For the benefit of Yasmin...

... more cat pictures! Yaaaaaaaaay!






























...I took Catsby to the vet today. Apparently he's a she, which is to say the vet who originally examined her, didn't do a stellar job (though his respiratory problem seems to be gone). She may have ringworm though, which is bad because ringworm is contageous... on the bright side, that would explain why she's losing hair from her ears and tail. Also on the bright side, she tested negative for FIV and feline leukemia.... And! she's void of earmites! Hooray!

This is my life now.

Ricky Williams is Flipper.

RunningbackRicky Williams is returning to the Miami Dolphins. According to the Washington Post, he issued an apology to his teammates. What did they have to say in reply? Defensive tackle Larry Chester did what we all would do in that situation and compared himself to God: "He owed us an apology.... He did that. If God can forgive me every day for the things I've done and will possibly do, then how could I possibly hold a grudge or have any animosity toward him as far as his decisions?"

Larry's motto? "If God can do it, so can I."

"Gatsby turned out all right at the end..."

My cat's name is the Great Catsby.

More pictures of the cat... because I can.

I love him... whatever his name is...

Kitty on my foot and I want to touch it.

Today I got a kitten.


Timmy--Yasmin's friend's cousin (I think he's a cousin)--found three kittens crawling out of a shoebox on a neighbor's doorstep. This was one of them. He has a bit of a resperatory infection and an eye infection. He's only one month old and can pretty much fit in the palm of your hand.


So far the names I'm considering are Cation (a positively charged ion) and Cataracts. I'm looking pretty exclusively at names with "cat" in them, as I'm probably going to end up just calling him Cat anyway. Suggestions?

Irrational hatred of everything

Sometimes in the morning, I hate you. I also hate brushing my teeth; I hate figuring out what shirt to wear; I hate everything. However, what I hate most of all are the fucking commuters that ride the train with me. When I get to the train station, oftentimes the platform is virtually empty, with the exception of a handful of bleary eyed, quiet travelers staring into the void of the train tunnel. Then, as soon as we can see that red speck of light, that beacon of hope off in the distance that is the illuminated number on the front of a 4 or 5 train, the goddamn 2 train screeches to a halt on the other side of the platform, opens its doors, and floods the concrete dock with people transferring, pushing themselves to the edge of the platform in front of me just in time for them to claim a prime spot to enter the wooshing-open doors of my Manhattan-bound express. I am then forced to stand for the next half hour holding onto a pole that no doubt was most recently touched by the guy who doesn't wash his hands after taking his morning dump or the lady who compulsively rubs her conjunctivitis-infected eye.

Fucking assholes.

I hate you all. . . sometimes in the morning.

Di Fara Pizza, slower than a turtle

On Saturday I finally checked off the last of the famed New York pizzerias on my list. Pizza at Di Fara is hand crafted under the rule of Dominick DeMarco (or Dom as he's known by the regulars), who, himself, is an authentic slice of Italy. Watching him make pizza is a riveting, zen-like experience. Each pizza is painstakingly constructed solely by Dom (and has been for over 40 years), from the tossing of the dough, the swirling of the sauce, and the grating and spreading of three cheeses, to the final addition of olive oil and pepperoni (or whatever your topping of preference happens to be). He nicely rounds it all off by bare-handing the pizzas out of the oven. And he does all of this at the speed of a three-toed sloth. Waits up to two hours long are apparently not an unusual occurence.

Marty, Tera, Dave Hersch, and I split a half plain/half pepperoni pie. The pizza itself was quite good, though not the best I've had since my tour of New York pizzerias began. The pepperoni, though, may be the best I've ever had--sliced thick and with a mild kick to it. The pizza's faults were a too-heavy cheese-to-sauce ratio and an uneven crust. However, what it lacked in flavor (which I'd like to stress is not a lot) it made up for in its artful creation.

As a bonus they had bottles of IBC root beer stocked in the fridge.

Of all the famed pizzerias in the city only Patsy's on 118th and Di Fara sell individual slices. If I had to choose one place to go out of my way to get a slice (and believe me they are both well out of my way), it would be Di Fara, as you'll always get a fresh slice... because Dom makes 'em so slowly.

As for a whole fresh pie? It depends on the day. Totonno's is the most consistent pizza in the city. The crust is always perfectly baked and the sauce-to-cheese ratio that barely fluctuates. However it lacks the robustness of flavor that you'll find in a pizza from Patsy's or Grimaldi's. Meanwhile, Una Pizza Napoeltana is the place to go if you want authentic Neopolitan pizza, though Pepperoncino's and No. 28 are a very close second and third, respectively. Franny's is the only place worth visiting for organic pizza. And you can't beat the value of a pizza from La Villa (as long as you hold off on their D.O.C. pizza, with its imported ingredients and subsequent ballooned price), which also makes an incredible pie. Any given day, any one of these fine establishments could slice up the best pizza in the city. I just hope I'm there to eat some of it when it's served...

My visit to Di Fara by no means signals the end of my pizza outings or my posting pizza reviews on this blog. There will always be new pizzerias to visit and old ones to re-visit. If anyone's interested in dropping by the city for a pie, let me know. I'd be happy to join you.