Whenever a celebrity has an offensive meltdown in front of a camera or microphone, and the public comes down on him. some defender of justice pipes up with "Whatever happened to Freedom of Speech?" Answer: Nothing has happened to "Freedom of Speech"
Freedom of Speech applies to government regulation: "Congress shall make no law... abridging the freedom of speech..."
Freedom of speech is not the issue for Michael Richards, or anyone else that makes people angry with their words. Kramer wasn't arrested for his crime against humanity. In fact, he can say every word of his tirade again if he wants. Mel Gibson was arrested for drunk driving, not talking while intoxicated.
While we are all free to speak, we are not free from the consequences of our speech. What Michael Richards said Friday night will cost him future stand-up comedy gigs, which he does more for fun than for money. It may reduce "Seinfeld" DVD sales, but it won't cost him his freedom. Jerry Seinfeld and Chris Rock have made millions from this freedom, of course they are also one thoughtless rant away from quiet obscurity in their multi-million dollar homes.
Relax. Freedom of speech is just fine, and so are consequences.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Paris Hilton "Rant"
Here is a "rant" I wrote a couple of weeks ago for an audition. I didn't get the job so I might as well do something with it. I place the word, rant, in quotes because a rant implies a heightened state of emotion, even anger toward the subject. For the record: I cannot pretend to care about Paris Hilton, or much else in that universe- Which may be why I didn't get the job. Enjoy.
If you're Paris Hilton, a DUI is great for your career. Paris Hilton's motto- "I don't care what you say, just spell my name right." J O H N N I E- by the way. Cuz I'm with her there.
The woman works hard, producing meaningless music, movies that go straight to home video, movies that come straight from home video- all to promote her career as a drunken party slut.
In fact driving under the influence is the only talent she's ever displayed in public. Partying is what she does best and in that, she's a draw. Women want to be there to pick up slutting tips. Men want to be there because they expect oral sex- and at least they'll get to watch.
After the leak that someone else sang on her CD, sales went up. People thought, that if she hired a singer, it might be worth a listen.
The restaurant chain, Carl's Jr. gave her millions to put on a bikini and answer the question; which is bigger? A Western Bacon Cheeseburger or Paris Hilton's ass. Sadly it was the cheeseburger. However when arrested, she tells the world, she needed an In-n-Out burger. And there you have it. Even when there are millions of dollars at stake, she can't resist the old in-n-out.
Paris Hilton beat the system. There is no such thing as bad publicity, and it certainly can't hurt your career if you don't do anything.
I'll post the other "rant" as soon as I find it. Thanks for knowing how to read.
If you're Paris Hilton, a DUI is great for your career. Paris Hilton's motto- "I don't care what you say, just spell my name right." J O H N N I E- by the way. Cuz I'm with her there.
The woman works hard, producing meaningless music, movies that go straight to home video, movies that come straight from home video- all to promote her career as a drunken party slut.
In fact driving under the influence is the only talent she's ever displayed in public. Partying is what she does best and in that, she's a draw. Women want to be there to pick up slutting tips. Men want to be there because they expect oral sex- and at least they'll get to watch.
After the leak that someone else sang on her CD, sales went up. People thought, that if she hired a singer, it might be worth a listen.
The restaurant chain, Carl's Jr. gave her millions to put on a bikini and answer the question; which is bigger? A Western Bacon Cheeseburger or Paris Hilton's ass. Sadly it was the cheeseburger. However when arrested, she tells the world, she needed an In-n-Out burger. And there you have it. Even when there are millions of dollars at stake, she can't resist the old in-n-out.
Paris Hilton beat the system. There is no such thing as bad publicity, and it certainly can't hurt your career if you don't do anything.
I'll post the other "rant" as soon as I find it. Thanks for knowing how to read.
Monday, September 18, 2006
I'm Running for Congress
I am now announcing my campaign as an independent candidate for the US House of Representatives, and I'd like to try out some slogans:
Johnnie for Congress
Because I need a job with benefits
Do a brother a solid- Vote for Johnnie
If elected, I'm stealing everything that's not nailed down- and bringing it back to my supporters!
Johnnie in the house! Sounds good, eh?
Johnnie for Congress
I'll figure it out when I get there.
Johnnie Walker for House of Representatives
One of 365 votes- How much harm can I do?
Johnnie Walker for US Congress
My influence is for sale- Cheap! Because I care about the common man.
Send Johnnie to Congress, because there's dumber guys than him in there.
Let me know which ones touch your heart. Or suggest some.
Thanks. I love you all.
-Johnnie Walker
Independent Candidate for the US House of Representatives
Johnnie for Congress
Because I need a job with benefits
Do a brother a solid- Vote for Johnnie
If elected, I'm stealing everything that's not nailed down- and bringing it back to my supporters!
Johnnie in the house! Sounds good, eh?
Johnnie for Congress
I'll figure it out when I get there.
Johnnie Walker for House of Representatives
One of 365 votes- How much harm can I do?
Johnnie Walker for US Congress
My influence is for sale- Cheap! Because I care about the common man.
Send Johnnie to Congress, because there's dumber guys than him in there.
Let me know which ones touch your heart. Or suggest some.
Thanks. I love you all.
-Johnnie Walker
Independent Candidate for the US House of Representatives
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Get to the Point
How often does this happen to you. You check your cell phone and there is a message waiting. You call the voice mail box and hear the soothing tones of voice mail lady,
"Wednesday two thirty-six p.m." followed by the voice of a comrade,
"Hi, (your name here) It's (friend's name) It's, uh, about two two thirty- two thirty-five on wednesday the, aaahh- Hey, what the date?- anyway..."
Your friend, bless their heart, was trained back in the 1900s when the professional and considerate thing to do when leaving a phone message was to include the time of the call. That way when you’re playing back an old message, you’ll know just how old it was. Thank you.
That was then. However, it’s 2006, techno-geezer, I know what time it is. Since my first pager in 1983 to this day, every voice mail I've ever had would tell me what time a message was left. And it’s been at least a decade since I’ve owned an answering machine that didn’t have a clock in it as well.
So it’s just plain redundant to leave the time you called in a message. I know it’s maybe 10 seconds a message, repeated if I have to play it again, but it’s ten seconds that I will spend thinking less of you. Imagine, you’re checking your messages in some noisy hallway or parking garage, struggling to hear over the racket and find a spot where the signal is strong, and by the time you’ve figured out that somebody is telling you what you didn’t need to hear again the noise rises and you miss what you really need to hear so you have to play the message again from the beginning, and more clearly you listen to your buddy stammering precisely as they can through the incorrect time, including the date, because you probably don’t check your cell phone more than once a month.
If you want to be considerate, and who doesn't, you might leave your phone number AT THE BEGINNING of the message, so we don’t have to play the entire message again to write it down. And thanks to caller ID, you don’t often have to do that unless your number is blocked and the recipient isn’t a regular with you.
So there you have a little more instruction in the care and feeding of me. You may rest assured that if you were bothering me, you were really pissing off someone else, cuz they don’t come any easier going than me.
You’re welcome.
"Wednesday two thirty-six p.m." followed by the voice of a comrade,
"Hi, (your name here) It's (friend's name) It's, uh, about two two thirty- two thirty-five on wednesday the, aaahh- Hey, what the date?- anyway..."
Your friend, bless their heart, was trained back in the 1900s when the professional and considerate thing to do when leaving a phone message was to include the time of the call. That way when you’re playing back an old message, you’ll know just how old it was. Thank you.
That was then. However, it’s 2006, techno-geezer, I know what time it is. Since my first pager in 1983 to this day, every voice mail I've ever had would tell me what time a message was left. And it’s been at least a decade since I’ve owned an answering machine that didn’t have a clock in it as well.
So it’s just plain redundant to leave the time you called in a message. I know it’s maybe 10 seconds a message, repeated if I have to play it again, but it’s ten seconds that I will spend thinking less of you. Imagine, you’re checking your messages in some noisy hallway or parking garage, struggling to hear over the racket and find a spot where the signal is strong, and by the time you’ve figured out that somebody is telling you what you didn’t need to hear again the noise rises and you miss what you really need to hear so you have to play the message again from the beginning, and more clearly you listen to your buddy stammering precisely as they can through the incorrect time, including the date, because you probably don’t check your cell phone more than once a month.
If you want to be considerate, and who doesn't, you might leave your phone number AT THE BEGINNING of the message, so we don’t have to play the entire message again to write it down. And thanks to caller ID, you don’t often have to do that unless your number is blocked and the recipient isn’t a regular with you.
So there you have a little more instruction in the care and feeding of me. You may rest assured that if you were bothering me, you were really pissing off someone else, cuz they don’t come any easier going than me.
You’re welcome.
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Got Milk
I've been eating my cereal with rice milk. We know it's not really "milk" sucked by machines from tiny rice teats. Actually it's packaged as rice "drink". I've arrived at this destination after more than a decade since a conversation with a vegetarian comic, Gerry Swallow, who I was working with in Dallas. Gerry was trying to convince me that it is unhealthy to drink milk.
"Milk isn't for people. It's for cows! Baby cows. And even they don't drink it after a while." Many people develop a lactose intolerance, which they aren't shy in describing. I've heard of statistical evidence that women who drink milk are more likely to give birth to multiple kids (twins, triplets), because of the hormones and stuff they give to cows to enhance their fertility. I got enough kids so that's more incentive.
Gerry recommended soy milk instead. (The image of soy bean teats makes me giggle as well)
I took this advice to heart since I would like to be healthier and more energetic. (I'd really like to sleep more, but that's doesn't pay) I began to notice what I put into my body. Keeping a vague burgers to apples ratio in my head. (about 5 to 1) How do I feel after a Fatburger? A malt? An apple? (sleepy, happy, hungry) Am I eating lots of fat? (Fat tastes good!) Sugar? (mmm sugar) Dirt and bugs? (Whadayagonna do?)
I tried cutting down on red meat, sugar, processed foods, in hope of gaining vitality and maybe losing a few pounds around the middle. (I'm as neurotic about my weight as any actress, but I won't give up food.) Just taking little steps. Better food and less of it. I hear that works. But what is "better food". I tend to think that vegetarians have it right, I just wonder if they're happy... Really?
Having decided that soy milk made me heave, I choose low-fat or skim milk as a compromise. Once you're used to skim milk, whole feels kinda heavy. I understand that whole milk is much better if you're making pancakes- which is part of the problem.
I was talking to a skinny vegan friend, who has been trying to convert me for years, about what she eats. As it turns out, McDonald's French fries. It can't be that bad a way of life if you get to eat French fries. But what do put on your cereal if you don't like soy milk? I've seen people eat cereal with water, but I think that was a poverty related choice. They tried to convince me they liked it, but really, who ya foolin? My vegan friend suggested rice milk. I had seen it in the grocery store so I knew she wasn't making it up, and I certainly prefer rice to soy. Turns out, it taste okay on cereal. However it's awful with cookies.
Tangent: A skinny actress was giving me a ride home from the show we were working on ( I was between cars) when she suddenly had a craving for chocolate so we stopped at a convenience store. She ran in but came back empty handed since they had only milk chocolate and no dark chocolate. What's wrong with milk chocolate? "Milk chocolate is for children." You can tell my life is run by skinny women and rules. So I've acquired a taste for dark chocolate, like I acquired a taste for beer, because I want to look grown up in public. Alas, dark chocolate hasn't gotten me laid. However, beer has!
Ultimately I'd like to eliminate cattle from my life. Not because the cattle have done me harm. Mostly because they are the stupidest looking animals on earth. I've been to those cattle factory places and seen them standing around chewing on something with the big strings of slobber swinging from their mouths. And I've seen their big sloppy milk bags with the giant nipples, and I think "Yuck. People drink that?!"
School children were asked where they thought milk came from. Many, mostly city kids, answered "from the store" I like that answer. I would like to return to that level of ignorance, but it's too late. I can only now live in denial. In my own world where milk comes from the store and steak from the kitchen. Where rice have teats.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
43 (Not George)
43 (Not George)
Current mood: cheerful
Category: Life
Today is my birthday and mostly what comes to mind is that my knees hurt when I go up and down stairs. I'd like to buy a house someday and I think one story is tall enough. No McMansion. Just a bedroom and a driveway and a yard for the dog. A big comfy chair and a flat screen TV with HBO and IFC and lots of news channels to feed my anchorbabe fantasies. Don't need a kitchen. When I'm not eating out, I make frozen dinners and cereal, and a great pbj. I'll get a Tablemate II to dine on and when I'm finished with my Fatburger I will adjust it to hold my laptop while I watch internet videos of street fights and car crashes. I'm not rich enough to marry a stripper or dumb enough to be the baby's daddy so I'll have to train the dog to dial 911 when I keel over. Mom Has Alzheimer's so I'm not expecting her to call like she used to every year. I'll call her while she still remembers who I am.
Really: I'm having dinner with a friend, maybe lunch with a friend and breakfast with a friend's dog. I have a voice over audition at noon. My agent wants to know which dialect I do best; Chicago, southern or urban hip hop. I do them all pretty well though none of them great. Fact is, I'm virtually never asked to do any of them. One of the realities of being a black actor is that you are rarely called upon to play Cockney or or even New York Italian. Still they are in my repertoire, though covered with dust. My urban/hip hop is mostly my inner gangsta fighting to get out. I know lots of black people and speak the language when I have to, so it should be okay. Anyone who's met me can imagine the shootouts I been in and all the niggas I left bleeding in the street. Voiceover is that segment of acting where you can play against type as long as nobody sees you. Maybe I should dust off my Irish, which even the Irish actors never get hired to do. Or maybe I should brush up on web site design.
Happy birthday to me!
Current mood: cheerful
Category: Life
Today is my birthday and mostly what comes to mind is that my knees hurt when I go up and down stairs. I'd like to buy a house someday and I think one story is tall enough. No McMansion. Just a bedroom and a driveway and a yard for the dog. A big comfy chair and a flat screen TV with HBO and IFC and lots of news channels to feed my anchorbabe fantasies. Don't need a kitchen. When I'm not eating out, I make frozen dinners and cereal, and a great pbj. I'll get a Tablemate II to dine on and when I'm finished with my Fatburger I will adjust it to hold my laptop while I watch internet videos of street fights and car crashes. I'm not rich enough to marry a stripper or dumb enough to be the baby's daddy so I'll have to train the dog to dial 911 when I keel over. Mom Has Alzheimer's so I'm not expecting her to call like she used to every year. I'll call her while she still remembers who I am.
Really: I'm having dinner with a friend, maybe lunch with a friend and breakfast with a friend's dog. I have a voice over audition at noon. My agent wants to know which dialect I do best; Chicago, southern or urban hip hop. I do them all pretty well though none of them great. Fact is, I'm virtually never asked to do any of them. One of the realities of being a black actor is that you are rarely called upon to play Cockney or or even New York Italian. Still they are in my repertoire, though covered with dust. My urban/hip hop is mostly my inner gangsta fighting to get out. I know lots of black people and speak the language when I have to, so it should be okay. Anyone who's met me can imagine the shootouts I been in and all the niggas I left bleeding in the street. Voiceover is that segment of acting where you can play against type as long as nobody sees you. Maybe I should dust off my Irish, which even the Irish actors never get hired to do. Or maybe I should brush up on web site design.
Happy birthday to me!
Friday, April 21, 2006
Might be, might not...
Went to my doctor and he figured better safe than sorry. He scheduled a CAT scan. Quite an experience in itself with the kool-ade and the warm blood dye. But what matters is that they didn't find any thing and they took four days to tell me that. It's bad enough to have to wait but still worse to have nothing to report after the wait. I got friends that I tell about this stuff, reluctantly. And they want news. So I still have a stomach ache and, I fear that my friends think I'm crying "wolf" They don't really think that, however I feel like a twit for making them worry. Unless, I have cancer. That'll show them! Does that sound stupid enough.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
I think I have cancer...
Again. I've had it before. Colon cancer, spring of '98 I call it "the week I had cancer", sometimes "the month I had cancer" In December of '97 I had a stomach ache. In January I got insurance from SAG. The doctor was treating me for an ulcer and other acid related aliments through march, after all I was only 34. It took until late march for the doctors to find out it was cancer. A week and a half later I was in the hospital having surgery and two weeks later I was at the Drew Carey wrap party dancing my ass off and drinking tequila with the woman of my dreams. It was almost too easy. Cost about $800 and I only missed about 3 weeks of work.
It was my first day standing in for Damon Wayans. I'm standing on the set while the crew worked on lights and focused cameras. I felt the pain in my stomach.
This time, I have a stomach ache- Same place. I'm getting fat, just like last time. I feel tired and scared. I don't want to go to the doctor because I'm afraid I'm right and I don't want to miss any work. People would kill to have my job, even if it's kind of a lame job. Like the old joke: Old guy has been working in the circus, shoveling elephant shit for 50 years, someone asks, "Why don't you retire?" "And give up show biz?" I don't want to miss a day of work. I know that the moment I'm not there will be the moment I could have shown off. I'm hoping that the cancer won't get so bad before the shoot ends so I can stay. However, I know that as soon as it's found it should be handled. I don't want to take a day off from work go to the doctor, especially if it turns out to be nothing. And when can I go to Germany if I have cancer. When can I get a passport if I have a job that I don't want to get away from. Maybe, I can do it on a Saturday.
I don't want to be sick. But I don't want to be scared, and I don't want to go to the doctor. And I don't want to miss work. I don't want to miss my trip to Germany.
I just want to act. I don't care if I live or die, but if I'm alive, I want to act. I want to get up every day and act. Without worrying about money or my next job. I just want to act. Is that asking so much. I don't want cancer. I want to act.
It was my first day standing in for Damon Wayans. I'm standing on the set while the crew worked on lights and focused cameras. I felt the pain in my stomach.
This time, I have a stomach ache- Same place. I'm getting fat, just like last time. I feel tired and scared. I don't want to go to the doctor because I'm afraid I'm right and I don't want to miss any work. People would kill to have my job, even if it's kind of a lame job. Like the old joke: Old guy has been working in the circus, shoveling elephant shit for 50 years, someone asks, "Why don't you retire?" "And give up show biz?" I don't want to miss a day of work. I know that the moment I'm not there will be the moment I could have shown off. I'm hoping that the cancer won't get so bad before the shoot ends so I can stay. However, I know that as soon as it's found it should be handled. I don't want to take a day off from work go to the doctor, especially if it turns out to be nothing. And when can I go to Germany if I have cancer. When can I get a passport if I have a job that I don't want to get away from. Maybe, I can do it on a Saturday.
I don't want to be sick. But I don't want to be scared, and I don't want to go to the doctor. And I don't want to miss work. I don't want to miss my trip to Germany.
I just want to act. I don't care if I live or die, but if I'm alive, I want to act. I want to get up every day and act. Without worrying about money or my next job. I just want to act. Is that asking so much. I don't want cancer. I want to act.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
The Final Cuts
What will probably be the final episode of the UPN Sitcom Cuts is being shot right now. It's not officially done however anyone who's read the Nielson ratings for the last 2 months could have predicted the show's demise. Even before the UPN/WB merger. Not an injustice. Just business. To the show's credit, they didn't come in last every week. Still, even once is too many.
Cuts is fun little show. One of the better cast on television and some very funny jokes. I think the funniest show on UPN. Which is barely compliment.
The show is gone and the stars have to find new actors and actresses to snipe from behind. Some will be happy to go others will be sad. All will be a little richer. One star cried a lot this week. Seemed a little disingenuous considering the quality of the show and her relationships with some of the cast. I think maybe she's hurt by the loss of an opportunity. How often do you get the chance to star in a network (yes UPN is a network) television show? Since she is the big name, she may take the blame. That can be frightening and damaging. Who tracks mitigating circumstances like the miserable time slot or the miserable lead in or the awful scripts. What people track is the final score. So, maybe that's why she cries so much.
Or maybe she's like me. She doesn't want to find new day care. They say that show business is like high school with money. A sit-com is like pre-school. They have all kinds of toys and people to address all their needs and some of their petty desires. People handling personal errands. Someone to cook for them and if they don't like what's cooked, order something delivered. Someone to fill in for them when they can't, or won't make it to the set. What other job has stand-ins?
The job was good to me. I had a great time and enjoyed everyone I worked with even the evil ones. Cuts won't be missed. Except for the food.
Cuts is fun little show. One of the better cast on television and some very funny jokes. I think the funniest show on UPN. Which is barely compliment.
The show is gone and the stars have to find new actors and actresses to snipe from behind. Some will be happy to go others will be sad. All will be a little richer. One star cried a lot this week. Seemed a little disingenuous considering the quality of the show and her relationships with some of the cast. I think maybe she's hurt by the loss of an opportunity. How often do you get the chance to star in a network (yes UPN is a network) television show? Since she is the big name, she may take the blame. That can be frightening and damaging. Who tracks mitigating circumstances like the miserable time slot or the miserable lead in or the awful scripts. What people track is the final score. So, maybe that's why she cries so much.
Or maybe she's like me. She doesn't want to find new day care. They say that show business is like high school with money. A sit-com is like pre-school. They have all kinds of toys and people to address all their needs and some of their petty desires. People handling personal errands. Someone to cook for them and if they don't like what's cooked, order something delivered. Someone to fill in for them when they can't, or won't make it to the set. What other job has stand-ins?
The job was good to me. I had a great time and enjoyed everyone I worked with even the evil ones. Cuts won't be missed. Except for the food.
Monday, February 20, 2006
Best Pasta in the World
I used to know this guy, Tony Squillioso. He would always tell me what a great cook he was. Told everybody. Any time anyone mentioned lasagna he'd tell us how great his lasagna was. You said spaghetti?- his was the best. If someone is that confident, you give them a shot. He invited me and some friends over for dinner and I couldn't have been more excited. His name was Squillioso (not really), he had an accent.- maybe not directly from Italy, but probably his parents. He must know what he's doing. We began eating and it became apparent from the subdued smattering of polite compliments and overall silence that I wasn't the only one underwhelmed by the pasta. We conferred when Tony was out of the room that not only was it not great, it was not good, bordering on bad. We politely finished and went on with our lives. Months Later, as we were still friends, I came to a party Tony was hosting and again he cooked and again the pasta was bad. The last time wasn't just an off night. That's his cooking. From that night on, whenever he invited me to dinner my standard response was " I'm busy that night." And that worked for nearly a year until he says to me "Johnnie, I'm having some friends over for dinner. I want you come".
I tell him "I'm busy that night."
Tony says "I haven't told you when it is yet."
I stammer as he walks away, and he hasn't said a word to me in 8 years, though I've seen him a dozen or so times. I wonder if he knows it's his cooking and not something personal. Then again cooking is personal.
Most of us know several people that honestly believe that their lasagna is the best in the world. 80 percent of them are wrong- way wrong- not even in the neighborhood of great lasagna wrong. 10% make decent lasagna and the other 10 percent really are good. That is the essence of life is finding the 10% that are worth your time, avoiding the bad 80 and making up other reasons to endure the mediocre 10. Cooking is personal. So is eating. Most people like their own cooking. Still we've all got some personal way of preparing something at home that other people just wouldn't get if they tried it. I eat pbj on wheat bread and people look at me like I'm an alien. Some times it's merely the sight of the preparation that will rob some of their appetites. Sometimes you get to their home and see their kitchen and get food poisoning just from the sight. I watched one friend stirring spaghetti sauce in between lines of cocaine. Even though sweat was pouring off his face into the pot I could not think of a viable excuse to leave. Probably because I had no ride and didn't know where I was except that I was about 400 miles form home. The spaghetti was however remarkably good- even euphoric. I wonder if the chef's nose bleed was the secret ingredient.
I tell him "I'm busy that night."
Tony says "I haven't told you when it is yet."
I stammer as he walks away, and he hasn't said a word to me in 8 years, though I've seen him a dozen or so times. I wonder if he knows it's his cooking and not something personal. Then again cooking is personal.
Most of us know several people that honestly believe that their lasagna is the best in the world. 80 percent of them are wrong- way wrong- not even in the neighborhood of great lasagna wrong. 10% make decent lasagna and the other 10 percent really are good. That is the essence of life is finding the 10% that are worth your time, avoiding the bad 80 and making up other reasons to endure the mediocre 10. Cooking is personal. So is eating. Most people like their own cooking. Still we've all got some personal way of preparing something at home that other people just wouldn't get if they tried it. I eat pbj on wheat bread and people look at me like I'm an alien. Some times it's merely the sight of the preparation that will rob some of their appetites. Sometimes you get to their home and see their kitchen and get food poisoning just from the sight. I watched one friend stirring spaghetti sauce in between lines of cocaine. Even though sweat was pouring off his face into the pot I could not think of a viable excuse to leave. Probably because I had no ride and didn't know where I was except that I was about 400 miles form home. The spaghetti was however remarkably good- even euphoric. I wonder if the chef's nose bleed was the secret ingredient.
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