Toluu

Hey, Chochachos!

I hella like this basic Italian dude.December 12 2008

There's a new basic Italian dude in town! I hella love the guy. His name's Vito, he runs this kitchen at this place Tre Otto, and he rocks some nacky gold nugs -- maybe three chains and a piece on each pinkie. Hilarious, but way committed to quality. He does me up some real light-quality lasagna at lunch, you know, not that white sauce freezer crap that gets broiled under a jet engine in the servin' dish, but some real family tomato -- the sauce almost so light you want to put it in a champagne glass with some voddy D and a horseradish kiss and a staff-o-celery. You know what I mean. Dude has a touch. Dude has gentle fingers, if I can say that about a man.

I ain't know the guy too close yet, but I bet I get in on tight with him. I ain't like me nothin' more than an Italian who knows you're in for the game. That's when you really eat right, when they invite you back into the kitchen, when they always doin' this and that and gettin' you a Negroni and the chef fries you up some calamari and it ain't on your tab. Next thing you know you're chillin' while they close, havin' a cig in the back door and helpin' them lose some wine that's gonna go bad before they open again.

You know what I'm gonna do? I'm gonna go there for dinner tonight, even though I been there the last four days in a row. There's a point where you're a groupie, but there's also a point where you're a made regular, and I got to bring hard game so I don't just come off like some half-cocked h

The Beef is back in town!July 30 2008

Man, it was good to see Beef and Molly kickin' around the pool again today after that long-ass honeymoon. Looks like they got a thirst on for piña coladas! They are out sittin' in my trick teak chaise lounges, still in relax mode and gettin' some rays. Maybe I'll whip up a little crostini platter lunch for all of us...I been watchin' this bald guy Mark Bittman on TV, he flies to Spain and eats really small pieces of food, and it looks damn good. I'ma do a...I'ma do...garlic shrimp on toasted rounds with olive purée and feta. They say no cheese with seafood, but they do a lotta talkin', so it's bust-out time. I will also do a thing with some three-ballin' white anchovies, hearts of romaine, and GROSS caesar dressing. "Gross" means the illest new form of kindness, all.

[an hour passes]

Damn, I just got back from havin' crostinis with the new couple, and Beef is hella in place! Witness:

-+-

RAY: Check out these GROSS crostini I whipped up for us! Even did some little prosciutto roses, can you dig it?

MOLLY: Wow! Thanks, Ray! This is totally nice! I love the little cocktail swords!

BEEF: [has Yankees baseball cap and sunglasses on, plus no shirt] Man that is a fine plate. You are a good dogg, Mr. Smuckles.

RAY: [notices that Beef is in a calm, confident place] Eat up, didgeridoo! Nice hat, by the way.

BEEF: I been wearin' hats. It suits a man.

MOLLY: I co

I'm Sorry.May 11 2008

I'm sorry, but I just been havin' the greatest time lately. I been goin' to what they call Super School, you heard of it? It's like a school, you know, like we all had to go to, but it's for adults. Instead of teachers sayin' what's important, you decide what you want to study, and the teacher has to make it fun. The teacher also has to be flexible, though, 'cause you're essentially a customer. (Yeah, it costs some pretty serious scratch, and materials can be expensive, but keep reading.)

I was like, "I know basically nothin' about France, except that Napoleon got shot at Waterloo (not true), and then things started to go downhill for him, since in those days doctors were like, 'Bullets? What are those? Is that kind of a new thing?'" That made me decide to learn French history, but regular school never floated my boat too hard, so I remembered that some of the guys at the club do Super School once in a while, like to learn machine gun theory or how planes work and stuff. I made some calls and pretty soon I was enrolled.

French history really ain't nothin' to get too worked up about. Basically they're like everybody else, but their homeless people wear fingerless gloves. Anyhow. After a few lessons the teacher, Mr. Fluét, was like,

MR FLUÉT: Ray, I can tell that you are not really into this.

ME: What?

MR FLUÉT: Can you turn down your iPod for a minute?

ME: Oh! Uh...Louie the Sun King. Lewey?

MR FL

The Story of My Hair.April 27 2008

Man, what a log ride it's been with this bald spot of mine. Last time I wrote I had just started with Silas Dong, that random hair and skin doctor I found in Chinatown, and I was all jazzed about his acupuncture-type therapy and immense personal calmness. Remember that sign I told you about in his window, the one with the three pictures of the top of a dude's head, goin' from totally empty of hair to totally covered again? I read it wrong.

See, I figured that Chinese stuff got read right-to-left, you know, the opposite from our way. Turns out I basically read the sign backwards, because it was written left-to-right, with the full-head-of-hair guy gradually gettin' balder in each panel. Silas Dong was a hair loss specialist, alright. A SPECIALIST IN MAKING YOU LOSE YOUR HAIR.

I almost had a heart attack when I went in for my second session and he proudly showed me a clear template with rings on it. On a small center ring was the date of my first visit, and he beamed when he showed me I had "grown" two full rings since then. He got really confused when I started yellin', "No, I...naw, man! What did you DO?! What have I DONE?!" I even knelt on the floor for a second, covering my dime with my hands and wonderin' if I was gonna cry.

He sized up the situation pretty quick. In about six seconds he had handed me his sister's card, Phyllis Dong. (I guess a lot of honkeys mess up when choosin' Chinese therapies, so they have these things at

The deal with my hair.January 16 2008

Like I was sayin' last time, it's been rough. I been monk dimin' for over a month now, and my mind has been all over the place. I even uninstalled the 3-way mirror in the bathroom so I wouldn't be tempted to stare at the bald spot and obsess or fret over it. I can't remember the last time I did home improvement — look what I'm driven to.

Western medicine is pretty much useless when it comes to hair-regrowth technology, so I decided to go lookin' east. Just 'cause it's a little weird and different don't mean they ain't figured a few things out over there in China, you know. I cold turkeyed it, just walkin' into the first place I saw in Chinatown that seemed to have anything to do with hair — in fact, this particular place showed a three-panel set of drawings where the top of a guy's head goes from totally empty of hair to completely covered again. On the classic old-school frosted glass door panel, underneath the Asian writing, little letters said Silas Dong, Hair and Skin. I was sold.

I was a little nervous goin' in, since I ain't know the first thing about this kind of medicine, but right away the place had a real calm vibe. Feng-schway? That what they call it? Anyhow, this place had it in spades. Silas was sittin' in the corner of the small front room, at his desk, just Chinesin' around, you know, lookin' at Internet and stuff. He didn't greet me right away, but when he did, I could tell he greeted me at the perfect time to make me feel at home. A