Pancakes, coffee, and lesbians - breakfast of champions?

And now, because I know you've all missed me, I have a blog to make. I proudly declare that I, this very morning -

MADE PANCAKES!

This is significant for two reasons. First, I don't like sweets, and I'm not a big bread person. If it were possible to gain all necessary nutrition from meat alone (with the occasional vegetable for flavor), and affordable to do so, all I would ever eat is meat. I'm a real man's man. I made the pancakes because Rachel loves them, and what Rachel wants, I scurry to get.
Secondly, it is significant because I've never made them before, and the results were... humorous. Maybe not It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia humorous, but possibly South Park on an off-night humorous.

I plopped the batter into the "pan," not a "skillet" as indicated in the instructions. I mean, wtf is a skillet? Isn't that what cowboys used over campfires? So I'm looking at this big whitish blob in the pan, and I think, "aren't pancakes smaller than this?" So I check the box. The amount of batter I've prepared is sufficient for 14 pancakes. I've used half of my batter on this one. This isn't going to be some mere pancake. What I have in this pan right here is a MANCAKE.

MANCAKE gets flipped - no small feat - and I discover that I've burnt it slightly. Oh well, live and learn. I turn cook the other side to pure perfection. Oh yeah, I have the hang of this now. I'm a pro.
MANCAKE is set on a plate and I get ready for pancake #2. Just the slightest bit of batter this time... great. Got it. Hm, I'm getting hungry. Hungry enough for a MANCAKE. I fork into this bad boy, no need for syrup, as I've used chocolate chips. Yeah, I'm pretty much the best boyfriend eve... shit! Pancake 2 is burning! That's pretty much inedible. Toss it, start again.

As this is going on, MANCAKE is starting to leak. Uncooked batter. It reminds me of that scene in Alien Resurrection, where Ridley finds all those other clones, those malformed abortions that paved the way for her. MANCAKE is incomplete. MANCAKE shouldn't be. MANCAKE spits up white innards, moaning, "kill me... please, God, kill..."

Dammit! Pancake 3 is starting to burn. I flip it - not too bad. I'll eat that one. And MANCAKE. MANCAKE can be redeemed.

I ended up with about 7 pancakes - MANCAKE, two burned ones, bits and pieces of one strewn about the kitchen due to a flipping fiasco, and three actual, edible pancakes. Rachel got those. MANCAKE was put back in the pan several times in a sad, mislead attempt to cook the center. MANCAKE's center never did solidify, but he did get nice and burnt. I ate him out of sheer pity.

R.I.P.
MANCAKE
"Rest now; your suffering is at an end."



Speaking of breakfast, here's another little observation about living in the north.

Coffee. It's a warm, black liquid. That is coffee in its basest form. I go into Dunkin Donuts and order a coffee, and they ask if I want it "regular." Yeah, absolutely. Regular, black coffee. Usually if I'm having gourmet coffee I put some skim milk in it to mellow it out, but when I'm drinking this workin-Joe near-water swill they call coffee from a doughnut shop or McDonalds, I just have it black. Now imagine my surprise when this fellow hands me a concoction of (1) part coffee, (1) part half-and-half, and (1) part sugar. I didn't lose my cool. I very politely inquired as to what the fuck I was holding. He insisted that "regular" meant lots of cream, lots of sugar. Well that sweetsy shit went right down the drain, and he drew me a proper cup of brown water.
I assumed that this guy was just touched in the head, but sure enough, on my next trip to Dunkin Donuts (these things are every third business in Boston) they asked me if I wanted my coffee "regular." I said "yes" because I did, didn't I? I see this woman bring out HALF A CUP of sugar and pour it into my cup. Luckily I stopped her in time. Otherwise things might have gotten ugly.

The Starbucks here have soy milk. Go there instead.



What else do I have to report? I finished a short story and will try to type it up soon. Yes, I still write on paper, with a pen. Imagine that. I'm hoping to get it published in a sci-fi anthology magazine so that I can have some actual, paid writing experience under my belt so that I can act even more pretentious about my craft. I had a job interview, and I've been jogging and watching a lot of...

OH YES, THE LESBIANS. This was one facet of moving that I never saw coming. The Boston lesbians are world-class lesbians. If you're a lesbian, or a little bi-curious, or just want to get drunk and experimental, come to Boston. Having lived in the south, I assumed that all lesbians were plaid-shirted biker dykes from hell. "Lipstick" lesbians were invented by pornographers to sell $45 VHS tapes. ... or so I thought! (Small plug - for more on the evils of discount pornography, check out Andy's Blog, particularly the entries in the "Procurement of Pornography" series.) Not a week goes by that I don't see some girl - nay, an attractive, young professional lady - that catches my eye. And beside her, another attractive young lady. And between them, a pair of clutched hands. So I do a double-take. Inevitably they will stop walking for one reason or another, and they'll embrace. Come on, come on... I'm thinking. And KERBLAM!! Hot lesbian lip action, right on the subway / street corner / Dunkin Donuts.

I think I could get used to this city.

(DISCLAIMER: I make no judgment call on your sexual preference. You are free to rub any part of your body on or in any other body part of a willing participant. I simply want to state, for the record, that when two women do it, it gives me wood.)


Thanks for your time. I'm available for articles, features, screenplay input, and birthday parties.