718.836.9444
I'd like to thank the academy, my wife, and Google. I'd like to thank my beloved nine, which is actually eight because in trying to follow a Vapid Blonde I accidentally started following myself. I'd like to thank Franky, Johnnie, Bluetooth, Rumpelteazer, Macavity, Mom and Dad, Brothers, Eloise Vienna, Dug Dug, and everyone else I didn't think of on this Sunday Morning. 100 posts equates to absolutely nothing. It isn't important. It's an irrelevant number that only denotes meaning as it is a product of our species having ten fingers. But it's still pretty cool.
On with the review:
I work in deep Brooklyn now. I work all of the time. Seriously, the only place that I've been to in the last four months give or take is a red-sauce Italian pizza parlor across the street. There is absolutely nothing to speak about with this place. It's a pizza parlor. The food is processed and fried but served hot and delicious. Mozzarella is an ingredient on just about every entree. It's my kind of place.
Considering the neighborhood, I wouldn't expect much more. I go every Friday to this restaurant because a colleague has a schoolboy crush on the waitress. She, like the restaurant, is typical fodder for South Italian brooklyn. She's middle class, pretty, Italian, and like every other girl under the age of 25 wears tights/spandex as outerwear. I can't really blame my colleague. I will say the mozzarella sticks are second to none, though I know they come frozen and they drop them in the fryer until they float. It doesn't matter, when they're delivered by a pretty little Italian American wearing her underwear on the outside, they're delicious.
Okay. Whoopee that was 100.
21 hours ago
