron Chef and watch them make delightful meals using ingredients i've never heard of. When they use stuff I have heard of -- like chicken -- i'm disappointed. The presentations of the meals aren't as creative and they use whole chickens (head and talons included) which causes me to scream as i cover my eyes. My favorite episode was when the theme ingrediant was octopus that they had to kill themselves. The arms of the octopi were still squirming and moving and flopping in every direction. Tentacles hanging on for dear life... makes me eager to return to being a vegetarian.

These days I've become more sassy than usual. I like people a lot. I think that's my defining characteristic: I like things. I like all things and I typically want all things to like me, however, that's not always the case. I don't like when people disrespect my friends, and I have been having a hard time keeping my mouth shut. I think that at the Music show last night I suddenly replaced my usually sunny disposition with a pitbull. The person I faught with called me high strung. Oddly enough, i was practically falling asleep moments before they approached me and my friend (it'd been a long week and I was exhausted from dancing at the show) and started being assholes. One thing shouted out of my mouth was "shut your fucking face you fuckwad." If you're ever in a position where some douchebag starts making inappropriate comments to one of your best friends, that's always a great way to get your anger out since it's so much fun to say!

Fistfights aside, the show last night was so much awesome. Seeing the Music live is one of my favorite things to do. They're like 20 years old and are so unbelievably tight and yet trippy, exciting, psychedellic... no matter what state of mind your in, for the 60 minutes you're listening to Robert Harvey scat like a frog, it's like a fantastic dream. "Bleed from Within" was definitely the show's stand out track. It's like every great idea the band ever had for a song crammed into one 6:27 minute carnival of sensations that was only further improved by the addition of bongos Stuart the bassist started jamming on as if to attempt to distract the audience from watching the incredible Robert Harvey dance around the stage as if he were at some tripped out african bonfire.

After the show, as per usual these days, we (Karen, Niki, The Music, Tim and Co, the 5OH, Kiran, Lauren) headed over to the DarkRoom. The bar's been open a week and already I've found myself there about 3 or 4 times. So have my partners in crime. I'm stoked cause the place is like 4 blocks from my house and it makes riding home at 5 am less scary. I think i'm gonna inquire about renting a booth or something.

God is Awesome cause when we finally pulled ourselves out of the bar, who was standing outside of Luna Lounge? None other than Brian (who has just updated his website with photos from my birthday party!), Meredith and Amy. We danced around for a bit on the sidewalks and hobbled home after DJ Nikki Z snapped an absolutely awful photo of my exhausted mug.

OK. Time for me to rest my bones. But oh la la! A text message just arrived from Antony. The Five O'Clock Heroes are playing at the Delancey next Thursday (26th) at ten. Yay! Go see them. If your a dude, go. Greg the Boyfriend swears that their shows are like a meat market for PYTs in short skirts and fake IDs.

7 comments:

Anonymous said...

Cooking shows are so boring. Maybe it would be more interesting if the chefs were busty naked women.

Anonymous said...

My fabolous Iron Chef Drinking game.

1 drink for every time the creepy host is on
1 drink for every time he says "if memory serves me"
1 drink for every "fuki sahn (whatever that reporter says when explaining stuff)
1 drink for every time a girl giggles
3 drinks for every time they say dumpling
3 drinks for every time they say ice cream
3 drinks everytime they use squid ink

Then pick a chef and if you lose chug a beer.

Combining gross food visuals and drinking is an oh so nice way to spend an evening...

Anonymous said...

Oooh, a drunk tubby girl getting "sassy". I'm so looking forward to the inevitable post where you're genuinely surprised that someone punched you in your fat nose.

Ultragrrrl said...

Gosh Mom, sometimes you can be really harsh! Stop reading my blog.

Anonymous said...

This is Raised By Bees, who tried to post a comment twice and got put back to log-in by stupid Blogger.

Anyway, I'm gonna quote Sarah and say "Shut your fucking face you fuckwad." And I'm also gonna say that "tubby" girls can afford to be sassy because we're not running to the bathroom every five minutes to puke up our food.

What's your weight, Anon? And when's the last time you got to make out with someone?

The Other Drunk Sassy "Tubby" Sara

Anonymous said...

Back away from the Twinkies, honey and go post your kewl party pics here: http://www.fatchicksinpartyhats.com/ Love the upper arm fat!

Anonymous said...

Raised By Bees again:

I'm suspect of anyone who uses "fat" as an insult because the NYC version of fat, at least among white hipsters and those who work in the media, is any woman over 90 pounds. Just check out a Misshapes photo gallery (other than that it seems like a fun party) or look to see who's dangling from the arm of white male New York writers: usually a size zero. The same ones who go on about J. Lo's ass and Beyonce's booty will date an ass-less wonder.

So I think from a warped hipster perspective, bodies like Sarah's (and probably mine) are considered "tubby" by assholes. (My boyfriend of almost six years likes my body just fine, though). There was a big article in the recent Bust all about the use of the word "curvy," how it's okay for celebs but just a euphemism for "fat" with average girls.

Hey Anon, grow the fuck up, already. If you don't like curves, go fuck 12-year-old boys. At least you could share fat jokes together.

No Twinkies or armfat here,
Sara