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Hello St. Vincents. I want to formally thank you for the prompt reply to my billing inquiry. Why, just 344 days ago I had surgery on my birthday. That one surgery alone immediately maxed my yearly deductible and that one charge made for a fantastic pre-wedding present.
Two weeks later, you informed me that I had overpaid by some $84 dollars and the check would soon be delivered, akin to offering a band-aid to a man who survived a 400-foot fall down a cliff made of salt and broken glass.
Now, only 344 days later, I received said check.
You’re a special type of person, St. Vincents.
/grief
I’m talking about that guy up there. Forrest. My friend, your friend, all-around nice guy. Or so I thought.
As you probably didn’t read in my earlier post, I don’t dig the soccer thing, the World Cup thing and most definitely don’t dig the vulvazella thing. Well, this weekend Forrest came down to hang out with Diana and I. Beer flowed and good food fell from heaven. And along the way, Forrest got me to watch the America/Ghana soccer game. Since I’ve always considered myself the best thing that’s ever happened to Forrest (with the notable exception of Liz), I decided to give it a go; really get into a soccer game.
I asked questions, learned player names and actually felt happy when some guy, Donovan or something, scored on a penalty kick. After about 110 minutes of soccer action, I’ll admit to being hooked like a meth head after his first hit on the communal pipe.
Then we lost. And I blame Forrest, I think that’s fair.
This year, the 48 hour film festival was different. Different in a number of ways, mostly good, and in one way very bad. Let’s start with the good ways.
The Times-Union team featured an all TU staff this year, no professional script writers, actors or trophy-chasing producers. We were a bunch of hearty, motivated, sleep-depraved souls with more talent in a twist of our pubic hair than in the entire self-aggrandizing bodies of years past. That is to say, we rocked.
Upon learning our genre (sci-fi) at 6:30 p.m. Friday, we immediately began brain storming the story line. Short story shorter, we went with Luis’ idea: A woman **plot removed until the screening, you nosy bastards** description. The four script writers, Luis, Timothy, Topher and myself were locked in room dripping with caffeine and inspiration and by 11 a.m. we had the storyboard complete and began on the actual script writing. Lots of deep-dicking jokes later, it was 5 a.m. and by God, we had a script. A script! Normally I’d try to explain the significance of this in a few sentences, but unless you’ve chased after the greased up pig that is the 48 hour film festival, it won’t matter.
Oh, I should mention – this is where the movie began to go awry. We had two main objectives this year: Be an all-TU team and include as many of those people on screen as possible. The lede actress was an obvious choice; the talented and tow-headed Julie. While reviewing our actor list, Luis Tim, Topher and I realized that we had little choice but to cast one person in the lede actor role – your sweet Nuinca. Since I’ve used every stupid literary trick in this blog post except for analogies, let’s us this one. Casting me as the leading man was like having the Joker let you decide which family member of yours should die first – your wife or your son. No good choices and our situation was worse because it’ll never follow with an awesome sequel featured the Penguin (please, Chris Nolan, if you’re reading this.)
Anyway, the scripters and I broke up around 5, ran home to get our costumes and met back at the paper around 6:30 a.m. I can only speak for Luis and I, but at this point we had both been up right at 24 hours. The movie hadn’t started shooting yet.
While I, the lead and least talented actor, was memorizing my lines that morning, shooting began around 8:30. By 9 I was in my suit and pacing in the paper warehouse that was my character’s office. Due to a potent combination of nerves and heat stroke, I can’t guarantee what happened between then and 2 p.m. Saturday morning, but I’m sure other people would be willing to fill you in. I remember sweat, bottles of sticky wine and talking about my borrowed Megatron cufflinks.
After a short break we were back in action, filming the majority of the scenes. I had thankfully found an easy way to escape to air-conditioning between takes. No heat stroke FTW!
This is an open letter to the million, billions or trillions of World Cup fans out there:
Please leave me alone. If I was in Germany, Spain, or God forbid, France, I would be willing to pretend to give a shit. But I’m not. I’m in America, land of the free and home of the rotund. I shouldn’t be bombarded with people’s faux enthusiasm, overpriced Real Madrid jerseys and CONSTANT vevuzela references.
I don’t care about your single-score games, boring dive tackles or the “did you know the average soccer player runs 12 miles per game?!” facts. If soccer players were bigger they would play rugby or football. If there were faster they would be track athletes. If they had better coordination they would be baseball players. If they were any smarter they would have graduated elementary school.
There. That made me feel better.
Go USA!
Now, I’m a sucker for the hole-in-the-wall Asian restaurants; but as my body decides it likes more to retain calories on my hips instead of being appropriately expended into energy (although I’m usually in desperate need of a nap after The Grand Buffett), I have to start making compromises with my favorite food choices. And, boy oh boy, am I in luck! In the mid-fall of last year, I was introduced to W.OK. (World Oriental Kitchen) while attending my friend Anne’s birthday dinner. I’m always pretty weary of those ultra-cool Asian fusion places; I would much rather high-tail it to the local greasy joint and risk the MSG-induced sweats than eat my fried rice from a martini glass and have a splitting headache from the bass-driven techno tunes. But WOK proves to be that happy medium between the “mom-‘n-papa-son” place and the super-trendy digs. The décor is nice balance between simple yet chic, an overall very clean but comfortable atmosphere.
Located on King Street downtown, W.O.K. is like the Subway of the East. You walk in and pick your base which is usually rice and/or noodles with veggies (I love the skinny rice noodles). From there, you pick your “toppings” from a variety of meats and vegetables, including the typical Asian faves like tofu, edamame, and bamboo shoots. What’s nice is you pay for what you want; I tend to naturally stick to more veggie rich dishes when eating Chinese, so I can load up on lots of flavorful colors and textures without breaking the bank or feeling sluggish afterwards. Lastly, you pick your sauce and they sauté your creation to perfection (I highly recommend the house plum-based sauce: a little sweet, a little spicy, but never heavy or slimy). They also have a variety of teas, wines, sakes, and beers if you’re in the mood to hang out a while. Once you’ve placed your order, pick your seat and within minutes they bring out your piping hot bowl of deliciousness.
(Check out my hot dates: Anne (L) and Minh (R), who always are there to encourage me to finish my plate.)
Of course there are similar places, but a few things set W.O.K. apart:
.::. For one, they’re very locally focused. There’s a general support for all things Charleston, not to mention a big portion of their food comes from South Carolina farmers and manufacturers. This tends to be a slight drawback in that they often run out of things if there is a bad season or the shipment is delayed, but it’s so nice to actually have honest-to-goodness taste and no processed after-dinner-bloat. It also heavily supports the Slow Food movement, which is very cool indeed.
.::. They have a great happy hour on their beverages and appetizers and lots of daily specials. I wish I had discovered their Facebook Fan Page sooner; if you’re a Charlestonian you might be able to jump on a last minute deal. If you’re planning a vacation to the Holy City soon, you can look ahead and plan your visit to WOK to take advantage of a great deal!
.::. WOK is one of the few places that tries hard to implement sustainable practices, and it’s refreshing to see them live it and not boast it for notoriety. Lots of the décor is made of recycled materials, the lights are LED and kept low to save on energy, the restrooms are water and energy efficient, the disposable silverware is the compostable corn-based material, and they have recycle bins to sort out the waste from the reusable. Whether you’re a tree-hugger or not, you can’t deny that efforts to go green are a win-win for all!
.::. You get a lot of food for a very reasonable price. My typical bill is around $10-12 for dinner, and I’ll usually have enough food leftover to bring to work for lunch the next day. Usually… depends on the kind of day I’m having. ;)
.::. They have these nifty little screen lights on your table; there’s a small button that changes the screen from red to blue which lets the kitchen staff know to check on your table. Need some more sauce? Allow me! *click*
So while my inner sassy girl-on-the-go will always hold a special place for the oil-drenched eggrolls and crispy sweet-and-sour chicken of the Hong Kong Panda Dragon China King’s, I’m happy to support WOK and it’s mantra of creating better food for a better world by providing fresh, Asian inspired favorites... letting your hair down and coming in your underpants is optional.
**Update! Upon double checking in on their Facebook page, I see they have sushi now, too! Praise be Buddah, how delish!