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Me: No, I haven’t heard back from Nancy.
Me: Well, I can’t think of any reason why she wouldn’t want to do it. It’s an awesome idea!
Me: She owns a cheese shop, so me setting up a grilled cheese booth in there is a no-brainer!
Me: It’s win/win, baby!
Me: Well, I thought I’d pick up one of those Instant Pot things and cook them in there.
Me: Oh.
Me: Really?
Me: The Instant Pot can’t make grilled cheese sandwiches?
Me: Why isn’t that on their advertising?
Me: Well, that sucks.
Me: Thought it could do practically everything.
Me: Yeah, I guess I did kind of imagine it like a robot.
Me: No, not like that.
Me: A benevolent robot, one that serves man, AND is capable of making a grilled cheese sandwich.
Me: Well, if it can’t make a damn sandwich, why the hell was it named Time Magazine’s Person of the year??
Me: Oh, I thought it was.
Me: The Silence Breakers were?
Me: I don’t know who they are.
Me: Oh.
Me: Yes, they are very brave women. #TimesUp
Me: I am an ally.
Me: Look, we’ve been through this before.
Me: Feminism is many things, many voices–and my collection of vintage Raquel Welch memorabilia doesn’t make me a “Bad Feminist.”
Me: It makes me an ally.
Me: No, not a creep, an ally.
Me: Well, let me tell you, I’d be delighted if she exploited me back.
Me: I really would.
Me: Oh, don’t act so innocent!
Me: You know you want to be exploited by Colin Farrell.
Me: I saw how many times you watched that Miami Vice movie, and I saw the way your eyes got all weird and intense whenever that greasy Crockett came on screen!
Me: I can’t believe you just wrote that!
Me: You’ve stopped going to your low carb support group, haven’t you?
Me: You were very high in agreeability when you were eating carbs.
Me: Now, not so much.
Me: The Rachelle Maynard I know (and love!) would never have said something like that to me if she was properly managing her carb withdrawal.
Me: Yes.
Me: Yes.
Me: I can see that now.
Me: I am sorry.
Me: I love you way more than I could ever love Raquel Welch.
Me: If I had a poster of you, I’d put it up over the fireplace. I’d wallpaper the entire apartment in you if I could!
Me: No, not like a serial killer.
Me: Like I’m your Crockett and you’re my Tubbs.
Me: We mustn’t let Trump divide us, my love.
Me: It’s what he wants.
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Adega
128 Palomino Drive
San Francisco
415. 866. 2014 (Reservations recommended)
The fish’s head, with eyes as gleamy as Brigitte Bardot staring up at you from the beach, the waves washing against her legs like the breath of angels that always knew your name and your love and your god, and the hot yes and now of it,
had been set on the bottom of the bowl so that it looked up at you as if asking you the question you always knew that one day you were to be asked, and beside it the chef had placed another piece of trout, this one rolled with herbs and sea salt and smoked just to the point of ruby-hued doneness, like a sunset fallingfallingfalling and then rising, now within. It was one of the most exquisite things I ate last year, and I would return to Adega in an explosive, radiant, madly speeding BOOM. Highly recommended.
New Town Coffee House
98 Madison Avenue
Chicago, Illinois
(Phone number not available)
Careening into the New Town Coffee House the first thing that struck me was how the sunlight exploded and ran about the place like a mad, dizzy child hungry for the face of God. Hungry? Yes, all my life hungry, hungry for it all and more, hungry for her hair curling around her chin hungry for the broken promises and the industrial man hungry for all the images through all time spinning like daisies, hungry for a grilled cheese sandwich? Yes, Please! I ordered one straight away, my need for it an electrical current ripping through my body like sex, but I had to wait, I had to wait, I had to travel back in time, to the cow before the cheese, to the wheat before the bread and it was too long it was too damn long and so I spun out of there flashing flashing flashing.
