New York City, baby.

Tuesday, August 19, 2003

Blubox is too old to wallow in own pain – or at least write about life’s little screwjobs.
So what’s left to talk about? I’ve narrowed it down to 5 things: The Restaurant. The Red Sox (Or how much I detest the Yankees). Box Office Results. Bloggers. New Music.

Today I shall tackle the first issue on my list…

With his winning “I just got blown” smile and his decidedly Affleckish “the smoke I’m blowing up your ass is also good for the environment” flair, Rocco Dispirito seemed like the kind of guy that Blubox would like to cockpunch and then run. That was after seeing the first couple of episodes of The Restaurant, i.e. the best reality TV show since Joe Millionaire (Damn you, Burnett. Damn you for being so good.) But the more I watch The Restaurant the more I favorably alter my opinion of Rocco. Huh? What? Not since Blubox changed his review of Neil Young’s Silver and Gold, which originally garnered a lowly 1 1/2 stars and then many years later was changed to 3 stars has there been such a dramatic reevaluation. The more I see what Rocco has to deal with – in particular, how many Haters he has to contend with – the further I move into his corner. In one episode a very important chef with a very important foreign accent - dining at Rocco’s with another famous chef chiefly for the pleasure of being sorely disappointed with the dining experience - gets into bitchy chef mode before the tiramusu has arrived, commenting on how sad it is that “certain chefs have to prostitute themselves.” You know what, dude? Leave the Rockster alone. The fellow chef defends Rocco’s showman like skills by pointing out that since the dawn of time chefs have been as much hustlers as they have been cooks. As he explains “at the end of the day we are all servers” because “great food is not enough.” The same could be said of another creative vocation. Are those who realize that they are a “server” to the public a mature person or a sell-out who has lost his conviction? Blubox is making their brain hurt. Time to stop contemplating these kind of questions. A weak move after three glasses of Pinot Grigio. Time to go drinking with friends. Friends are what matter, homeslice.


Post a Comment

<< Home