To jump or not to jump . . .

I really don't seem to have an option lately. I've been jumpy as a jumpy bean. Unfortunately what I've been trying to calm my nerves has only enhanced them. I'm going to have to reevaluate my efforts.
Last evening Anne and I met up with a few AHC friends at the Green Street Grille in Central Sq. for a few drinks and then headed off to a party of another AHC colleagues'. The dynamic was absurd. Gay/liberal/jewish meets straight/conservative/catholics over minature hotdogs and drinks. I felt more than uncomfortable on account of the mutual segregation that was taking place. Not to mention the foiled plan on stealing a photo of Waxman.
Now, at Diesel, and not being productive. Time for productivity.

Full on Sushi . . .

I left work 3 hours early yesterday to prepare for my sushi party - I also was feeling jumpy all day and leaving early fit well with calming a bit. I made my way, via commuter rail, to the Porter Square Exchange Japanese market - Kotobukia (sp?) and consulted the sushi chef there on how much fish to purchase. He suggested 1 &1/2 pounds for 12 people - .5 salmon, .5 tuna, .5 some sort of white fish. He was dead on. We were left, at the end of the evenging, with 1 quarter pound of the mystery white fish. I also purchased 30 pieces of nori, ginger, wasabi, chopsticks, rice vinegar, soy sauce and 12 cups/6lbs of short grain rice. We ended up using 8 cups worth. Then I went to Shaws and picked up avacados, carrots, cream cheese, cucumber and green tea. Those present: Myself, Anne, Brian, Audra & Brooks, Susan & Alan, Angela, Kristin, Dan & Rebecca, Luca & Michela, Oystein & Olga. We drank much wine and had a great time. Most of us has never rolled our own sushi, therefore Angela was the resident prefect. The whole project, foodwise, cost no more than $90. 12 people Full on Sushi for around $8 a piece. Not too shabby. If I had the materials, which I am the proud owner of now, the cost would have been around $6 a person. Not that I'm too fixed on the economy of it all, but it's quite impressive nevertheless.

Black then green . . .

Or was it green then black? I'm pretty sure it was the latter. Here's the skinny: Old friend, Matt Russell, E-mails me a request. Request being that I meet with his photographer roommate Lawrence. I met with Lawrence at Diesel, coffee shop, and looked at photos of his. He wants me to model for one of his shoots. Naked. And green. Posing as the Incredible Hulk. I say yes. Months pass. Last night, in Lawrence's room, I stood naked. And was painted, literally head to toe. He painted my butt and other areas I couldn't reach/see. I was dark green. My face was dark green. My eyelids were dark green. The photo shoot took no more than a half of an hour. I was done. So I thought. Down I go to the bathroom with my dark colored towel and travel/hotel soap Lawrence supplied me. The green wouldn't come off. I was in the shower. I was in the shower for almost an HOUR. During this hour, I was scrubbing like mad man and had to invite Lawrence to scrub my back and butt. Lawrence and I became quite close as the night progressed. I've not had my butt scrubbed, this side of age 7, by anyone other than myself. I finally emerged, thinking I was satisfactorily not green. Lawrence and his roommates, who were all expectantly waiting for me in the adjacent kitchen, thought otherwise. Two of them, Matt and Gretchen, were ferried out to CVS to get some cold creme. Lawrence was dutifully preparing pad thai. The cold creme worked. We ate pad thai and Matt drove me back to Anne's place. This morning I awoke with two black eyes. From scrubbing. Green to black. Maye I should get some of that eder spackle.

Elder spackle . . .

I just had an enlightening conversation with a few ladies in my office. They were talking moisturizer when I happened by the front desk. When I betrayed my strict countenance by displaying the truth - I was nonplussed. There were literally countless types of moisturizers. Not only did they reel me in with a few tid bits of terminology, they made mention of elder spackle. (search for QVC and spackle).
I'm not so much surprised that people actually use something that would work, in effect spackling one's face, but to purchase a product for one's face called 'SPACKLE'!? Goodness.

Wouldn't it be nice . . .

Wouldn't it be nice if we could all have a doggy door? A portal for freedom from reality? I envision a portable doggy door whereby one could unleash at any moment he chooses, crawl through it and play. This would be particulary fun for use while waiting on lines or bored to death in pointless office-wide meetings.

I was recently born . . .

I was recently born. Roughly 27 years ago, my mother went through some excruciating pain. This was called labor. By some wonderous, yet relatively understandable, mechanism called reproduction, my father and mother presumably created me. (This, undoubtedly, was both planned and romantic on their part). And yesterday, I had a surprise breakfast served to me in bed and a birthday chocolate cheesecake that evening for dessert. This would not have been possible if I had not recently been born. I guess I'm quite lucky.

I wear a blue shirt on most days . . .

My office occupies a small corner of the Tip O'Neil building in Boston, Ma. Within this office is a hat rack, which I've, ever so cleverly, designated my closet. On it I hang shirts, a belt and pants. Of the 7 or 8 shirts I have hanging, 5 or 6 are blue. Of the two pants, one is brown; the other, navy. This creates a dillemma of sorts. That being that I obviously cannot wear my blue shirts with my navy slacks for wont of fashion, so I inevitably wear my brown slacks almost every day at the office. The other 2 shirts, being white, are great partners for the navy slacks. I know that at least one of my colleagues has noticed, that being Angela. But she's leaving in a month, so I'm all set.