Slapstick

Given the absolute clown show House Republicans have put on for the past three days, I think the only possible earworm for the second anniversary of the attempted coup has to be the Benny Hill Show theme song, “Yackety Sax”.

Pubs: enjoy; you earned this.

 

What's for dinner?

Welp, here we are in the first week of the new year and since everyone’s dealing with the pulled muscles of their cross-fit workout and drinking detoxifying juices, I’ll just share some meals from my trip to France last November.

‘Kay?

It’ll take me a few days, so I’ll just start with Lyon, which is purportedly the gastronomic hub of France. I truly dunno about that, but I liked it fine.

Before I embark on the roundup, let me just say that it’s interesting to me how hospitality establishments treat me as a solo female diner. It’s been my observation since my first trip to Ireland in the 90s that it’s very rare that I’ll see another woman eating alone in upscale restaurants. You’ll find men alone, and they don’t seem to get the crap tables or be ghosted by the waitstaff like you’re somehow lowering their property values by walking into the place. This is one of the reasons I prefer to let my hotel make my dining reservations, because I sort of feel like a local joint is not going to want someone coming back to the hotel and dissing them.

(As an aside, I learned a long, long time ago from my older sister how to not feel uncomfortable at dinner by myself. She did it when she and our mom went to Hawaii just before Mom died; Mom wasn’t up to meals, so Penny went by herself, took a book and just enjoyed herself. She’s my role model.)

Interestingly, to me, I found that the very few times I encountered “Oh, une personne…?” were at your basic legend-in-their-own-mind places, one in Lyon and two in Avignon. Mostly their food was fine, but as someone who’s worked in Hollywood, I’ve already achieved my lifetime quota of attitude and I do not find it charming.

I get it that a single diner does not spend as much as two—even though I ordered what appealed to me and my meals averaged maybe $60-70 overall. So I appreciated the places that gave me the attention they did to everyone. And I tried to be on the early side so I didn’t take up a table that they could monetize better. Although I think I also averaged at least 90 minutes per dinner, because France and great food.

For the record, every meal was accompanied by appropriate wine, and my first impression of actual côtes du Rhône in their natural habitat was that I prefer Oregon Pinot Noir, although I did have better red wine as the trip went on.

Also, every meal ended with a déca—decaf espresso.

Anyhow—Lyon:

I confess that my first night there, I just slunk over to the pizza place next door to my hotel—by dinner time that day I’d been traveling for about 20 hours, had had nothing to eat since my Air France breakfast and just wanted to have a bite before I let my circadian rhythm catch a break. My prosciutto pizza was serviceable:

But what I found fascinating was the at-table use of mobile devices by pretty much everyone in the place, young and old. I mean—France, what the hell? At dinner?

The next night, I went to le Layon, on Rue Mercier, which is the epicenter of cuisine lyonnaise. Le Layon is a tiny place and it was pretty much jammed to the gills. I sat between a family of four and two German women who were establishing lebensraum by parking their handbags on the table-for-two next to their own, thus distancing me somewhat.

Pro tip: if you chose a table on a restaurant’s terrasse, you’re likely to be engulfed in smoke. But go inside and you’re okay, because the EU, God bless ‘em, has banned smoking inside buildings.

After a Kir Royale, I started out with escargots, which were fine, but not garlicky:

Then roasted pigeon:

And finished it off with baba au rhum:

My next night was at a brasserie called Bouillon Baratte, which was cavernous in comparison with le Layon. I mean, look at the size of just part of their bar (with hooks for handbags!):

Funny story: I actually walked into a different restaurant thinking it was Bouillon Baratte, but they wouldn’t open for 10 minutes. Only when I got back outside did I realize I’d gone to the wrong place. Believe me, I was glad I got to the right one.

My Kir Royale was made with pêche, which was new to me, and I enjoyed it. 

I started out with the salade lyonnaise which features egg and bacon:

And then moved on to andouillete beaujolaise, which was just delish:

Dessert was vacherin fruits rouges et praline rose, which was a form of Pavlova:

My last dinner in Lyon was at Brasserie le Nord, part of the gastronomic empire of Paul Bocuse. First white-linen experience; most places seem to have moved on to no tablecloths and napkins that are some form of puffy one-use material.

While the operation was well-oiled, my particular server was decidedly disinterested in me—first time I encountered it on this trip. She seemed surprised that I wanted an apéritif (their house version, which was nice) and I had to flag other servers down throughout my meal to get things taken care of. She just couldn’t seem to be arsed.

Apéritif maison:

My starter was terrine:

The entrée was merlu (hake); the fish was lovely, the rice was a little strange, but I think it's because I almost always have basmati rice at home:

And dessert three citrus sorbets:

Enjoy your steamed veggie plate and water with a squeeze of lemon.

 

 

Turning worm

Oh, my, my, my—Kevin McCarthy’s apotheosis of ambition (the entire reason for his pathetic political career) in being nominated as Speaker of the House of Representatives finally came yesterday. And he’s gone down in history as the first wannabe speaker in a century to fail to be elected on the first ballot.

And the second.

And the third.

He evidently moved into the speaker’s office over the weekend in anticipation of his achievement, but all the groveling he did to the RWNJs of the party did not work. I expect he spent the night trying to find Republican asses to kiss to turn his humiliation around—although a humiliation like this just doesn’t go away. It’s in the history books.

Imagine having to suck up to Paul Gosar and Matt Gaetz just so you don’t have to move your crap out of Pelosi’s office.

Nancy, BTW, probably had a nice glass of red and settled in to watch the spit turn.

I mean—look at this face:

As one Twitterite said, yesterday was the worst day McCarthy ever had at the Capitol and two years ago he was almost murdered there.

 Actually, yesterday was a kind of death, wasn't it?

 

 

 

Feel like freedom

Know what we haven’t had for a long time? A flash mob.

I guess that’s because of going-on three years of global pandemic, duh, but it seems time to see what we got.

After spending whole minutes on YouTube, I have to say that the 2022 crop of flash mobs (at least the first five pages or so) is on the dire side. Too many are just clearly stage performances in what happens to be a public area or are, uh, somewhat substandard in dancing ability.

But this one, on the boardwalk at Santa Cruz, Calif., has both the verisimilitude of spontaneity and serious dance chops. The song is "Freedom", by New Orleans artist Jon Batiste, who recently entertained those lucky dogs at Joe Biden's first State Dinner, for Emmanuel Macron. 

Crank up the volume and feel free to bust a move or two.

 

 

Gratitude Monday: 2022

I’m going to start out 2023 by being grateful for the good things of the past year.

Like the drubbing Ukrainians have given the Russian invaders and the international sanctions that are having a real effect on Putin’s ability to continue to wage war. They're definitely in the find-out stage of operations.

Or the way people around the world have rallied to support Ukraine in ways large and small, crowdsourcing everything from meals to missiles. We are living in weird times.

I’m grateful that the expected Red Wave turned out to be more like light spotting, and that Republicans—who can still use their majority in the House for willie waving and assholery—may start out the year by being unable to elect a Speaker without leaving a lot of blood on the floor.

Speaking of elections, though, it seems wrong to have to express thanks that they went off like they’re supposed to in every state, without armed RWNJs storming polling places…but here we are. There was some nonsense in Phoenix with sore losers marching around the Maricopa County elections office and blowing trumpets in the expectation that Jehovah would cause the walls to come tumbling down, but surprisingly that did not occur.

I’m grateful that global inflation is beginning to taper off, at least in the US. Gas prices under $3 is a huge relief to everyone.

I give thanks that I appear to have onboarded to the Megalithic Software Company without resorting to violence on anyone involved, although there’s still one open matter, so I’m putting a “so far” caveat on this.

I’m grateful that I was able to take two wonderful trips, to Singapore and to France. I saw otters on the hoof and lots of Roman ruins. Life really can be wonderful.

And I'm thankful that I made it through the year with most days unremarkable. This is a good thing, given the world as a whole.

So—a good year.

And here's New Year's morning in the People's Republic:

 

 

 

 

Auld lang syne

For the last Friday of 2022, as we head into Year 2 of the Russo-Ukrainian war, Year 4 of the COVID pandemic and Year 51 of Republican fuckery, I think today’s earworm ought to be something that celebrates everyone who’s made it through whatever it is that needed to be got through.

So, Elton John’s “I’m Still Standing”.

Be safe and Happy New Year to all who celebrate.

 

 

On the road again

Well, it’s been a while since we’ve had car vanity plates, so cast thine orbs upon these:

I'm assuming a Harry Potter fan (or maybe just a player):

Maybe ommmmm balances out this one:

Do not know what this means, but it's parked at the lot next to the W&OD trail right much:

 

 

Frozen

I may have mentioned the chilly weather we’ve recently had around the District They Call Columbia. Compared to what much of the country is suffering, I am not in any way complaining; just noting that 8°F makes for quite the brisk morning walk. Yesterday it was a positively balmy 27°F and I eschewed the scarf wrapped around my ears.

Do I know how to live on the edge, or what?

My backyard ground-feeding birds are going through the seed at a rate of knots. I toss out a couple of fistfuls about every hour when I’m home during the day. And they really appreciate the heated birdbath. It doesn’t make the water warm; it just keeps it from freezing, which means the birds can drink it. I’ve seen way more of them bellying up to the bar in the past few days, probably because their usual sources of water are frozen solid.

(I have to refill the birdbath once a day, they're drinking so much.)

I keep thinking of the line from “In the Bleak Midwinter”: “Earth was hard as iron, water like a stone.” That’s pretty much where we are.

Well, but the frozen puddles that have driven the birds to my back yard are still beautiful, which is the point of today’s post. Viz:

 

On the ponds, only the water near the fountains is still liquid; that doesn't help the birds, though.

Sleep with the fishes no more

I was really startled the week before Christmas to hear that the AquaDom in Berlin had ruptured and that hundreds of the fish it housed were dead. The aquarium was in the Radisson Blu hotel, and when I booked there in 2018 I chose a room that faced it rather than one overlooking the street.

Ordinarily I prefer a view of street life, as long as I’m insulated from the noise, but I thought the aquarium was something unique; it was. It was a bit weird to open the drapes and watch fish swimming at eye level just a few meters away.

Occasionally I also caught housekeeping cleaning the interior walls.

It was actually a tourist attraction—the tank surrounded a glass elevator and people lined up in the hotel lobby to go up and be surrounded by exotic fish.

At night they turned the lights down to give the fish a rest.

Well, I don’t know whether they’ll rebuild the AquaDom, or what the Radisson will do with the otherwise cavernous atrium—it’ll take some time to repair the damage done by tens of thousands of gallons of salt water flooding the place. It’s a grace that the rupture (cause still undetermined, though under investigation) occurred early in the morning, and that only two people were injured.

But I’m glad I had the opportunity to sleep with the fishes for a few nights.

 

 

 

Gratitude Monday: this [blessed] year

Whoa—last Gratitude Monday of 2022. “Thank God it’s over” seems kind of contrary to the spirit of the day. But I suspect we all are feeling some of that.

Maybe “I’m grateful that we survived another year of pandemic, political upheaval, climate-induced ‘natural’ disasters, man-made calamities, economic variables, emotional ups and downs, and medical bills” is more to the point.

Because so many did not and I am cognizant of that.

The past two days we have had single-digit (Fahrenheit) temperatures in the People’s Republic, and I am so grateful that I have warm clothes and central heat. That the power has stayed on and the refrigerator is full.

I’m grateful that I don’t have to choose between paying the electric bill or buying groceries.

I’m grateful that I have a heated birdbath—my birds seem extra thirsty, perhaps because their other sources of water have frozen solid.

I’m grateful that I have access to excellent medical care and that—because of my employer-subsidized health insurance—I’m not in immediate danger of medical bankruptcy.

I’m grateful it never occurred to me to invest in cryptocurrency. Or NFTs. I mean—whatever the hell?

I’m grateful for the work that non-profits and institutions I support do to improve the world we live in. Alice’s Kids, Texas Tribune, WITF, Islands Feral Cat Project, WRRAP, The Jewish Federation, Celebrate Mercy, World Central Kitchen, Bennett College, San Gabriel Valley Humane Society, Mother Jones, ACLU, EveryLibrary Institute and others that I disremember at the moment. (There were some GoFundMes here and there.) And I’m grateful that I could contribute to them.

I’m grateful for the friends who put up with a lot from me and I’m grateful to be their friend.

I’m grateful to face another year in hope of dealing with its vagaries—with help from my friends—and perhaps doing something to make this sad old world a better place.