Monday, March 15, 2004
The Weekend in Four Thoughts
1) Something so terrible happened to me on Friday that I’m actually shaking as I type this. The end result of which is that I can no longer eat General Tso’s chicken.
Take a moment to let that sink in, because I think you know how much General Tso means to me.
OK, let me explain.
I decided, when I got home on Friday, to order some General Tso’s for dinner. I had already had an omelet for breakfast and a burrito for lunch, so I went for the trifecta. And even as I ate it, I mentioned to my roommate Ben that it was the worst General Tso’s chicken I had ever had. Of course, this didn’t stop me from eating the whole fucking thing, because, you know, I have that whole "fat" thing going on.
[As an aside, why don’t they make General Tso’s chicken in bite sizes? The worst thing about eating it is actually seeing the chicken, which you can’t avoid because you have to cut down the giant chunks lest you choke on them. And choking on a piece of General Tso’s chicken is really not the way I want to check out. Well, on second thought, if I did die that way, it could be said at my funeral: “He died doing what he loved.”]
And I got sick. Really sick. Over the whole weekend. It wasn’t typical food poisoning, which kicks your ass big time for one day. This kicked my ass a little bit over the whole weekend.
Nevertheless, the damage is done. It will be a long time before I can dine with the General again.
This is worse than my parents’ divorce.
2) On Saturday afternoon, I was at Rosario’s (our local pizza place) with my roommate Brian and my old college roommate Mike, who was in town for the weekend. We were sitting there enjoying a slice (in my case, two slices and a chicken roll) and I noticed someone in line who looked very familiar to me. It took me a minute or two, but it finally came to me: it was one of the Russian guys who run the local liquor store (a store I practically kept open with my exorbitant vodka purchasing and consumption last winter). I told Brian about it, and he said, “Holy shit – look who’s behind him in line.” It was Method Man.
I stared at that line for about five minutes checking people out, and I recognized the liquor store guy before I recognized fucking Method Man. What the fuck is wrong with me?
[Don’t answer that.]
3) Brian was a champion this weekend. Brilliant. On Friday evening, he went to a bar after work, at which I’m guessing he had seven beers, and then to dinner, at which he probably had at least a bottle of wine (again, these are my figures).
And where did he end up? The church in Times Square. This man has no religion and has probably been to church five times in his life, but he gets wasted and for some reason decides to go into a church, even going so far as to speak with the pastor, telling him what a beautiful church he had.
Now usually when I’m wasted I’m not thinking about church, but hey - whatever floats your boat.
4) On Sunday, I was walking around the neighborhood, heading west on Houston Street. I suddenly felt uncontrollably sick. I walked (or rather stumbled) over to the curb, doubled over, and threw up right there in the street.
And I was mortified. It was only a little bit, but everyone stopped and stared at me, and I felt really stupid and didn’t know what to do, so I yelled “Yes!” and did a fist pump. Then I calmly walked into a store near by, and got a bottle of water.
I mean, really, what do you do in that situation? I rarely ever throw up, and when I do, it’s usually a spectacle (sobbing, shaking, asking for my mom). I think I handled myself pretty well, and I felt a lot better after I got it out of my system. Still, that’s a first. Never thrown up on a busy New York street before. I'll just be sure to check that off my "To Do" list.