Sunday, January 02, 2005

This May Take A Few Minutes, If You Have A Large Blog

So, ate out the other night, by myself on a Saturday. Since I have had to cut down my record purchasing drastically, I've been learning to get comfortably adjusted to it, to not buying new music and have been gradually cutting down on impulsive purchases. So, I upon checking my pitiful balance, I noticed a little more money than usual and decided to treat myself to a decent meal, rather then the poorly cooked sludge I prepare myself of the horribly unhealthy cheap swill prepared by an embittered mistreated immigrant I usually subsist on. I put on a clean shirt, didn't wear a belt, and called a newer restaurant that has been garnering good reviews from the pretentious local food critics. I made reservations for one (I could feel the Headwaiters' raised eyebrow of barely concealed scorn/pity through the phone line) and drove across town, anticipating gastrointestinal glory.

Waiter sat me in a prime spot by the window, must of figured my corpulent exterior hid the heart of bona fide gourmand, rather then someone almost completely ignorant of the niceties of upscale culinary experience. I ate all the french bread that was put in front of me, and all the french bread continually replaced by a rattled looking Busboy. The menu was all over the place, what foot critics normally deem as 'whimsical', but I would describe more accurately as 'thematically inconsistent'. I ordered some pot stickers as an appetizer, since they were the only item offered where the Chef didn't include some bizarre ingredient that felt out of place in what I presumed was an effort to rope in the pseudo sophisticates that patronize such establishments. As for me entree, I settled on some kind of venison, just because I had recently been thinking about Bambi.

So, yeah, I mulched down my pot stickers, had been drinking pretty heroic levels of their cheapest red wine, when a homeless guy settled right into the window in front of me. The restaurant didn't have the normal flat window that reached to the sidewalk, but instead a cement outcropping, with the window settled inside, making for a concrete bench of sorts before the drop out to the sidewalk. A homeless guy, complete with cart, sat on the cement step and smoked. I turned and looked at the various diners, all of whom seemed like assholes (and how come people don't eat by themselves? Isn't the act of putting food in one's mouth by it's very nature an activity not conducive to company?), and most of whom were couples. Eventually looking at the people put me in danger of losing my appetite, so I turned my attention to the homeless guy. He was now sleeping, directly in my window, in fact, a large portion of his back was pressed against the glass. When I was a kid I was once impressed seeing a some kind of creature sleeping, it's fur pressed against the glass at the Honolulu Zoo. It was the same thing again, the concrete frame of the restaurant's fashionable modern exterior framing a homeless person perfectly, with the outside as a appropriate backdrop. I'm ashamed to say it did distract from my dining experience, and as much as would like to put on the face of a tolerant, open minded individual, I didn't like it in the least but didn't want to ask the Waiter to chase him away. Eventually the homeless guy turned around and stared at me while I ate my venison (it was great), followed by him emptily staring at me eating my mud pie (also great), before he fell asleep again, his eyes closed and his forehead resting on the glass. I tipped 20%, and drove back home.

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