Starting Over
//
Diary Of A Maverick
By
Joey Camire .
06.25.09 //
Starting Over
// Diary Of A Maverick
By
Joey Camire .
06.25.09 //
Starting Over
12/7/08
Well, Diary, it’s been a month now, and a whole lot has changed. My life has relaxed quite a bit, at least as compared to the year leading up to the election. Oh sure, everyone is so supportive, “You’ll be able to focus on the things you love!” they say. Well, my friends, you can’t spend every waking hour of your life focused on prune juice and Vietnamese hookers. Trust me, I’ve tried. It leads to regular bowel movements and regular shots of penicillin, and at my age regularity really isn’t that important. My friend, I’d rather shit my pants in public just to get back on C-Span. Regularity doesn’t make headlines. Look at Sarah Palin. There isn’t a regular bone in her maverick body… Although, there was once, but that was during the prune obsession and I’d rather not discuss it. She tried to give me an “Alaskan Pipeline” look it up… I don’t know what they are doing up there in the great white north, but I can tell you if I had been elected president I would have sold that thing back. Gross. That’s all.
Well, anyway, I figure it’s time to start over again. You know. Stick a spur in my maverick and make some 
slightly non-conformist decisions. I don’t want to go too far fringe. All I need is Sean Hanity poking around with softball questions. It’s like being interviewed by a middle school newspaper reporter. For that reason, I’ve started taking yoga classes. Coincidentally, my friend, this is why I had to quit the prunes. There is a lot of stretching in those classes. But, the class is taught by a cute little Korean girl. Namaste. I’ll tell you what diary, that would have been the war to be in, forget ‘Nam, send me to Seoul.
With my new found energy from the the yoga I’ve also started experimenting in new vocations. Now listen, my friend, I’ve never been the most eloquent orator, but where does that get you? Other than the white house? Nowhere. So I’ve decided to use my words for good. I’ve started writing a series of children’s books called “Johnny The Maverick”. They’re, of course, loosely based off of different mavericky escapades of my life. It can give that working man something to read with his boy, over a cold Schlitz, something that they can both aspire to. I’ve decided to publish them under a pseudonym, after much thought, I’ve settled on “Reynold the Writer.” Of course all good books need to be illustrated so I’ve enlisted the help of “Arty the Artist.” Before you know it, this country is going to be brimming with Mavericks, just you wait.
My friend, I know this probably all sounds so crazy, but I know what I’m doing. You don’t get the name Maverick without taking some chances. Trust me, I’ve eaten at Hardee’s and devoured the Monster Thick Burger. Not even the prunes could make regular that cube of cow flesh, but that’s where my little Cambodian nurse comes in. My friend, she filmed the procedure and titled it “Enema Of The State.” But I digress.
Next week I’m going to try sushi. If you’re starting over, what better place than your diet? Plus I hear they have some little Japanese waitresses… Sake it to me my friend.
Your Friend,
Johnny Mav
//
Stock Photo Sushi
By
Alex Aloise .
02.28.09 //
First Dates
// Stock Photo Sushi
By
Alex Aloise .
02.28.09 //
First Dates
A first date. As told through stock photography.
(Flip through the pages below, or click the book for a better view in full screen.)
//
Oh Shit I Hope Not…
By
Alex Aloise .
12.16.08 //
You Are What You Eat
// Oh Shit I Hope Not…
By
Alex Aloise .
12.16.08 //
You Are What You Eat
Nothing makes you feel better about life than a delicious meal. Depression, self-loathing, thoughts of suicide. These things pale in comparison to a thick cut of sirloin, a heaping plate of Spaghetti Bolognese, a steaming bowl of Vietnamese Pho Tai Soup.
Add Sriracha sauce to that last one, and you’re no longer feeling awful, you’re feeling downright fucking spectacular.
Ask yourself the following question:
Do you ever feel more alive and more amenable towards life than those few supreme moments during and after the enjoyment of a sacrilegiously delicious meal? (Ironically, to me it’s akin to a religious experience).
The preceding dishes were just three of the meals that give me pure, unadulterated happiness. And at the risk of sounding self-indulgent, I am going to list the other seven of the top ten foods that—when cooked right and made with the best ingredients— make me want to live forever.
As you look at them, think about whether these particular foods make you feel the same way. What is on your list?
In no particular order:
-a spicy tuna roll, a spicy salmon roll, a spicy yellowtail roll and a bowl of miso soup, served by someone who speaks broken English. This meal makes me want to make out with said server.
Especially if it’s a chack.
-a pepper, onion, tomato and cheddar omelet from a breakfast coffee shop. When consumed hungover, this meal has often made me think about getting up, dancing, slapping someone in the face, then taking off my pants. I have yet to act on any of this. Yet.
-a ½ lb bacon cheeseburger and fries from a latenight diner in the middle of nowhere, CT. This meal is best enjoyed at 3 AM when returning from an evening at the blackjack tables at some scummy, upstate casino. The best part? Regardless of whether you have won or lost, the burger will either make you feel like more of a winner if you’re a winner, and less of a loser if you’re a loser.
Unless you lost all your money and your buddy has to pay for your food. Which is just degrading.
-shrimp scampi over linguini in Little Italy after bartering your way to a half-priced bottle of wine with the maître de in return for dining there. Nothing makes you feel more like a man than getting something out of nothing for doing what you were planning to do anyway.
-cornbread muffins. The kind your mom makes.
No insult intended. Seriously.
-shrimp and broccoli in spicy Szechuan sauce, served with brown rice in some tiny, shithole-of-a-basement-restaurant in Chinatown. They shuffle you in, you indulge, they shuffle you out, you indulge again when the fridge calls out its sweet hymn 2 hours later.
-a platter of beef fajitas so big and delicious it makes you want to simultaneously die and eat more as you crush your way through them.
Now this question:
Why is it such a catch-22 that God, the cruel, malevolent dictator he is, makes it so that the more of these delicious, life-loving foods we consume, the more overweight, unsightly, unhealthy, and ultimately—unhappy we become?
Because God is a bastard, that’s why.
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