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June 22nd, 2006

Fictionlet

"Despite what you may think, I have been in love," Brigid said. "Brian had me from that first dinner."

"Really!" said Greg. "That must have been some dinner."

"It was pizza," said Brigid.

"Pizza?"

"Yeah, pizza. Brian really understood pizza. So many people don't, anymore."

"You've lost me."

"Pizza, real pizza, proper pizza, comes from a little shop tucked away in a corner somewhere. And it doesn't come in a freakin' red insulated bag! If you want to eat your pizza at home, you have to go pick it up and carry it home in a thin, white cardboard box."

"The white box is key, is it?"

"Real pizza has a thin crust that was spun and tossed up in the air by some burly, slightly-balding, dark-haired guy named Tony. It's crisp on the outside edge and completely floppy in the middle, so you have to fold it in half if you want to pick it up."

"Does he have to be named Tony?"

"Real pizza is at its best when it's put on a little stand on the table -- because the table is so small and the pizza is so big that there wouldn't be room for the plates if you put it on the table. Picking it up and carrying it home in a white cardboard box is good too, but not what's best."

"There must be a lot of fake pizzas floating around, then."

"There are!" she snarled. "That's what drives me nuts about it! All these damn corporate pizzas, all these squidgy-crusted frozen things, they're all squeezing real pizza out! Every year there are fewer and fewer places that make real pizza because of all these goddamn dopplegangers!"

"Sorry to have touched on a tender subject," Greg said.

"But that's why I loved Brian. He said he was taking me someplace good for dinner, and where did he take me? Tony's Mediterranean Café over on Winchester. A real pizza place. A real pizza place. Good God, by the end of that meal, I wanted to leap across the table and tear his clothes off right then and there."

Greg's eyebrows headed for the ceiling. "Now that's a mental image I never expected to have lodged in my brain. So what happened to this paragon of pizza, then?"

Brigid suddenly turned sullen and stared at some nonexistent thing in the corner. "I don't wanna talk about it," she said, and suddenly made for the kitchen.

Greg blinked at her retreating form. "Then why on Earth did you bring it up?" he asked.

-The Gneech

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Workout Report, Plus Art!

Tonight: 45 minutes of DDR. I'm amazed at how high our scores were, actually, considering that the back buttons don't work.

And now for some artwork!Collapse )

One of the many ways that the Westin sucked was that on Sunday, when Vince, Himura, Lanny, Bauske, Confused00 and I all planned to workout in the Westin gym, I was foolish enough to assume that being "a guest of the guest" would be enough.

Not only was it not enough, but the guy snapped at me like I was trying to steal towels or something for daring to show up when I wasn't a hotel customer.

Keep in mind here, that they have day-pass rates -- which I didn't know at the time. He could have said, "That'll be $8 please." But no, he was too busy being a jerk about it. (Lanny also says that the weekend rates are supposed to be free -- which makes the guy's behavior even more bizarrely inexplicable.)

So, I get four apologies from people for getting turned away from a party I didn't even try to attend, but get my head snapped off by the Westin gym guy without even so much as an "I beg your pardon."

Life is weird.

Anyway, I felt bad about the whole thing, so I told Lanny I draw him a sketchie to make up for it.

-The Gneech

PS: Yes, I know, I could have lied and just said, "Yeah, sure, I have a room at the hotel." But (A) I don't like to do that kind of thing, and (B) it didn't even occur to me that I would need to! The Westin is supposed to be this swank hotel -- they've got no business not allowing people to bring guests to the gym. It's just cheesy. But I suppose after the "I'll fix your door when I get around to it" and the "you can't get there from here" stairwells, I should have just gone in assuming the worst.

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