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.

Really Home Made Bruschetta

The first tomato I've ever grown has ripened:



And I harvested some of our basil leaves:



And I made bruschetta. Lindz toasted some home-made bread for this.



It's been a rainy, hot sauna here in Raleigh of late (preceded by a comparatively dry spell). The plants seem to like it.