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Hello everyone. I thought I'd share some things that happened to the house recently:

On Saturday morning as I walked some errands I noticed a Mexican restaurant called "Restaurante Mexicano'. It looked like a small, somewhat divey place that would have massive combos for cheap and great margaritas. (Ohioans will recall El Rincon, Talaquepaque and that awesome place in Columbus.) I also appreciated that it was a genuine Mexican restaurant in the middle of a predominantly Jewish neighborhood -- I've always had a thing for underdogs and outsiders. I made it my goal to convince the rest of the house to have a feast there that night; Robb was the first to agree, and he was soon followed by Graham, Topaz and Alicia.

Here are the unfortunate things that happened once we got to Restaurante Mexicano:

1) It had an actual name other than Restaurante Mexicano that I can't recall.

2) It wasn't as divey as it looked from the outside.

3) The service was incredibly slow. It took forever to take our drink order, then forever to bring our drinks, then forever to take our food order, then forever to bring our food.

4) It was more expensive than it looked, and the menu consisted of more than just combos. Most egregiously, the menu did not feature a generic page explaining each basic menu item (e.g., definitions of taco, enchilada, quesadilla).

5) Our margaritas were terrible. The waitress forgot to ask whether we wanted our pitcher frozen, which we did, and of course it wasn't. There was very little ice in it. It basically tasted just like margarita mix with no discernible alcohol. When Topaz asked the waitress bluntly if there was any alcohol in it -- we cautioned him not to do this until we received our food, which of course he ignored -- she explained that she put at least a fifth of a bottle in, and there was so little ice because she wanted to put more alcohol in. This was clearly a lie.

6) The food was terrible, way too salty.

7) The bill made little sense and seemed to be a little too high. Topaz did not make any special requests with his order, but for some reason there was an auspicious, heavily circled P next to his order. This confirmed for us that someone had been instructed to urinate in his meal after he complained about the margaritas.

8) With all the slow service, we left just late enough to arrive at the liquor store as they were locking the door and shutting off the lights; therefore, we were unable to buy tequila to make real margaritas.

Undeterred, we managed to scrounge up enough alcohol from the cupboards and Coldspot(*) to get suitably soused. I also had my first (two) Jagerbomb(s) and learned about their awesome powers: they give you a raging but clear-headed drunk and give you enough energy to party to the break of dawn. My body would only allow me four hours of sleep, but I felt great the next day! Until I almost fell asleep during a showing of Barton Fink at the Regent Square theater Sunday night.

Anyway.

There is a big weekend coming up. Thursday night The Roots are playing for free at CMU, Human Giant is performing stand-up also free there Friday night, and Beach House will be at Garfield Artworks that night, where Laura Kahl's photography is still on display. Saturday is roller derby, which, if you haven't seen it, is our nation's greatest sport: hot punk rock girls covered in fake blood beating the shit out of each other on roller skates. To keep the party going, I'm suggesting to the rest of the house that we have a gathering on our Massive Back Deck Saturday night. Ideally, this gathering would consist of grilling and kegs, and everyone would get laid. For those who do not get that clever Jeff Luce reference, it comes from the following story:

Jeff Luce ran through my house at 3:30 in the morning trying to convince us to go to a party by screaming "WE'RE ALLLLL GETTIN' LAAAAIIIID."

End of story. But if you are interested in such a gathering let me know, and we'll make it happen.

End of post.

(*) The Coldspot is the name of our 1960s fridge.