Shorty writes: Yah what a great idea CG.....recipes by Rance. But I have a DAMN feeling he wont reply to our MOTHERFUCKING questions. Cuz I think this question isn't FUCKING challenging enough. Or Rance can't or doesn't like to cook....SHIT, maybe I have to throw in a few bad ASS words like SHIT, FUCK and PUSSY to draw some attention here????? Ok here we go.....Rance, is there any kind of SHIT u like to cook? I mean not boiling a MOTHERFUCKING egg or something but a real MOTHERFUCKING meal. Now don't be a PUSSY and answer the FUCKING question!! :p
Reply: First off, Shorty, put just about any of your posts to music, you've got an Eminem song.
Second, I'm flattered by the many inquiries about what I eat, particularly since, for all you know, I'm a hairy fat psycho blogging from a halfway house who drinks his own urine. As far as I'm concerned, the question gets to the heart of a hairy fat problem I've been having this blog. If I can't answer questions that simple, and I can't, then I've fairly well painted myself into a small corner as to what I can talk about, haven't I? For instance, if I say, "last night I went to Spago," I've damn near outed my identity. Of if I say, "I stayed in last night," then someone keeping score can rule out the fifty or so potential Rances who were seen eating out. For that matter, I can't even say whether I ate in LA or in New York or on location or on Mars.
I think when I first started this, I thought I'd write nifty entries like, "I went to a party last night at such-and-such a producer's, saw famed actress so-and-so have one too many Cosmopolitans and barf, and an enterprising young CAA agent collect the vomit in his wife's purse and list it on eBay." But by virtue of reporting it, the Rance suspect pool would dwindle to like three swimmers.
Now, I fully expect comments like: "The hell were you thinking, doing a blog , dipshit?" And to those I'll respond, "When's the last time you decided to do a revelatory pseudonymous blog and planned it all out perfectly?" So, Shorty, if I tell you I'm not into cooking, that eliminates all the potential Rances who've stated on the record that they are into it. I probably should've never said I like Fatburger. That's where it will all end for me, isn't it, maybe a few months, maybe a year from now? I'll be caught by some tabloid show's klieg lights while buying a bag of Curly Fries with Extra Grease. So do I have to cut down on Fatburger now? If so, the silver lining is that I'll probably live several extra years.
I would like to say a few words on the subject of Spago. It is, for the three of you who don't know, Wolfgang Puck's famous restaurant/star-sighting mecca on Sunset. I wouldn't be caught dead there. Or I love it. Or I go there every now and then. Can't tell you. But Tom Cruise goes there--or at least he did once, a year or so ago, for lunch, with Penelope Cruz. You remember. You saw the hundreds photos of them necking at their table throughout their meal. This was how they became a public item. Did you wonder how it was that the very private Tom and Penny were caught alive in that place? And why would they would elect to suck face for the cameras after seeing the first flash or hearing the first shutter snap? And how did so many camera operators know to be in Spago at that precise moment? You think a press agent, or a team thereof, might've had a hand in it? Those of us in L take every published photograph and industry news item with a grain-no, make that a dumptruckful--of salt. If I can get you to do that, then maybe this blog will have been of some use. Also, it's good sport. Give it a try sometime.
Later,
R
PS: Posters have been complaining of having trouble posting comments. Likely a function of increased traffic. Complain to lycos or tripod or whatever and you'll receive Dodge Viper Points.
Posted by captainhoof
at 11:04 AM CST
Updated: Wednesday, 24 March 2004 11:07 AM CST
