Thursday, September 30, 2010

When I die...

scatter my ashes in Tiger Stadium.

I realized my flaw with travel writing is that so much insanely funny, awesome, ridiculous stuff happens and I don’t record EVERY second of it so what I end up blogging when I get home is just a litany of “we went here, we did this.” That’s not very interesting. Especially when the best part of writing is the introspective part. There are a couple of solutions to this: 1) Bring a film crew (which was thrown out there, as Kathryn and I are hysterical together), 2) Take pauses to write while traveling (maybe plausible when traveling solo, but usually when traveling I’m out, ya know, DOING stuff), or 3) write epically long pieces. Which is what is going to happen now. I’ll even figure out how to use a cut just so you can break this up. You’re welcome.

Monday, September 20, 2010

Fuck it. Or: How to be awesome while trying

You will now notice a decided shift in tone. I'm owning it. All of it. Warts and all. I don't like playing it safe. I don't like the boring and humdrum. I don't want to play it safe. I don't want to not write because I'm afraid of...I don't even know what. It doesn't have a name or a face. The Smoke Monster? (No, I did not watch Lost. But I know my effing pop culture.)

Saturday, September 18, 2010

Football Food: Um...

I realized I owed all one of you who care a football food. But: I'm not in the mood. I'll do something extra special for you early this week before I leave for LOUISIANA!!! WHHHEEEEEE!

So my football food? Purchase Dr Pepper. Open Dr Pepper. Pour over ice. Do not put period after Dr when typing. Sip. Say, "Ahhhhhhh" after first sip. The. End. Seriously. It's an addiction. I've tried to kick it but...I just can't. And not sure I really want to. It's a weekend thing now though, instead of a daily thing. (I have started with V8 splash and club soda during the week.)

I got a few amazing words from my dad's girlfriend so I think I'm finally gonna shake off this funk I've been in. She told me I am not responsible for anyone else's happiness on my trip. She's right. She told me to relish this time off. She's right again. So I'm taking a deep breath and gonna have some m@#$%^ f#$%ing fun!

That starts with meeting the BFF for football. Which he will not actually watch but it'll be fun to get some alone time.

So there ya go, short and sweet.


Wednesday, September 15, 2010


the tendency toward a relatively stable equilibrium between interdependent elements, esp. as maintained by physiological processes.

In other words: boring. Yes, I realize it's not being used exactly appropriately. But it's what pops into my brain every time I start to think, "Holy crap, my life is BORING." I think my epitaph could be, "Grand ambition, mediocre execution." Wasn't I going to travel around the country after the bar? Yeah. That didn't happen. I barely leave the house. And I'm actually a bit terrified of my trip to New Orleans next week. (See: Travel Anxiety) We don't have game tickets. I haven't booked a car to take us to BR. I'm afraid I'm suddenly gonna run out of money and be stranded in South Louisiana (there could be worse fates). What are we gonna do? Where are we gonna go? What are we gonna see? I don't know why I thought I could afford this in the first place, am cursing my own generosity and worried about getting paid back for the parts that I am supposed to get paid back for. In essence: grumble.

When did I become so anxious? So unlikely to throw caution to the wind? Is this grown up me?

I woke up today at 11. I couldn't drag myself out of bed 'til noon. I just wasn't feeling it. First of all, my muscles ache because my trainer kicked my ASS yesterday. (Wind sprints in soft sand. WHEE!)'s more than that. It's a fear of facing the future (November 19th circled on the calendar). It's a fear of knowing what I may or may not become. How this is all going to play out. It's a lot easier to just hide under the covers. Much much much easier. I pondered sending my old boss an email seeing if she needed help. I even drafted it. Then didn't send it. Oh gripping fear, you're AWESOME!

I don't really have a solution to any of this. I'm gonna keep working out because aiming for the body that I want makes me satisfied on some level. I am starting to notice tangible changes. Subtle, but tangible. I'm going to continue writing down my thoughts because that helps me parse everything out. I'm making it a goal to read more of the New Yorkers I get delivered every week and dive into a novel. I am attempting to bring order amidst the chaos that is my room. Cleanliness is next to godliness or some such. And I'm trying to have some faith that the trip to New Orleans will be just fine and not the giant cluster fuck I have now imagined it was in my head. Funny that not that long ago I was giddy excited about this trip and now I'm feeling anxious. What IS that about? I think it's about being responsible and in charge, a role I don't always relish, especially when I'm feeling a little out of my element. (One problem solved however: got two tickets to the game. Crap seats but INTO the stadium. Can always trade them if I find something better.)

Alright, off to do that gym thing for my sanity...

Monday, September 13, 2010


Being a fan deserves respect. A fan of anything. You think bowling is the greatest thing ever? *shrug* Whatever. That's your call. Nascar? Sure. I'm not traveling to Darlington to watch it with you, but if you like it, who am I to judge? I once went to a WWE match with a guy I was dating. We all have things that light our fire, get us riled up, get us passionate about living. At least in between the time that we punch a clock (shut up, I know I don't have a job and no one actually does that anymore.) I draw the line at golf though. Golf is stupid. (I actually had a dream the other night that of all things my mom bought me clubs and I started playing. *cringe*)

Point is: I respect your fandom. I do. I hate the University of Florida (less and less as time goes by, actually), but if you went there and are an actual fan? I'll give you some good natured ribbing, and wholeheartedly expect it in return. It's only fair. In fact, discourse with opposing fans is what makes watching sports FUN. I will, however, totally call you to the mat if you a faux fan though, someone with no ties to a university or a team that has just band wagon hopped. And if you claim fandom and it turns out I know more about whatever university it is you went to, I will lose respect for you. Especially if you are male. And yes, I realize for a female I happen to know a lot about college football and a pretty good amount about most other sports.

So when I met a Dodger's fan the other night, a guy born and raised in Southern California (albeit Ventura County), I completely respect that. Only when it's the Dodgers fans at AT&T park trying to start fights will I engage in any disrespect. And even then, it's an elitist higher road kind of thing. Dodger's fans are trash. I will be elite and snobbish, as being a white wine sipping San Francisco fan gives me the right to do. I also show up in the 1st and stay through the 9th, so ya know, I win. But I won't suddenly be rude to said dude in said bar JUST because he's a Dodgers fan. He has every right to be. I mean, it's a poor life decision, but it's his.

Besides which: you never know who you're meeting. If I am rude and completely dismiss you, I may be missing out on the person that happens to work at a firm that I am interested in getting hired at and he likes me because I know my stuff. Not that I'm any big networking guru or anything but: every person you meet is an opportunity and you don't know where that is going to lead you.

The distinction is this: Lisa's rules of fandom: hate the team, not the fans. Unless the fans deserves it. (I'm looking at you, Red Sox nation.) You can't completely dismiss everything someone says just because they are a fan of X. Unless they went to Auburn. Then it's okay.

You should also respect the history of the game. I hate the Dodgers. I am not at all ashamed to call Tommy Lasorda a fat fuck. (This is how my father refers to him. My peace loving, hippie, pacifist father.) But: Don Drysdale, Sandy Koufax, Jackie Robinson and Ricky Branch. Kirk Gibson's home run. In my oh so humble opinion, to be a fan means to know and respect the history of the game.

The fact that the Dodger's organization is in disarray and being flushed down the toilet in family court with the McCourt divorce and the Giants are headed for what is going to be an EPIC September makes it easier to just dismiss the Dodgers fans, to pity them, rather than feel any hint of anger.

I like engaging in actual conversation about sports, an opportunity to discuss why your team is going to lose. I also enjoy someone who can tell me what's wrong with my team. Make all the Les Miles clock management jokes that you can. They are completely deserved.

Additionally: be realistic about your team. A true believer knows that sport is a business. I know I have hit this before but: your team's job is to win. Because to win is to make more money. And sport is a business, no matter what your beliefs may be. Even untainted college sports. Your loyalty to a particular player, while adorable, is quaint. Said player will leave if he is offered more money (See: Damon, Johnny and Teixeira, Mark). If said player is not performing up to the standard which will keep him on the team, be glad he got the chance at a second life elsewhere and his career wasn't just over, unceremoniously cut with no chance to continue making the money which he has become accustomed to. (Yes, Irene, I'm referring to your Bengie Molina adoration.) And change is generally good for both parties. Molina has received a new opportunity in Texas, who are also post season bound, and Posey? Need I say more? Buster flipping Posey!

I love J.T. Snow. I still love J.T. Snow. But I knew when his career was over and we needed a new first baseman. Pretty sure he did too. Granted, no one has come close to his defensive skills at first base since. But this is the way it works. I, once upon a time, loved Will Clark too. A sports career is finite. Think about it logically: if you were suddenly sucking at your job, costing your company money, would you expect your boss to keep you? Unless you work for the city, the answer is no. (Related: I need a job with the city.) Lisa's Rule of Fandom 2: Understand the business side of the sport. Are you a fan of the player or the team? If the team, then understand why a player is gone, mourn it briefly, and move on. A fan of a player? You are in for a lifetime of heartbreak with either the player moving for money or his career ending. And when someone gets traded from San Francisco to Florida you're gonna have a hard time enjoying the sport live. Point is: fan loyalty is expected, but continuously earned by the team. A player's loyalty to a team and a team's loyalty to a player are a complete fiction.

Now, excuse me while I pack all the purple and gold I possess to take a trip to the deep south to attend a football game. But only after I talk some trash on the back ramp at Momo's before and after Thursday night's Giants Dodgers game...

Sunday, September 12, 2010


Michael told me yesterday the new blog is boring. I don't completely disagree. There are several reasons for this:
1. There isn't really anything going on right now. Seriously. I'm in post bar limbo. After the Southern California debauchery, I've been keeping a low profile. It's Sunday. I'm watching Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead. I'm not exactly setting the world on fire here, folks.
2. A certain level of contentment has been reached. This does not make for good writing, as there is a lack of conflict. (Or: not wanting to bitch endlessly about crazy girl brain relationship stuff.)
3. ... I forget what 3 was for. Oh yeah! I am obviously a little snake bit after what happened last time. As I laid out in the first blog, I'm trying to have broader appeal. Chuck made a comment last night that he hates being part of something that he doesn't have control over. My response remains and has always been: while he's a character, he's not the star. This is exclusively my perception of what happens to me. And these are my friends so what happens when I'm with them becomes fair game. I also don't think I've ever painted Chuck or Michael in a negative light. The only person I ever had a problem with is...someone who I'm definitely not friends with anymore. Still: I'm trying to be respectful of that.
4. I have been avoiding conflict like the plague. I just try not to be home anymore. I don't want to hear my mom and stepdad go on and on about about police stuff (yawn). I don't want to deal with my brother or my family issues. So I just...don't. For my sanity. As Dad has made a new motto, "You can't participate if you don't engage." We CHOOSE to participate in stuff, become entrenched in it. So I've decided to just NOT. But again: lack of conflict, lack of material.

Point is: I'll concede. It's been kinda boring. I'm also trying not to dwell on the fact that I'm waiting for bar results. It makes me want to drink. Heavily. Because I think about what happens if I fail. What happens if I DON'T fail. Anyone who asks me about the bar exam is risking me killing them. My aunt last weekend kept saying, "No, really, how do you think I did?" I have no flipping idea! And if I think of all the things I didn't write that I should have, it TERRIFIES me. So I try not to think about it. And I told both my aunts that I absolutely would not discuss it. Nope. Not gonna discuss it. Never happened. Wait for me to freak out on November 19th. Then I'll discuss it.

But: yesterday was fun. Irene came over and her and I went to Yancy's for beer and football where Chuck and Michael joined us. We I watched the LSU game. Michael rolled his eyes and asked, "Is this OVER yet?" No! It's not! Gloriously! I got told we were done watching football after the LSU game. But! But! TN Oregon is still tied! Oh well. We were going to go eat at Park Chow but ended up instead at Pasquale's Pizzeria. God I forgot how great their pizza is. After that I drove us all back to Michael's house.

Oh! I had parked a couple blocks from the bar. When I got back to my car, there was a Black BWM SUV double parked, blocking me in. I was parked in front of a super crowded Chinese restaurant. There were a group of people watching us, wondering what we were going to do. Now, had I been alone, I probably would have just fumed and waited. But I had an audience. And a few cocktails. And I said, "I'm gonna march in there and make that person move!" From the back seat, "DO IT!" So I get out of the car. To the group of people out front watching to see what happens, I look at them and say, "That your car?" They all shake their heads no. I say, "Well I'm gonna go in there and find out whose it is..." I open the door to the restaurant and immediately look back at them and say, "Yeah. Sure. Let the ONLY white girl in the place go handle this." They laugh. I am standing in the front with a bunch of people waiting for tables. Everyone is being pretty soundly ignored. I look around. I notice in the back there is a counter which is presumably to-go food. I march back there. I say, "Anyone driving a black BMW SUV?" A bunch of kindly faces shake their heads back and forth. Until the only OTHER white person in the place, a bro in cargo shorts and flip flops says, "Yeah! I do." And I say, "Can you move your car please?" "Yeah! Sorry! I thought this would take like...a minute. Thanks for waiting though." I'm thinking, "What's the alternative? Go THROUGH your car?" So: Yay assertive me!

Michael's house, a few cocktails, a bit of chit chat. It's all...well, my favorite thing ever. But it's getting late, Chuck is yawning, I decide it's time to go. I go the long-ish way home (instead of heading down Lincoln, I head back along Junipero Serra to Sloat). At Taraval, with Irene in the car I say something about, "I'm tempted to go to the Deuces...just because."

The Deuces is awful. Truly awful. It used to be the go to place whenever everyone came home at Christmas and Thanksgiving. I haven't been there since my 1st year of law school when a frienemy was a complete bitch to people I'd known forever and her for only a semester of law school. But Irene encouraged so, why not? Irene and I walk in and I LITERALLY have to climb over the outstretched feet of the guy who I hung out with after a wedding in June. Known him since grade school. Fortunately he left so I didn't have to make chit chat. Also immediately saw a friend of my brother's who I haven't seen in probably five years. We stand their awkwardly at first thinking, "This was a TERRIBLE idea." But they have Magners. And we love Magners. So we stay for another one. And then another. Chat for a long while with bro's friend, catch up on our shared high school experience and some people we know mutually.

And then this guy comes over. Kinda cute. Red head. Says something about football on Sunday to which I give my standard reply when asked about the NFL, "I don't know. My god plays football on Saturday." This leads to an in depth discussion in which I naturally showcase that I know what I'm talking about. Then guy busts out with something that is either an amazing line or real talk: He's got a radio show. Just at the college but whatever. And he wants ME to come on and talk sports. Because I "have a good voice for radio, not to squeaky or shrill. Just really nice." WHAT? Wait, come again, what? I'm at a dive bar. In the Outer Sunset. On a perfectly quiet Saturday night. And you want ME, who most guys abjectly dismiss or don't care that I know about sports, to come on and TALK about them? Dude. Tell me when and where, I'm there. Again: we'll wait to see if this was a total line (although, why? He didn't hit on me. At least not blatantly), but there ya go...

Came home, watched some of Sherlock Holmes, wrangled the dogs and went to bed. Now sitting on couch debating how much longer I can eat junk food and do nothing. Tomorrow. Tomorrow we are back to the gym, healthy eating routine. Today? I got about 8 more hours to gorge myself and be mean to my body.

Saturday, September 11, 2010

Chocolate! Chocolate! Chocolate! ACK!

I had a major disappointment yesterday. I don't want to get too into it, but basically my amazing Friday night plans got canceled. And I am battling an awful sinus headache. I am fine with physical pain, generally. Headaches? I'm laid the hell out. Sinus headaches have the added bonus of making me nauseous. I don't know why this is true, but it is. I battled that all day as I went to the hair salon and nail salon. (I know, I know, life is hard.) So when my plans, that I had so been looking forward to, when I generally try not to get too excited about things, got canceled, I lost it a little bit. I had perfect salon hair going to waste! And perfectly manicured nails! And an AMAZING outfit picked out! Grumble.

I already knew I had the beach house to myself, so I quickly packed a bag (forgetting necessary things like socks in my hurry) and headed there. And I laid on the couch and did nothing from about 5 p.m. til 1 a.m. I watched movies. I ate nachos. I ate ice cream with fudge sauce. I was a real life Cathy comic. And it was flipping depressing. The long hot bath and classical music made me feel a little better. It was even somewhat liberating rinsing out my flat ironed salon hair. 'Til Irene pointed out that was really kind of depressing... and I agreed.

So what'd I watch? I watched Date Night BECAUSE I WASN'T ON ONE! It was cute. Pretty clever. The "You took someone's reservations!?" being awful line got old quickly. Tina Fey was a little more shrill than she generally is and I didn't like that all that much. But it was cute. The scenes with Mark Wahlberg were some of my favorite. It was definitely a Friday night rental kinda movie.

Then I watched Kick Ass. I liked it. I liked Nicholas Cage playing thisclose to child molester. I knew it would be violent, so I was prepared for that.

And then I watched Hot Tub Time Machine. I think John Cusack is dreamy. Still. Always. And it was ridiculously funny. Here's the thing: For reasons that I do not understand, I CAN NOT wrap my brain around time travel. Maybe I'm too linear? They travel back in time, are themselves in that time, change the future, travel forward in time unknowing of how the future has been changed, except for the person who stayed in the past and lived the intervening 20 years. SO WHO LIVED THE INTERVENING 20 YEARS? WHERE ARE THOSE PEOPLE?! I don't understand!! And why are they then holes in those people's memories? Yeah, me and time travel? We don't get along. You lost me when it wasn't Back to the Future. Which I also think is why I don't like the novel The Time Traveler's Wife. So there. I'm an idiot. Because I don't understand time travel.

And, that, fine friends, was my TERRIBLY exciting Friday night. I know you're jealous.

Thursday, September 9, 2010

Football Food: Black Bean Salad

I'm posting this on Thursday because there is football on tonight. And because I'm bored. And because I can. You gonna stop me?

First, an unsolicited endorsement for something that will be integral in pretty much all subsequent recipes: Tony Chachere's Famous Creole Seasoning.

And a story (because this is me): When I got to Louisiana this stuff was EVERYWHERE. Instead of salt and pepper on the table of the dining hall, and most restaurants, there were these ubiquitous green cans. People in Louisiana put it on everything. Steak. Eggs. I maintain that if they could figure out a way to put it on dessert, they would. And why not? Mexican chocolate is spicy, why not some in your fudge? And as any good Californian raised on crisp, clean cuisine where the ingredients are the star, I balked at the idea of seasoning everything with this...stuff. You should taste your food! Not the spices! My steak should taste like steak. Not spice! And Tony's does have a bit of a kick. But gradually I acquiesced with a "When in Rome" attitude. And now I use it in so many dishes, it's ridiculous. My family has also become reliant on it. My dad recently shook an almost empty can at me and just said, "Uhhh???" Yeah, yeah, I'll get you more. It's also great if you can only have one thing. Say you're in a condo you don't own and don't want to haul/buy $50 of spices. This all in one has you covered. So: go to the grocery store (I know Safeway has it) and buy yourself a can. You won't be sorry. In the alternative, I am headed to Louisiana shortly where this stuff is cheap and will be heading to the WalMart there to stock up. You're welcome.

Now: On to this week's recipe. I made Black Bean Salad for my aunt's birthday BBQ last weekend and decided I should just call it idiot salad because any idiot can make it. It requires no baking. Throw the stuff in a bowl and voila! AND: added bonus: HEALTHY.

Your ingredients:
As many cans as of black beans as you desire. 2-10, it's up to you.
Red bell pepper. Or green. Or orange. Or all of the above. Diced
Red onion. Diced.
Whatever other veggie you want. You like celery? (I don't) Throw it in. I had some Anaheim chiles on hand last week, diced em up fine and threw them in there for some green.
Olive Oil
Half of a lime's juice (optional, but nice)

Now, the hard part:
Open cans of beans. Empty into strainer. Rinse that chalky liquid stuff off thoroughly. Set aside.
Throw diced red onion and bell peppers in a bowl. Add beans. Shower with Tony's, as much as you desire. Squeeze in lime juice. Drizzle on a couple tablespoons of olive oil. Shouldn't be swimming in it, just enough to coat the beans. Toss all together until well mixed. Refrigerate for at least an hour, but a couple would be best for the flavors to marry. Take out and eat. You're done. Seriously. It was THAT easy. Dad even marveled the next day, "This is good. And healthy. Are these canned beans?" Hell yes they are!

Now a word about football food in general: I'm a fairly accomplished cook. I can do a lot. But I'm keeping these recipes simple, choosing ones that are good for football days and for the crowd you inevitably have over watching the sport. It's junk food, essentially. And for the beginning chef. I just don't want this to reflect on the totality of my abilities. I felt that needed to be caveated. Also: will not be coughing up the guacamole recipe. Ever. A girl's gotta have her tricks.


Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Weighty Issues

Alright, I was gonna save this post for later, when I wasn't half asleep on the couch, but there's a stupid Treadclimber infomercial on about how all these people lost a ton of weight and I'm watching Stick It, making me jealous of Missy Peregrym's abs so you're getting it now.

I don't want this to be a dieting blog. Which I said about the old blog. But I think there will probably be a few posts about what's going on health wise here.

I'm not an obsessive dieter/exerciser. I don't need everyone to know what's up with me. It's boring. It's tedious. People obsessive about dieting annoy the crap out of me. Every time my aunt mentions her weight watchers points my mind shuts off. Goes something like this: "The soy cheese is really good. No! Really! It's good." Me, "Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz." I mean, come on. It's lame. It's like when people recite what happened in their dreams. Are you really interested? No. You either are jealous, because you want to look that way, or you're just irritated at their obsessiveness about it. I generally don't want opinions and advice unless I ask. I know what it takes to do this. Hearing what works for you isn't that helpful for me. Unless I want to hear it. You know me, I generally fly below the radar. If I'm doing something, I'm doing it quietly. (Other than the blog, obvs.) I don't want to talk too much or obsess too much about all this, what I ate, what I haven't eaten, what I wish I could be eating. God, how boring! The people I get really jealous of? The ones that can treat food just as nutrition and not crave things like chicken wings or loaded burritos or In N Out burger.

However: there's a theory that's been developed after several conversations: Considering I'm not a complete idiot, fairly witty, and give good conversation, I'd be damn near unstoppable if I looked like I did in college with the confidence and knowledge I currently possess. I'd like to see if this theory is true.

So I've been busting my ass at the gym. More than usual. I did 9 minute miles the other day on the elliptical. I'm trying to do 50 minutes of cardio four times a week. And I want to push it harder. Harder and harder and harder. I want to see what this body is capable of. I'm definitely more conscious of even having a body than I was when I was in my teens and early 20s. I was a chubby teenager. Always. And then I lost a ton of weight in college but still wasn't aware. And like most girls in their early 20s, thought I was still unattractive when compared to my peers, all those teeny tiny blonde sorority types running around LSU. Like I said: to know then what I know now would have been invaluable. C'est ca.

I've also started trying to eat a little better. More salad. Less french fries. I gave up Dr Pepper. I haven't had one in a week. I wanted one tonight. Instead I mixed V8 splash with some Perrier and that was just fine by me. (I have become addicted to the little ice cream cups in replacement, but we'll work on that too.)

Some myths I want to dispel: It's not easy. Nothing about losing weight is easy. It takes effort. It also takes time. I am one of the least patient people in the world so knowing that this is a long slow process, well, that tortures me. I want to wake up and be skinny tomorrow. I want to get gold stars every time I eat an apple and not tortilla chips. Sure sure, self esteem, feeling better, blah blah blah. You know what I really want? To not own a credit card to Lane Bryant. To fit in "regular" sizes. To get the emails for the sales at Versace and Missoni and DVF and know I can buy something that will fit.

So I'm undertaking this. I'm taking this as seriously as I can. I'm going to be good as I am capable of, which isn't always going to be perfection. I figure, with football starting, I get Saturdays as a cheat day. Too much salad eating and I start to get cranky thinking I'm going to turn into a rabbit, I need a break.

I'll try not to bore you with the details. And there won't be a lot. I refuse to step on a scale, it always bums me out. I don't obsessively track everything I eat. I'm just doing what little I can. But there will be the occasional update, mostly to keep me honest. And if you don't want to read it, well, you don't have to. But do wish me luck. Because man this sucks. (Even with nothing else really going on...)

Sunday, September 5, 2010

And then... remember that the season is long and Les Miles likes to induce heart attacks, taking 5-10 years off of LSU fans lives for the past five years. I didn't even SEE most of the game. I was stuck on a Hornblower Yacht (I'm on a boat! I'm on a boat! With my flippy floppies!) for my aunt's 50th Birthday dinner. Which was actually a lot of fun and the food was better than I had anticipated. But: ON A BOAT! With no TV! Mad kudos to the always amazing Andy for gchatting me on my smart phone game updates. I spent a lot of time going "Fuck fuck fuck" for the last minute of what he was telling me. In fact:

Andy: LSU 40, 19 seconds.
Jai Eugen shattered a dude's ribs, though.
8:46 PM me: Good. Do that more. GOD I don't want to lose
8:47 PM Andy: At the 15.
8:48 PM 10 seconds left.
Peterson hurt.
me: Ruliajjatgdmg't
8:49 PM Andy: Six seconds, at the 5.
8:50 PM me: aaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Andy: Dropped pass in end zone.
me: Is that game?
or one more play?
Andy: Game after a second one.
8:52 PM me: Final??
Andy: Yes.

All that while our boat was under the Golden Gate Bridge.

About Andy: I already got all, ya know about this before but after torching the SHIT out of a few friendships, having regular chats about all things with this incredibly smart kid (and he is a kid. He has never seen Top Gun!), who regularly gets forgiven for going to UF (who are in desperate need of a new center. Giggle.), has taken the sting out of the burning down some of those friendships. So, Andy, publicly: Thank you!

I watched football all day. Football, for me, who doesn't have a ton of SF friends who understand or care about it, is enhanced immeasurably by tweeting about it. I watched a little bit of Notre Dame, a little bit of UCLA, Michigan...if it was on I saw pieces of it. All day. I pondered going to the gym but instead just watched football. Football football football.

And what did we learn about this season so far? Not a lot. It's early. A lot of schools played a lot of mediocre teams. Jake Locker is NOT yet the second coming at UW. TCU has a cute ginger quarterback. The boy's alma mater lost. To a school out of the Ohio Valley Conference. Again: giggle. This made for some text smack talking. And I tweeted about it. Which got retweeted. Which I guess makes it all a little more real? James and Jacquizzi Rogers have sick abs. Mark Herzlich's story will make you tear up, even if you don't want to. Female sideline reporters are the bane of my existence and I would do their job better than they do. I still think my job as a lawyer should be to take down the NCAA for its arcane rules and lack of interest in actually protecting the players.

The Nike Pro Combat Uniform website is LOLZ hysterical.

Oh, and the Giants had a come from behind victory against the Dodgers and are now within 2 of the Pahds in the NL West.

But mostly? As exhausted as I am, as stressed out as Les Miles makes me, as long as I know the season is going to be, I am goddamn giddy about the return of college football. Saturdays in the fall. There's just nothing better.

Friday, September 3, 2010


It's football season! It's football season! OMG IT'S FOOTBALL SEASON!

I debated last night between the gym and ice cream. Andy assured me that it's fine to have ice cream because IT'S FOOTBAW! So the gym got skipped. Again. I was told I was sexy for texting score updates. Yeah, I'm kinda awesome. (subliminal message: you should date me) I know that every Saturday for the rest of the fall will be spent in front of the television watching games. Whether it's 80 degrees or 40. Except for the Saturday where I'M IN BATON ROUGE WATCHING IT LIVE! *happy dance*

I've said this before, and I'll say it again: I was not raised on college football. I was raised on the church of baseball. But after my first LSU football game, I was converted. It was as if I'd been to Catholic church all my life and suddenly found myself in a revival tent speaking in tongues and being baptized. "Oh, these slightly crazier, less uptight people? These are MY people." I discovered that while I will always love baseball, once I finally got over the betrayal of the strike, for it's slow Sunday gentleman like pace, I was a girl designed for the violence of football. I like hits. Hard hits. Lots of them.

I love tailgating and the way everyone cheers all the way into the stadium, that giant concrete behemoth not far from the banks of the Mississippi River. I love marching bands and the smell of whiskey and pots of gumbo. I LOVE WEARING SHORT SLEEVES AT NIGHT! Sorry, I had to yell that one. But if you've ever heard me lament the fog that is just so freaking pervasive over SF, you know it's true.

It was a way of life I was never indoctrinated into. My parents didn't go to college. My high school was no football powerhouse. I didn't even know high school football was a Friday night thing 'til college because we played it on Saturday! Yeah, I know, I dunno. California is weird, yo. My grandfather was a 49ers fan but reserved time and effort for dumping into the boys. I knew it took over my TV on Saturday's but I didn't really get it.

And then: through a serendipitous series of events I ended up at LSU, the farthest away from home school I got accepted to. To this day, quite possibly one of the best decisions of my life, to attend a school in Baton Rouge I knew next to nothing about.

On that first Saturday, that first fall semester way back in 1998, I had NO idea how much a part of my life this would all become. How important it would all be to me. How every Saturday that you pull me away from the TV will be painful. (Like tomorrow, when I'm stuck on a dinner cruise in the bay for my aunt's 50th birthday.) I didn't know then that I would find it hugely superstitious to not wear purple on a Saturday when LSU is playing. That I'd plan vacations to visit a town in South Louisiana. That I would sleep with a regulation helmet and a replica of the stadium in my room. I didn't know, until those first chords were struck lo those many years ago, that Pregame would give me goosebumps for the rest of my life.

I may not be an expert in football. I know basics. Shotgun v. under center. 3, 4, 5 wide receiver sets. I can name the positions. I know head coaching changes. I know Nick Saban is evil, Steve Spurrier was when he was at Florida, and that Les Miles is just as bat shit crazy as Brian Wilson. I definitely know more than most guys in my expanded circle of friends and WAY more than in my close circle of SF friends. My fandom isn't from birth. But somehow, coming into it on my own makes it that much MORE special. This was by choice. My choice. A gift by virtue of a school I attended (not some bandwagon hopping Florida fandom, like people I know in the Bay).

And with that, after a lonnnngggg summer, I excitedly welcome the start of a new college football season.


Football Food: Nachos

I've decided to start a new blog feature: Football Food. My blog on my ode to football will come shortly but in the meantime? Nachos.

I made Irene nachos a few weeks ago and she asked me for the recipe. It occurred to me, "Why not blog it?" That was after I stopped laughing when she asked for the recipe for nachos. It's nachos! Not rocket surgery! But there is sort of an art to it. So I'll share my version.

First of all: My adoration of nachos: I love nachos. I think it's the perfect one dish meal. It is my default 2 a.m. drunk food. It's what I eat when home alone watching movies. All through high school. Because I was super cool. Nachos are simple, easy, mostly involves stuff you have in your pantry already, and any moron can assemble a plate. Even my brother.

Now, on to the art of the perfect plate of nachos:

What you need. The only essentials are the first three. Anything after that is dealer's choice. I'll explain a little bit why I chose each thing:
  • Chips. I am partial to Casa Sanchez thin and light. I also like Mission strips. But good old Tostitos work in a pinch. Good chips will elevate the nachos. Going for broke? Make some yourself with corn tortillas and vegetable oil! (Advanced users only)
  • Cheese. Your favorite. Shredded. I love sharp cheddar. But the mexican mixed bag stuff? Also golden.
  • Salsa. Also partial to Casa Sanchez but known to use lots of Pace Medium.
  • Beans. I like spicy no fat refried. Black beans also are a favorite. Beans are essential for fiber and give me some illusion that the creation is healthy.
  • Got some leftover chicken or steak around your house? Chop it up into bit size pieces.
  • Green onions. I like these on top to garnish. It makes it classy. That's right, my nachos are classy.
  • Sour cream. Your nachos will be incomplete without sour cream. But I understand those of you that have an aversion.
  • Avocado. You can just dice it and throw it on top, or if you're feeling ambitious, make some guacamole.
Take as large of a plate as you are feeling hungry. Place a single, slightly overlapping layer of chips down. Spoon a little salsa over the chips, then some of the beans and meat, if you are using them. Then as much cheese as you desire. I'm big on proportionality. I like the cheese to not completely cover the chips but want every chip to have some. Yeah, I've thought way too hard about this. Add another layer of chips and repeat the process of adding salsa, beans, and meat, followed by the cheese. You can keep adding layers until you have giant mountain of nachos. It's up to you. Seriously. I've done giant mountain of nachos. It's impressive. Throw in anything else you want to this concoction, too. Experiment!

Throw in the microwave and zap it for 45 seconds to a minute and a half. I usually do 45 seconds, check to see my cheese isn't frying, and then another 30. If you want super extra bonus points? Use the oven. I know, right? What a concept! 350 for about five minutes. Double extra super bonus points: Flip on the broiler for the last 30 seconds and crisp up the top. For advanced users only!

Pull out of the microwave or oven. Garnish with your diced green onion (to garnish, put in your hand and sprinkle on top). Glop on a large dollop of sour cream, scoop out your finely diced avocado. AND ENJOY!