Tuesday, June 14, 2011

The Myth of Cold Noodles

There are certain drawbacks to not living in New York City. One of them is the dearth of decent Chinese food (don't even ask me about Queens Chinatown, I'll burst into tears).

Me? I'm not a particularly self-destructive person. I mean, I have my moments--but hey, don't we all? For example, sometimes I find myself having had too much to drink AND at a strip club--both at the same moment. Although it should be strenuously noted that that's just business and is completely tax deductible. The mind immediately envisions "Dancer #3, Reclining, Chelsea Hotel".



Or at least mine does.

Perhaps a better example is this: Sometimes, late in the evening, after perhaps returning home from a modest evening out, the idea of cold noodles with sesame sauce is an irresistible notion. Like the sirens calling the sailors to the rocks.

"Eat me," they cry. "Eat me." The noodles, not the sirens. And sometimes I can't resist.

As threats to the United Pieces of Geoff (the acronym is pronounced 'U-POG') go, this hardly warrants DEFCON 3. Nonetheless, I painted this and have hung it in my living room.



I was originally going to call it "The Myth of Magnetism", but how helpful is that gonna be when the noodles are calling?
Brief illustrative aside: the Chinese restaurant (actually Chinese/Japanese, but anybody ordering sushi from this place has a death wish) that I can see out of the corner of my living room window doesn't even call them cold noodles with sesame sauce. They call them cold noodles with peanut butter sauce. Which should tell you everything you need to know about that.
I particularly like the effect of the metallic gray lettering.

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