So the Buddha walks into a pizzeria...

(I've been feeling for a while like I ought to be doing cooking posts. Consider this as a test of the waters.)

Normally when I do Pizza Night, I build the suckers from the bottom up - homemade crust and everything. Tonight I didn't feel like going through the whole sponge-growing-and-kneading process, so I got some prefab crusts and threw some stuff on 'em.

Stacy is a Purist, of course, and got a half-plain, half-pepperoni.* I am Not, and had a need for a kitchen-sink kind of pie such as I have not indulged in for some time. Revelatory of something-or-other in my pyschology, I'm sure, I present the full list here. Thus, the Pizza with Something to Horrify Everyone:

Pepperoni
Turkey ham
Pineapple
Jalapenos
Hot banana peppers
Green olives (with pimentos)

I considered, briefly, throwing some diced onion in there too, but at that point it felt like gilding the lily.

_____
*The last of the pepperoni side of which seems to have been discreetly made away with - and right off the island countertop, no less - by the Hoagie Thief, who is currently sleeping the sleep of the full and guiltless on the back of the couch.

Maestro Sartori

So yesterday, for the first time since the millenium or so, I went and had most of my hair cut off.

Several factors came together for this. One is, yes, that I'm still unemployed, and I was starting to feel less and less in love with my hair more than it was a liability to me. It's stupid and unfair that it should be so, but stupid and unfair are, alas, still forces to be reckoned with in the world. Better to pick a fight that can be won right now, circumstances being what they are.

The other thing was that it was just exactly long enough again to donate to Locks of Love, which is really what threw the balance for me. Conceding to the silly prejudices of the mainstream doesn't leave nearly as bad a taste when you have the excuse of doing it for a good cause.

Anyway, thus I come forth new-made:


Not a bad look for me, actually. And if I get tired of it - it's hair. It grows.

(Photo by the Missus.)