Random Phone Pics

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    You know what they ought to make…?  They ought to make an app so that a cell phone owner can command their own phone to destroy its data in the event it is lost or stolen.  I know this technology already exists for PCs.  A few years ago, I knew a man whose colleague tried some nasty corporate skullduggary–informations theft, basically.  

     We were hanging out in his apartment–the one with the great view of Central Park.  The guy was grinning and breaking out the champagne.  “What he doesn’t know is that I have access to every single one of his computers which uses our technology!  I just cleared them all!  He’s going to get a SURPRISE when he tries to log on! HA!”

       “Wow,” I said.  “That’s like something out of James Bond.”

       My host waved his hand.  “Everyone uses it these days.” 

       I miss that guy.  He was a lot of fun.  

       I clean out my phone all the time, but I am still anxious about it falling into the wrong hands.  

        Here are some random pics I found while deleting this morning. 

     First, bizarre graffiti found written on wall of subway station.

Mr. Teeth Will Eat the Whole World


      Next, Washington Square Park, for visitors of this blog who have not seen NYC (you should come visit!):

Washington Square Park
      
      This is a book I bought, Journey to the End of the Night, by Celine.  It’s my first time reading Celine, and the jury’s still out.  There’s some excellent writing in here and he’s also pretty damn funny.  Home boy also has a major attitude problem.  I am hardly a fan of humanity, but Celine’s cynicism is pretty breathtaking.  I am sure he would hold my bush-league cynicism beneath contempt, haahaha.  But to be fair: he has a point. 
      I can only read it chapter-by-chapter.  It’s just too fucking much.
       It’s good, though.
       If you’ve read him, what did you think? 

Village Bookstore

       Look at the size of this huge Kit Kat.  The picture doesn’t really do it justice.  It’s as big as Michael Jordan’s hand.  For some reason, I thought it was comical. 



Get Paid: What..?

       Today I met with a student and then went to psychotherapy.  Then I went to half of a dayshift at the Studio.  My client FLAKED, so that was an afternoon I could have spent doing something more entertaining, like flossing my teeth.  

      Actually, the conversation with the women in the lounge was pretty entertaining.  We were showing each other photos on our computers.  I brought up some from my beatings.

       As Anton Chekhov might have said, “an angel of silence flew over the room.”

       C. looked over my shoulder, peering at the screen.  

       “Holyeeeee shit, Margo!  I hope you got paid for that.  You got paid, like, $1000 for that, right?  Tell me you got paid for that.” 

        “Nope!  Not this one.  Couldn’t do it.”

        She smiled and gave me a funny look.  “If I was a gangster, I’d break two of your fingers right now to get you in line.  You fucking crazy wackadoo!  See the way your eyes shine.”

        Her eyes moved back to the image on the screen and then came back to me.

       “Yeah, I bet the creeps love you, Redhead.  I bet they want to beat that angelic face right in.  Amirite? Pro tip, Red: Get fucking paid for it.  If I was an educated, pretty wackadoo like you, I’d be rich.”

        “That’s why you’re such a success in this business, C. Compared to you, I have no hustle.” I responded. 

     It’s true.  C. is unstable, energetic, assertive, and fearless.  She also has an excellent but brutal sense of humor (Ex: C has said in the past: Red!  Is that dress bebe…?  Bebe is for skanky Russians who think they’ve made it!). Sometimes she gets hired for six, seven hours by a single individual. 

     Suddenly, C. seized my hand and wrenched it towards herself.  She is intense and fast.  It happened in 2 seconds.  She smiled and bent my two of my fingers backwards,over the top of the hand as if to break or injure them.

   I made a shout and she released me.  

     “Think about it, Red.  Get paid.”  She tossed my own hand on my lap like it was a stuffed animal. 

Tales from the Biz: Bad Santa

     Hilarious (and FUN!) two-hour session at the Studio this week–I think my readers will enjoy hearing about this one.  

     This man comes in for his appointment.  He reminded me of an Art or Design professor–he had heavy brown-rimmed hipster glasses and he was wearing a cardigan sweater which looked both ugly and very expensive.  It looked intentionally rustic. He had lovely snowy white hair and a very close, neatly-trimmed beard.  He had rosy skin and a rotund figure.  

     He reminded me immediately of Santa Claus. 

     He was quite intelligent and liked to talk.  He brought some pot with him and smoked it during the session (being a gentleman, he offered to share it with me, but I declined.  Pot makes me confused and quiet.  It didn’t bother me that he was enjoying it, though.).  You know how dorky old people look when they smoke pot, though?  Seriously dorky.  

      This guy was in such a good mood!  He was really partying down.  He would say these silly yet charming things, such as: “I love to relax!  This is so sensual!”  Then he would raise his arms start swinging his hips, burning joint in hand, and dance for a bit.  

        “Do you want to dance with me, Miss Margo?”

        I had a big smile on my face, but I was trying not to laugh.  This was funny stuff, but I didn’t want to insult the man.  He was a good guy.

       “Sure!” I said.  “We are here to have a good time!”

        He dances more.  “Oh yeah!  Your legs are so beautiful.  You like this, don’t you?  Yeah!  You love it!  NAUGHTY!” 

       In my mind, I thought of this: 


           We danced around the ornate Studio room, sans music.  I can’t dance, but I must admit, I was having a fun time.  He was laying on the joy and terrible seduction techniques.

      “You’re such a naughty minx!  I love it!” he said.  Whaaat…? 

      In my mind, I thought: BAD SANTA!!! BAD! 

     He tipped me a hundred bucks.  

     Thank you, Bad Santa.  Come back any time.  

Nerd Alert: Epic Rap Battles of History

      I am embarrassed to admit that I spent at least an hour watching and re-watching this silly (but very entertaining) YouTube video series: Epic Rap Battles of History.

       I don’t listen to rap music.  I can’t name a single rap song.  Wait–Eminem–“Lose Yourself”–does that count…?  That’s rap, right…?  However, I am a major history buff, and these videos appeal to that.  The songwriters are talented and the actors are pretty funny.  And I love the voice narrator who says “Epic Rap Battles of History!”  It’s so ridiculous!  But comical!  Yeah, I laughed.  I laughed and laughed. 

       Here’s the dork fest at Margo Manor today:

       Albert Einstein vs. Stephen Hawking.  WTF…?  I love both of them, and the Carl Sagan mention cracked me up.  I think Stephen Hawking wins this one.



       
      Next: Justin Bieber vs. Ludwig van Beethoven.  You know that I’m a huge Beethoven fan; I couldn’t resist this one.  Haahaha, Bieber asks “Who listens to Classical anyway?”  And Beethoven says, “I’m glad I’m deaf so that I don’t have to listen to (Bieber’s song).”

      I was totally rooting for Beethoven, but I think Bieber won.



I am usually intolerant of Nazi imagery in comedy or satire, or even most fiction, because I know how horrifying their regime was.  It was evil, truly evil, and you know I almost never use that word.  

 This is too goofy to take offense at.  

  I’m on the fence with this one.  Hilter’s more witty (“Light Saber? You need a Life Saver!”), but Darth Vader has better delivery:

   

Korea, Organizational Psych, Mass Games–Ruminations

      I haven’t caught a mouse or seen one for weeks!  Well, tonight I was washing my delicates in the sink, and then I saw one running across the floor, bold as you please!  A gray mouse!  I yelled and grabbed the toilet plunger and chased after him, but he escaped underneath the couch, and even though I moved it out from the wall, I could not discern where he’d gone.  Where’d he go?  Was he teleported?  Beamed up to the Starship Enterprise?  

    I bleach the heck out of the bird trays and place the feeders way above the ground!  I lock up ALL the pet and human food!  Why do these mice come around?  

           *                       *                     *                  * 

      Anyway…I found my favorite scene(s) in one of my favorite movies online.  It’s from a documentary called A State of Mind.  The film is about the Mass Games, an athletic and artistical celebration of culture and political ideology in North Korea.  It is huge choreographed theater with gymnastics, dancing, military parade, and screenplay.  They’re not fooling around.  There is no equivalent ritual in any other country in the world that I am aware of. 

      The film follows a few adolescent  girls who are training to perform in the Games. They are wealthy and privileged by the standards of their society.  They get up before dawn to practice gymnastic routines in their bare feet on concrete, in the outdoors.  They rehearse relentlessly.  Their dedication and professional pride is touching.  

       I’ve watched this film ten times, and I still can’t believe what I’m looking at.  Have you ever seen anything like this?  Ever?  Can you even conceive of it? 


 

   What does this performance provoke in you..?  Revulsion?  Exhilaration?  Does it make you afraid?  Or envious?  Do you admire them?  All of the above?  

     These people are totally in tune with the psychology of their organization.  They are like a hive, a school of fish, a flock of starlings.  They are intimately connected with the genetic determination which makes humans community animals. 

      Look at the tremendous energy and strength they derive from this.  

      My father was stationed in South Korea for years before I was born.  Culturally, he was very western civ and American, but he had total respect for various aspects of Korean ethos. Those cats get shit done.  He’d say that we could end illegal immigration overnight if we hired Koreans to man and patrol the border.  

      North Korea has very few natural resources.  It’s dirt poor and more than half of its economy goes towards its military.  It is the most secretive nation on earth and I have no doubt that the oppression and cruelty practiced by the state are even worse than we know (I usually believe that people get the government that they deserve, but North Korea is a rare exception–those people are literally being held hostage by their government). 

       I wouldn’t mess with them.  Anyone who does should go loaded for bear.  I’d tangle with Pakistan, or even Russia, before I’d confront Korea.  

      One last thing to consider: why is a country like Mexico or Brazil, which is blessed land and natural resources, poor and corrupt and chaotic, while South Korea is doing pretty great…?    

CollarMe Hell: Dudes Love Their Wheels

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     Okay, honest question: what is with the obsession guys have for their cars (and motorcycles, and boats)?  Seriously.

      Men post a lot of pictures in their ads of themselves posing with their wheels.  Or on them.  Or inside of them.  Or riding them.  

     I’m mystified.  I have not seen a woman posing with a car.  

     Actually, a smart woman ought to do that!  GUYS WOULD LOVE IT!  Shit, guys love pictures of models in bikinis on cars!  Guys love that shit so much that they pay for magazines full of such pictures! 

Hot Babes and Wheels

     CollarMe is full of bad pornographic cartoons, wolves and hawks (or lions or panthers if the guy posting is black–black dudes like lions, not wolves, I’ve noticed), and men on wheels!  It’s like a damn auto digital auto show in there!

     This guy was actually pretty cute (and my brother has a bike just like that–I learned to ride myself on something similar). But see the background?  Does that look like NYC to you?  No.  


     This guy’s photo has two for two: macho bike and a very serious, macho Dom-ly scowl on his face.  Just take my word for it:


      Not to be outdone, our next suitor is posing with not one…not two…but THREE METHODS OF TRANSPORTATION!  A bike, a truck, aaand a hugeass R.V.!!!  He’s like, “These other guys have nothin’ on me!  Take that, bitches!” 

3, count em, 3 machines!


      That’s enough Men&Machines for now.  You get the idea. 

      This dude has emailed me four times.  I haven’t responded and I am not going to.  But I do have to hand it to him: I am almost impressed with the way that he just doesn’t care.  I mean, it takes either a true sense of humor, or a breathtaking amount of confidence, to use this as your profile photograph and email it to women in the hopes of attracting them:

“I give CollarMe two thumbs up!”

    First, where the hell are you?  That’s not a cemetery, is it?  Does it look like a cemetery to anyone else?  
    What is that shirt you are wearing?  It’s not a tank top.  It’s a t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up.  If you’re going to do that, why not just wear a tank top?  In any event, it is unacceptable to wear a shirt like that anywhere except the beach, a fishing expedition, or camping.  Maybe doing lawn work.  Are you doing lawn work in the cemetery, sir? 

      Arrrgh…my eyes!  My eyes!

   This is the avatar photo of another guy who emailed me.  I’m telling you: wolves and roses.  Hawks and roses.  Lions and roses.  It is a zoo full of predatory animals.  You know what would really get my attention?  A dude with something cool, like an aardvark. 

   
       What do you want to bet that this person listened to Guns n Roses?  That’s okay.  Being white trash myself, I own Appetite for Destruction too!  “Cold November Rain!” Hey, a girl can’t listen to Beethoven ALL the time!  Sometimes you just want to put on some leopard print camis, snort some meth, and play with guns! 

      Actually, that avatar looks like a kids’ temporary tattoo that you could get out of a machine at the grocery store for 50 cents.  

      UPDATE TUESDAY:
  
       A reader, Paltego–whose site, FemDom Resource, I link to on the sidebar–dug the Guns n Roses shout-out, so I went to Most Holy YouTube and found the music video.

       Truly, if CollarMe was a music video, it would look like this.  Is there a cornier music video in existence?  And if there is, would you please post the link so that I can watch it? 


Margo’s Greatest Hits

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     I have always been surprised at which posts on this blog turn out to be popular.  Sometimes I’m amused by my readers’ preferences, and sometimes I’m just confused.  The posts that I think will be popular sink to the bottom of the blog ocean like the submarine Kursk, while random posts I jotted down in a hurry from the top of my head generate traffic and comments, sometimes for months after their publication.

     Here are PiecesofMargo’s greatest hits, in no particular order…well, almost no particular order:

#1:  Boy on the Rug
        Far and away the most popular page on this blog.  I wrote it in ten seconds when I found a picture on the internet that I thought was hawt.  It was a silly post with a stupid title (I’ve always had a problem with titles…academic writing, fiction, my titles were always shitty).  
        But…do you know how many people on earth search internet search engines for “coconut porn?”  Yes, that is what they google.  “Coconut porn.”  And its many possible misspellings: “cocnut porn,” “coconut oprn,” etc etc.
        And get this…it gets better.  The coconut porn thing is a head-scratcher.  I have no idea what coconut porn is, do you?  But the mystery deepens: almost all of the coconut porn hits come from Arab or Muslim countries.  Almost all of them!  Why?  If you know why, can you tell me?  
         I’ve wanted to write about this before, but I was worried that someone would think it was insensitive or racist or something.  But how it is racist if it’s what is happening?  People in Jordan and Indonesia are looking for coconut porn.  Nobody in Mexico is.  
       I almost took down the post because it’s an outlier that skews my stats, but what the hell.  Traffic is traffic.

#2: VERMIN!  Cockroaches and Mice

      I have found the vehicle for world peace: humanity’s hatred of vermin.  You could get the Israelis and the Palistinians together for a barbeque and they would get along famously as long as the topic of conversation focused on cockroachs and their elimination.  
      People from around the world want to know whether cockroaches are immortal, so they search for it, and Google sends them here.  I also get notes of sympathy from people who share my fear of roaches and notes of contempt from people who want me to know that New York City cockroaches are nothing–NOTHING!–compared to the roaches in other parts of the world.  Readers share tips and tricks on dealing with infestations, and a few total strangers have, touchingly, inquired as to how vermin elimination at Margo Manor is going months after I wrote about it.  

#3:  That Nutty Adorable Surgeon!


       I am not surprised that these posts are popular, because a lot of them involve sex and relationship drama.  People like to read about other people’s relationships.  What is interesting to me is that these posts are popular, but nobody says a thing about them to me.  People read and keep their opinions to themselves.  I assume they do that because they want to be polite.  Nothing nice to say, so they don’t say anything.  
       For what it is worth, the feedback that I do get about the man is not positive and readers’ impressions of him are not complimentary.  The messages I get about him are: 1) Miss Margo OMG are you okay?  2) Please be careful and 3) This guy seems like a creepy kook. 
       Dude.  I never even wrote about the bad stuff he’s done. 
       The Surgeon did get a few supportive shout-outs after he chewed me out for being at a strip club.  No comments, but I did get two emails along the lines of “Good for him!  If you were my daughter, I’d lock you in your room, too!”  I couldn’t tell if the emailers were judging me or expressing protectiveness or both.  

     #4: Breakup Protocol
          Apparently, people want to know if there is a breakup protocol, because I get random strangers from around the English-speaking world who find this blog looking for etiquette.  

     #5:  My “Man Hands”
            This one got hundreds of hits.  I liked writing this one a lot because I thought I was being really funny.  Look at those zingers!  Frito talons? Airbrushed nails?  Seinfeld? Come on!
            As it turned out, nobody who communicated to me about this post had anything to say about the writing whatsoever. 
            But the respondents fell into two categories.  The first group was spillover from the pit bull war blog Craven Desires.  A troll from Craven Desires came over to my blog and jumped on me. Then Craven herself (!), and some others, came over here to jump on the troll.  
          The second group of respondents were (and are) a bunch of people who got angry and offended that I was selling my used shoes to strangers on the internet.  They expressed their disapproval via abusive anonymous comments, which I declined to publish.  
          Why?  Why would anyone get mad that I was selling my shoes?  Because, presumably, the shoes would be sold to fetishists, and that’s “gross” and it makes me a “slut?”  Really?  But it would be okay, I presume, if I sold the shoes at a garage sale or Buffalo Exchange?  HELLO!  YOUR LOGIC MAKES NO SENSE, ARISTOTLE!

#6: The Biz
      This one is pretty self-explanatory.  The topic is popular because people are curious about what goes on at a commercial dungeon.   

       Posts about Alcoholics Anonymous do pretty well, too.  For some reason, nobody seems to be interested in my birds.  Haahaha.

     Thank you all for reading, whomever you are. I’m flattered that you enjoy my blog and knowing that people are reading it encourages me to write.  Writing is a healthful hobby and a professional skill which always needs more honing. 

Questions for Ex-Mrs. Mathematician

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     Yeah, so…

      The Mathematician is divorced.  His wife dumped him to run off with a bounty hunter twice her age (no, I’m not making that up).  I kind of wish I could get her on the phone and talk with her, because I’m curious: that is just the sort of batshit insane move I’d pull.  

     I’d also like to tell her: boy, did you fuck up!  What were you thinking? 

     I mean, this is a really great guy.  Is there something about him that I’m not seeing?  Are his relatives a bunch of psychos who were constantly meddling in your household?  Because that’s the only thing I can think of that might be wrong with him.  He’s a gentleman–like the type who almost never uses curse words and pulls out chairs for women.  He has a great Protestant work ethic and a lucrative job that does not involve exploiting humanity.  He’s patient and devoted to his children.  He’s handsome and wears nice clothes.  I guess he is sort of a dork compared to a bounty hunter, but for a man with a Ph.D. in mathematics he is pretty cool.  

      Objectively, how could this man be improved upon?  

       What–he wasn’t exciting? 

        Oh yeah–I know how it is.  Been there, done that.  I dumped the best boyfriend I ever had–a guy that loved me, really loved me for “who I am,” whatever the hell that means–so that I could be with an abusive psychopath who was only nominally more functional that my father.  John.  The one I had to take to family court in order to get away from, and I wasn’t even married to him.  I still remember sitting in the living room of my Hoboken apartment, hyperventilating and shaking in fear, hoping that the locksmith would arrive and change the locks before John came back and blew my head off. 

      Yeah.  That was exciting, all right.  Too exciting.  After that, I was done with love.  I stopped believing in it.  Love was for other people.  I was never gonna put myself in that situation again.  Men were for fun, and I was never going to be emotionally vulnerable again.  I would always be in charge of the relationship.  

      My analyst just came out and said to me one time: Margo, you are very attracted to danger. 

      What does it get me…?  My life is very interesting. I have maximum freedom.  I can do whatever I want whenever I want and I can do whomever I want, and I’m not accountable to anyone, except maybe my landlord and the IRS. It’s exciting to keep all the balls I’m juggling in the air all the time.  It’s always a little thrill to check my professional email and wonder if there’s going to be a message: “HEY!  Do you work at the Superstudio?  Do your students’ parents know that?  How about your family?  And who was that man you were with in that hotel?  He wasn’t the one you brought to the Christmas party.  And did I see pictures of your bruised, mangled ass on the internet?”

       Yeah, it’s interesting.  But is it fulfilling? 

       So, Ex-Mrs. Mathematician…is your life fulfilling now?  Do you miss what you had?  

NERD ALERT!  This science-themed hotel provides beakers to drink out of instead of normal glasswear.  Says the Mathematician: “I love this place!”  Wow.  Well, I guess it’s healthier than wanting to beat the shit out of me with a belt. Or hiding syringes around my apartment while I’m in the shower. 


CollarMe Hell: “My Submission Is A Gift!” REALLY?

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       I got a promising hit on CollarMe!  FINALLY!  A European sadist who can quote Goethe and Baudelaire and read Celine in French!

       Wait…I better check and make sure this guy’s not Heinrich.  It’s gotta be Heinrich.  

     Boy, did I ever blow it with Heinrich.  I kept it platonic because I was worried that having sex with him would eventually lead to the dissolution of the friendship.  I waited too long and then he got a girlfriend and then he went to work back in Germany. :-/

      Anyway, where was I…?  Oh yeah!

      I browsed some of the FemSub ads to see what the men were dealing with.  And to check out the competition, I admit.  

       “My submission is a gift!” I saw this silly statement on many FebSub ads.

       REALLY?  Wow.  What gave you that idea?  I work with a lot of male subs and masochists.  They say some silly things sometimes, and they can be selfish, but I don’t think any of them has ever said something like that to me.  

       Let’s deconstruct this statement.  It is problematical for several reasons.  

      First, a gift is something that is given without the expectation of reciprocation. When I give presents to people, I don’t remind them of how precious or expensive the gift is.  That’s manipulative.  There are words to describe manipulative subs and manipulative people in general.  Most of the words are not complimentary. 

    Secondly: sadomasochism is embarassing enough without adding an additional layer of cheese and canned corn over it.  Jesus Christ. Are we going to a Renaissance Faire next?  I don’t know about you, but I am absolutely terrified that a filmmaker out there is planning to make a Trekkies-style documentary about us.  When that happens–and it will–we will never, ever live it down.  

    Third: this statement has a defensive tone to it.  The submission-as-gift thing was often right next to assurances that the individual was aggressive in other roles in life/accomplished/not a doormat/a feminist/wealthy/independent/etc.  My personal belief is that if you have to qualify your submission, then you are ashamed of it.  Also, you shouldn’t have to describe your accomplishments and personality to anyone outside of a job interview.  If you are aggressive, anyone who is not an idiot is going to be able to recognize it.  If you are educated, people are going to think: “This person sounds well-read.”  Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with being submissive, is there?  Don’t make excuses for it!  You’re not in court!  

       Finally: who the hell are you trying to fool?  If you’re submissive or masochistic, you don’t do it because it’s a gift to another person.  You do it because it’s who you are.  You do it because it gets you off.  You do it because you enjoy it.  You do it because it turns you on.  It’s not a sacrifice, or a gesture of accord or honor towards the other person.  If you weren’t doing it with them, you’d be doing it for someone else if you possibly could.  I’ve hurt a hundred men in all sorts of ways, and not one of them endured it as a gift to me.  I’m not vain enough to tell myself otherwise.  

     (One time I had a conversation with someone about that beating I got from the Attorney–that incident with the sexual favors, when I declined to take his money.  The person I was talking to said, “What a total, selfless act of masochism.”  This person’s analysis was very misinformed.  There was nothing–nothing–selfless about my behavior that day.)  

       Tangentially, if your submission is a gift, then what, exactly, is the dominance your partner provides?  Chopped liver?  Dominance is a lot of work.  A lot of work.  And you have to practice it a lot in order to get good at it. 
   
         That’s my take on that.

      And here, for your viewing pleasure, is the worst CollarMe graphic of the day.  It is like some sort of unholy trifecta of canned corn: a rose, a wolf, and the full moon.  AND a hawk.  Niiiiiiiice!  

s

Makkin the Steakkin with the Swedish Chef!

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    Update 9:20 PM:

       Here is the steak, before cooking:


     I covered the outside in peppercorns and put meat tenderizer on it and stabbed it with a tenderizer and let it sit for 20 minutes.  Then I put it in the oven on broil. 

       When I took it out, it was still raw in the middle, so back into the oven it went!

      Then it was done. NOM NOM NOM!

       Parrot also ate something tasty this week: one of my expensive textbooks!  THANK YOU PARROT! 

     

     
      Sunset in NYC was really nice tonight.  Yeah, this is what passes for a sunset here. But the color was very pretty. 

          *                *               *                 *                   *          * 
    
  Tonight, I am going to try to cook a steak.

      I haven’t cooked meat in…a long, long time.  Like, years.  But I used to be really good at it, before I lost my mind.

       I’m worried that I don’t know how to do it right anymore.  But I just season it and broil it in the oven, right?  With some butter and onions on top?  Or “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter!” ?  

       It is a biggish steak, but I am going to take at least half of it to work tomorrow.

       I will document this historic even with photos. 

       In the meantime, here is a hilarious video: the Swedish Chef muppet makes popcorn shrimp.  7 MILLION HITS ON YouTUBE! I love his voice and I love the little shrimp in the pot.  Haaahaha, cracks me up!  

        Hopefully I will have more success than the Chef!