Boy, howdy did last night suck…

Finishing work yesterday was difficult. Getting out was not fun, and I decided to stop at the grocery store before going home, so that I could just settle in and get shitfaced while prepping dip and Japanese Steakhouse dressing for a salad day we had at work today. Just to let you know what kind of night it was, I also picked up a fifth of Jameson. I bitched at Orpheus online for a little while, was frankly cruel to horny old men in a few chatrooms, and finally got to cooking around 8 PM. The eggplant I put into my roasted red pepper dip was a little too large, leaving me with enough to base a sauce for the chicken breast I’d picked up, so I sautéed onion and garlic with my chicken, deglazed the pan with lemon juice and dry vermouth, then added the eggplant for a simmer-sauce reduction. I’d baked a sweet potato for oven-roasted mash, and had everything set to go, when disaster struck…

I had just brought the steaming plate back into my room to eat, and placed it kind of half on, half off my desk (because of the piles of shit already occupying said space), and half-way through the first cut into my delicious-smelling chicken, the plate overturned onto the floor. It was a disgusting mess. I just drank more instead of dinner, went to bed early, and had a crappy night’s sleep. I think, all told, I slept two hours last night in real time. Plus, I got so hot that the bed was a swampy, sweaty mess in the morning. I had to get up early and do laundry. Meh! Hopefully, tonight will be better.

Today at work was actually OK. I didn’t have as much trouble staying awake as usual, and the salad day was quite nice. My sales were up relative to the last couple days, and that was nice, too. Hopefully, O.’s day didn’t suck, and he’ll be ok with watching my pathetic ass nap for an hour before I start in on dinner. If not, I’m pretty sure I’m going to be a big grumpus stumpus. Hell, at least the movie on tonight’s docket is Baseketball. That oughtta liven our shit up.

So tired… So very, very tired…

OK. I remember, once in a great while, my parents coming home and putting and end to whatever noisy activities my sister and I were performing at the time… Practicing instruments, vocal rehearsal, playing “new-fangled music” while we attempted our more boring homework, what have you. It all had to stop and wait for a sullen Mom and Dad to decompress from a shitty day by yelling at the kids to clean up after themselves for a few minutes, strap on a book for a spare hour, then make dinner or do housework over a slightly too stiff drink. This was a rare occurrence, admittedly. Unfortunately, this situation describes my activities every day when I get off work. Unlike my parents, I have nobody to yell at but my cat and my boyfriend, neither of whom can be blamed for their lack of domestic derring-do (I mean, one doesn’t have opposable thumbs or understand English, and the other doesn’t live with me), nor their inability to put up with my perpetual ill-temper.

I guess you could say that my current bout of prissiness re: the job has been spurred by my friend out in Minneapolis, who just up and quit his job one day while going through his yearly review. They loved him, mind you, but the work was driving him insane with the hours and the requirements of running a tight ship of a hotel in a ghettofied suburb of St. Paul. The HR regional VP asked him if he was happy in his job, and his response was, “No. I’d like to make this my official one-month notice.” Balls. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have a new job yet, and he’s down to two weeks before he starts dipping into savings. Savings, I don’t have, more’s the pity. Also, I have less marketable skills than he. Oddly, as hard as I’ve worked to make a living, I also lack the work ethic to do what I see other people do willingly every day to survive. Or, perhaps I just haven’t found work yet that I can love. I love the people I work with, but without love of the work, it’s just not enough.

I want to be that lighting designer from last Saturday… I want to be an artist who can wax rhapsodic on what he does. I’d like to bring the love and energy of positive exhaustion into my life in every aspect. Quixotically, this seems to be the hardest thing in the world to do for people without business degrees. Folks who know HOW to shoot the system do well, greyly, while the rest of us founder, or flail about until we figure out how to be just the slightest bit less bohemian. It’s no wonder most aspiring authors become soulless contract lawyers. They’re sick of starving, and want to be able to afford the meds that will put an end to sleepless nights spent wondering whether they’ll be able to afford to eat tomorrow. Fishing-pole, indeed. Somehow, I don’t think a BA/BS in business (B[ull]S[hit] being the preferred term, in my mind, for any undergraduate “science” degree,) should be a prerequisite for happiness. I don’t claim to be an artist. At this point, I’d just settle for being left alone.

‘a’ is for Art with capital expenditures...

So, sorry about the two posts today. I realized, belatedly, that I hadn’t gotten to getting the previous bit on the web (as intended) by about 6:00 PM on the 25th. Therefore, it was on the web around 4:50 PM on 4/28. So, here’s the end to the story... Friday was a walking abortion, up to the point where we got into bed. Really, to “save gas,” I went downtown directly after work, even though O. was working until 8. There was a really fast walk-through of the super-expensive design-show-like gallery for free, as one of his co-workers nabbed a ticket for me when Orpheus wasn’t looking. When it was 7, a friend called, and reminded me that Leo, he of great annoyance to O., was having a goodbye charity drag show thrown by his frat for him. So, I got ready, returned Orpheus’ keys at the museum, and went. As failures (labeled A,) go, it was fun, but lasted WAY longer than advertised. Afterwards I was kinda crabby, O. was kinda crabby, and agitated as fuck with the dumb shit that goes on during fundraisers at work. We ate out at Denny’s, where there was a teen male youth group seated quite close to us (Failures B and C, respectively), and then we came back to my place, where there was some transcendent sex, thank god (you know, the one that lives in Orpheus’ dick). Thus, we at least both slept decently.

Saturday started out well, with a nice version of my american potatoes for breakfast, and french scrambled eggs with bacon, yellow pepper and shallots, all prepared in a similar manner to last week’s rendition of the same, albeit without the chicken stock in the potatoes. Then, we went back downtown, and O. went to work. On the way, I was to pick up BakedAlaska, who, half-way to his place phoned to tell me that QuakerNoOats was horribly sick, so he couldn’t make gaming. Once I’d dropped Orpheus off, and picked up Bulgaria, who had asked for a ride, we arrived at gaming, only to find that we hadn’t made group quorum... Leo was sick post-drag-show, and didn’t show up. This meant that we spent the afternoon playing board games, which in and of itself wasn’t bad. It’s nice to have contact with one’s friends that doesn’t involve loudly invoking the names of (fictional) gods who sound silly and are absurdly single-purpose. (I mean, monotheism gets SOME things right. Sadly, I prefer religious Swiss-army-ism in this regard, even if I do find all ‘gods’ similarly fictional in feel.) Afterwards, O. and I had an odd night together at his place (and several bars,) involving Basso, who’d just had his bag stolen. Admittedly, I and I was rather out of it, and a bit spacey, as well as horny as hell. Basso, though he wasn’t feeling the love enough to get pounded, was more than happy to watch us have sex. Kind of fun, but I’d have rather been a good boy. We went to bed fairly quickly after dropping B. off.

Sunday just plain sucked, with two provisos. Orpheus had to work early, and I was stuck at his place by myself... Worse yet, I forgot to brew coffee, which would probably explain my overarching grumpiness well into last night. Proviso one was that I found a site where I can stream episodes of Top Chef: Season IV. I will not share the name of said site, because I want to continue to find said episodes there! For this, I apologize. Secondly, I went to a really neat symposium session on lighting artwork at the benefit. The guy talked like the Sicilian thief from ‘The Princess Bride’, which was wonderful. Plus, he was so passionate about his work... I couldn’t help but think that I’d love working if I could just be as excited about the things I do as he is about his work. Well, that and his clients include some of the richest people in the US, and half the huge industrial concerns in a four-state spread, so business has to be booming. Yes, monetary success would sit well, too. Anyway, he was very amusing. After O. finished work, I was still crabby, but made a neat little dish with chicken breasts, leftover Rose (fucking accent marks!) and prosciutto from our excursion to the House on the Rock, and a little vegetable broth, shallot, Italian seasonings, etc. It was actually pretty nice! I think, though, that I’ll try the treatment down the road with pork loin chops and prosecco or a sweet rose, if such I can find, and call the dish “Porco (p)Roso,” both in honor of the movie, and because it’s fucking cute. Besides which, I think the idea of “Porc au Vin is kinda funny. and neat... However, one must find a way to rid oneself of the dreaded bay leaf without ruining the dish! I left last night, as I hadn’t taken good care of my kitty, and so spent last night alone, cold, and masturbating my brains out through my ears. Le-sigh!

Cleaning up the word vomit… (Meant to be posted on Friday)

Apparently, holding back the flow of words from my fingers for nearly a solid week makes me an incoherently gibbering boob, if yesterday's post is any indicator. Hope you liked the pictures, as there will never be any more such images taken, more's the pity. They've closed that staircase behind the carousel permanently… Dumb senior discount tours and handicappers… Grr. Anyway, there was a third person on the tour with Orpheus and I, and it was Aphrodite, who is still, annoyingly, with BF. Apparently, all is going well between them at the moment, and they got a dog together. The dog is named Mosseda. Yes, Mosseda. Apparently, BF is attempting to build his domestic fortress around an unstable, frankly unhappy relationship by binding ties such as this "family building" exercise, in which Aphrodite raises a dog, and BF gets to baby it. If she finishes converting, it'll be complete, and even marching the ark around the walls ten times for a week won't bring such a façade down.

In any case, we were free of BF, so everything was quite fine. Though, in retrospect, we were just as quick touring as we were with our picnic. Each thing we did took about one to one and a half hours.
Picnic – Tour I – Tour II. It was a fun day, albeit a little mechanical, probably because it was a repeat experience for O. and I. However, the ongoing conversation was rather fun, and being as loopy as I was on that much Rose, there were quite a few fun pictures! I accidentally stumbled onto a gold-mine of settings on my camera that made images which shouldn't have turned out crystal-clear… Including the one of me kinda blowing a wooden Dumbledore-like character's outstretched wand. What can I say? It was a celebratory picture.

Yesterday, both Orpheus and I were quite cross to start. He got better faster than I. My mood, of course, plummeted when 'The Office' came on, so O. sent me to the liquor store to stock up so I could skip the episode. When I came back, I had enough Japanese-style lagers to get a football player drunk, and kind of made a night of it. He hated, for once, the Office, saying that the episode was a waste of his time. 30-Rock, on the other hand, was the bomb-diggity. I mean, wow… Business Juice? I think I’m going to have to get so ‘juiced’ over a work lunch sometime that I get business sick on my crappy, no-vent Perry Ellis suit.

Either way, interesting weekend on the way, or not… The MMoCA (Madison Museum of Contemporary Art) is throwing a design symposium as a fundraiser, so rich/old people can pay $15/ticket to see a brace of rooms set up around pieces from the museum’s permanent collection, including a set of Warhol prints of whacky US dollar signs. More later…

Weekends should all be four days long…

I'm now 28. I took plenty of time off from blogging (not to mention
work), and now figure that I owe you folks (if you actually exist… I
wouldn't know, as nobody every leaves comments,) a little something in
recompense. First off, I'm really f-ing glad I didn't make a huge
deal out of my birthday this year. Last year's hour of awkward
conversation with Dungeon Master (the only person other than Orpheus
to show up near on-time,) was a little much… As was having to hear O.
complain re: my friend who is also a Leo and was kinda
mean/opinionated/leonine in a conversation they had about sexuality.
So, this year, I just dominated Orphheus' time over the course of a
four-day weekend.

I haven't felt like cooking for awhile, oddly… I think it has
something to do with just being off on the Coq au Vin last week, for
starters, and partially because I'm kind of stuck in a flavor rut
that's only beginning to break a touch. This weekend, most of what I
did was traditional breakfast fare, pan-fried and oven-finished
breakfast potatoes "importencias," as I made them all fancy-like with
fresh thyme and bay leaf, and the boiling liquid was chicken stock and
dry vermouth. Since I had bad bacon, I just cooked the lean with a
tiny portion of the fat in a spray of grapeseed oil, and used the
remnants thereof to sauté the shallots and green peppers for the eggs.
I then turned down the heat, put the finely chopped bacon back into
the skillet, and added the eggs. Fortunately there was raclette on
hand, so the eggs tasted like dying and going to heaven. Other than
that, we ate out a lot, and had a really fun time dressing up some
Tino's frozen burritos for dinner on Sunday, served with oven-fried
potato wedges. It was delightful!

On Monday, my birthday was capped off quite nicely. O. and I had a
beautiful doink in the morning, very experimental. I ended up doing
him on an exercise ball, which seemed to ignite a certain fire
heretofore unknown. Very interesting, to say the least! We went
downtown, and while Orpheus worked for a couple hours, I went to the
bar that lets you drink tap beers free all day/night on your birthday,
in your own personal 8-oz. birthday stein. It was fun, as I struck up
a neat mid-day conversation with the house manager (a real hottie –
don't tell O., though, as it tends to upset him when I check out
girls). Later, when Orpheus was done with work, we got gussied up and
went to the New Pornographers' show, which was an awesome concert…
They're a second band project, so I was very surprised to see them
pull out quite a few reinterpretations of their old music. There
wasn't as much witty banter on stage this time around, and I literally
slept through most of their opening act, but they did their job… That
band's high-energy, low-skill flailings in skinny suits that they were
slightly too fat (and too old) for got everybody jazzed up, but hungry
for substance. The New Pornographers supplied.

Before the concert, as a side-note, O. and I had the most lovely
dinner at the Tornado Steak House, the restaurant attached to one of
our fav. bars, The Tornado Room. It was pretty quick, but I had a
beautiful petit fillet done medium-rare, accompanied by a neat little
Argentinean Malbec. There was no time for dessert, but it didn't
matter. The meal was simple and brilliant, and our lesbian waitress
was both perfectly professional (read – didn't look down at us because
we were dressed for a concert in an old hall with a bunch of fudging
hippie-sters), and a real laugh-riot. She also got that we had to be
quick, and was instrumental in fighting our orders to the top of the
queue in the kitchen. It was an excellent experience.

On Tuesday, I got up super-early, baked a quiche with broccoli, yellow
pepper, onion, shallot, gruyere, raclette and sharp cheddar, put
together the fundaments of a salad that we tossed on-site (prcciutto,
fresh mozz balls, figs, pistachios and baby arrugula with a balsamic
vinegar and olive oil dressing, and my roast pepper dip. We had
store-bought cookies for dessert, and the liquid accompaniment was a
beautiful French Rose (would you happen to have a grave laying
around?). The House on the Rock, which we experienced after eating
our picnic, has been slightly diminished by the decision to make it
more handicap accessible. One misses out on the winding, odd routings
through buildings more slap-dash storage than museum
presentation-quality. The most cruelly felt change was the new exit
from the world's largest carousel, which used to be a narrow staircase
that climbed around the side of the spinning monstrosity, then entered
a narrow, hot, dark, close hallway into which was carved a six-foot
rectangular window. Through this window, the steel-cable suspension
holding the carousel's canopy up could be seen, spinning slowly around
the central spindle, bathed in light from a heat vent in the side of
the wall. The pictures I took served as my desktop background for
some months last year, until I took better ones of some mercury glass
at the Milwaukee Museum of Art. You can see my favorite 2 above.

Yesterday was the day I actually meant to post this, but I lost all will to survive after work let out, and so I went to bed. I woke up around midnight, then went to sleep again around 12:30. I slept all night with earplugs in, then went to work... Tired. How does it always work out that way? I GOT ENOUGH SLEEP FOR ONCE!!! Sometimes, I just hate being human. Anyway, have a great evening. I promise I'll be writing more next week... And thank you for the comment, fellow blogger (you know who you are)!!! I'm glad to see that I am actually read. ;-)

Dinnertime exploits

It’s gorgeous outside. 55F, the world’s most perfect temperature… Tonight, instead of getting outside and enjoying nature, I’m cooking for my friend R., who I mentioned last week. It’ll be about two hours of cooking, drinking, and various other non-sexual activities. Thank god for straight friends! The only problem I’m having is coming up with something for him to do while I’m slaving over dinner/drinks! I fear that the poor dear will be bored mindless whilst I cook. Oh, well. He isn’t a “compleat” slouch in the kitchen, but he’s not good, either (read “compleat” as better around a campfire or in a poorly-built hearth). Ends up eating organic frozen pizza most nights. Meh. Sea salt is still sodium, no matter how many brine shrimp it has making it pink.

Where hast thou gone, O weekend fair?

Lately, I feel like Prospero’s daughter, waiting for a gentleman to end her solitude… The difference is, I wear no dresses (except on Halloween), I’m just here for a brain, not a prince ( I was simply lucky and got both), and I’m really just pinning for the weekend. Two days here and there, delightful in their freedom, fleeting and precious, then gone like a sweet albeit ill-advised tryst. Of course, had I my way, every day would be a weekend, and then what would we do about an economy in general? I have my guy already, but maybe we need a sugar-daddy or something. A freaky-deaky voyeur who gets his jollies off watching a couple fuck each other like minions, then gives out fat sheaves of cash for the privilege. And health benefits. And unsupervised Continental vacation time. Did I mention pension and/or 401K?... Hot.

Friday started off just wrong. Our plans with Basso were snafued, and by the time I got downtown, I’d been through the ringer driving-wise already, and just wanted a nap. I got it, and O. brought B. back to his place after he got a bite to eat. We watched some TV, then we fucked. Saturday, we got together and saw a production of Female Stage Beauty, after I’d roleplayed (again, TABLE-TOP with dice, not whips and chains). It was nice! B. ended up sleeping over at my apartment afterwards, and we had a good deal of experimental sex on Sunday morning. We tried that guy on guy on guy thing, and it turns out that it doesn’t work so well outside of porno… At least not the way we tried it. Eventually, Basso’d had enough pounding, so we just gave him a show. Orpheus fucked me for awhile, on my front, back, legs in the air, edge of the bed, all that good stuff. For effect I moaned a lot while staring constantly at Basso. Let’s just say that, mild artifice aside, everybody was ggg, and B. came about three times as quickly as O. did, leaving me as the final star of the morning. We then cleaned up, got dressed, and took a trip to the zoo. We wanted very much to beat other people’s children.

Last night, I did taxes, and ended up with a shitty return. Still, though, a return it was, so I’ve got that going for me. Unfortunately, there isn’t enough left to pay for the flying/driving/living/clothing expenses for the two weddings I’m in this summer, let alone a 6-qt. All-Clad sauté pan, more’s the pity. I was really counting on an overage. Good thing that damned rebate is coming in the form of “economic stimulus.” So stupid. If we had a responsible administration, it’d just be going to people who didn’t have enough cash to pay an accountant to help them cheat on their taxes. I made less money last year than in 2006, and ended up paying more to the government. Since when has that been OK? And I even bloody well had a huge charitable contribution this year! This is TOTALLY f-ed up.

TGI f-ing F

Two days of rain and bone-gnawing cold has me a little down. I’m usually OK with the cold, but this winter has been punishing at the end… It’s been a bad year for health, but a good one for my sanity. A good year for my bank account. A good year for my kitchen and my soul, too, one hopes. Any way you look at it, good outweighs the bad this time through.

Last night was nice. Orpheus and I hung out at his place, after I’d half-cooked dinner at mine. It was a more fully realized version of the dish I made for BakedAlaska, QuakerNoOats and EvilGenius, their daughter. It was also a little more standard for me. I used shallots, black walnuts, cherries and cranberries for the glaze and the stuffing. Pretty much, I butchered, stuffed, tied and browned the tenderloin at my place, then popped it in my small enameled casserole, glazed it, transported it to O.’s place, and roasted it there. Other than a positively horrid wine selection (a Spanish white that was rather too dry for pork, ESPECIALLY pork with a bittersweet cherry glaze), all was well. We watched South Park online, then had some very nice sweaty time sans-pen.

Tomorrow, I roleplay again, and we’ll be seeing a play later that night, for free, thanks to Basso. Afterwards, there should be plenty of time to sweat, and much of it screwing, too, one hopes. That will be followed, finally, by a trip to the zoo on Sunday morning, if it’s not freezing and wet by then. And if it is, then Sunday will likely be whiled away in bed, fucking like some sort of deranged rabbit. I love the weekend.

Stupid Breeders...

Last night was pretty darned fun. I cooked chicken breasts in the leftover red wine/bacon soup disaster post coq au vin on Sunday. They were friggin’ amazing. And I was right in that the dish, with the sauce finished appropriately, actually goes better with my own mashed roasted sweet potatoes than with mashed russets, reds or Yukon golds. Orpheus contributed a beautiful little fresh spinach salad, and had made bisquick scones earlier in the day, which I covered in fresh strawberries in a honey sauce set off with a touch of pepper, salt, and peach schnapps. I like dating a man who doesn’t make a bloody mess of baking. God knows I do.

After a couple quick chores, and contacting a very old friend who I’m supposed to hang out with this week (and cook for… R. and his girlfriend just broke up, and he’s still paying for the apartment), O. and I headed downtown. We had to make a quick trip to Walgreens for lube, which he was fresh out of at his place, and it was pretty amusing. When we walked in, there was a really cute straight couple standing by the wall ‘o prophylactics timidly considering their options, caught like deer in headlights between two obvious fags and the Astroglide. Orpheus said he got full eye contact with the guy, while reaching past to the lube, and there was fear in his eyes… stupid breeder. Once we finally checked out, we’d also acquired three cans of Pringles, a box of Honey Bunches of Oats, and some bit of candy or some such. All I could think while we paid was “damn, it looks like we’re holing up for the night!” I mean, really! Enough carbs to get one to NYC and back, and lube in quantities sufficient for a small yet tasteful orgy. Funny, ‘cause we ended up going out.

We hit the Opus Lounge, which is quickly becoming our favorite bar. It was the site of the walking abortion of an evening with BF, Aphrodite’s cohabitator, tormenter, and now boss. The regular weeknight bartender (also the manager) was there, so we got excellent and familiar service with ongoing conversation continued from weeks before. Plus, we were there with friends who I hadn’t seen in awhile (and who O. and I had, by our phone call, rescued from such an ignominious fate as watching the final basketball game in the NCAA tournament), so all was right with the world. Since I’m flaking on him Wednesday with R., Orpheus and I will be hanging out tonight. This is just fine by me, as I totally want to use the lube we purchased at the price of a straight man’s dignity for its’ intended purpose… Easing the way.

The best-laid plans of mice and men…

As you can tell from the title, this weekend didn’t look much at all like I’d envisioned it. Amorphous, in fact, doesn’t even begin to describe the feats of laziness involved in making things “work” in any sort of by-the-clock fashion. The only thing that Orpheus says that literally makes me set my teeth is “Let’s play it by ear.” This weekend was very much played by ear.

Friday night, we ended up unable to attend the Goldberg Variations, as said event was sold out. Therefore, we ended up having to ditch the Mac movie to do it on Sunday. We ended up spending Friday night downtown at O’s place, and he was kinda crabby. Crabby to the point that he snapped at me several times, and ended up taking a log shower, then a long walk by himself to maintain some semblance of humanity. (Note: I really wasn’t aware there was so much bitterness regarding this episode until the preceding slipped my fingers.) We didn’t end up seeing any movies at the film festival at all, and we couldn’t even really settle on anything to watch except a pretty lame-o Woody Allen film that only seemed to annoy O. more. The sleep was atrocious, and Orpheus was a touch crabby the next morning, too, mostly because he had to work wicked-early.

So, on Saturday morning, we got ourselves fed, and I had to drive to the other end of town to pick up a package that came early from Amazon.com containing two super-cool cookbooks. One was the Top Chef coffee-table cookbook, and coffee-table book or not, it has some kickin’ stuff going on. The other is the Culinary Institute of America’s intro textbook for professional chefs. It is full of some very basic teaching recipes for ten, and has great teaching sections re: kitchen tools, veggies, cuts of meat, culinary science, etc. It weighs more than my LeCreuset skillet, if that tells you anything. It’s “smashing.” ;-) After the post office, I picked up BakedAlaska, and went to roleplaying, where we got a ton of stuff done. Cunegonde, my dwarf, ended up hitting the proverbial jackpot after we “killed” a lich, and walked away with a magical library that includes every single spell in the players’ handbook. Dorkalicious, yes, but very sexy. Later on, after I’d dropped BakedAK off back at his apartment, Orpheus and I hung out with Basso. We went to a nice newer kind of a hippie bar on his side of town named “Alchemy” or some such, walked around a bit, and saw his place for the first time. We then did the Mercury Lounge downtown, which is his normal hangout. It was an OK night, I think we were all a little distracted. Fortunately, there was some really nice non-penetrative sex on Saturday night between just O. and I that left both of us smiling. Otherwise, I’d call the day a total loss relationship-wise.

Sunday was pretty chill. We rose quite late, and Orpheus was very helpful in terms of reminding me gently to do some stuff that just plain needed getting done. He was also very nice in terms of helping me with said tasks. We did a really big shopping trip to Woodman’s, the local super-duper mart, and on our way to the Goldberg Variations, checked out a wonderful little place called Brennan’s that BakedAK let me know about. When we cooked at their place last weekend, the loganberries in the freezer had been sourced from Brennan’s. O. and I were quite impressed. It’s a gourmet market with awesome produce, kickin’ cheese, decent wine, great meat and fish cases, and generally a beautiful atmosphere with helpful employees. From there, we got downtown absurdly early, and hung out at a little place across the street from the First Unitarian Society called “Booked for Murder.” They are a small local bookstore specializing in the sale of mystery novels. We ended up walking out with a couple books, one of which is a Patricia Bond novel. Patricia, apparently, is James Bond’s lesbian twin. I’m looking forward to that one.

The concert was awesome. The First Unitarian Society owns what is probably the nicest harpsichord in the state of Wisconsin. It isn’t actually a period instrument (I was horribly wrong on that point), but is, in fact, an artful copy of a French two-manual model built in the late 18th century. As such, it was one of the more complex examples of its’ type, and had quite a few neat bells and whistles, including four stops that could variously change the sound of the instrument. (Fortunately, it didn’t have one of those weird gliss-bars that let it almost sound like there is dynamic variation to the tone.) As such, it was certainly the most aurally varied performance of the Goldberg Variations I’ve ever heard on what was, apparently, the instrument for which they were written. I had a wonderful time, as it was an excellent performance, but the experience left O. a little cold. It also brought up a question that I’m not sure I’ll ever know the answer to… If old people are wont to nod off in the middle of eating, why the hell would they attend a two-hour concert of thematic variations on a single-line melody on what may be the world’s most tonally challenged keyboard instrument? If they were recording, and I think that they were, then the tape will have to be ruthlessly edited for old-man snoring.

Last night was very long, but neat. I cooked my ass off. I made Coq au Vin from the Top Chef cookbook… It didn’t quite work the way I wanted it to, as the sauce didn’t reduce properly without a little more chicken in the pan, etc… However, it worked well enough. I also made enough of my faux-Chinese chicken (also wine-boiled, but with “Chinese” spicing) to eat for lunch for a few days. That’s pretty much my weird-ass weekend in a bucket, except that I didn’t get laid at all! I’ll tell you what… O. spends every Monday at my place, and he’d better be showered and naked when I get back home, today… ;-)

Autistic pursuits…

So, yesterday night turned out to be a mess of coincidences that have shaped this weekend into quite the looming, amorphous event! I’m shedding money like water doing it, but there’s a great deal going on in town, including the Goldberg Variations on a period harpsichord, the Wisconsin Film Festival, and roleplaying (remember, table-top with dice, you dirty bastards). Orpheus and I are going to make quite the trip through the proverbial artistic underworld of Madison. Underworld only because the weekend is so jam-packed, mind you, but still… Tonight, if O. can get the tickets in time, we’re headed to First Unitarian (for those of you not in Madison, it’s Frank Lloyd Wright’s home church. He designed and paid for the building pretty much himself,) for the Goldberg Variations, probably J.S. Bach’s most interesting work for Keyboard, which is saying a lot.

On harpsichord, this piece loses some of the intimacy, nuance, and playfulness of the Gould recordings, or any modern performance on piano, but gives the listener a great appreciation for why literature written for that now exotic instrument is so intricately figured. Namely, because if it weren’t, you’d be left waiting for dynamic variation only to find that the harpsichord isn’t capable of such in the least. At times, the music can sound like a wall of even-toned grace-notes, impenetrable to any but highly trained ears. Additionally, since these 30 gorgeous variations on a theme were written as the capstone of Bach’s highly demanding “Clavier exercises,” they are, needless to say, highly physically demanding for any keyboard performer. I’m very much looking forward to watching that *bitch sweat tonight. ;-)

On Saturday, we’ll be seeing as many art-house style flicks as we can fit in after I pretend to be a red-headed magical female nympho virgin dwarf for a few hours, and Orpheus works. The most amusing of the things he wants to see is a late show about dork-rappers, featuring M.C. Hawking, my fav. Physics-rapper. On Sunday, after visiting the zoo with Basso (if it’s not raining), we’re going to try to take in a documentary about Mac-heads, and anything else we have time for. Should be bracing!

Anyway, I should also let you know that both O. and I were very satisfied with the way things went last night, even down to the amount of cuddling after the earth-shattering, all-singing, all-dancing sex. The only things I’m a little sad about due to the weekend being so busy are 1) that we probably won’t be doing much doinking, 2) that I haven’t had the will or the time to cook for the last two nights running, and probably won’t for a couple more, and 3) that I don’t have the wherewithal to start an amateur string quartet called ‘The Screaming Orgasms’ that gives impromptu concerts in the park after getting past the awkward stage on a couple concerti.

UPDATE: This is the terrible part about writing these posts while waiting for people to answer the phone… It takes a really, really long time. Since I wrote the above, O. called and let me know that the Friday concert was sold out, so he got tickets to the Sunday afternoon show. Fortunately, we should still be able to squeeze in both the zoo, AND the mac-head movie, but the squeeze, as they say, shall be tight. So, tonight is freed up for walking around in the unexpected sunshine, cooking, and catching a few extra movies at the film festival, if there are tickets. See what I meant earlier about “amorphous?”

* bitch (Aeffchen’s personal definition) – Any PERSON who is flighty and out of control, and annoys the shit out of me, regardless of sex.

On the Wings of a Threeway…

We had our second sexual encounter with Basso yesterday evening, and it was smashing. I haven’t gotten to fuck a man like that since I started dating Orpheus… He’s learning to take it, but it’s so very slow, and he’s very, well, tight. In fact, he feels tighter than a security lockdown at the White House (which helps a little in some ways), but loosening him up before he’s sore is very, very difficult. This probably has something to do with him being a sexual control freak, but that’s a story for a different time. I got to fuck Basso. I mean FUCK Basso. Not for as long as I’d have liked, or as hard, but I opened him up after eight months of butt-celibacy. I did it slowly, exploring every nook and cranny, every sensitive spot, searching out every yelp and bit lip. I was methodical, and enjoyed it so much, because it’s been so long. When O’s turn came, it didn’t last long. I feel bad for Orpheus for that reason, but he’s so big, it’s hard for it not to hurt the first time. Especially since he’s kind of a brute with that too thick, scrumptious cock. Believe me, that’s not an insult, but still. It took me a long, long time, and a couple bottles of poppers to adjust. Poor, raw-assed Basso!!!

Afterwards, we all went out to eat, and took a walk together. When O. and I dropped him off, B. hugged us both goodbye. We went back to O’s place, and had the worst night of sleep, ever! I know that I get clingy after group sex. It’s my unconscious way of re-asserting a bond with my partner after he’s been shared. Of course, we were both sleeping too warm, which annoys the hell out of Orpheus. So, basically, we spent the night waking each other up, usually unpleasantly. Hopefully, tonight will be better. I’ve got an appointment with his dick, if he can bring it. His disappointment last night should not, after all, be long-lived. ;-)

Lesser Pleasures

Last night, the cure for my ravening loneliness was two-fold… First off, reading some Laurell K. Hamilton, writer of the seedy but rather well-written late-20th-century-hard-boiled-detective-fairy-porn in the Merry Gentry series. Secondly, I cooked a little improvisation for dinner, using my new LeCreuset skillet. It was very simple. Thin-sliced sweet onion and finely minced garlic were thrown into the pre-heated pan with a thin spray of grape seed oil for lubrication. When they became a little translucent, and the smell began to be good, I added finely minced ginger, some dried cranberries, and then a salted and peppered chicken breast. A couple minutes into cooking, I added a spray of oil to wet the pan again, then a bit of orange juice squeezed right into the pan. After more browning, and careful regulation of the temperature no higher than medium, the chicken was flipped, and the process repeated. At some point, the onions weren’t going to cook anymore, so I removed all extra vegetable matter from the pan, and just kept at browning the chicken, reserving all that good stuff on a bed of mixed greens. When the chicken was done, I emptied the orange onto it, then deglazed the pan with the orange juice and an ounce of vermouth. It boiled the goo from the bottom of the pan (the chicken stuck less than it ever had on a true non-stick pan, in the first place), and quickly reduced the liquid. I poured it over the salad as a dressing. The greens were nicely wilted, and the whole was lovely. I threw in a few shelled pistachios, and enjoyed myself thoroughly. It wasn’t O. between my thighs, but the burn marks that scared me so yesterday were tidily deglazed along with everything else by the vermouth. Nice enough, I can tell you.

Mmmm... Le Creuset

Not much to report on, excepting that I showed Orpheus a print-out of my post yesterday, and the bit about feeling woozy re: him on Saturday didn’t make him want to crawl out of his skin. In fact, he got a little more snuggly afterwards. Also, the Le Creuset pan makes me wet. The heat I used was a touch high at times, I think. I’ll be pedaling that back a lot in the future. But, overall, as long as one sticks to the rules and has a little patience, this pan has better non-stick properties than most of the Teflon I own. Oh, yeah, and it actually heats evenly, aluminum and stainless be damned. Basically, I cooked bacon, used much of the grease for a vinaigrette dressing on a spinach salad (w/Spanish Sherry vinegar and pepper), and used the rest of the pan drippings to brown stuffed chicken breasts. The chicken was almost too moist (though done… I checked with a meat thermometer, thanks), and was delicious other than a poor choice I made regarding one of the cheeses in the stuffing.

Tonight is a night off for O. and I, so there’s some confusion as to what to do/cook tonight. I may try a smaller-scale version of what I cooked on Saturday, and have some left over. I’ll definitely be doing a spinach salad, as I have enough of that crap to drown in, and it goes bad fairly quickly. I may call a friend and see if he wants to cook together. Or, I may just sleep. It seems like that might in fact be the smartest idea, anyway. I may feel loads better, but I’d like to feel better still by week’s end, so I can start drinking again. In any case, Orpheus and I are supposed to hang out with Basso tomorrow after work, so conservation of strength may be in order. More later, kids! Have a great April Fool’s Day.

Oh, yes… One further point. O. wanted me to editorialize regarding what he was watching when I got crabby on his ass Saturday night. It was, in fact, the movie ‘Enchanted’ rather than ‘Drawn Together’ as previously written. For chrissakes, I was trying to sleep, and it was loud! I didn’t care what was on!!! Maybe he deserved the kicking. ;-)