Well, my Dad did not come home from the hospital after all. He may come home today and so I'm just sitting here at my desk in my little office, on call. Ready to thow all the shit I'll need for the next few days or week into my car and race down to OC if needed. Ugh.

So instead of spending last evening tending to my father I came back up to Hollywood and Mike and I went out to dinner. I just got another couple of restaurant assignments. Since I'm one of the newest freelancers I must be really low on the list because they keep giving me all the shit places to go to. Last night was a restaurant at Universal City Walk. Have you ever been to Universal City Walk?! I think that I would rather be in a hospital for five weeks than spend 15 minutes there. It's like fucking Disneyland - loads of overweight midwesterners wearing shorts that clearly ennunciate their wedgies and blowing all of last month's paycheck on an airbrushed version of themselves to hang on their bedroom wall, or better yet making stops into the store that sells ONLY magnets before waddling into the store that sells ONLY windup toys. Where the FUCK do these people come from?!

The last time (and only other time) that I've ever been to Universal City Walk was when we went to see Beck play at the Amphitheatre there. I was really stoned and no one had warned me of the madness that we would have to endure just to get to there. So last night, on the way there, I tried to persuade myself that it wouldn't be so bad, that it just seemed bad last time because I hadn't been stoned in almost a year. But it was bad, really bad. And of course the restaurant had to be at the very end of the walk, offering us the unique opportunity to gaze upon the obesity of America for at least 5 full minutes.

And it's not like once we got to the restaurant we could just escape the bedlam and enjoy a nice, quiet, free dinner. Nooo....not at this place. This place is a cross between a steakhouse and Coyote Ugly (anyone who lives in New York knows that the movie Coyote Ugly is really modeled after Hogs n' Heifers but for all those who haven't lived in New York...). There is a fucking corral out front with a real, working mechanical bull (it costs $4 to ride the bull). The first four employees that we encountered, three hosts and one waiter, all used the word awesome (in a non-sarcastic way) within the first three sentences they said to us. As in: Host #1 to Host #2: "Hey Luke, I've got some people here who want to chow down! I think they want to ride the bull too (snark, snark). Host #2 (Luke) to Host #1: "Awesome!"

Needless to say, it was a pretty painful dining experience. Picture a MaiTai served in a plastic carafe with a straw, a plate of fried chicken, the likes of which is enough to feed a small village in Zimbabwe, a couple of guys with guitars, wearing ripped up t-shirts, floating from table to table and serenading the guests with little diddys like Sweet Home Alabama. Mike made them go away when they approached us. This is why I love the man.

The worst part is that I have to go back! Reviewers are to go twice to each restaurant so that they can really get a feel for the place, which can be both a good thing and a bad. I plan to go back on a really busy Saturday night (just to torture myself). My friend, Abby, promised to come and she promised that she would Ride the Bull. That, I have to see. I may even have to take the camera.
12:37:16 PM     comment []