I’m a finalist in the 2009 Bloggies. Best-Kept Secret Blog. No shitting.
In honor of this momentous occasion, I’ve added a new page to the site specifically to pander to voters, featuring some of this year’s greatest hits and a bulleted list of reasons to vote for me (my campaign is nothing if not organized).
- If you’ve landed here from the Bloggies page, wander around, check things out, stay a while. The Official Pandering Page is a good place to start.
- If you’re one of my regulars, note that you are required by the site’s bylaws to vote for me.*
A million thanks to everyone who actually takes time out of their days to read what I write, a million thanks to all those who nominated me, and a million and one thanks for those who are going to vote me for me right now*. I’d be so touched right now if my frozen black heart allowed me to experience such feelings.
*I could not possibly have linked to the Bloggies site any more frequently in this post, so you really have no excuse.
THE PRESSURE ON MY EYEBALLS IS INDESCRIBABLE.
See? The stress is getting to me, and now I can only talk in quotes from cartoons. Because not only do I have to be funnier and more personable that David Fucking Lebovitz*, but I also have to be a hidden goddamned gem**. But aye, here’s the rub: I’m less “diamond in the rough” and more “foil-wrapped brick that someone hurled through your back window, and then maybe they threw a second one because the first one didn’t completely shatter the glass.” This is the double-edged blade upon which I walk.
This stress level can only mean one thing. Well, three things: (1) valium; (2) beer; and (3) goat cheese queso fundido with poblano vinaigrette; and fry-bread taquitos with jerk chicken, red cabbage-jicama slaw and mango-habanero hot sauce.
*I love you David! Call me! I will continue to say that every time I mention this!
**Scroll way over to the right, and you’ll see what I mean. Official announcement, wherein I FREAK THE FUCK OUT, coming soon. Or, you know, click on the link and steal my thunder.
Restaurant Wars is like the Super Bowl of Top Chef – you’ve thinned the crappy players out of the herd, but everyone remaining is a little too high-strung and the actual game ends up sucking. Unfortunately, more people care about the Leah/Hosea bullshit than the actual cooking, judging by today’s seventy jillion “Leah Hosea kiss cheating boyfriend” hits. Get over it, people. You’re only making Bravo think we want more of this crap, which we most certainly DO NOT.
So did you know there was this thing called the Well Fed Network? And they want you to give me some kind of award?
Martin Luther King, Jr. Day: A chance to celebrate the amazing accomplishments of the Civil Rights movement, a chance to cook during the day and take photos in natural light. Note that I am NOT EQUATING THOSE THINGS AT ALL. It’s just a happy coincidence. Like the light, fluffy snow that just started coming down, obscuring the city’s grit; the Barack Obama memorial only-legal-tender-in-Liberia coins that arrived today, just in time for the inauguration*; and the 10 pounds I just lost using only the power of positive thinking. The alignment of these stars could only mean one thing: individual chicken pot pies, a lunch I choose to think Martin Luther King, Jr. would have enjoyed on a snowy day.
*I did not actually buy these, although once the decades-long civil war ends and I start vacationing there I may be sorry.
The vast majority of you – DESPITE YOUR TOTAL LACK OF PARTICIPATION, NOT THAT I AM JUDGING – say that you like First Thursdays, so we will press on.
Check out the First Thursdays page for February’s instructions, and get to gettin’.
Maybe $17 dollars, depending on whether the restaurant is here in Jersey City or New York, because the bacon is from Niman Ranch. Those fuckers know how to handle a pig, I tell you what. Mimosas are extra.