Recently I made my profile on Google chat invisible. I didn’t turn chat off, because then I couldn’t spy on other people. I made it so I could see them, but they can’t see me. Or so I think. I sometimes have the sneaking suspicion that everyone can still see me, it’s just that I think no one can. Like I went to magic shop and bought an invisibility cloak that turned out to be nothing more than a old silver cape. I would go to parties and perform mischievous acts all under the pretense that no one could see me. In reality everyone could see me, but no one wanted to talk to the creepy guy in a cape who is sneaking around the room and moving people’s shit around. I don’t really know what the perks of being invisible on Google chat are anyway. I was just looking at my chat options and saw “Become Invisible” and said to myself “I’ve always wanted to be invisible. Why not?” Now every time I log in, I have this message waiting for me:

Thanks for reminding me. Jerk.

This past weekend, when I was working on this week’s menu, I decided that the time had come to revisit a recipe that has been lying dormant for too long. A few months ago, Back Alley Trey called me to request this recipe for his Spanish class. He had to give a presentation in Spanish on how to make something Spanish. This recipe isn’t exactly Spanish, but he said it would do. Here’s the tricky part. My recipe was always a shoot from the hip type of thing. Whatever I felt like putting in, or whatever I had acquired from Jesus, went in. The concept behind it was that I had limited resources and needed to make a whole lot of food to last for at least a week. Trying to translate this into a written recipe would be weird, if not sacrilegious. What to do? So, I decided that if I boiled down the recipe to its bare bones, the bare necessities, it would still be able to be called this dish and at the same time leave it open for improvisation. So, I whipped up a recipe and gave it to B.A.T. for use in his class and elsewhere. One day I was running errands on campus and ran into B.A.T. and he had just given his presentation and had the dish with him. I was surprised because for some strange reason I had never expected him to actually make it. Like he just needed the recipe to read aloud in class and that would be the end of it. Think again.

So, I tried one. They were friggin’ awesome. Number one, I was impressed that B.A.T. could cook them with enough skill to improvise on certain things. It was like I caught a glimpse of some secret super power that he doesn’t tell anyone he has. Number two, I was impressed that it was my recipe. That I had the ability to take a dish that I hadn’t made in over 4 years, write it down on paper, give it to someone, and they were able to reproduce it perfectly. So, I requested a copy of the recipe that I had given him. It was weird requesting my own recipe back from someone. Anywho, I felt it was time to see if the recipe held up in my kitchen. Since Holliday Island is bachelorville right this second, what more appropriate setting could there be? It was time for Ghetto Burritos to live again.

As soon as word leaked out that I was making these burritos of legend, people starting inviting themselves over for dinner. At that point, I decided not to make a formal invitation, but let people invite themselves over since they were doing it anyway. If you missed burrito night, don’t feel butt hurt. It will be happening again soon I’m sure and next time be sure to send yourself an invitation.

Oh, and they were awesome. (Because I am awesome.)

Now for the weird, and strangely awesome, part of yesterday. On any given day I received between 75 and a 100 visitors to the site. Some repeats, but whatever. The stats page shows between 75 & 100. The most views ever was something like 165 in a day. Yesterday we got 317 views. The shit?! After a little snooping through the stats stuff, it appears as though someone went back and caught up on what I’ve been doing for the past three years. Nearly every post. It was kind of cool and kind of creepy at the same time. As much as I write on here, I never really expect anyone to actually read it. It is much more about the exercise. The repetition. Satiating the urge to produce metric fuck tons of terrible drivel. It is what I’m good at. Making a lot of mediocre product. I’m like a Chinese toy factory. Sure they’re not the greatest toys, but damn, I sure do make a lot of them.

Anyways, do whomever wasted the majority of their day reading about my days, um, thanks. If you are reading this, feel free to send me an email (sandwichcontrol at gmail dot com) or post a comment down below and let us know who you are. (This way I can keep an eye on you.) Or not. Whatever. Either way, you’ll be known as Mr. or Ms. 317 from now on.

On a sillier note, when I was looking into this mystery stat stuff, I discovered that 45 people have found this site by searching for the term “butthole”. I just thought that was funny.

Anywho, what am I doing today? Nothin’. There is an impromptu S.A.N.D. meeting tonight at some point. I have to make guacamole. Other than that, I am just going to twiddle my thumbs. And maybe whistle while I’m twiddling. I’ll probably watch the carwash for a few hours, too. Anyways, I’m outta here. More soon. ~SC