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Monday, November 1
As time passes, birthdays mean less and less to me, but I end up having prolonged celebrations. What used to be a day at Chuck E. Cheese's has now blossomed into multiple weeks of festivities. I now do a Maryland and NY b-day thang. And as my b-day looms on the horizon (this Sunday for all you gift givers), this past weak end was dedicated to roots of del Thigh Master.
Friday night I headed solo (long story) like Han to the lovely Ottobar in a rather shady area of Bal'more, Merryland (but hey, isn't all of Bal'more shady?). I was there to catch my flavorite band of the moment: The Fiery Furnaces. After peeping their majestic medley-laden amazingness at The Bowery B-Room back in late Zeptember I knew I had to see them again (and again x3471). Does that make me the band's only groupie? Probably, but so be it. Anywho, I was glad to get there b4 the FFs took to the stage, so I could czech out the gay hotttness of the The Hidden Cameras. Think Belle & Sebastian, but even butter, and maybe even gayer. As for the main event, Matt & Eleanor Friedberger-Furnacesness, with help pitched it from Andy Knowles & Toshi Yano, once again electrified the crowd with one of the finest live shows out there (surely toe-tappingiest). I won't go on and on about how I pray to them 5 times daily, but you have to pick up their latest, Blueberry Boat (destined to top Thigh's breastest albums of the year), and catch them live. And for the record, I'd like to note that Matty Friedberger looks like a handsomerer version of John Kerry, and I want to have Eleanor's babies.
Saturday was a day of pure gluttony (but that's pretty much every day for me). With Mama, Papa, and Sister Master in tow, we headed up 30 miles north into the Merryland 'boonies' to the closet mecca of down home eats. We started off with some Cracker Barrel craziness including sitting on the rocking chairs, playing the peg game, and having the fam watch me devour some of dat chicken fried chicken smothered in gravy. After that, although there was no room left in my stomach, we went up the road to Waffle House for some pecan waffle dessertness. YUM! Many hours and moons later, my mum pieced together a b-day dinner for the ages. I mean why go out to eat when mumsy can cook better than Martha Stewart, Rachael Ray, and Mrs Field's combined!! Everything from flank steak to sweet potato pie to potato latkes to mustard soup to creme brulee was inhaled over 3+ hrs. What a mos purrrrrrrfect warm-up to Thanksgiving (the Thigh's all-tim flav holly-day). Bless you mum and bless you dad for marrying mum. And bless you both for doing the nasty so I can enjoy yer greatness as peoples... and mum's cooking.
Then it was Sunday. With an extra hour of sleep under my belt, I headed out to the city formerly known as Raljon to catch my belovededed Redskins do damage... to themselves. BOOOO!!!! Start Ramsey!! Well, at least I got to see Farve play at least once before he retires (at least!!!), and we can all sleep easy now cause Kerry will win on Tuesday for sure (or whenever the smoke clears) cause histiry SEZ so. And how could I forget to mention the stooopendous 10am tailgate! I must have chowed down at least 127314643 sausages and pecan twirls with the great company of Hofpenis, Guns n' Rosenthal, Krazmataz, Minky, and the one and only Todd Slanderous. Thanks to everyone who made the pre-B-day weak end filled with more food, folks, and fun than any human can handle... unless of course yer first name is Thigh. FOOD COMA FOREVER!!! The only regret is not dressing up for Halloween, but why even try when Ross K Doji had the one costume to rule them all...
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