Pizza, again.

Carcharodon carcharias and some dead guy

Ah, lazy Sunday. Up at 8am, scrolling through the casting calls, languidly feasting on Raisinets and watching the The Reef - an import from Australia starring my number one frightmare, The Great White. But with the volume way down so I don't scream and fall out of my chair when the shark shows up. The Reef is a perfect example of the horror I feel toward open water (also the less gorey, less star-studded but no less harrowing version of Open Water, which I cannot handle). The boat tips, and is on its way to sinking, the people are dumped, scramble back onto the capsized hull and decide that swimming to shore is the way to survive. Silly humans. 1 out of 5 survives. And is in permanent shock. (True story!)

The fact is, I'm a movie watcher and book reader until we get settled and I get a job. I am exclusively lazy right now, my activities centered around when Bill will get up, get home or get back from the bathroom. I want to think that I have unlimited ideas, become easily distracted by the wonder of new places and that boredom is something I mastered after middle school. The truth is, my stand-by recipe for fun is out of the house for 10 hours a day, 5 days a week. So, my assignment is to engage in something
I don't have to share with Bill, which, if you ask him, should be easy. I'm always watching something he wanted to watch too, or drinking the whole milkshake or taking all the covers. But that's not the important stuff. Truly, the only thing we don't share is gainful employment, and of course, his love of uninterrupted hours of sedentary gaming.
More on this later.

Yesterday was another adventure in pizza. Nothing ground-breaking, just a sweet little mom and pop joint in West Seattle called Giononni's. Mom and Pop were out yesterday, it was their two Long-Island-Style sons who were presumably running the place. It was a nice flashback to my NY days, when grabbing a slice for $2 happened naturally, often after whatever you just ate. The pizza was fine, not phenomenal, but I tried a taste of their Full Tilt ice cream and Holy Shit. I had just a spoonful of Ube, (one not shared with Bill) a Filipino squash-flavored ice cream revelation. Did you know about this? I'm undone. Full Tilt, I'm coming for you.

Last night, I did a series of stupid crap. Pitched a fit about not wanting to make pizza, pouted, disappeared, reappeared covered in flour, allowed my new dough to rise and set to perfection, then abused it until it no longer resembled the labor of love it was meant to be. Watch the beginning here:

"Can I do somethin?" Yeah, you can stop me. Leave the dough just like it is. Too much stretching and spinning and you're gonna tear a....
Hole. I spun it, I ripped it, I reformed it into a ball. And did that. Over. And over. And I knew what I was doing. As a sometimes baker I'm familiar with this cycle. It's just something I can't stop myself from doing. Maybe turning perfect dough into a worn out tire is what I'm after.
Lack of discipline, really.
In the end, we ate a dry, baked version of this, not without some difficulty:

My shortcomings as a baker are not nearly as troubling as the fact that I list pizza tossing as one of my skills on my acting resume.