The Weekend

Lindz took this picture yesterday evening. She was unhappy with the blurriness that resulted from her turning off the flash, but I rather like the warmth of the image. You can see, from left to right, the sage, purple and cinnamon basil (rear), thyme (front), chocolate mint, Kentucky Colonel mint, rosemary and flat-leaf parsley (in the same pot as the rosemary). These herbs have been a source of enjoyment and pride, and they have enhanced my cooking (the mint has enhanced my cocktails). They are all bathed in the warm light of the recently (and quite masterfully) installed deck floodlight.



We had a very tasty dinner on Saturday. Lindz got some trout from Whole foods, and she made a very fine green bean salad with a mustard vinaigrette, and I roasted some potatoes on The Almighty Supa-Dupa Quantum Leap in Potato Technology cast iron pan, which I tossed with some herbs, mustard, a splash of vinegar and a squeeze of molasses. The trout received very simple treatment: salt, pepper and a spritz of oil, and I grilled it on heavy duty foil (saves a lot of swearing and lost fish) with alder chips a-smoldering.



The heat of recent weeks was broken by a storm system that rolled through the state. Currently, we're down in the frosty lower 80's, as opposed to where we were just a few days ago. Earlier in the week, as I trudged into work, it was about 90 degrees (this was 9 or so in the morning). I said to myself, "Gee, back in Michigan, this is usually as hot as it ever gets all day." I was thankful to have left my truck-loading days at UPS behind me.

Reviews: Two Movies and a Wine Bar

This was a particularly enjoyable weekend. It began well; Friday was payday. Work went tolerably, and then Lindz and I settled into an evening of Chinese take-out and beer.

Saturday morning saw a massive, much-needed trip to the grocery store. I find that I enjoy grocery shopping. It appeals to several of my key motivators:
1)Buying things
2)Food
3)Filling up the pantry to stave off the lurking fear of running out of food (I think that may be a Midwest thing)
4)Searching for and finding the best prices in order to stick it to The Man (I realize that's a fiction; The Man always comes out ahead)

Later, Lindz and I went to see movies. I was in the mood for dark science fiction, and she was in the mood for comedy. We don't usually see separate movies, but she saw Wedding Crashers, and I chose War of the Worlds. I had a wee bit of buyer's remorse after parting with fourteen damned dollars for sodas and popcorn, but I got over it. I munched the dearly bought popcorn, sipped the platinum pop and watched the previews. It always happens - there are so many previews (mostly for unspeakably inane movies) and so many commercials, that I actually catch myself wondering which movie is starting. "Oh, yeah," I said to myself, "I came here to see War of the Worlds." Anyway, the movie began. It is ultimately a human story. Tom Cruise, although he's a cocky, self-important Scientologist freak, comes off pretty decently here. Morgan Freeman does the opening and closing narration, the same one done by Orson Welles back in the day. The special effects are awesome, of course, and the film's pacing and cinematography are standard Spielberg. The alien machines are as terrifying as they should be, and the film really drags you into a pit of fear along with the masses of refugees trudging through the countryside trying to escape. Decent flick, worth seeing on the big screen at least once.

That evening, we went to Enoteca Vin in downtown Raleigh. It's a neat little place in an old brick building that used to be a creamery. We had a flight of three splendid pinot noirs. Our favorite was the Selby Russian River. Marvelous balance, silky smooth. Hints of herbal and medicinal notes (perhaps a bit of black licorice and eucalyptus) in a polished black cherry package. Very nice experience. We didn't eat there; we just drank. The food looks very interesting. We made quesadillas at home after a fruitless attempt at finding decent Mexican food on the way home (I'm still spoiled from San Diego, where one can get a delicious burrito the size of one's arm anywhere, anytime).

Sunday, I spent some time doing laundry, loafing and writing in my journal in a bar called the Armadillo Grill. I found some Doc Marten shoes on sale for fifty bucks at a little shoe store on Glenwood. After all this excitement, we decided to see another movie: March of the Penguins.

The movie is certainly worthy of discussion, but first, I must describe where we saw it: The Rialto in Raleigh's Five Points neighborhood. It's an old, single screen theater that shows good (translation: not Hollywood tripe) movies and serves beer and wine in the lobby. That's a good start regardless of what film is playing. Anyway, March of the Penguins is a gorgeous film. It's well-crafted documentary, but the cinematography is beautiful. Morgan Freeman's narration is perfect. The story of the film is impressive, informative and moving. It seems that everyone wants to take their tiny children to see it because penguins are such jolly little tuxedo birds, but they will be shocked to find that there is a certain amount of death and sadness in the film (as in life). Lindz and I were relieved when the family behind us left; it was much easier to hear the film. This movie is truly excellent, an impressive work of avian documentary.

Returning to work is so banal in comparison to towering alien tripods and county-sized icebergs.

Ah, That's Better.

 

Today went better (less stuff went wrong), so I was able to cultivate a good mood through the course of the day. A good mood can put whipped cream on a bucket of shit. I got home, and, upon the brilliant suggestion of my wife, I made the salad you see above. Grilled flank steak, greens, toasted pine nuts, blue cheese, Vidalia onion, balsamic vinegar and olive oil. That really hit the spot. While all this was being prepared, gin & tonics died valiant deaths in my kitchen. I put mint in them, as pictured in this month's issue of Saveur magazine. Is there really any finer cocktail, I ask you?

Dessert consisted of vanilla ice cream, fresh strawberries and Chambord. The whole time, we were listening to "Spirit Trail" by Bruce Hornsby.

Life can go on.

P.S. Jon, I'm thrilled that you're still looking at my blog. Yes, a job is a Hobby Support System. But it either needs to pay more or suck less...

Building Character

Bitching accomplishes nothing, but I thought I would take a moment to point out that my job is absolute dog shit. I hate it more than ever. I am thankful to have income and benefits. Other than that, it's a constant, ever-renewing fountain of woe and low self-esteem.

Grilled Snapper and Zucchini with Allegory Sauce

(listening to "Amor Verdadero" by the Afro-Cuban All-Stars)

Good Lord, it was hot today. I think it got up to 700 degrees or so. Lindz spent all day painting the guest room, and I spent some lovely time drilling holes in the wall and squirting poison into them. We spent our share of time relaxing, however. I made some mojitos, and we sat on the front porch while a thunderstorm passed nearby (I was hoping it would actually bring us some rain; it's been drier than usual lately). After that, I lit up the grill and prepared the repast you see above. The foreshortened perspective is a bit of an homage to the old Dutch masterpieces of those like Jan van Eyck. The zucchini symbolizes the Garden of Eden, and the snapper forms a barrier between it and the rest of the table, like the angel bearing the flaming sword. The sprig of rosemary is lost virtue.

Actually, I made all that bullshit up just now. Everything after 'foreshortened,' that is.

("Son Para Ti", by Sierra Maestra)

Another Week of Suburban Life

Long ago, Lindz and I came to grips with the fact that we have what most would consider a mundane life. I must point out that, for the most part, we like it. We just got back from the Sawmill Taproom. We have come to enjoy having dinner and some beers while we do the crossword puzzle on the deck. That is what we do for excitement. We like it.

Earlier today, when it was truly beastly hot, we wandered our separate ways in stores of our choosing (stores which are air-conditioned to lower temperatures that we're willing to pay for at home). Lindz went to Home Depot to get some paint for the guest room, and I went to Crabtree Valley Mall to look at kitchen gadgets at Crate and Barrel and Williams Sonoma. Let me just tell you, folks, I got a couple of basic white oval serving platters and some colorful dishtowels (involving orange in the patterns) at rock bottom prices. SCORE, BABY! I scope out the sales and go in for the kill. That's weekend excitement.

Before that, we had spent some time removing English Ivy from our back yard. Incredible stuff. If they planted it over tectonic faultlines, there would be no more earthquakes. It's an impenetrable tangle of opportunistic evil. Anyway, after we spent at least an hour and a half chopping, pulling and digging, we were drenched in sweat. In other periods of my life, I never would have thought that a man and a woman would expend so much effort on anything but sex or divorce proceedings. We found it quite satisfying, however, and it gave us a lighthearted sense of entitlement to our not-so-healthy dinner.

Going further backward in time to a television show the other night, Lindz and I were sucked into a show called "Hooking Up" (yet another peanut-encrusted turd of a reality show). It shows people dating in New York City, with the goal of meeting relationship-worthy mates. Of course, they're all fucked-up people in a fucked-up environment with drama added to make it into a show. Lindz and I were particularly affectionate after seeing it, having been reminded how wonderful it is to not be dating. I suppose it's a character-building experience, but dating does not result in anything but heartache.

So I made pancakes for my wife this morning. I didn't make pancakes for some chick who I hope likes me, nor did I make pancakes for someone who's shopping around and merely hanging out with me to fill a space that would otherwise be empty. This was after we took a walk around the lake. At the end of the walk, I didn't have to try and read her mind in order to decide how to ask, "So, can I call you sometime?" You don't make pancakes for people who are your mindgame opponents.

Blauhaus

Well, we got Coldplay's new album and Jack Johnson's new one, too. Oh, we got the house painted as well. The color is called Napoleon. We'll spend some time paying for it, but the siding and trim needed the protection, and the house could hardly have been less interesting than it was before:




Good Lord, it's hot. That's part of why we had the house painted by someone besides ourselves (in addition to professional know-how and a big sprayer that I don't have). After spending the weekend watching the work, fighting ants and termites, and installing a floodlight above the deck, Lindz and I enjoyed some beers and a burger down the road at the Taproom.

The process will never end. Despite my efforts, the huge, "Land of the Lost" style cockroaches will still show up in our living room from time to time. Ants are only briefly deterred by my chemical warfare. Things will leak and creak that were just fine last week. Unseen enemies lurk in the wall voids, rejoicing at my unease.

Fortunately, there's beer.