I always thought the people who had "THANKS, HOUSTON" bumper stickers* on their cars after the federal levee failure were racist assholes, and I still do, but today I just have to say:

THANKS, CHINA

*as in, "Thanks for taking black people out of New Orleans"

I go through periodic spells of several days to a couple of weeks where the idea of getting online just revolts me for some reason, and I'm in one of those spells now. (I apologize if I've ignored any important communiques, and offer my earnest intent to get to them the next day it rains soon.) I did want to quickly jump on to give two updates.

First the bad news: Catcentric readers may recall that our Siegfried had to undergo extensive dental work a couple of weeks ago. The doctor thought the soft tissue he removed from Sig's mouth didn't look right and sent it to be biopsied. Unfortunately, the tests revealed that Sig has squamous-cell carcinoma on both sides of his upper jaw. The treatment would involve surgery with at least a month's painful recovery time, then reconstructive surgery to repair his jaw, as well as radiation. Sig is 10, but I can't see putting even a young cat through all that. As well, with our large and aging population, we will be called upon to make some difficult decisions over the next few years: if there is scant hope no matter what treatments we opt for, and if the treatments are expensive (the above would run a minimum of $3000), mightn't it ultimately be better to save for later illnesses that may have more chance of success? When Marcel was so sick with hemobartonella in the winter of '05, his bills ran to $4K, but we've never regretted spending the money because he made a spectacular recovery and has been thoroughly enjoying himself ever since (though he did earn the nickname "Four Large").


Siegfried (bad camera-phone shot)

Next the good news: The Green Goddess is open for business! (Visit chefcdb for more details.) They're serving lunch 11am - 4pm Wednesday - Sunday, dinner 5pm - midnight Thursday - Sunday. Paul Artigues is the lunch chef, Chris the dinner chef. He's ecstatic to finally be cooking instead of dealing with bureaucracy. The Green Goddess is located at 307 Exchange Alley in the French Quarter. Please note that while they do serve several wonderful vegetarian dishes including an entire vegetarian tasting menu, they are not a vegetarian restaurant, nor will they become one if enough puling PETA members whine about foie gras (which isn't currently on the menu, but soon will be). There seems to be a certain amount of misconception about this, and the pulers really need to bite Chris' sweaty crank after a long and busy dinner shift; that will teach them to love meat. Oh dear, I've done it again, haven't I? This was supposed to be a promo, and one doesn't generally mention the chef's sweaty crank during a promo. Oh, well ... er ... COME ONE, COME ALL!

Earlier this week we were delayed at the vet's office while taking Frankie and Junior in for their annual checkups, and thus I found myself thumbing through a copy of People magazine. The cover story was about how actress Kirstie Alley had gained 83 pounds. Inside, I saw photos of a beautiful, healthy-looking fat woman and read an interview about how "ashamed" she was to be so "ugly" and "disgusting" because she had "slipped" and eaten the foods she loved. She didn't binge on gallons of Haagen Dazs and pounds of Oreos; she just ate things other than Jenny Craig and didn't starve herself. She mentioned having enjoyed Chinese food as she might speak of consuming aborted fetuses. I lost track of the number of times both she and the interviewer used words like hideous, hate, disgusting, lazy, shame.

And shame seemed to be at the core of it. The article read as a public shaming whose victim took enthusiastic part in it, Kirstie Alley's apology to America for being fat. Her confession, even; People was her confessional and its millions of readers her priests, deciding whether to absolve her or not (and never mind how many of them are also fat; she's famous, so it is a much graver sin for her).

I think this is fucked. People are not all designed to be the same size. People in real life are not attracted exclusively to thin lovers. A woman gaining weight should not be so newsworthy that it is featured on a magazine cover.

I am not fat, but I've been called fat (online, natch, not in person) simply because that's one of the ways you insult someone you perceive to be female. In 2007-2008 I lost my appetite and became quite thin, and I know how free people felt to comment on that (half thought I had cancer; the other half told me how great I was looking). I can only imagine how much freer they feel to comment on something that's more widely perceived as unhealthy, unattractive, and "bad." Chris is fat, but he never gets abused for it because New Orleans is a pretty fat-tolerant city (though I'm still amused by the dining-board poster who pointed out that he probably would have been shunned at the Delachaise if he hadn't been the chef there). I gather, though, from things I read and reports from fat friends in other places, that many fat people take an incredible amount of public shit, and all I can say is, you aren't helping, Ms. Kirstie Alley.

... at least so far. It's only 1:00 PM, the crack of dawn to me these days, so I suppose it has the potential to get better.

A) I made myself so sore working in the garden yesterday that I'm not sure I will be able to make it to the Druids parade tonight. The work -- digging out a new bed for elephant ear and stargazer lily bulbs, eating the weeds, putting up a new hanging basket so the neighborhood cats won't destroy my catnip plant -- needed doing and I enjoyed it, but I will purely hate missing that parade.

B) We awoke this morning to a newspaper story about Chris in which he is misquoted as calling me his "wife," even though he took the time to explain to the reporter that we don't use that word in our relationship and why (the short version). The story is well worth reading anyway for Chris' interesting food book selections, but for the reporter to put that word in Chris' mouth was careless and unprofessional, and I expected better from that particular writer, who has done some wonderful stories for the Times-Picayune. I can deal with it being used to describe me in text by writers who don't know any better, but to see the word supposedly coming right from Chris' mouth was hard and painful.

(Please note: I do not think there is anything wrong with being someone's wife ... if you identify as a woman. I am no one's wife and never will be. Chris usually refers to me as his "better half" -- a kind fib, but one that works for us -- and told the reporter so, but she apparently didn't listen or care.)

C) The coffee maker suddenly decided to be broken this morning. This is the same coffeemaker we bought about six months ago and actually spent decent money on because we were tired of buying cheap ones that kept breaking. Can I lay hands on the warranty? No, of course I cannot.

D) Deuce is loose.

I'm sure there are people out there who are having far, far worse mornings than this, but as a wise man once said to me: if you say you have a headache and someone tells you, "You think your head hurts? That guy over there just got hit in the head with a hammer!", it doesn't make your headache go away -- it just makes you start looking around for a hammer.

I'm off to the parades in a little while (please, God, don't let it rain on poor Oshun again), but in the meantime, if your life has been bereft of goofy horror-writer lulz lately, there are some fine ones to be found here.

... all to hell and back, but what the FUCK is this so-called "ticky box" that appeared when I went to edit a typo in the previous entry?

I hereby give my authorization to reproduce and/or distribute any part or all of my Content by third parties, with the identification of the name and source, but without any modification. This authorization is remuneration free. Except as stated herein, none of the Content may be transferred, copied, republished and distributed in any form or by any means for commercial use.

Uh, that would be a big NO. I don't generally mind if someone quotes from this journal with attribution (and even if I do mind, fair use allows a certain amount of quoting), but why on earth would I check a box authorizing absolutely anybody to do so, in any amount and for any reason, forever and ever? Where is the "ticky box" enabling me to receive a box of chocolates filled with steel bolts that pop out and run straight through both cheeks? Why does LJ not encourage me to "opt in" for Anthrax Ripple and Cockroach Cluster?

I know several of you on my friends list are already following or posting about this, but it's fucked up enough to deserve wider attention.

1. Writer/editor Steve Berman (mroctober), in a brief LJ rundown (not even a review) of the anthology Unspeakable Horrors, makes the one-line comment on the story "The Portico Angel" by author Kevin W. Reardon: "[A] bad opening crippled this story for me plus the various relationships felt off." He receives a long, butthurt e-mail from Reardon, replies politely, and puts the whole thing aside, as any professional would do.

2. A couple of weeks later, Berman posts about his depression over not writing. The entry receives an anonymous comment urging Berman to commit suicide -- typical troll spew, but more disturbing than average because of its coherence and seriousness of intent. It's the kind of message that makes you think it might push a certain type of depressive toward actually harming himself. In a later comment, the anonymous poster again urges Berman to jump from his window, this time suggesting he take his cat with him (naturally, that was the part that really pissed some people off).

3. Of course it turns out that the anonymous poster is butthurt author Kevin W. Reardon, a.k.a. Cole A. Adams. Upon being exposed, he claims he thought Berman knew it was him all the time, and yet again reiterates his desire to see Berman commit suicide, freely admitting that his animosity is based on that one-line comment by Berman on Reardon's story and that he would, in fact, be thrilled if he had managed to cause Berman harm. When Berman's friends point out that urging editors to kill themselves is not the best way to build a career, he responds that he isn't in it for the "career"; unlike Berman and the rest of us money-grubbing, award-chasing hacks, he is Only About The Art.

4. As of last night, Steve Berman reports that Reardon/Cole has threatened his life. (Yes, he has contacted the police.)

5. These soap operas, made possible by writers' and editors' accessibility online, are entertaining until they happen to you or someone you care about. I don't know Steve Berman*, but I know he has done good work and doesn't deserve to be harassed by some wingnut wannabe artiste. He wouldn't deserve it if he had said Reardon's story was the worst piece of shit he'd ever read and he hoped Reardon would never write another word. It's called criticism. If you publish your work, you will experience it. It will not always be nice. Sometimes it may make you gnash your teeth, rend your garments, and/or fantasize about doing terrible things to the critics in question. If, however, you respond by sending the critics hate mail and threatening their lives, you will admittedly solve your own problem, as you will be extremely unlikely to ever get anything else published and thus will never again have to bear the sting of a bad review.

*I don't know Kevin W. Reardon either, or his writing, but just the fact that he is apparently a gay horror writer would have made me kindly disposed to him if I'd heard about him under other circumstances. See how this stuff works?

This morning at about 11:00 AM, the Archdiocese of New Orleans ordered the police to enter Our Lady of Good Counsel. They broke down the 100-year-old sacristy door and came in along with archdiocese kommandant "Father" Michael Jacques:



(I know this is a crappy picture, but Harry T, do you recognize this guy? He's the only cop who was at all rude, putting his hands on me and threatening to carry me out.)

Parishioner Hunter Harris and I slipped into the pews and began to pray. They hauled us out, cuffed our hands behind our backs, and escorted us out to the police car. I walked because I didn't want them to hurt my back, but Hunter went limp and was dragged, losing his shoes. You can read the story and watch the news video, including us being led away in handcuffs, here and here (same news, different versions).

Other than the one guy, the police were obviously embarrassed and ashamed to be doing this, and they couldn't have been nicer to us. The young lady from the city attorney's office who led me out was almost crying, and I actually found myself comforting her: "We know it's not your fault." We were taken to Central Lockup, a cavernous but clean room with blaring TVs and various desks where you had to jump through the legal hoops. We were both charged with "criminal trespassing and resisting arrest." They never put us in a cell, just let us sit in the holding room until Judge Frank Marullo signed our release an hour or so later. I think my mug shot came out all right, especially considering that I hadn't even had coffee yet. Chris says I look "sardonic," and I felt pretty damn sardonic:



Shortly after we were taken away, parishioner Harold Baquet was arrested too. As you can see in the news story, Harold is a cancer patient undergoing chemotherapy. Apparently they weren't willing to look quite that evil, because they just gave him a citation and took him to his house nearby. By 2:00 or so we were all back outside the church giving interviews and planning our next steps.

We have to go to court tomorrow, where we'll be pleading not guilty. I'll keep you posted. Happy Epiphany -- at least we have Haydel's king cake!

In case you've ever wondered why I don't just go to some other church:

No one at Our Lady of Good Counsel thinks I'm going to destroy the human race.

As a Catholic convert friend recently wrote me, "I have not been to mass in weeks. I feel so angry and disgusted with the Catholic church right now. It's not a question of faith. I still have faith in THE RITUALS. I just think the church is a big stupid dinosaur that needs to be put out of its misery."

Point taken. But if we all leave, then the assholes will have uncontested ownership of a potentially beautiful and valuable institution, and if we Catholics who don't believe this garbage put up with it, then hate will remain part and parcel of Catholic doctrine.

[WARNING: The link in this post contains material and images that may be upsetting to cat lovers, though the cats in question are now OK.]

I'm all in favor of piercings. I have four of them myself (two ears, two tits). With the exception of certain chicks who look cute in nose studs, I'm not a huge fan of facial piercings, but to each his own.

So naturally, I think the people who came up with this brilliant idea should be rewarded with free piercings for life. Forcible ones. Several per day. I recommend starting with the eyelids and moving on to the more easily accessible mucous membranes before beginning to experiment with the more esoteric interior piercings. Hey, these folks want to be "edgy," right? Internal organs are on the bleeding edge, man. Literally. Anyway, my plan calls for finishing these geniuses off with a series of 8-gauge intestinal barbells that send fecal bacteria pouring merrily into the abdominal cavity, resulting in a lingering and painful death from peritonitis.

Press release we sent out today:

Thursday, Dec. 11 Press Conference Takes Bizarre Twist as Archdiocese of New Orleans issues statement demanding that the annual Christmas Concert at Our Lady of Good Counsel church be cancelled.

Annual Event is coupled with annual toy drive for 200 toddlers at Louise Day Care

PRESS EVENT TO BE HELD WITH COUNCIL OF PARISHES CHAIR PETER BORRE GOES ON WITH NEW STATEMENTS BY OUR LADY OF GOOD COUNCIL AND ST. HENRY'S PARISHIONERS
WHEN: 2 p.m. Thursday, Dec. 11
WHERE: Pritchard Place at Carrollton Avenue in Uptown New Orleans, across street from Notre Dame Seminary
WHO: Council of Parishes Chair Peter Borre issues statement of support for parishes in vigil in New Orleans; local parishioners bemoan cancelling of 15-year Christmas tradition at OLGC

BACKGROUND ON BORRE:
Peter Borre will give an update on canon appeals to help suppressed churches in America remain open. He will speak at the spot where Pope John Paul II the Great spent the night in New Orleans; Boston churches have persuaded their Bishops to reopen churches after vigils were started.

BACKGROUND ON CHRISTMAS CONCERT:
Newspapers have already run calendar notices announcing the free December 14, 4 p.m. Christmas concert at Our Lady of Good Counsel church which featured professional musicians and vocalists, and invited the public to bring one unwrapped toy for children aged two to six years of age who attend Louise Day Care down the block from the church. OLGC parishioners hold an annual Christmas party for the 200 children from low-income families. The Archdiocese, through its spokeswoman Sarah Comiskey, informed OLGC Parish President Barbara Fortier that the concert could not go on in the church, and the concert has been cancelled. The Archdiocese is also forbidding the annual toy giveaway at the church, even though the parish has partnered with the day-care center for more than 10 years, and even though the Archdiocese originally said the church and its activities would go on until Dec. 31. St. Henry's, an Uptown church which is also under suppression and where parishioners, like OLGC, remain at 24-hour vigil, was also forbidden from doing Christmas service projects to benefit Catholic services.

Find out more on Thursday, Dec. 11, 2 p.m. at Pritchard Place and Carrollton Avenue in New Orleans.


*********************


I'll be at the press conference, and possibly on the 6:00 and/or 10:00 news, if you're local and want to keep an eye out for my obnoxious hot pink OLGC T-shirt.

One frustrating part of life is that when some of its most important events are happening to you, you don't have much time to write about them. Quite often, you don't even have time to form cogent thoughts about it. Two things I do know are that the vigil at Our Lady of Good Counsel is the most important thing that's happened to me in a long time -- maybe since we got our new house -- and that I am doing the right thing for the church and for myself by taking part in it.

A poster on prime_liquor offered me the following words:

I remember my religion teacher asking the question whom we have to obey in the end. We tried to answer ... hu, well the Bible? The Pope? Or maybe your spiritual guide?

No, he said. Concerning Catholic teaching you absolutely have to follow your conscience. It is your duty.

Those of us doing the vigils are definitely following our consciences, as are some steadfast OLGC members who disapprove of our occupying the church and will be attending mass at other churches (though I don't know of anyone from OLGC who's going to "Good Shepherd," the mega-parish supposedly created by the merging of OLGC, St. Henry's, and St. Stephen's). It's not immediately apparent to me how we can all be "right," but I'm close with some of the anti-vigilists and cannot hold their decision against them, particularly my godmother, Rosary, who gave tremendous amounts of time and effort to OLGC when it was open.

By and large, public sentiment seems to be with us, but of course there are always the nattering nabobs of negativity. Checking out the publicity we've received on various TV stations and news websites, I found a comment about how "people who can go sit in a church all day have no life." I thought that was pretty funny coming from someone who obviously has time to spend online criticizing people who are actually out doing things. As well, this vigil is being held largely by retired, sick, and/or disabled people, as well as people who do work regular hours and are giving up their leisure time to keep vigil at the church. So now we know: retirees, disabled people, people living with illness, and professionals willing to sacrifice their time for a cause they believe in have no lives. Oh, how I wish I had a wonderful life like that anonymous Internet chucklehead.

I will admit that my social life (such as it is) has suffered. I got to see my oldest friend -- we've known each other since the fourth grade -- and meet her partner when they were in town for a conference over the weekend, but tonight I had to bow out of a dinner at Cuvee that I was really looking forward to, because I was flat-out exhausted and unfit for human company.

I need to go to the shooting range again RIGHT NOW. Either that or mainline several milligrams of Xanax.

First of all, Frankie has developed an obsession with silverware. He gets it out of the sink and carries it all over the house. Now, this in itself is pretty funny, and I can even see the humor in being awakened at 7:30 AM by having a dirty fork dropped on your head, but overall I could have used another three or four hours' sleep.

Next: over the past couple of years, due to being married to a fat man and having many fat friends, I've become interested in fat acceptance, fat-positiveness, or whatever you prefer to call it. This afternoon, while browsing such a community, I learned about Mississippi House Bill 282 by Rep. W.T. Mayhall of Southaven, MS:

AN ACT TO PROHIBIT CERTAIN FOOD ESTABLISHMENTS FROM SERVING FOOD TO ANY PERSON WHO IS OBESE, BASED ON CRITERIA PRESCRIBED BY THE STATE DEPARTMENT OF HEALTH; TO DIRECT THE DEPARTMENT TO PREPARE WRITTEN MATERIALS THAT DESCRIBE AND EXPLAIN THE CRITERIA FOR DETERMINING WHETHER A PERSON IS OBESE AND TO PROVIDE THOSE MATERIALS TO THE FOOD ESTABLISHMENTS; TO DIRECT THE DEPARTMENT TO MONITOR THE FOOD ESTABLISHMENTS FOR COMPLIANCE WITH THE PROVISIONS OF THIS ACT; AND FOR RELATED PURPOSES.

Of course any stupid shitsplat who manages to get elected can propose a bill about any moron thing s/he likes, and of course this idiocy died in committee, but it twists my gut and boggles my mind that ANYONE ANYWHERE EVER TOOK THIS DISCRIMINATORY GARBAGE SERIOUSLY. Even in Mississippi. (Apologies to the smart Mississippians out there. C'mon, I'm from Louisiana; we've got to have somebody to make fun of.)

Next, while innocently reading fuckyoulist, I came upon this prize. (DO NOT click if drooling ignorance about transsexuality/transgendered people makes your head explode.)

So I decided I needed to get away from the computer, and I went out in the yard to see if the fence guys had come and put up the rest of my razor wire as promised. Of course they hadn't, and while examining my plants, I found several boards that hadn't even been screwed down at the bottom. It would have been the easiest thing in the world for a fairly skinny person (e.g. most of the crackheads in my neighborhood) to kick in one of these boards and slip through the resulting gap. If they haven't come and finished the job by tomorrow morning as promised, I swear to God I will do it myself and bill them for my labor.

At that point, Chris came home from running errands and told me I needed to calm down. He had to go back out again for some groceries, so I amused myself by continuing to read Amazon reader "reviews" of my older books, and I found a doozy. I may have to make this a regular feature. This one's about Exquisite Corpse, but you probably could have figured that out on your own.

T. Jackson (Portland, OR United States)
Though I am a big fan of many dark films and movies, I usually like for them to have some sort of moral, lesson or hope to impart. Most of them do. This book is darkness for darkness sake, extremely gross and sadistic, and beyond disturbing. Though well written, I thought it was a waste of time and offered nothing but horrific visions and bleakness. I was so upset by this book, I wanted to write the author, but naturally, she has no public email or way of contacting. I really think she should be hanging her head in shame for contributing garbage like this to the world. I am no prude, extremely liberal and my favorite movie is The Crow, which is quite dark itself. But while that film is about love and redemption, this book is about terrible things. The world doesn't need this kind of darkness.

Somehow, I have no trouble believing that T. Jackson is "extremely liberal." I share many political opinions with liberals, but I find that those who just have to brag about how liberal they are seem to enjoy being offended almost as much as white people (of course, there's a lot of overlap there). Ah, how I wish she had found my P.O. box address (which has been on my website since 2000; this "review" was posted in 2006, so I guess T. Jackson didn't look terribly hard for that contact information she accuses me of hiding) and written me that letter telling me how I should hang my head in shame. I've never sent anyone a dead animal before, but there's always a first time.

"Oops, just kidding," says the archbishop. I like how he claims to have given "prayerful consideration" to the plan.

ARCHBISHOP HUGHES: Should I let these historical churches serving hundreds of families stay open?

GOD: HELL, NO! Shut those motherfuckers down!

Some potentially good news about Our Lady of Good Counsel. I should have been at this march, but I misread my e-mail and thought it was happening today instead of yesterday. I'm not crazy about the pastor-sharing plan -- I like Father Pat and would much prefer to keep him as our full-time pastor -- but, assuming we don't get some hateful fanatic priest, it would certainly be preferable to closing the church altogether.

Weather permitting -- the events take place in a partially-covered courtyard, so a heavy thunderstorm could shut things down -- Chris will be cooking again tomorrow at St. James Cheese Company on Prytania, this time from noon to 5:00. Here is his menu. Due to scheduling conflicts, he probably won't be able to do this again for a while (if ever), so if you're local and miss his cooking, do check it out.

Speaking of missing Chris' cooking, we were talking about the Delachaise a couple of days ago and I mentioned that, from time to time, people have accused me of liking and even seeking out drama. He was surprised because he knows that drama is one of the last things I want in my life. I told him (and will tell you now) that while I don't enjoy drama, I'm not afraid of it, and I think people sometimes mistake that for drama-whoredom. I actually dread drama and try my best not to start it, but if someone starts drama with me, I'll give it right back to them -- usually more than they bargained for. Well, I've long said that if you want to be a cook in New Orleans, you have two choices: you can work for Brennans or you can work for idiots. This isn't true across the board, but it's true far more often than it should be. Even if I don't start out thinking Chris' bosses are idiots as I did with the Delachaise owners, I usually come to that conclusion sooner or later, which is why with his next job I think I'm going to reinstate my former policy of not commenting on the place at all -- no positives, no negatives. Since he has his own blog now, he can talk about it as much or as little as he wants to, and since he's not a hothead like me, he probably won't say true-but-tactless things about the owners getting drunk and scratching their balls.

It's not loaded. Please don't sic PETA on my ass.

Frankie insisted on the grainy, B/W, assassin-in-the-newspaper filter. He also says his next victim is going to be a certain ferret-faced little social climber who co-owns a trendy Uptown bar and -- in the latest dramatic twist to this increasingly stupid story -- has been telling his wine guys to discourage other restaurants from hiring Chris because of Chris' alleged "unreliability" and "family problems." Of course, the wine guys just grin and nod as one tends to do in the presence of a loony, then call Chris to laugh about it.

I'm thinking of contacting one of the trash TV networks and pitching a reality show called Delachaise Wives. God knows there's enough material there to rot the brain of anyone who enjoys that sort of thing. In the latest development, one of them finds it necessary to pose as an expatriate Delachaise fan who just happens to have meticulously gleaned my blog for material to provide personal insults couched in smarmy fake sympathy. (In a nutshell, I'm a has-been druggie who takes advantage of my poor, stupid readers' generosity and blows money on guns and designer cats while whining about how poor I am. Maybe I'd be less poor if the owners of the Delachaise paid Chris the money they owe him -- or, here's an idea, had paid him what he was worth in the first place instead of using his talent to subsidize their drinking -- but never mind.)

Ah well ... if I was married to an abusive alcoholic whose bar couldn't even make a Top 85 list, I guess maybe I'd want to pretend I lived in Belgium too.

Here's a very simple message for Evan, Trace, Ed, and Joanne. When Chris departed, you told R.J. that you dreaded seeing what I would write about your place. Until the anonymous posts started, I had no intention of saying anything other than that Chris had left. Despite the hundreds of petty roadblocks you threw in his way (e.g. Trace, the Delachaise's nominal "designer," refusing to lay out and print the menus because she and Evan had had a fight), the job was a wonderful opportunity for him and I truly didn't want its aftermath to turn ugly. Believe me, I'd be really fucking happy to never think about any of you yuppie wetbrains again. There are only two (2) things you must do to get me to shut up about you and your place forever. Both of them are things anyone with a modicum of class would already have done without prompting, but since it's you, I'll spell them out:

1. Pay Chris the rest of the money you owe him.

2. Stop making cowardly anonymous posts on food message boards, blogs, etc. in which you pose as impartial customers who just happen to be building up the Delachaise by taking potshots at Chris. If you have something to say about Chris' tenure at your establishment, find the balls to say it under your own name. Even if you had the brains and/or verbal skills to disguise your intentions, you still give yourselves away by saying the same things over and over in posts that purport to be by different people. The major reason Chris left a job he had enjoyed and thrived in is because he couldn't stand to work for stupid people anymore. If you want to make your previous acts of stupidity look like drops of spit in the ocean, then by all means just keep talking.

=================================

GLOSSARY FOR THIS ENTRY, in case the addressees don't have a dictionary handy:

Meticulous (adj): Careful; thorough.

Glean (v): To gather slowly and patiently.

Nominal (adj): In name only; named as a matter of form, rather than due to any actual value.

Modicum (n): A moderate or small quantity.

Tenure (n): Period or term of holding a position.

Spit (n): Fluid produced by the salivary glands; also, what the one cocktail (a bourbon & soda) I ever ordered at the Delachaise tasted like.

I've been trying to ignore the fact that both back pain and sciatica are again reaching near-crippling proportions. (It takes an invalid in self-denial, I guess, to ignore the fact that s/he has spent most of the last two weeks in bed popping Tramadol and working the heating pad.)

Thanks to the Bush-era DEA, it's not nearly as easy to find websites selling real painkillers as it used to be. (Tramadol is about the strongest thing I can regularly get online, and while it keeps the sciatica at a dull roar most of the time, it doesn't do a damn thing for these really bad outbreaks.) The mentality behind this, of course, is Protect the Children. I say fuck the children. If you're such an irresponsible parent that you don't notice your kid stealing your credit card number, receiving mysterious FedEx packages, and getting wrecked on Vicodin, you probably don't deserve to have 'em anyway. Me, I'd just like to be able to escape the pain without that extra bonus dose of humiliation I always get at the doctor's office.

But I'm at the point where I'm willing to say "Fuck my dignity" and make the appointment. Then they'll schedule me for sometime next week, if I'm lucky. Then I get to hurt so much between now and then that I won't care if the doctor calls me a talentless hack who plays vampire RPGs and fellates baboons, just so he gives me the damn script.

I hate this country, this Internet, and this body, in no particular order.

At least one anonymous poster who shows every sign of being the wife of one of the Delachaise's owners has been posting erroneous information about Chris and his menu on local food boards and blogs, most notably here, in the comments on a post by the always-excellent Kevin Allman (though I am not sure where Kevin got the idea that the place was called "The Delachaise Hotel").

As I said in these same comments, Chris and I would like for this split to continue amicably, if only because Chris' fine sous chef R.J. Tsarov is now running the Delachaise's kitchen and we want to see him do well. Chris is the sort of person who will take the high road no matter what. I, however, am not, and if people connected with the Delachaise begin spreading needless misinformation about Chris in order to cast themselves in a better light, there are certainly some interesting stories I could tell.