After scanning through my picture files, I decided to open the office. I Just couldn’t bring myself to stay away today. It feels like cheating. But I have been considering finding a contributing writer to give me one day off a week. Though I’m also thinking this would be a more legitimate consideration by month six, not at month three.

Which reminds me of my first job after college. I asked my editor for a raise at three months. Some folks filled my head with funny ideas about raises at three months. I was still green to all things in the corporate world, perhaps a bit gullible too. Even in the internet with its’ flat hierarchies, certain rules still applied. That day was the first time he pink slipped me. Actually, he did counter my request with an offer to buy me away from the pimp, I mean, the agency I was temping with. Then, over the next nearly two years working with my boss, we pink slipped each other on a regular basis. At six months, he gave me an unexpected, though hoped for increase. Also, every Friday, when we’d usually submit our respective pink slips, he’d have me rewrite my time sheet. He said I worked more hours than I was claiming. Wink.wink.smile. My parents have said that job ‘ruined me’ to the corporate world. Executive Editors, CEOs, VPs, and flatly hierarchal subordinates usually don’t dine and bend elbows on a three to five times weekly basis. I still do not agree. I digress.

Back to the present..

On the night I got the call about my current freelance food writing offer, I had plans to meet up with some friends for a show in Crooklyn. I missed the show, of course. It took some time to dislodge my head from the ceiling from jumping through it. Talk about those days we never forget. That day goes straight to the top ten. Once I clear my Monday deadline I’ll tap more about it.

Back to the tater track..

The show I was supposed to see was at Trash Bar. Behind the bar there’s a sign that says—Free bar snacks on request. I wondered what the bar snack was, and I was famished from the post excitement rush which had me forgetting to eat dinner before heading out. Though I was buzzing,—glowing—as my friend T said.

I asked the bartender about the free bar snack on request.—Tater tots. Then he proceeded to pour frozen tater tots from an institutional size bag into the Autofry® —you know, the Autofry®, The Leader in Ventless Deep Frying Technology—that lurked behind the bar. He set the timer. S.c.a.r.y. But I admit, the Autofry® makes a dog-good tater tot. Crispy on the outside, a bit scalding, but gooey inside. Yes, I did eat the tater tots. They actually somehow remain on my secret guilty pleasure foods list. Though I haven’t kept a bag of these particular secret guilty pleasures in my freezer for over a year.

Some things take years to wean from. But sooner or later, I arrive at the place I set my mind to. Slow and steady gets the gander. Or is it slow and low is the tempo? Hades, after ten years, I have ended—for ever—my cigarette smoking tenure. The last one I had was a fancy fag bummed from some random Spanish garçon in California. I took two puffs, then tossed it. Rather, I snuffed it out then threw it in the garbage. You don’t flick cigarettes in CA. So, cigarettes and me are no more, as well as some other unseemly habits. Perhaps tater tots and me are also fini.

You decide. Here is an amuse tater bouche..

..and an amuse Autofry® bouche for you and you and you..

Now I return to my raison d’être for this weekend’s sequestration at home sweet home.

Buen provecho..