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Monday, July 9, 2012

If I let a fork drop or cut up a pork chop or serve a New York chop, it all needs be stylish and smart



Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s Daily Horoscope for JustAnotherMandrakeMonday, July 9, 2012.  Another mandrake?  How many mandrakes are there?  (It occurred to Us even as We typed all of that that We hadn’t the slightest idea what the hell is a mandrake.  (It sounds, does it not, like a particularly butch duck cartoon character who bullies Daffy and/or Donald.)  Turns out, it’s a plant.  Yawn.  Ya can lead a horticulture, but ya can’t make her think.)

As a side note, if you wish to derail your Monday morning meeting at your place of enjoyment, you might propose a discussion as to which duck is gayer, Daffy or Donald.

You’re welcome.

In other news, people are very, very, very, very, very, very strange.

Here are a few random tweets from Twitter (where We Our Own Self Personally got retweeted by a quasi-celebrity this weekend for a witticism We bon motted (the explanation is way longer than the funnyness, so We’re not bothering)):

"Oh, no...my OTHER arm!"...127 Hours 2.

A Laser Jet sounds like the coolest thing of all time ever, but it's not, it's a fucking printer.

Ladies, I know you want to make it special tonight, but be careful; glitter is really hard to get out of your vagina.

The most unrealistic thing about the Pirates of the Caribbean movies is that not one pirate tries to rape Orlando Bloom.

The best part about wearing skinny jeans is when I'm digging for change and I accidentally masturbate.

Jesus, Obama, what's next? You gonna support gays being allowed to drink at straight water fountains?

I just ruined my pants sitting on a tomato I mistook for a tiny beanbag chair.

Tattoos are like cats.  You get one, then you have to get another, then you get more and more till you have to get rid of them using lasers.

I bet when cab drivers ask James van der Beek where he wants to go, he closes his eyes and whispers "1999".

Careful, it could be a trick question.  Maybe she WANTS to look fat in those jeans.

"Soulmate" sounds like something Satan puts in his coffee.

And here is a joke:

A woman from New York was driving through a remote part of Arizona when her car broke down.  An American Indian on horseback came along and offered her a ride to a nearby town.

She climbed up behind him on the horse and they rode off. The ride was uneventful, except that every few minutes the Indian would let out a “Ye-e-e-e-h-a-a-a-a!” so loud that it echoed from the surrounding hills and canyon walls.

When they arrived in town, he let her off at the local service station, yelled one final “Ye-e-e-e-h-a-a-a-a!” and rode off.

"What did you do to get that Indian so excited?" asked the service-station attendant.

"Nothing," the woman answered "I merely sat behind him on the horse, put my arms round his waist, and held onto the saddle horn so I wouldn't fall off."

"Lady," the attendant said, "Indians don't use saddles."

And now for something completely random, a restaurant review:

We do not, as you know, ordinarily do restaurant reviews here at Erix Daily Horoscope.  Although We could most assuredly take you to a different amazing restaurant every night for a month, because We live in an amazing neighborhood  (did We mention that We could WALK (well, waddle) to all those restaurants?).

However, because We are the hip, happenin’, hep-to-the-jive city dweller that We are, occasionally We stumble upon a scoop wherein We learn The News while it is still, ya know, NEW.  And upon these occasions, We consider it Our civic duty (although We’re not quite sure what that means…We think We studied civics in high school, but one cave painting looks so much like another) to share Our new-found news knowledge (“newledge”, if you will (or even if you won’t…WE’RE writing this, not you)) with Our Gentle Readers.

The dining emporium in question is called Noir, for reasons which completely escape Us.  It is on East Passyunk Avenue, in the space formerly occupied by Sticks and Stones (or Bones…it was open for exactly eight nanoseconds about a year ago).  Here is their website: http://noirphiladelphia.com/

It is not very often that We find Ourself in a restaurant within the first three weeks of its existence.  In fact, We nearly didn’t wind up there at all, as it was unclear to Us whether they had gotten their liquor license or not.  However, on a reconnaissance mission up the Avenue, We saw a fully stocked bar, and surely no proprietor in his or her right mind  would fully stock a bar only to inform patrons that said bar was fully stocked with things they could not purchase, would he/she?

We bypassed the outdoor seating (Our visit was Sunday, the day after The Heat Day) in favor of the air conditioning.  We were greeted and seated by said proprietor (so We can now stop saying “his or her” and “he/she”…she was a charming woman who reminded Us a little of OurMarilyn (hi, Marilyn!)).

The liquor license had apparently only recently made its appearance.  So recently, in fact, that not all of the intended wines and beers form the wine and beer lists were actually on the premises.  Our dinner companion (how coy are We?  Coy as a koi pond, no?), being a wine connoisseur (and, in fact, a licensed sommelier), began an investigation into The Wines On The Premises with Our waiter.

Quite frankly, We didn’t listen.  Here is what We know about wine:  there is red, there is white, and there is pink.  Sometimes there are bubbles, but not very often. If you are only a casual wine drinker, you will more likely like a red one than a white one.  You will most likely like a pink one, but, if you order a pink one, the waiters will all make fun of you behind your back.

In the end, Our dinner companion, being a str8 boi (so much for that “coy” business (you didn’t actually think We were on a DATE, did you?)), ordered some wine that had “pussy” in its name.  When it was discovered, after his first glass, that that had been the only glass on the premises, they very kindly comped it for Us.

We can see it in the Zagat Review now:  “Free Pussy At Noir”.

ThankYouVeryMuch, We’llBeHereAllWeek, Don’tForgetToTipYourWaiter.

We Our Own Self Personally ordered a Negroni, which was, in a word, perfection.  Such perfection, in fact, that We ordered another one.

The menu (yes, they have food in addition to liquor) had everything on it from a hotdog (seriously) to a 24-ounce Braised Pork Shank (which, oddly enough, was Our nickname in high school).  Our waiter (who, to the best of Our recollection, never told Us his name, so We shall call him…what’s Italian for “hottie”?) was very enthusiastic about Our food choices, which included the fried calamari appetizer, Chicken Breganza for Our dinner companion (couldn’t find an entrée with “pussy” in its name, couldja?) and Linguini Raffaela for Us Our Own Self.  He was, in fact, very enthusiastic about everything, which compensated quite well for some underehearsedness in his performance.

The calamari were fried to the perfect texture, and were virtually greaseless.  They were mixed with some equally delicious zucchini fries.  Our companion’s chicken came on a bed (heh) of mashed potatoes and was accompanied by enough asparagus to put One off of water sports for a week.  (This isn’t really the most quotable review ever, is it?)  He was particularly enamored of the cipollini onions.  We were thrilled with Our Own selection, with its plump fresh shrimp and sweet crabmeat, and a creamy sauce that managed to be rich without being too heavy, especially considering the weather.

We were both too full for dessert, although We did insist that Our waiter describe the selections for Us.  We could easily imagine stopping in at an off-peak time to enjoy a dessert and coffee.  It was at this juncture that Our waiter informed Us that he was afflicted with spumoni balls, which ailment was no doubt responsible for some of his earlier distraction.  We wish him a speedy recovery.

All in all, an excellent selection of wine and beer (once they are fully stocked), expertly-made cocktails, well and carefully prepared food from sandwiches to gourmet entrees, completely reasonable prices, and an enthusiastic staff.  We will definitely be going back to Noir.

(There…at least that last bit was quotable.)


Speaking of quotable, the WaitStaff will be playing The Match Game on Friday, July 13 and Saturday, July 14, at 7:30, at L’Etage.  The SitOnMyFaceBook event is here: http://www.facebook.com/events/234467316672300/, but since YouPeople pay no attention to Us whatsoever, We shall just simply tell you here in big, bold letters that Our Sistah Ovella (aka BOB MASON) will be playing Charles Nelson Reilly this time around.  So get your tickets NOW, HERE:    http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/255809 .  Be there, or be BLANK.)


Here’s the HorrorScope:

No matter what the project happens to be or who you're working with, your enthusiasm will quite literally be boundless. (Whatever.)

(Heh.  See what We did there?)

That's great if you need to work overtime -- but do be careful not to share it too extensively with those you'll be working overtime with.  (Never use  a preposition to end a sentence with, bitch.)

This is an excellent time to use those personal days, and to talk the appropriate companion into joining you.   (Why, We had a dinner companion just a few short paragraphs ago.)

Hide-and-seek under the covers, anyone?  (Okay, this?  Would be a lot likelier if We stopped having str8 dinner companions.)

You've got an endless supply of oomph right now  (Take Beano™, and there’ll be no gas.)

(What?  Since when is “oomph” not an invitation to a fart joke?)

-- and it's a darned good thing.   (No, it’s a darned good sock.  And nobody does that any more. So Shut. Up. Kelli.)

Expect a seriously tough task to come along.  (What?  Writing this never-ending horoscope wasn’t enough for one day?)

 If you're not sure about your next step, don't make it. (Oh, sure.  Fuck up the Hokey-Pokey for everybody.)

If anyone can stall, it's you. (Well, We’re not sure about THAT…)

(Heh.  See what We did there?)

Put those talents to work. Now. (If you wanna bump it, bump it with a trumpet.)

(What?)




(Your Your-O-Scopes:

(Meanwhile, why We didn’t think of this sooner, We’ve got no idea, but better laid than necking, as they say (and how right they are!).  For real live actual ass(tromlaogical) ho(roscopular) advice, please visit Our good friend AstroGeek here:  http://agskylab.blogspot.com/.  Our Own epistular musings are of use to you only insofar as making you feel better by comparison, but he will give you actual pertinent advice for your very own lives, based on upon the positions and transitations of all manner of planets, planetoids, asteroids, Altoids™, hemorrhoids, and other heavenly flotsam, jetsam, and Jetsons.  Plus, he knows all about Uranus!)
                            
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Starzina Starfish-Browne was born in the wagon of a traveling show…well, okay, not really. She was actually born in Lowake, Texas, the daughter of a beautician and either a garage mechanic or the town mailman. At sixteen, she escaped her humble beginnings by running off with Doctor Browne’s Traveling Medicine Show and, more to the point, Doctor Browne. Following the dissolution of this unfortunate entanglement (Doctor Browne was a Virgo and Starzina is, of course, an Aries), which produced a daughter, Starzina entered a contest in Soap Opera Digest and won a scholarship to Oxford (yes, in ENGLAND), where she earned her doctorate in the newly-created dual major of Astrology and Human Sexuality. There is absolutely NO TRUTH to the rumor that Starzina’s second daughter has Royal blood, despite tabloid photographs allegedly depicting her cavorting on the Italian Riviera with Princes William and Harry, clad only in Prussian helmets and armbands of questionable taste. Starzina currently resides with her daughters in Philadelphia, the City That Loves You (On Your) Back, where she enjoys Double Coupon Day at the local SuperCruise and “encouraging” the coxswain of the Penn rowing team.