Archived posting to the Leica Users Group, 2008/12/31
[Author Prev] [Author Next] [Thread Prev] [Thread Next] [Author Index] [Topic Index] [Home] [Search]It probably will not surprise any of you to learn that I am not exactly a social animal. Trevor-Roper once commented that, while it would have been fascinating to have any of the Nazi bonzen over for dinner to see evil at first hand, Goebbels was the only one you'd consider inviting back for a second meal. I fear that I am in the first category! An honest curmudgeon has no difficulty in avoiding boring social engagements. In any event, my wife is even more the isolationist -- our friends assure me that I have embarrassed her in public so frequently that she would rather curl up in front of the TV and watch QVC than deal with my antics when loose in a crowd. (Example: I had to mail a package for my wife today. As I left the counter, I turned and loudly wished everyone in the Post Office a hearty Happy New Year. There was a stunned silence, and then a flood of shouted responses, most actually kind and printable, and no one threw a shoe. I am the joker who turns around as the elevator doors close and states, "I suppose you've all been wondering why I called you here today." I can go on. Have a telegram delivered to the chairman of a large meeting: MESSAGE TWO FOLLOWS. Ten minutes later, another: DISREGARD MESSAGE ONE. Und so weiter.) In any event, we will spend the evening at home. We did dine this afternoon famously, at Applebee's, after picking up a space heater for the use of one of my Sulcata Tortoises at Wal-Mart. (I was disappointed to find out that the lack of an opposable thumb forces me to turn the heater on and off for the guy, which made him a bit grumpy, and you do NOT want to make a Sulcata grumpy: these folks get to more than a hundred pounds (27,321 joules, for the metrically challenged <he grins>) and have generally been described best as, "rammers and butters".) While both Pam and I have dined at some of the better bistros on either Coast and, in my case, even a couple of decent beaneries in New Orleans, our native tastes tend to run to very basic meals such as steak, potatoes, and Lima Beans. I do fry chicken on occasion (use Paprika: it is the necessary ingredient) and love beef fondue but, for the most part, pork ribs or steak or chicken are the norm. My wife dislikes fish, so I only cook this when she is out of the house. We both do love lobster but abhor the mess. And, in almost every British novel, the folks in the country house always pick up a Kippered Herring with their breakfast and seem to have no problem in eating it without making a mess of their formal clothes but how they do this escapes me: a Kipper is perzackly a finger food which can only be tasted, and not eaten, with knife and fork. In 1985, I formed a law partnership. I bought two bottles of Frexinet Spanish methode Champagnnoise (sp?) wine, one for our first anniversary, the second for our second anniversary. Well, we did throw an office party at the firm's first anniversary -- baked Brie and a spinach salad and bits of other cheeses and sausages and the like, and that accounted for one bottle. Before the second anniversary hit, my partner and I decided to split, quite amicably -- "I refuse to join a club which would have me as a member", or however Groucho put it. So, I've been hauling the second bottle around since 1985. Tonight, my wife dictated, is the night to clear a bit of space in the refrigerator, so that bottle will not see the dawn in an unopened state. (Me? I was going to save it to be an exhibit at the museum my estate will have to create in my honor once it buys the house my parents were renting when I was born, but my wife says we just cannot wait: she has some zucchini which needs chilled down. Ah, such is life!) So, tonight will be a movie of some sort courtesy of the DVD Player, then a watch of Dick Clark telling us the ball is descending, some Frexinet, and off to bed. But, then, neither Pam nor I, nor anyone in my family, can understand the fixation with celebrating New Year's. It's only a calendar convention, and a rather meaningless one at that. Happy New Year, folks! Marc msmall@aya.yale.edu Cha robh b?s fir gun ghr?s fir!