Two Questions
Two questions:
Do you watch The City? Unbelievable. It's like Dostoevsky ... in Jimmy Choos.
Do you eat a lot of tuna fish sandwiches?
These are both questions, my friend, that bear consideration. Me? I take a can of chunk albacore in oil, drained as well as I can, and mix into it a minced shallot, a teaspoon of dijon mustard, a tablespoon of Duke's mayonnaise, some red chili flakes, S&P. This, to my mind, creates the perfect quantity for two sandwiches. I tend towards rye bread with seeds (getting harder to find with each passing day--one of the mysteries of society that continues to flummox me). My vision of the perfect sandwich involves the tuna fish, the rye bread with seeds, sliced peeled cucumbers (I don't like the skin when used in a sandwich) and, if the season's right, sliced tomato. Here in mid-October the season is definitely no longer right.
The idea is to eat the sandwich and then, fueled for the trip, go to the studio and paint Gramps--or something.
So I'm eating my tuna on rye with cucumber and watching a tivo'd episode of The City. Except that when Kelly, the head of the public relations agency at which Whitney now works (called People's Revolution, a name about which I have mixed feelings--feels a bit too much like Imitation of Christ, the now defunct fashion label), hands Whitney's friend Roxy the keys to her car and says: a) "Have you ever driven in New York?" and b) "Just don't trash my car" and then they cut, first to Whitney's eyes (as big as perhaps not saucers but certainly the tops of two 16-ounce Bud Light cans) and then away to the headquarters of Elle Magazine, I'm here to tell you, dear reader, that I just couldn't take the suspense.
I turned it off, knocked off this brief update, and will now, after pushing the send button, head, fueled, to the studio.
Do you watch The City? Unbelievable. It's like Dostoevsky ... in Jimmy Choos.
Do you eat a lot of tuna fish sandwiches?
These are both questions, my friend, that bear consideration. Me? I take a can of chunk albacore in oil, drained as well as I can, and mix into it a minced shallot, a teaspoon of dijon mustard, a tablespoon of Duke's mayonnaise, some red chili flakes, S&P. This, to my mind, creates the perfect quantity for two sandwiches. I tend towards rye bread with seeds (getting harder to find with each passing day--one of the mysteries of society that continues to flummox me). My vision of the perfect sandwich involves the tuna fish, the rye bread with seeds, sliced peeled cucumbers (I don't like the skin when used in a sandwich) and, if the season's right, sliced tomato. Here in mid-October the season is definitely no longer right.
The idea is to eat the sandwich and then, fueled for the trip, go to the studio and paint Gramps--or something.
So I'm eating my tuna on rye with cucumber and watching a tivo'd episode of The City. Except that when Kelly, the head of the public relations agency at which Whitney now works (called People's Revolution, a name about which I have mixed feelings--feels a bit too much like Imitation of Christ, the now defunct fashion label), hands Whitney's friend Roxy the keys to her car and says: a) "Have you ever driven in New York?" and b) "Just don't trash my car" and then they cut, first to Whitney's eyes (as big as perhaps not saucers but certainly the tops of two 16-ounce Bud Light cans) and then away to the headquarters of Elle Magazine, I'm here to tell you, dear reader, that I just couldn't take the suspense.
I turned it off, knocked off this brief update, and will now, after pushing the send button, head, fueled, to the studio.
posted by Geoffrey at 10:18 AM
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