Cheese Plus One

I went to the wine store yesterday and as I was leaving, a little post card advertising THE JOY OF CHEESE caught my eye. Turns out, it's this dude who hosts 10 course cheese tastings, complete with vino and chocolate and . . . . Oh sorry I just passed out. Where was I? Oh yeah. HEAVEN.

This dude, whose name is Martin Johnson, also hosts "Roving Cheese Parties," so I guess that means you can get him to come to your house for a private shindig. I bet this guy gets LAID. After all, the falling-in-love chemical that supposedly makes chocolate such the aphrodisiac? Cheese has ten times as much. F'reals. Roofies, pah. Gimme a nice Camembert or some string cheese and I'm yours, dudes.

Additionally I read about this rad thing wherein this guy hosts multi-course dinners pairing PERFUMES with foods to enhance the flava of the vittles. That RULES. Seriously. I want in on that. If there are two things I dig in a big way, they are scent and food. Imagine, you could be mowing on some nachos whilst sniffing . . . . hmmmm. Something smoky and spicy and sandy. Why say! What about Serge Lutens Ambre Sultan? Solid!

Put that in your pipe and smoke it, bitches.

What I Did On My Summer Vacation

I am really proud of myself. No, it's not cause I'm unemployed, although that does make me pretty awesome. It's not because I only eat chips and not proper meals. It's not because I like sending and receiving nudie pics. It is because I think I might sorta be a New Yorker finally. And it is for this reason: I managed to leave New York this summer. Like, twice. For some reason, in the five years since I moved here, I NEVER EVER took trips out of the city over the summertime. I think part of me was afraid that if I did, I might not come back. Or maybe I was just gaytarded. Anyway, THIS SUMMER. Well, I did.

One such excursion was to the Outer Banks of North Cackalacka (sic), where I succeeded in riding a bike -- and swimming, and getting ridick tan. Like I look like I'm wearing a white bikini when I'm nakes! I went with one Tiny Gines, who was an excellent hostess. She and her cute mom and dad, who I now refer to as Mom and Dad, conspired to make me eat dessert after every meal. Also I visited the historical site where the Pirate BLACKBEARD was DECAPITATED by some dude, offshore, aboard the sloop, "RANGER."

I love nothing if not a pirate.

Currently I am on trip number two (TEEE and HEEE), which is out in the sticks of Long Island. I am dog sitting for a Dacshund by the name of TEDWARD. He has rank breath but is an expert cuddler. I must say, I'm starting to get really good at doing practically nothing all day long. And the nice thing about doing nothing all day long in the STICKS is that if you do it OUTSIDE, it sort of counts as doing something. For example, this morning I layed out in the sun and sunbathed wearing nothing but a thong (SCANDALOUS). I consider this to be sort of an activity because a) I was outside and b) I was practically naked, which requires a lot of energy expenditure to keep from feeling embarrassed.

I spent the day thusly, popping in and out of the outdoors, drinking low-sodium V-8 in order to get my vegetables, and intermittently watching various Food Network shows. I am currently burping a lot of V-8 and watching Grey Gardens and wishing that I could pull off the turban and drawn-on-eyebrows look. And thinking that if I end up in a falling-apart ramshackle house out on the Island of Long, it might not be so bad. As long as there are chips.

The point is, I'm a New Yorker because I got the eff out of New York. That is my fucking goddamned point. In case you were curious.