Took the chili to the cookoff at work. Didn't win, but got a nice consolation prize. Heard an interesting thing, though. I took the time last night to roast and peel about 7 pounds of anaheim and poblano chiles, add some home grown tomatoes and onions and spices and let them simmer just right....and the white guy from Nebraska pronounced it "not *real* green chili." I asked him what "real" green chili looks like, and he said "it's that stuff they put on your enchiladas." I corrected him and told him that what he's thinking of is tomatillo salsa, and he said "anyway, my Puerto Rican girlfriend didn't like it." I wanted to laugh and laugh and laugh, but I had to go.
I wrote a very angry letter to my boss, telling him that everyone in my group is stressed to breaking. He sent me back a meeting request for Tuesday morning, and then at the chili cookoff studiously avoided me. That's good. This means that he's afraid, and this works to my advantage. Be afraid, little surfer boss. Be very afraid.
Poor pirateguillermo isn't feeling well. The good news is that there's leftover chili and tomorrow's Saturday. I think I may get up early and make him some yummy breakfast so that he can sleep until his belly button pops and feel better.