So here I am at this dinner party in Santa Cruz, with a vegan dietician on my left and a yoga instructor on my right, and I'm eating my seitan burrito, and we're all chatting and having a good time, when the girl across the table starts bitching about her roommates: "It was like they were disrespecting my whole energy body!" she says passionately. And then as I'm stifling a snort she manages to segue into a diatribe against television and anybody who watches it. So I point out that, in earlier times, theater was similiarly denounced as mindless entertainment for the lower classes; that Joss Whedon is surely the Shakespeare of our age; and that any aesthetic that completely dismisses popular culture is an impoverished one informed by bourgeois presumptions. I then take advantage of the uncomfortable silence that follows to help myself to another handful of tortilla chips.
The salsa was excellent.
Combine tomatoes, onion, and jalapeño. Add cilantro until it looks about right, and salt to taste. Let marinate for a while before serving. You can also add lemon, if you want.
The Frisco Kid is generally to be found all likkered up and spoiling for a fight. She's a sexy Wild West gunslinger in the great tradition of Annie Oakley and Calamity Jane, only a little less with the sharpshooting and a little more with the booze-fueled marathons of Star Trek and sodomy.