A Day of Achey Breaky

Today I decided to let Fountains of Wayne keep me company while sorting through the seemingly never-ending mountain of Holiday purchase orders. I have a lot of profoundly happy memories associated with FOW. It doesn't hurt that their songs are largely bouncy, funny, soothing and pleasant as it makes them easy to place into the soundtrack of practically anything.

Sadly, thanks to another SUPRISE, YOU'RE NOT DONE MOURNING box from San Jose, I am in a place of feeling loss, so as I scroll through my options of what to listen to on my iPod, I keep stumbling upon music connected to disappointment and loss. So, as fun as FOW is (and honey, they are!), today they're reminding me of a friend that found them through me... a friend that I lost not long after.

Donaco and I used to be inseperable. When we were friends, nary a day went by that we didn't call one another at least twice and more often than not one of us made the other laugh. We vacationed together, we dined together, we collaborated, we consoled one another, we put on a show together then something snapped. To this day I don't know what it was. Maybe it was just... we were heading in different directions. Maybe it was that one of us was hurting, pissing off or generally vexing the other all along and it took five years to get up the gumption to say so (even if it was at the worst possible moment). But what once was a supportive, uplifting, mutually beneficial vibe became one of a cranky married couple. Neither one of us felt we were at fault. I suspect, it's still true today. It doesn't matter. Sometimes we say things to one another that can't get taken back, begin dynamics with someone that we can't change and it all has to come to an end.

As I listen to Mexican Wine, vivid memories of Donaco and I speeding home from one of our many adventures in Las Vegas are tripping through my mind. I miss that time of our friendship. I miss the time when we behaved like our friendship was something valuable and seemed never-ending. I try, as much as possible, to think of my lost friend fondly and always hope he's happy and well. I can only hope he does the same. Based on what began our end... I highly doubt it.

Guilty Pleasures

I'm a foodie. Ain't no secret there. More often than not I fantasize about blowing up every fast food franchise known to man and, like so much Harold Hill, ushering the masses back to a world of freshly prepared foods, bursting with deliciousness.

That said, like all foodies (and thanks to Anthony Bourdain having done admitted as much before me), we all have guilty pleasures that fly in the face of our persnickety need for culinary excellence. Today, I had a couple slices of one of mine...

Round Table Pizza's Hawaiian Pizza. I don't remember when I started liking this monstrosity, don't know why I would have even tried it (since the concept of pineapple and ham pizza still revolts me intellectually), but somehow it snuck it's way into my gaping yaw and became one of my favorite indulgences.

A liiiiiiiittle on the undercooked side today, but whatever. It still hit the spot.

What's culinary guilty pleasure?