the slack daily

Tom Scharpling Owes Me Dinner.

A couple of months ago, after a long day of work, Will said he'd take care of dinner. It was a Tuesday, and if you've been married to Will as long as I have (and if you have, that sounds like something I should know, so speak up) that means it's Best Show with Tom Scharpling on WFMU night.

Will put a frozen pizza in the oven and pointed his browser to WFMU.org. I sat down next to him on the couch with Daisy in my lap. After a few minutes I asked if I should check on the pizza.

I set the timer, he promised me.

I went back to petting the dog and reading a book, not minding the time. Until something started to burn about twenty minutes later. Will jumped up and ran to the kitchen.

I guess I forgot to set the timer, he said as the smell of burnt pizza filled the apartment.

...

Last night, we replayed the same scenario, except that while the opening notes of The Best Show theme song streamed through the Mac's speakers, I was busy making dinner. I chopped zucchini, sliced onion, crushed garlic and tossed it with some olive oil and chicken pesto sausage and dumped it in a pyrex baking dish to roast in the oven for an hour.

I joined Will on the couch and we listened. (And I inadvertently christened myself the Teflon Vagina.)

After thirty minutes I got up to check on dinner, taking the pyrex out of the oven and giving it a good stir. I opened the oven, retriever my mitts, and grabbed the dish to stick it back in the oven for another thirty minutes.

Except that in-between grabbing the dish and placing it in the oven, my brain decided to concentrate on the voice coming out speakers instead of the 375-degree firestorm in front of me.

I placed the dish halfway on the oven rack, where it slipped and dumped half of its contents on the oven door.

I salvaged a third of our dinner and made the rest up with wine.

And decided that cooking and the Best Show don't mix.

Check out The Best Show every Tuesday from 8pm-11pm EST on wfmu.org
The Best Fans can be found on the The Best Show homepage & message board.
Catch up with previous shows by checking out the archives. Or even the special archive. If you dare.

Slackmistress is Cookin': Thanksgiving.

It's been awhile since I've seen the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving special, so I don't recall how we evolved from Pilgrims breaking bread with the Native Americans to stuffing our faces with poultry. As a naturally curious human being, I could probably investigate this more but my family didn't come here until well into the 20th century.

But I can't argue with a day that reminds us that we have much to be thankful for, even if it's relegated to a few spare moments between football games. This year found me in a bizarre situation: I had a job. Like a real job. (although my contract was up December 1st. So hire me? Please?)

My real job meant that a) I had money but b) not a whole lotta time. So this year I did something unthinkable:

I outsourced part of Thanksgiving.

Most specifically, the bird. I don't mind cooking turkey, but when you have a midget fridge, wood countertops and no dishwasher, not poisoning your guests becomes a game of Russian Roulette or damning the environment as you chase your salmonella footsteps with a can of Lysol that you carry on your belt like a hammer.

So the turkey, gravy, and biscuits (I'm a sucker for decent bread) were courtesy of Grace Restaurant. There are cheaper places to buy your bird, but the deep-fried turkey was sheer perfection. Crispy skin, juicy meat, and a slightly smoky flavor that complemented the thyme-truffle gravy (which I also purchased, as I wouldn't have any pan drippings to make gravy with.)

To paraphrase Tracy Morgan, I wanted to take this turkey behind the high school and get it pregnant.

Picking the bird up the day before I was worried that it might be dry, but even SlackDad, who doesn't taste the difference between Hungry-Man TV Dinner turkey and a heritage bird had a second helping.

Also, in your instruction manual on how to reheat all of your goodies? Chef Neal Fraser's cell phone number, in case you run into any problems. That's service, people. We considered drunk dialing him, but we didn't. 'Cause we're classy that way. (Although not classy enough to not at least consider it.)

See the rest of Thanksgiving after the jump...

A Valley of the Dolls Thanksgiving...

I swear, the pills are Daisy's. (The drink is mine.)

My Thanksgiving wrap-up...this week.

(Note: My counters aren't dirty. They're painted wood. Feel my pain.)

The Price is Right.

Tiger Woods is reportedly offering his wife, Elin Nordegren 80 million dollars to stay with him for seven years.

Regardless of what you think of the whole Tiger Woods brouhaha (and I wonder why haven't celebrities figured out by now that if you cheat you will get caught? It's not if you get caught...it's when) 80 million dollars is a serious chunk of change.

On our honeymoon (BTW, I seriously recommend honeymoons...I think we'll be taking one every couple of years, if not every year) Will asked me if I'd marry him again. 

This was a serious question to consider, now that I knew that the going rate for Elin was 80 million bucks over seven, I could figure my worth accordingly.

When I married Will, I got four crates of records, a box of Jo-Jos, and a three years' worth of podcasts from Scharpling's Best Show on WFMU.

I still came out ahead.

A Step Closer to Honeymoon #2!

Will, to me:

Since we're leaving on our honeymoon tomorrow, should I stay on the couch tonight? Pretend it's the night before* our wedding?

Me, to Will:

Wouldn't that entail staying out 'til 3am and losing all our money?

*I still let him sleep in the bed.