The assclownfeatured above, is supposed to be on a flight to NH this very minute. HOWEVER, in true Rob form, he managed to sleep until 1:30 PM and miss his flight. This is not the first time this has happened, nor is it the second… rather, Rob has slept through THREE flights in the time I’ve known him. This incidentespecially blows because I’m supposed to be meeting him in Rye Beach for July 4th festivities. He’s currently running around the airport looking for room on another flight. Hartford? Providence? Boston? Manchester? Guess I’ll pick him up at one of these aeroports as Jamesy (the brother) and I head north.
Oh, but this isn’t Rob’s fault… no… he asked dear Sam to wake him up by 11:00. How do you respond to these accusations Sam? And where can I send my gas bill?
Addendum: I just told my mother of Rob’s stupidity. Her response was “Idiot. You two are cut from the same mold.”
Everytime I listen to DCFC, I kick myself about the two tickets I had to see them in DC at the 9:30 club in 2004, back before they were big… I didn’t end up going because of a stupid test.Your New Twin Sized Bed - Death Cab
I dig this song. It’s a bit sad I suppose.
Rob and I went to the Met a few weeks ago for the art, of course… the food was really really bad. Above is a an inedible snapper appetizer. I’ll eat pretty much anything: horse meat, leftover steak ‘n’ cheeses, my mother’s cooking… But this? No thank you. It tasted like fish that was dried for a whale ship voyage, left to mold in old crates, nibbled on by rats… then pulled out after two years at sea to be cooked by sunlight. It was served with some sort of purple vegetable thing.

And the service! Ah! I’ve been to many many diners better than the Met’s tapas bar. We asked for water four times and never got it. Bread was served, but when we asked for butter or olive oil, they just repeated olive oil like it was a foreign term. I suppose it is to the bussers, but we asked the waiter too who didn’t bother to fetch any. Oh, and we never did get menus… they handed us the menu holder but it was empty inside? We had to borrow from the table next to us. Luckily, there sat the chef de cuisine from UBS, which manages the Met’s restaurants. He was so embarrassed about the service and food (he didn’t eat 3 out of 4 of his dishes) that he ordered us a few drinks.
But it was an entertaining lunch… good table neighbors… and there was a topless homeless pacing back and forth in front of us. He was reading the Financial Times. Methinks we really must be in a recession when its subscribers look like this:

A slice of Connecticut
I’m from Stonington (5 miles from Mystic Pizza). The restaurant is just a tourist trap. Neither that building, nor their food was featured in the film. Locals won’t eat there. It’s just not that good, and overpriced because of the name. Pizzetta (just around the corner from Mystic Pizza) is amazing, and open until 2AM some nights. If you’re nostalgic for Mystic Pizza the movie, you’re better off making a pit stop in Watch Hill, RI (about 15 miles from Mystic). All of those architect-devirginizing-the-Yalee scenes were filmed there. Plus, East Beach in Watch Hill is good for a dip—ask the locals how to get there, because it’s fairly well hidden.
(via Richarddigitalphot os)The real Mystic Pizza is still around and I was rallying for a pizza pit-stop on our Friday road trip, but the pies don’t really look my style. I like it paper-thin and with minimal toppings, as I think the flavor of the cheese, crust, and spices should be the main event of the pie.
Here it is:
(via shianlotta)

