For Every Action There Is an Equal and Opposite Reaction

In the past week I have bore witness to two absolutely absurd public outbursts (thankfully by strangers) and it has really got me thinking about cultural behavior.  In the tech-obsessed society we live in, do we not know how to interact with people anymore?

The first incident happened on Tuesday at a marketing luncheon at Ruth's Criss Steak House in Beverly Hills.  Two of my colleagues and I were invited by Cvent.com, an event software company, for a free lunch and a lesson on their newest iteration of their product.  In all, there were maybe 50 guests in attendance.  We dined while the facilitator, Robert, made a powerpoint presentation. 

It was a lovely lunch and I was whispering back and forth with my colleagues about how useful the software would be for some of our work, when all of a sudden someone shouted at the top of their lungs "Oh my God!  Are you on your cell phone?"  I am not exaggerating when I say it was loud.  It was overly loud for the room we were in.  It actually startled me it was so loud.

My first reaction was to find who said it.  I looked left and right and discovered that it was a gentleman, about my age, sitting at a table in front of me and to my right. Then I followed his line of vision and he was staring at a man, maybe in his 60s, who was sitting all the way across the room, directly in front of Robert the presenter, and he was indeed chatting on his cell phone.

The younger gentleman stood up then continued even louder, "You are disrespecting everyone in this room, and especially Robert!  You are rude and disgusting man!"  At this point, my mouth fell open and my eyes turned to saucers.  What was fantastic about this was 1) it did not stop the older gentleman from continuing his conversation   2) I don't think anyone except maybe Robert and a few people in the immediate vicinity even noticed the call    3) the younger guy came off so incredibly aggressive that it actually overshadowed the rude cell phone call.

The room became silent like it does in an old western when outlaw mosies into the saloon.  I was watching the younger guy as I was unsure as to whether he was going to leave his seat and rip the phone out of the old guy's hand or scream again.  The 5 seconds of silence seemed to last about 10 minutes.  Then Robert tried to defuse the situation by leaning over to the old guy and saying "If it is an important call, then you can just step outside and finish it".  Great move by him, except the old guy did not get up, nor did he hang up his call.  Robert paused for a moment and said, "You're really going to keep talking? Ok, then." and then just spoke up a bit and continued with his presentation.  I looked over to see if the younger guy was going to do anything.  He was stationary, but I could actually see the steam coming from his ears.

About 3 minutes later, the old guy finally hung up his call and said "I'm sorry".  This made the younger guy go totally apoplectic.  He said, "Did you just actually say you're sorry?  UNBELIEVABLE!!!"  Everyone in the room was completely frozen.  I don't even think I was actually breathing. There was another long pause and then Robert just continued.  It made the rest of the presentation agonizingly uncomfortable.

The second incident happened on Thursday at Ralph's supermarket.  I was doing some grocery shopping in the late afternoon. The store wasn't very crowded, but there were definitely people in the aisles.  I was listening to an Adam Carolla podcast on my ipod as I was walking down the baking aisle.  I was almost at the end of the aisle, when I noticed it was blocked.  There was an extra display of powdered sugar on sale that was taking up half the aisle and then a gentleman had parked his cart right next to it while he was about 5 feet away looking at flour or spices or something, so the aisle was completely blocked.  I paused for a moment to see if he was going to move his cart. He didn't so I walked over to his cart and said "excuse me, I'm just going to move this" and backed his cart up behind the powered sugar display so I could pass by.

Apparently this was a grevious offense. As I had my back to him and also my ipod buds in my ears he shouted at me loud enough that I could hear him through Adam Carolla,  "How dare you move my cart!?!?!?"  I turned around and took the buds out of my ears and I said "I'm sorry".  He then continued, "Who do you think you are moving my cart?  You almost stepped on my foot and I just had surgery.  You could have hurt me.  How dare you!?"  He was screaming loud enough that passersby noticed and stopped.

I was shocked to say the least.  I guess "almost" stepping on someone's foot is a horrible crime punishable by public flogging.  By the way, I looked down at his feet.  Both of his precious tootsies were in shoes, not a cast or bandage, so I guess it wasn't that bad. I opened my mouth about unleash my acid tongue, and then I stopped.  I paused for a good few seconds and simply said in a much lower voice,  "I am sorry, sir.  I didn't mean to offend you."  He opened his mouth and made the face like he was about to yell again, and I guess he felt stupid because I clearly wasn't going to argue with him, and then he turned his back on me and pushed his cart in the opposite direction.

Now, if I almost stepped on the man's foot, then it is my bad indeed, and he had every right to give me an "excuse me, miss" kind of admonishment, but what I received was an embarrassing tongue lashing.  Just like the old guy with the cell phone deserved to be busted on his bad behavior, but the punishment did not fit the crime.  It actually made the rest of us feel more uncomfortable than the cell phone offender.

So my question is this:  Do people just not know how to talk to others, or is everyone just itching to be heard?  Due to the influx of the mutliple digital devices in our lives are we losing our abilities to effectively communicate in person, or are we just drowning in our own narcissism?

It would be easy to say it's the former, but I'm inclined to say it is the latter.  I think people are infatuated with their own voices (says the woman with the blog).  Case in point: I was flying back to LA from Vegas a couple of weeks ago.  Now, I am not a big fan of the recent security measures that are in place at airports, but in my mind, the rules amount to a mild inconvenience compared to being blown up by a pair of fertilizer laced Air Jordans.  As I was going through the security scanner removing my lap top from its bag and placing my menacing flip flops on the conveyor belt, the woman behind me decided to take the opportunity to share with me (and the TSA workers) the following nugget of info, "Benjamin Franklin said that those who give up liberty in the name of security deserve neither liberty or security."  She then looked to me for applause/acknowledgement.  I threw her a half nod with a cocked eyebrow.  As I was putting my belt back on, the TSA guy pulled her to the side and said they needed to examine her backpack...because she had left a snowglobe in it. 

Moral of the story:  I guess having a pithy quote chambered, or an indignant response to others doesn't make you any less of a dumbass.

Sir Isaac Newton

Tear(gas) Drops on my Pillow

Drama just follows me wherever I go.  I try to lead a normal life and no matter what I do, disaster finds me  like a heat seeking missile...even 7000 miles away.  Case in point, my dream vacation to Greece this past Spring.

My BFF Tuck and I had been fantasizing about going all nerd-tastically to Greece for a million years.  We finally pulled together the time and the funds to make an amazing trip happen.  We would fly to Greece and spend a few days there, then take a cruise that ended in Italy and spend a few days in Rome and Venice before heading home.  The "centerpiece" of our trip in my mind was going to be our visit to the island of Santorini.  My inner-geek had been yearning to see Akrotiri since I was in college.  To say I was excited would be an understatement. www.therafoundation.org/akrotiri/

Now Tuck is a perfect travel companion for me because she is 1) as detail oriented/planning obsessed as me 2) as nerdy as me and 3) enjoys gelato as much as I do (which may actually be reason number 1).  Every aspect of our trip had been planned. Hotels reserved, museum appointments made, cruise shore excursions booked.  You name it, we had it taken care of and filed away in our individual travel documents folders (did I mention we were nerds?)

We left for Europe on Monday night on Iberia Airlines http://www.iberia.com/ and arrived Tuesday afternoon.  We were to spend that evening at the Athens Airport Holiday Inn http://www.hiathens.com/ and fly to Santorini first thing Wednesday morning.  We would stay 2 days and Fly back Friday morning and have 2 days in Athens before we boarded our cruise.

One thing we did not account for was the short amount of time we had during our layover in Madrid.  We only had 45 minutes between landing and take off and we literally had to sprint from one side of the GIGUNGOUS airport to the exact opposite side (including taking one of those airport subways and having to go through customs AND security).  We made it to our flight just as they were making the final boarding announcement.  As fantastic as it was that we made it on our connecting flight, turns out that our luggage was not so lucky.  When we got to the Athens airport, our bags did not show up.

We went to the luggage customer service counter to speak to someone (FYI, everyone in Europe speaks English which is a blessing because otherwise we would be sooooooo incredibly screwed). When we got to the counter we explained to the gentleman about our bags and expressed our concerns about getting our belongings in time for our flight in the morning.  He responded in the most non-chalant/matter-of-fact voice "Well, that won't happen because of the strike tomorrow." And then he continued to type into his computer. Confused (and not quite sure we heard correctly) we asked him to repeat what he had just said.  He further explained that Wednesday was a "Strike Day" and that all planes, buses and boats would be "grounded" for the day.  Since the next flight from Madrid to Athens wasnt til Wednesday, we wouldnt get our bags til Thursday or Friday.  "But we are going to Santorini tomorrow?!?!" we said. His response was "Yeah, that's not going to happen"

Obviously that sent us reeling. We had to finish dealing with the lost luggage info and then he told us to go upstairs to the ticket counter to deal with our flight to Santorini http://www.olympicair.com/ .  Once upstairs we found out that the strike was definitely happening on Wednesday at that they had known for a couple of days because this was like the 4th strike in 6 months, but everything would be back to normal on Thursday.  We tried to switch our trip to Santorini to be Thursday to Saturday, but since everyone had known for days about the strike, all of the Thursday flights were booked and the earliest we could go would be Friday.  Since we couldnt risk flying back the same day as our cruise, we had to cancel our Santorini plans. Yes, we were crushed.

We headed to the Holiday Inn and I called the hotel in Athens we were supposed to stay at when we got back from Santorini and they said they had availablity for us to come the next day and stay through Sunday.  One night and one $50 cab ride later we arrived at our cute Athenian Hotel, The Acropolis Museum Boutique Hotel http://www.acropolismuseumhotel.com/

The hotel was adorable and our room was to die for. It faced the street and had a balcony from which you could see the Temple of Olympian Zeus http://www.templeofolympianzeus.com/  we had been in our room for about 15 mins getting settled in and figuring out what our next steps would be (shopping for clean clothes, making sure the airline had the address of the new hotel, etc) when we heard a ruckus outside.  We stepped out on to the balcony and no exaggeration, a strike demonstration parade was filling the street and passing directly beneath our balcony.  It was all very peaceful and spirited with lots of banners and signs and clapping and chants and accordians.  There were probably 3000 people in total participating.  We watched in amazement for a half an hour realizing that had we been any later we would have not been able to get to the hotel because the street was shut down.

the view of the demonstartion parade from our balcony

I turned on the TV to see what was going on and the BBC (which was the only English station) was showing footage of civil unrest in Athens near the Parliament.  It seemed weird because the demonstration was so peaceful and everyone we had spoken to said the strike was "no big deal/happens all the time".  We went downstairs to ask recommendations on where to shop for clothes and Donna, the adorable hotel manager told us she would send us to the area where the locals shop, about a 10 minute walk from the hotel, not the tourist area where we would be overcharged.  She pulled out a map and drew a route for us.  I looked at it and noticed that the path went right past the Parliament.  I told Donna about what we saw on the BBC and her exact words to us were "This Greece. Is perfectly safe. Trust me."

With a shrug of our shoulders, we left the hotel and started walking up the hill towards all of the historic tourist attractions and the shopping district.  The streets were filled with locals and tourists who had no place to go to work or visit since everything was closed for the strike.  People were just wondering around aimlessly.  As we started up the hill we could still see the attractions like Hadrian's Arch www.en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arch_of_Hadrian , Lycabbetus Hill www.en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Lycabettus and the entrance of the Acropolis and Parthenon www.athensguide.com/parthenon As we passed the entrance we noticed a news van parked on the sidewalk doing a story on all of the hub-bub.  Of course, I tripped over the TV cables that were on the ground and was this close to eating shit Greek style on the pavement.

As we continued to walk up the hill, awed by the sites and the faces, we noticed it seemed to be getting more and more congested with people.  We crested the top of the hill and could see hundreds of people in the streets ahead of us.  We paused wondering what we should do and then we saw these white cloudy shots streak across the air.  I asked Tuck "What the hell was that?"  She had no idea.  We were about to continue to keep on walking when all of a sudden, the hundreds of people in front of us started running towards us...in a frenzied stampede.  I grabbed Tuck's hand and yelled "RUN!!!!!!!!!!" and we took off back down the hill we had just ascended as we heard more shots and sirens and screams.  We ran past the news van and ducked into the entrance to the Parthenon.

Even though the attraction was closed, we could still walk around the outside and we took some photos of the cityscape from the Rock of Aeropagos where St Paul spoke to the people of Athens in 51 AD.  After a couple of hours in hiding we made our way out of the Acropolis area and wandered through the Plaka (the village within the city that is all windy small streets which is the touristy area with all of the shops and restaurants) www.athensguide.com/plaka

We kept walking and walking and the next thing we knew, we had managed to make our way to Syntagma Square www.athensguide.com/syntagma  - the area outside the Parliament.  It was a ghost town.  Hardly a soul around and the square had been DESTROYED.  Grafitti was everywhere.  Plants and flowers had been dug up.  Decorative marble was smashed. 

yes, we took shards of marble as souvenirs

Trash cans were lit on fire and still smoking and newspaper vending machines were turned over.

there were at least 3 trashcans still smoking and way more vending machines over-turned

A forklift had been set ablaze.  

poor forklift

Piles of trash had been set on fire in the middle of the street

one of about a million piles of trash that were set on fire

and everything that was glass (and I mean EVERYTHING) was smashed into a million pieces. 

anything that was glass was obliterated

Man, those Greeks really new how to have peaceful demonstrations.

We walked around in awed silence taking pictures and surveying the expanse of damage.  A few minutes later I mentioned to Tuck that my eyes were burning and that my throat was itchy and my nose was running non-stop.  I thought it was weird because I don't have allergies.  It was at that moment that we saw the exploded tear gas canisters littering the street.  Yep, I was having a reaction to the tear gas that was still lingering in the air. AWESOME!

these were everywhere

We covered our noses and mouths with our shirts and headed back down the main street back towards the hotel.  As we walked, we could see that the damage contiued down the hill.  Every glass window, phone booth and ATM along the road was smashed to smithereens.  3 cars had been set on fire (including the news van I had tripped over on the way up).  Grafitti was everywhere and a bank had been set on fire.  The damage continued all the way down the hill and stopped 1 block before our hotel (I guess the wronged masses ran out of steam on the 10th block)

Yeah, we hid in the hotel the rest of the night.

The next day, much to our joy and amazement, our bags arrived at the hotel at 7am.  Donna apologized for sending us directly into the fray and swore up and down "Nothing like this ever happen in Greece. Is very safe here."

We cleaned up and had breakfast and decided to set out on the same path up the hill to try and get some sightseeing in.  Much to our surprise, EVERYTHING was back to normal.  People were working, tourists were shopping, locals were drinking coffee in the cafes.    The strike had officially ended at midnight and in the 10 hours since normalcy resumed, the government had set out to clean up as much damage as possible.  Except for the melted cars in the street and smashed windows which were boarded up with plywood it was like nothing had happened. If not for those reminders, it would have been like I had made the whole thing up... but I guarantee you I am not that clever.

So to recap in my first 24 hours in Greece I:
1) lost my luggage
2) almost got stampeded in a riot
3) got to experience the effects of teargas (for I hope the only time in my life)

I swear it wasn't my fault.

Chicken Sh*t

I'm 35 and single.  I know.  It's astonishing.  I find it quite odd myself. I definitely didn't still expect to be single at this point in my life, but I'm just going with it.  I'd be really concerned if I was totally ugly, but since I still look a few years younger than my actual age, I figure I have a couple more  New Year's Eves before the panic completely sets in and I have a major meltdown.

Last night at my sister's birthday party I had a disturbing experience.  My brother-in-law's Aunt Brenda totally interrogated me. I was saying something about my impending move and she interrupted me  and asked "Are you married?"  I smiled and replied, "No." She then asked "Have you ever been married?"  I raised one eyebrow and said "No, I haven't."  She then asked me  eagerly "Do you want to get married?"  I had no idea where she was going with this line of questioning, but I think she was trying to intimate that something was wrong with me.  I let it roll off of my back as I figured I was in better shape than her knocked-up unwed daughter who was also sitting at the table.  I then found an excuse to walk away.  It was best not to stay in too close of proximity to an easy target with my acid tongue.

As I drove home, one thing did sting though.  She got me thinking about the why.  Why aren't I married.? Hopefully it's not because I am 1) a total bitch 2) a total basketcase or 3) and total seahag.  I then realized something about myself; I am total moron when it comes to men.  Not in the "I have bad taste in men/only choose the unavailable types" kind of way.  I am a moron in the I have no idea how to flirt, nor do I know when I am being flirted with kind of way.  How can I progress in a relationship, when I don't even know how to handle the nascent stages of courting?  Case in point, my experience at California Chicken Cafe last week:

After a work event last week, I dropped off my favorite Gay, Kyle, at his house and was ready to head home myself, when I realized I was hungry.  Since I was in the area, I thought I'd treat myself to some California Chicken Cafe http://www.californiachickencafe.com/    It was about 8pm when I got there and it was packed.  As I walked up to the register there was a Dad with 2 kids gathering up his order.  He was clearly in over his head because his little girl was stomping around the restaurant shouting at the top of her lungs with her hands over her ears.  It was adorable. The Dad looked like he was on the vergeof a nervous breakdown.

After I placed my order I stood up against the wall of the restaurant near all of the other "to go" people.  About 30 seconds later, the overwhelmed Dad and his brood walked by me towards the exit.  The little gilr was still shouting.  When they left I looked at the guy standing next to me, and I said "That little girl was adorable."  he said "Yeah, but she knows it."  I responded, "Let her.  Hopefully she'll grow up with some self esteem rather than being some self-deprecating train wreck like the rest of us." (yes, I was projecting).  He agreed.

A minute later a guy stood be behind me and asked me if I was in line for the restroom.  I looked up and I realized that I was standing in front of the men's room.  I replied no and told him to help himself.  This is when the first guy looked up at me and just laughed.  Then this exchange happened:

Me: I hope I don't look like one of those skeevy girls that stakes out men's rooms.
Dude: I wouldn't worry about it.  Doesn't fit with your look.
Me: Good to know
Dude: Can I ask you, what is your ethnicity?
Me: (Surprised by the question) Um, I am your standard Caucasian Jew
Dude: Oh!
Me: Ok, what is your ethnicity? (mind you this was the first moment I noticed he was Hot)
Dude: I am half Jew and half black
Me: Well, the look works for you.  My name is Kerry by the way (as I extended my hand)
Dude: I'm Dax (shaking my hand)
Me: (Laughing) Of course it is.
Dax: What does that mean?
Me:  Well you have the cool look complete with the Elvis Costello glasses, so of course your name is Dax.  Next you'll tell me that you are a musician.
Dax: (Pregnant pause) I actually am a musician...and a film editor
Me: Oh my god! I so did not mean to stereotype you.
Dax: No worries.  So are you from around here?
Me: I grew up in LA and I work up the street in Westwood.  How about you?
Dax: I grew up not to far from here and still live in the area.  What do you do?
Me: I do marketing for an educational company
Dax:  That sounds cool.  What part of LA did you grow up in?
Me: I grew up in the Valley, in Gra...
Chicken Cafe Worker: Order number 96 is ready
Dax: That's me. Bye.

See in my head, all of that conversation was leading up to him asking for my phone number.  Instead, he took off like his shoes were on fire. Nope.Nothing. I soooooo didn't get that.

I called Kyle to ask him if I looked like a hot mess when I dropped him off or if I smelled bad or something.  He confirmed that I had my cute on.  So I told him the story and he just laughed and said "Yeah, I don't get straight guys either."

So apparently when I think I am being flirted with, I am just filling time in between chicken orders.  So much to the dismay of Aunt Brenda, it looks like I'll be single for at least a little while longer.

Is Bigger Actually Better?

I am shameful.  It is the exact opposite of being shameless, for I carry my shame with me at all times.  It has basically gotten to the point where I expect stupid and embarrassing things to happen to me on a daily basis.  This is why I carry Shout Wipes with me wherever I go (just being pragmatic).  This actually comes quite in handy for on those rare days when I don't spill something all over myself - I call it the Shout Wipe Talisman Effect - I am often able to assist those who have the occasional mishap and are otherwise unprepared (why would they be, right?)  The problem is that no matter how many Shout Wipes I have in my possession, it doesn't stop me from being a complete and total Dumb Ass.

Now, if you know me, you know that I have big boobs.  I do not hide them, as they are my best asset, so chances are at one point or another they have caused you what I like to call the Solar Eclipse Impact (ultimately no matter how hard you try, you can't help but stare).  Do not fear.  Yes, I know you are staring, and no, I wouldn't have them on dispaly if I minded...just try and be a little subtle is all I ask.

The problem with my boobs (I refer to them as 5 & 6 - they are heavy bust cards...get it?) is that:
1)  they are crumb collectors much like a DustBuster.  I swear every night I take off my bra and things fall out of there like abusted pinata.  No joke - I have had moments when something fell out on  to the floor and I'm like "I didn't eat French Fries today.  How'd that get in there?"
2) they get in the way.  Carrying large items can be quite difficult and painful
3) they act independently of the rest of my body.  I have no gauge as to how far out they are. It changes. I misjudge and slam into walls and clip corners.  You know that joke "What do Dolly Parton's shoes look like?  She doesn't know either." 

Yes, I know, cry you a freaking river.  Hold back the hostility, I am not complaining.  I like my boobs.  I just had to get some prologue out there first so I could share with you, yet another glimpse into my pathetic life.

So for about 5 years nows I have been dealing craps & blackjack for corporate and private parties.  I do it on the weekends a couple of nights a month.  It's a fun way to make a little extra cash (which ultimately financed my trip to Europe this past Spring) and it beats the heck out of working retail.  The only sucky thing about it is that I have to wear an unflattering "uniform" of black slacks, a tuxedo shirt and bow-tie.  Not that it looks awful, I actually think it is nice, but when you have big boobs and you are wearing essentially man clothes, you look kinda box-y.

I work mainly for 2 party planning companies, but every now and again I get an email or call from someone who owns a company that heard about me and they are in need of a craps dealer in a pinch.  Craps dealers are hard to find.  Good craps dealers are even harder to find, and I am a good craps dealer.

One such occasion happened a couple of years ago, when I got a call to deal craps at a schmancy Tennis & Boat Club in Torrance.  It paid $100 for like 3 hours worth of work. Sounded good to me so I jumped in to my uniform and headed over to the South Bay.

I have been to a ton of parties in 5 years.  In that time I would say I have had less than a half dozen bad gigs.  People for the most part are always in a good mood when you are teaching them how to win copious amounts of fake money to exchange for crappy raffle tickets.  I have dealt at practically every hotel in the Greater LA & OC areas.  I've dealt at the Playboy Mansion (twice) and dozens of absolutely exquisite homes. I know good parties from bad.  This party was really nice.  The guests were polite and fun.  The host was kind.  And the set-up was really sweet. 

The party was thrown by a very nice gentleman for his wife's 40th birthday.  Just as the party was starting he came by and told the dealers to help themselves to food.  It was a very kind offer but very hard to take him up on his generosity with guests around.  About half way through the party, the husband stopped all of the gambling and called everyone outside for the big gift unveiling (it was a yacht).  It was at this point that all of the dealers and servers were able to partake of some snackage.  I had already eaten dinner, but I was more than happy to head over to the chocolate fountain and have a few tasty bites.

The party-goers came back inside about 10 minutes later and the gaming resumed.  The guests continued being friendly and I even noticed that they were being exceedingly generous with tipping, which is a rarity (people are less inclined to tip you with real money when they are playing with fake chips).  The rest of the evening flew by.  I walked away with an absurd amount of tips, a check for $100, and belly satiated with chocolate dipped strawberries. I drove home smiling, muttering to myself "why can't all gigs be that awesome?"

I made it home all "aglow" with my bounty for the evening.  I walked to the mirror to take my bowtie off...and that was when I noticed a HUGE chocolate streak across both of my boobs.  Somehow I had managed to lean a bit too far whilst dipping and actually boob-bumped the chocolate fountain. I couldn't see it because of the aforementioned bowtie.  I dealt for well over an hour with chocolate boobs and not one of the party guests felt the need to tell me.  They instead pity-tipped me.

I spent the rest of that evening and the next day experiencing deep & profound retroactive shame. The bummer of the whole thing is that I had Shout Wipes in my purse that night.  If someone had actually told me, I could have remedied the situation and would have been fine.  Now I am just reminded of my shame EVERYTIME I see a chocolate fountain...not that it ever stops me from eating from one.  It takes a helluva lot more shame than that to ruin me on chocolate fountain for an eternity.

Jealous of my penguin suit?

Respect the Chicken!!!

So this is a story that has been told many times, but certainly bears repeating:

My friends are foodies.  Many of us follow blogs and twitter accounts of "celebrity chefs" and popular restaurants and get email updates from numerous resources about up and coming restaurants as well as special events.  Yes, this is why the terrorists hate us.

Back in April 2010 my friend Sarah had made reservations for her, me, and Jessica to go to Ludo Bites http://www.ludobites.com/  Ludo Bites is a pop-up restaurant that is the brain child of celebrity chef/super French hottie Ludo Lefebvre.  He basically comandeers a kitchen for a couple of weeks at a time and borrows a restuarant and serves his yummy goodness to throngs of adoring foodie fans.  This incarnation was in Culver City at Akasha http://www.akasharestaurant.com/  It was to be a "fried chicken night" but was also a Top Chef Masters Viewing and Ludo Birthday Party.

Our reservation was for 9:30pm and when we got there everything was in full swing.  It was wall-to-wall people and everyone looked fed and happy.  Turns out the dinner was a $40 All-you-can-eat buffet (sort of).  For $40 all of the side dishes and desserts were AYCE, but the special Ludo Chicken was not.  Your purchase entitled you to 3 succulent, ginormous fried chicken chunks (I would say balls, but they weren't chicken testicles and I didn't want to confuse you).

Being a connoisseur of all things fried and all things "side" I happily dug in and filled my plate.  Even though you were limited to 3 pieces of chicken they were so huge it didn't matter.  Jess, Sarah and I ate and chatted and people watched and enjoyed ourselves tremendously.  Once we finished eating Jess & I noted that we did not finish our chicken.  Now I am not a cheap person, nor am I am huge leftover person, but when I pay $40 for some chicken, I get my money's worth.  Jess had said 'I wish I could take my piece home to Tony (her boyfriend), but it's a buffet and that's totally a no-no".  Sarah then chimed in with "Well, the sides are the buffet part, so I think it is fine if you take just the chicken".  I agreed, and passed her my leftover piece to take to Tony as well.  Very discreetly and under the cover of many giggles (of both joy and embarrassment) Jess stealthly wrapped up the 2 giant chicken balls and placed them in her purse at a hummingbird warped speed.

Sidenote: Jess & I agree on almost EVERYTHING.  Fashion, Food, Movies, Books.  You name it and we are 99.9% certain to agree about it.  When we acknowledged that the chicken should go in the purse, we both were absolutely shamed about it, but Asians and Jews are not wasteful people, so it had to be done.

After a little more talking we realized that the restaurant had pretty much emptied out and we should bail.  We got up and slowly started making our way towards the front.  Just then, Ludo appeared in all of his super Frechie Chef Hotness and was shaking hands and thanking some guests.  As he passed by us, I just politely said "Thank you so much, we had a wonderful time."

Much to all of our surprises, he stopped, turned around and came to talk to us.  This freaked us out on 2 levels. 1) He is all hot and famous and French and 2) Jess had a purse full of chicken.  It felt like a giant flashing arrow was over our head pointing down at her purse.

As much as we would have loved to wax poetic about how extraordinary the evening was with the man of the hour, Jess & I were ready to hightail it out of there, but Sarah was not one to miss out on the opportunity to engage the scrumptious Ludo in a little pleasant convo.

As Jess & I slowly inched from the door we made smiles at Ludo and had a completely tacit conversation conveying the urgency of leaving, Sarah was chatting.  Then Ludo asked " Did you really like zeee chickeeeen?"  To which Sarah replied "Oh yes, it was delicious.  In fact we liked it so much she has some in her purse."

It was at this point that Jess & I DIED.  Just completely collapsed on the floor in a big heaping pile of humiliation.  Oh, no, that was just my personal Ally McBeal-esque hallucination that I wished had happened.  Instead, we just froze.  Jess, turned GHOST WHITE.  I just made horrible nervous uncomfortable shame giggle-like noises.  Jess what shaking her head like "I have no idea what she is talking about. Clearly she's delusional." Jess was staring at me with death ray intensity.  The silent communication between Jess and I went something like this:

Jess: Holy sh*t! Did she just say what I think she just said?
Me: Uh, yeah. Ohmygod! Ohmygod! OHMYGOD!
Jess: I want to kill myself.
Me: There a is a plate glass window behind me we can jump through if that works you?
Jess: Does she hate me or something?
Me: Maybe if we close our eyes and think real hard we can reverse the space time continuum?

All the while, Ludo is just chatting away with Sarah like nothing.  The next thing we heard was Sarah saying "It's for her boyfriend".  Ludo then asked "Do zhou need more?" To which Sarah replied "Well, he is a big guy".

That is when our "world got flipped turned upside down."  Next thing we know, Ludo gently takes Jess by the arm (who is looking at me like, please don't let him take me) and leads her to the kitchen.  Sarah & I followed like helpless lemmings.  Ludo then grabs a large stryofoam container and filled it with 10 more chicken balls (in my Jew-math mind that is $130 worth of chicken).  All the while Jess is pleading with him, "Thank you so much, but this really isn't necessay." But Ludo insisted.

He handed her the container of chicken and while kindly wagging his index finger inches in front of her face said "Now you make sure heat up in oven. No microwaves.  You mussst respect! You Must Reeeeespect Zeeee Chicken!"

Jess just nodded and looked at me with eyes that said "Get me the f*ck out of here." We thanked him again and took off leaving 3 girl-shaped vapor clouds in our wake.

ADDENDUM
A few nights later, Sarah and I recounted the story to our friends on our Bar Trivia team.  They insisted we name our team that night "Respect the Chicken"  We came in 2nd place that night.

Sarah also told the story in a contest on a foodie website (with considerably less shame references) and won free tickets to the Taste of Beverly Hills. She took Jess & I as her guests where we ate and drank til our hearts content. Sarah also saw Ludo and his beatiful wife and approached them.  Apparently they had read the story Sarah had entered and thought it was hysterical.

This is what delicious shame looks like

Why You Gotta Be a D*ck?

*****WARNING: This story is not kosher for Passover*******

I have had the great fortune of having some cool jobs in my time.  I have traveled pretty much all over the US.  I have raised a lot of money for various charities, and I have produced a TON of special events.  From small to enormous, my resume is littered with myriad marketing activitations and programs.

Some of these are very prosaic; cocktail parties and galas.  Some a little more obscure: Telethons and Tailgate Tours.  At this point in my career, I feel like there are very few stones that I have left unturned in the event department (except for weddings, which I have no interest in planning because I would not willingly take on other people's drama if they weren't a BFF or a relative - keep your crazy to yourself Bridezilla).

Last night however took it to a new level.  Last night I produced a "Suture Clinic".  What is that you ask?  Well, I'll tell you.  A Suture Clinic is when you enlist very helpful doctors (thank you Dr. Pearlstein & Dr. Yang) and they instruct a bunch of pre-meds (age 17 - 22) how to do actual sutures/stitches...on pig's feet. According to my sources, pig skin is extremely close in texture to human skin. So this event is like a glimpse ahead into medical school.  It gets the nerdy pre-meds all atwitter (I can say that since I was one). Apparently one of our offices in Texas did it last year and it was a HUGE success, so of course the powers that be wanted it replicated at UCLA.

I got some emails from my boss about supplies I needed to buy from Medical Supply websites and where to get pig's feet and some powerpoint presentations etc.  Well, the instructions weren't exactly clear and I spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to find the exact right instruments to use etc.  I spent so much time on that aspect that I waited to the last minute to actually order the pig's feet.  Per my boss, I could just call the nearest supermarket and the butcher department could take care of it.

So Thursday I called the Ralph's in Westwood nearest my office, where the event was taking place, and asked to speak to the Meat Department.  When someone got on the phone, I said "Hi. I know this is a weird request, but I need to order 75 pig's feet".  The butcher on the phone responded in an annoyed tone "Why?"  I said "I am doing this workshop for some pre-meds at UCLA and I need the pig's feet for a project.  Is it possible to get them by Tuesday afternoon?"  It was at this point that the guy really laid in to me saying that for a special order like that I would need to call AT LEAST 2 weeks in advance but he would prefer a month because there is no way his distributor could handle that kind of an order on short notice and that I should really do a better job of planning for this kind of thing.  He basically scolded me for the better part of 5 minutes like I had broken the Brady Bunch vase by playing ball in the house. 

Putting aside the fact that as a potential customer I probably should'nt be spoken to that way instead, I turned to my fear.  I had 130 RSVPs for an event that was happening in 4 days and nothing for them to suture on...I was SCREWED!  I paniced and apologized to him for some stupid reason and I asked "Do you have any ideas as to where I might be able to find them?"  He told me to try calling one of the hispanic supermarket chains like Superior (pronounced SU-PEER-E-ORE) and brusquely hung up on me.

I immediately started googling Superior Markets in LA and I was just about to call and break out my rusty Spanish when I decided to make one last effort and I called the Ralph's across the street from my house.  I got the Meat Department and had this exchange:

Me: Hi! I know this sounds weird but I need order 75 pig's feet for Tuesday morning.
Mike the Butcher:  Yeah, sure. What time do you need them by?

We then went on to have a very pleasant conversation where I explained why I needed them and he made some jokes and then placed my order.  He then called me on MONDAY morning to tell me my order had arrived.  On Tuesday morning when I made it to the market he not only brought out the pig's feet and loaded the packages in to my cart, but he also gave me a discount and wished me luck on my event.

Moral of this story is:  It takes just as much effort to be a nice guy as it does to be a schmoe, so why you gotta be a d*ck?



These little piggies DEFINITELY went to market

 PS: Big props to Mike the Butcher at the La Brea Ralphs.  You RULE!!!

Turducken - a new Jew adventure

So last week my younger sister, Shoshana, Facebooked me and said she wanted a Turducken for Thanksgiving this year.  Where she came up with the idea, I have no idea.  Since I am the culinary master (yes, I use that term loosely) and "venture capiltalist" behind all family meals, I said to shoot me over a link to check it out.  http://tinyurl.com/28ey569

Lo & behold I was smitten immediately.  My only concerns were 1) would my older sister, Renee, sign off on it  2) am I going to have to shell out the ducats for this and 3) can we get the one that is stuffed with Jambalaya?

Well, much to my surprise, Renee agreed (once I explained that Turducken is not Tofurkey - common mistake apparently).  Since it was Shosh's idea, I told her to go ahead and buy it.  It was worth a shot, and again, shockingly she agreed... for all of 5 whole minutes.  I immediately got a string of texts complaining that with shipping the damn thing will cost about $100.  Indignant does not quite describe her tone.  Did she not realize that to get a perishable item from Lord-knows-where-Louisiana it would require expert packing, dry ice, and expedited transport? Yeah, I guess not.

This is really the difference between me and the rest of my family...the common sense thing.  See, when I clicked on the link and saw that a Turducken was $70 I immediately mentally added in shipping costs.  Maybe it's because I have spent years in marketing and event production and know that shipping is ALWAYS a factor?  Maybe it's because I have bought an item or 2 on amazon.com and weighed the virtues of buying extra items for the Super Saver Shipping versus shelling out an additional $5.95 in shipping for a $10 item.  Maybe it's because I always pay for everything for Thanksgiving Dinner and do all of the cooking, so I am used a large financial investment in this meal?  Whatever the reason, I was not shocked or surprised and my reaction to her was "Yeah, and...?"

Then this exchange happened via phone:

Shosh: How much does a regular turkey cost?
Me: I usually get a 20 -22lb bird for our family and it usually runs anywhere from $.79 - $1.50 per pound, so around $30
Shosh: Well, maybe we can make our own Turducken?
Me: (Increduously) Have you ever stuffed a turkey before?
Shosh: Uh, well, I have helped you, and I think I may have done it in like elementary school or something.

Me: Well, just to remind you, the cavity of a 22lb bird is not exactly big, I can probably fit my fist and up to my wrist in it.  Now I have no idea how one stuffs a chicken, into a duck and into a turkey which is then filled with Jamabalaya, but I am betting there is a heck of a lot of logistical manipulation and de-boning going on that I am simply not interested in attempting nor skilled enough to pull off. Not to mention that now you have added the cost of a chicken, a duck, and jambalaya ingredients, so for me, the answer is no.
Shosh: What if I googled how to do it?
Me: Uh, no

After a moment of deliberation, I figured Renee was already excited about it and it was too late to go change back to regular old turkey, so I caved an said I would split the cost.

This damn thing better taste good!

Shosh & me last year