Adventures of The Yellow Peril

LAWYERS IN LOVE

What I'm getting you for Christmas.

GEEKY LAW PROFESSOR CRUSH #278

They quoted me as saying:

“The SBA Texas Exes Teaching Awards Committee selected Professor Peroni based on the overwhelming number of nominations he received from students,” said Student Bar Association President Yellow Peril. “Having been a student in his Federal Income Tax class, I wholeheartedly agree with the Committee’s decision. Professor Peroni is an engaging speaker who is not only incredibly well-versed in tax law, but is also genuinely interested in the progress of his students by being available as a resource, mentor, and friend,” she said.

I swear it's platonic.

THANKSGIVING IS AWESOME

I have a couple of pictures to post from Thanksgiving Feast 1 (MR, T, RC, JF, ES, and, of course, the poodle GB) and also from Thanksgiving Feast 2 (brined AND deep-fried turkey, 379-pound man named Robert, heartfelt discussion about "The Biggest Loser"), but I left my camera at home by accident, so no photos.  You'll just have to imagine:

turkey brined in apple cider

cranberry compote in a pineapple boat

andouille sausage, walnut & apple dressing

spiced sweet potato pudding with creme fraiche

flourless chocolate tart

pumpkin pie with hand-whipped cream

Also, I hand-rolled some chocolate truffles with the sister this weekend.  Suck on that, Food Network.

MY L'IL SIS = BFF

Hey, remember that time that we went to the mall and got all that great stuff on sale at American Eagle?  And then how we went to Claire's, and I dared you to pierce your ears, and you dared me to re-pierce mine, and then we both giggled because we knew how mad Mom would be?

I can't believe we drew such a big audience just over ear piercings, like that family of four kids (ages 13, 11, and some younger ones of indiscernable age).  And then, when those three totally cute 14-year-old boys came in, I thought you were going to die of embarrassment.  I can't believe that preppy kid told us that his grandma called him a "fag" at Thanksgiving dinner.  Who does that?

Hahahaha.  That day was, like, super fun. 

Oh yeah, that was 2 days ago.

THE GREAT ENABLER

Last night, the SBA went out for dinner, and many drinks were had.

At some point during the evening, it became apparent that the evening would be a constant show of one-upmanship (is that a word?  how do you spell it?).  After dinner at Z'Tejas, we couldn't find Star Bar even though I've been there like a gazillion times, so we went to Red Fez.   (Mental note: I don't think I like Prince anymore.)

Eventually, we decided that Red Fez was too noisy and headed to 219 West.  The place was pretty dead, and a band was packing up for the night.  I asked the guitarist if he knew Aha's "Take on Me" because that seemed like an appropriately obscure song for a college angst-y band to have no idea how to play.  He shook his head and pointed to his rapidly scattering bandmates, but you know, there's only so long a guy can resist cute, so he caved. 

All I can say is, it was the worst cover of any song that I've ever heard, anywhere.  Namely because he didn't know the notes, the lyrics, and couldn't sing. 

What transpired next:

- Some sort of shouting match with P that involved him removing his shirt in the bar and me unbuttoning the top button of my pants;
- Convincing the band guy to play Extreme's "More Than Words," to which no one, including myself, could remember the lyrics to;
- Asking him then to play Britney Spears' "Toxic";
- Watching him leave;
- Speaking in Japanese to Quarter Asian, who became incensed that he didn't understand what I was saying and drunk-dialed his grandmother to express his disappointment and anger at her failing to teach him his native language;
- Riding home with CG in the backseat with Quarter Asian dancing to Phantom Planet's "California," with him upside-down in the seat; and
- Watching P grate pumpkin for our rum and cokes (yes, you heard me), eat some nougat, and angrily spit it out.

I think Quarter Asian wins the prize for best drunk antic ever. 

Also, to T & AE: I'm really sorry that we were so loud and obnoxious. 

Oh yeah, later today, I'm going to start brining the turkey for dinner on Sunday.  I've been so excited about this all week that it's all I can think about.  Hooray for Thanksgiving!

FAVORITE QUOTE

Said GB to me at dinner last night, "You know what?  I've discovered that I'm not capable of being happy every single day.  I can do, like, 2 days in a row, and then I need to have one day where I am a complete and utter bitch."

Well played, GB.  Well played.

P.S. Look at this.  Effing hilarious.  Now I have to go and stare some information down.

GOING BACK IN TIME

Hey, remember that time when I was a first-year in law school and I wanted to name our intramural football team "UT Raw" because that's how my immigrant parents pronounce the name of our illustrious law school? 

Good stuff.

3L LAZINESS

Intense negotiations occurred tonight on Instant Messenger between T & me:

Peril: quit crying over Gray's Anatomy

TMT: nooooo

. . .

TMT: hey can you bring me a snack?

Peril: nooooo

TMT: come on

Peril: i've got some cheese and wheat thins sitting right here

TMT: ok

Peril: if you bring me a pair of running shorts and my yoga ball

TMT: crap. 

Peril: i'm not going back there.  i've been a prisoner all day.

TMT: well, i'm not coming out there until Gray's Anatomy is over

Peril: stalemate

The context of this conversation is that T's sitting in her room right now, and I'm in the living room.  I've only given you an excerpt, but essentially, she's too lazy to eat and I'm too lazy to exercise.  We are both, apparently, too lazy to actually speak to each other.  I refuse, however, to go back to my room.  I've been locked in there all day because of the film crew needing every single space of our house.  So T can starve, as far as I'm concerned.

That is, unless she brings me my running shorts and yoga ball.  Then we'll talk. 

I REALLY NEED TO START STUDYING

Okay, first of all, if you're reading this post and you haven't seen Capote, stop reading and go.  Immediately.  It's insanely good, and makes me want to have Phillip Seymour Hoffman's creepy-ass babies.  Seriously, they'd be awesome children, what with my stunning good looks and irrepressible personality, but creepy as all hell (honestly, though, I'd probably have a genetic hand in the creepy part, too). 

Kanye came with me to the SBA tailgate this weekend, which reminded me of first year, when D. Ro got us kicked out of a football game for 1) jumping onto the field; and 2) having two flasks in his cargo pants pockets (seriously, D, if you're still wearing them, we have to have a serious conversation about age and time-appropriate apparel) that didn't even belong to him.  By the way, if you're ever wondering to yourself why the SBA doesn't do more tailgates, it's because it inconveniences everyone on the SBA and whoever they tangentially associate with.  Not only did I have to give up my car for a night, but I had to wake up super-early to go pick up barbecue, Kanye had to be at the house at 10, and T and AE had at least 3 car mishaps involving borrowing vehicles and parking (or lack thereof).  In short, it's a cluster fuck of epic proportions.

Also, I realized this weekend that I have a serious illness when it comes to food when Kanye took me to Uchi (no tasting menu, but one of these days, I swear) and we had the sawagani, which are these tiny Japanese crabs that they deep fry and then sprinkle with kosher salt.  You pop the whole crab, no bigger than an inch in diameter, into your mouth, and it tastes like a potato chip with a warm, sweet inside.  As Kanye dramatically passed out on the seat next to him upon eating one of these delectable creatures, I found myself wondering whether you could do the same to the tiny Charleston fiddler crabs that you see all over my parents' dock.  Then I thought about how you'd catch the little buggers, because they move really fast and generally fear humans.  With a net?  A pot?  Could you stun them somehow, in order to slow them down?

I know, I know.  Serious.  Mental. Problems.

Right now, I'm holed up in my room because people are filming a movie at our house.  I thought it would be wicked cool and that I would get to be an extra, but after I accidentally ate some of their props (how was I supposed to know that donuts and juice weren't for breakfast), I felt the production would have benefited from my absence.  I'm fairly certain that feeling was mutual.

Also, never ever watch "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" in the same day as "Capote."  I had nightmares about oompa-loompas trying to kill me last night.

I'LL GIVE YOU $2 IF YOU CAN NAME THE IDIOT

Here's a party trick: bring a dollar to a party and see who will do something, anything for it.

On my way to a thing last night for Z & M, I bet Quarter Asian a dollar that he couldn't say to someone over the age of 40, "This shit's bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S."  The condition was that 1) it had to be someone he'd never met before; and 2) it had to be within the context of a conversation.

Quarter Asian was, not surprisingly, a woman about it.  I explained to him that I always bet people a dollar to do the most incredibly insane things, and you'd be amazed at what people are willing to do for it.  It's not about the dollar -- it's about pride and the challenge, really.

By the time I'd finished a margarita, there was food to be eaten: fajitas (beef and chicken), queso, tortillas, you know the Tex-Mex drill.  Two green chile hot sauces were near the end of the line with a little placard stating, "This is VERY hot.  Be warned!" 

"Whatev," I sniffed.  "Look at that sauce: it's creamy.  No creamy sauce could ever be that bad."  Quarter Asian agreed.  We both liberally garnished our fajitas before heading outside to join CG and Med School Guy.

Within five seconds of taking my first bite into my food, my mouth was about to fall off from the heat.  Quarter Asian, who'd started eating by hoovering at least half of his fajita, broke out into a sweat.  We both reached for margs to drown out the heat, which was wholly ineffective.  The heat spread down into my throat, and my eyes started watering.  It burned in my soul.

Med School Guy (MSG) was dubious and started mocking our weakness (who was he, anyway?  Saving lives.  Pish posh.)  Then, seeing an opportunity, I laid my challenge.

"I bet you a dollar you can't eat two spoonfuls of this sauce AND not drink anything for 5 minutes afterwards."

Predictably, MSG agreed.  I scooted off to grab a plate with 4 tortilla chips and two tablespoons of the creamy devil.  MSG ate the entire plate in about 10 seconds. 

The only way I can describe what ensued next is kind of on the level of Sally Field in the hospital scenes of Steel Magnolias: restrained grief. 

In the end, I lost a dollar.  But you know what?  For the rest of my life, I can say that I made a stranger AND a doctor do something completely retarded.  And for that, it was worth it.

Plus, I'm pretty sure that hot sauce is going to clean MSG out for weeks.

PS - afterwards, went to the Draught House, smoked my first cigar.  Felt kind of cool, kind of a tool.  Not a bad night, in the end.