Chicken N Waffles

Yesterday morning Laura and I went to look at a house for sale, mostly because I'm friends with the real estate agent and I want to maintain a relationship with him so that he'll continue to show me stuff, partly because the house in question is significant architecturally and not at all because I'm actually in the market to buy something.

The neighborhood in which the house resides would be described to any perspective buyer as "gentrifying." Laura remarked that living in this particular house would be akin to residing in a Coo Coo Clock. Joey the agent said, you'll either love it or you'll hate it. I didn't love it. While driving around looking for the house we passed by the nearby Roscoe's and I could tell Laura's interest was peaked. Perhaps there is a benefit to this neighborhood, she remarked.

I am a little ashamed to say it took me almost two years of full time living in LA before I had my first experience with Roscoe's House of Chicken and Waffles. I'm a breast man, myself, so I went with the Carole C. Special with sides of eggs and collard greens. I found the chicken to be moist and tender, although not quite as delectable as the chicken found at the less publicized Honey's Kettle. I like fried chicken and I like waffles, and each of these items were better than good but less than great at Roscoe's. I don't really understand the pairing, but I must be in the minority as the place was packed when we arrived a few minutes before noon and sported a line out the door when we left just after one.

We drove home and I opened a bottle of Columbia Valley Riesling (Laura has a propensity for the wines of her home state and I feel like a lazy, warm, spring Sunday calls for a dry German white). Half way through the bottle Ms. Crowson admitted to me that meals like the one at Roscoe's often make her feel inclined towards becoming a vegetarian. Fried chicken is just too difficult for her to enjoy. Personally, I like picking every last bit of meat off the bone, so I'll take her carcasses any day.

Have you tried the Chablis?

Some days you wake up and it just feels different. Today is not one of those days.

Today I woke up and everything felt the same. Same alarm. Same shower. Same breakfast. Same commute. Most importantly, same job that leaves me cold day after day.

I've decided to stop being passive when it comes to my life. I don't mean to complain (too much) but I feel increasingly shackled to my self chosen career path with every passing day and I've decided to do something about it. I want to drink wine and get paid for it. I've been shopping for wine for almost my whole life. Today I will keep shopping. I scored a sweet groupon last week for a store called Wine Expo in Santa Monica ($100 worth of wine for $50). Check back tomorrow for a review of the delights I find within.

INJUSTICE!

Man oh man don't be envious of my life (today).

Driving to work this morning to a job I loathe I get struck by another motorist (term "motorist" used lightly). I'm in the "#1" lane on La Cienega and this woman is about to cut me off from the "#2" lane. I slam on the breaks and lean on the horn. My car stalls. She bumps me not too hard. If the altercation ended there it would not be news worthy, but it does not end there. After this woman bumps me she decides (I assume) in that split second that she is not sticking around to take responsibility for her actions. Whilst bumping up against my car, this woman accelerates and shatters the light cover over my left headlight. Remember, attentive reader, my car is stalled. She drives away, through the light that is about to turn and before I can start my engine or read her license plate she turns and is gone.

Car damage: minimal

Ego damage: moderate

Psychological damage as it relates to my declining affinity for Los Angeles: extreme

On an unrelated note, because I don't just share things on google reader without being earnest (except sometimes) I went to the refurbished sizzler on Sepulveda near the Howard Hughes Center last night. I got to say, I was impressed (and full!) and Laura and I made it out of there under $30 with tax and tip.

It's pronounced 2000 and 10...

Enough of this 20-10 shit. In the 22nd century people can go back to being philistines that shorten everything. In the meantime let's speak proper English.

I spent a couple of weeks outside of Los Angeles, but already I'm back and it's as if I never left (interpret how you wish). In the meantime, dispose of your Christmas trees and tacky seasonal lawn and facade adornments. Tis no longer the season.

I started work on a top secret screenplay (not really top secret) so you all have something to look forward to when I sell that shit and send you all a really nice photo of myself in Mallorca.