so i decided to get my trashy summer novel reading started in grand fashion by breaking open my signed copy of ken layne’s novel of intrigue, muder, technology, “dot.con”.
okay, even if ken wasnt my friend, former roommate, current linking buddy, and future drinking partner, i would still think that his book is top-notch.
im a super slow reader and i’ve made it through the first 30 pages, and not only is this book funny, but it’s true.
i wont ruin it for any of you, but let me act as a witness, this “novel” includes characters that if you walk down the lower Haight in Frisco, you might very well meet some of the bumbling crack street vendors like “Charles” outside Palestinian-run corner markets named “O’Lowney’s.”
we all knew that ken could write, but i wasnt so sure that he could write a novel.
let it be known, the fucker can write a novel.
i cannot give such a glowing review to one of the best chinese restaurants in west hollywood.
for the record, i love the food at p.f. changs, but why must their service be so crappy?
last night karisa took me out to dinner so as to console me from my shocking dumping. we had the crab won tons, spicy shrimps, lemon scallops. i had some harsh shots of rum, she had an apple martini and licked the sugar from the glass and pretended like it wasnt the sexiest move ever.
still the loser server guy whose only job is to take the plate from the kitchen to the table forgot to bring soy sauce.
how do you forget that? its a fucking chinese restaurant. sure theyre playing frank sinatra and there isnt one chinaman in the whole dump, but no matter how californian you tweak the chinese food you’ll never ween us from the soy sauce, renaldo.
isnt the purpose of having the waiter only take the order, and the food server only bring you the food, efficiancy? quality? customer fucking service?
karisa is a trooper though and took her time with the sugar even though her martini was third rate.