Dearest Wife-to-be,
Instead of giving you your typical morning greeting, and in the interest of getting this blog going again, I decided to write you a letter here to start off your fantastic week.
Sunday proved to be an interesting day after all. After talking to you last night, I took a short nap and then woke up to take a walk around the neighborhood. It was during the walk that my plans for the day materialized in my head.
I decided that I needed to drive around a bit, and come home early so that I could enjoy some Blockbuster DVDs (remind me to subscribe to Netflix when we live together) at home and relax for the rest of the evening. I ended up renting The Invasion, Street Kings, The Secret and Redbelt. You probably know at this point that I decided to forego a night at the U.S. Open and possibly a second round match including Roger Federer. I just didn't feel like travelling to far I guess just to watch perhaps the greatest tennis player ever hit a little yellow-green ball.
Instead, I found myself having dinner at
Gasho and treating myself to a full Japanese hibachi meal.
Here are some highlights:
1. Just like any other hibachi experience, my chef showboated by flipping and spinning his cooking tools like a young college band leader.
2. My chef started flipping small pieces of broccoli in the air toward us customers so that we could attempt to catch the flying food in our mouths. I was the first target, and for the first time ever, I caught the bland piece of vegetable in my mouth. The people around me gave me a light applause as if I were a seal in Sea World catching dead fish while gyrating on my little rock.
3. The filet mignon and grilled chicken were pretty good, and the rice was less than mediocre. The meats were grilled to perfection, but the seasoning was lacking. The sauces were alright, but just alright. The rice was dry and not of the Japanese quality we expect. Tonight confirmed to me the superiority of Japanese food back home over here. Overall, the experience made it a pretty decent dinner, so I have no real complaints.
4. The chef made a smiley face with a heap of rice in the middle of the hibachi grill, two peas as the eyes, and a carrot stick as the smiling mouth. Good job, chef.
5. There was a beautiful Japanese garden located at the back of the restaurant. Cool place to hang out for some drinks while waiting for other guests to arrive.
So there. That was my dinner. I think I'm going to hang out in the living room and watch some DVDs while munching on my favorite Whoppers.
Good luck today, and I hope our planning continues to go smoothly.
You know what goes here,
Me
Not only does he find a new roommate, but he befriends a bunch of irreverent characters whose lives suck: a smart, pretty and sweet schoolteacher who can't find a boyfriend; a jobless, 30-something wannabe comedian who's married to a clientless therapist; a furry neighbor who feasts on shady internet sites all day; a happy-go-lucky slacker who bunks with a well-starched but secretly flamboyant investment banker; and a building administrator who happens to be the washed-out 80's TV star Gary Coleman.
