pinchy dot org.

Dear Unilever:

I wish to purchase a ten-pound bucket of the crackly, sugary substance that is swirled throughout Ben & Jerry’s Crème Brûlée Ice Cream. Once I receive this bucket, I will strap it on my face like a feedbag and suck down the sweet goodness it contains until my stomach is on the verge of exploding.

I am prepared to indemnify you against all claims arising from the diabetic coma that will inevitably result.

Yours in butterfat,
Jeff

Today I paid my first visit to the gym in about, oh, four years. People: What was I thinking? What kept me away for so long? I love going to the gym! And I hope you all remind me that I said this in writing, on the Internet, if I start to get lazy about it.

My main fitness goal is to lose 70 pounds. Okay, I’m kidding. Eighty pounds.

Between Slow Food Nation and the Sunday Streets partial closure of the Embarcadero, I’m pretty sure that the past week’s events have made San Francisco eligible for membership in the European Union. C’mon, Almost-President Obama, make it happen. I want dual citizenship.

Two reviews: one of a play, one of a product.

Uncle Vanya, California Shakespeare Theater
I saw the outdoor matinee on a sunny Saturday afternoon. My right eye thoroughly enjoyed it. My left eye was largely, shall we say, indisposed.

Neutrogena Ultra Sheer Dry-Touch Sunblock, SPF 55
This sunblock provides broad-spectrum protection against ultraviolet rays, and it goes on dry, without any greasy residue. However, the package’s warning to “avoid contact with eyes” should be printed in much larger type. Alternatively, each tube should be packaged with a sharp fork, so that any unfortunates who get this sunblock in their eye can give expression to their physical anguish by gouging out the burning, severely reddened organ.

If you’re looking for an inexplicably hilarious summary of Fidel Castro’s tenure as the leader of Cuba, look no further. George W. Bush is all over it:

[Bush] said that Raul Castro is “nothing more than an extension of what his brother did, which is ruin an island.”

You hear that? Cuba was a perfectly good island. And Fidel Castro ruined it.

Fucking island-ruiner.

I’ve switched to a new web hosting company for this site. Several things got broken in the move, but I think I’ve fixed all of them. If you run across something that doesn’t work, though, please let me know.

At the end of the documentary I Like Killing Flies, New York restaurant owner Kenny Shopsin crams a year’s worth of talk therapy into this monologue:

Brace yourself, Internet, for I’m about to reveal a deep, dark secret.

For the past few years, several of my friends and I have periodically assembled, both in the light of day and the gloom of night, at various fancy pizza places. With gleams in our eyes and growling in our bellies, we gaze eagerly upon their menus, searching for the perfect marriage of crust and topping—one that will set our limbic systems alight with bliss.

Our name is Team Pizza. And our quest is neverending.

Last night, Team Pizza journeyed to the wilds of Glen Park, in San Francisco, to visit Gialina. People: It was excellent. I’d say it’s one of the top five pizzerias in the Bay Area. We ordered four different pizzas, and they were all great. Don’t miss the Atomica, which has possibly the best tomato sauce I’ve ever had on a pizza. I also recommend any of the pizzas that include various pork-related products.

To the Bay Area’s other upscale pizza-oriented restaurants, I say this: Ready your ovens. Proof your dough. You cannot know when Team Pizza will strike, but rest assured that we will. If your pizza is inferior, our scorn will be merciless. But if you delight us with a superior meal, you may be semi-coherently praised by one man with a seldom-updated weblog.

Hey, everyone: Go read this fascinating article about boredom.