grab bag

Dave has a show tonight at T.T. the Bear’s, so this is going to have to be short.

Best thing I saw today: buncha Tibetan monks in saffron robes sitting outside the Starbucks on Boylston St. (Right in the middle of the Back bay, which is a ritzy area of Boston, for my non-local readers.)

Best lie I heard today: my friend Lisa told her mom that the tube of KY on her bedside table was “for the dog’s paws, to keep them from getting cracked in the winter.” Heheheheh. That’s a great story, not just because of Lisa’s quick thinking but because her mom didn’t know what KY was.

Watching the Squirrel Channel:

this shot was not staged. heh.

And that’s all I’ve got.

P.S. I totally got Lisa’s permission to use that story, I am not that rude. Thanks, generous lady!

P.P.S. "Computers" almost rhymes with "uterus". There's a joke in there somewhere, but I haven't figured it out yet.

rush

worked late, home even later (around 8) because I allowed some poor Irish girl standing on the street corner in the rain to talk to me about the charity she was hawking. twenty minutes later something called "children international" has my credit card details and will be taking $22/month to give to impoverished girls in India.

Guess I had sucker on my forehead tonight because on the T some I allowed some rando to strike up a conversation with me, all because I said, "fuck!" when the train stopped and the lights went out. The rando accompanied me all the way to the Harvard square T stop, interrogating me about my job and telling me about his life history. Judging from his pinpoint pupils, he was on drugs of some kind, but totally harmless. Plus he was so tiny I could have snapped him in two with ease.

am writing this hurriedly while the water for my polenta comes to a boil. bet I will find typos galore when I re-read. More than usual, I mean, since I never proof before posting. i'm slack like that.

anyway, so here is a nice picture of me and Dave taken at some gig somewhere, sometime in the last couple of months.


I think we must have been sitting down, since I am not usually taller than him.

update: I think I must be sitting on his lap here.

the usual brain dump

Katharine was right (she usually is) and I do need to post something to push the toenails further down on the page. Here’s the Beta Band.




This song has been on my mind because of the awesome ending (starts at about 4:15). We are going to Barbados later this week (yay!), basically for an extended long weekend. I am a little stressed out about it, which is stupid – who gets worked up about a fucking vacation? But I have been having anxiety dreams since Friday night (usually these involve me being back at school. I won’t elaborate more because I have not been blessed with the gift of making my dreams interesting to others. That is probably because NO ONE ELSE’S DREAMS ARE INTERESTING, unless you are like the star of someone else’s dream and then it’s only interesting to hear about in a self-gratifying way.)

The anxiety is extra strange since I just finished a big work project last week and it’s usually work that prompts stress dreams. But this time I am anxious about packing, or something. Like it’s SO HARD to throw small bottles of conditioner and a bathing suit into my suitcase. (Although typing this, I just realized we are going to have to check luggage if we want to bring sunblock with us, since that comes in larger-than-3-ounce containers. Dilemma: check luggage and deal with lines/lost baggage/fees, or carry on and get fleeced when we buy sunblock at the resort? Man, do I have first world problems, or what?)

And the cats. Leaving the cats makes me anxious. They aren’t frail or anything but with 4 of them, we see the vet about twice a month for one thing or another. Fat Simone currently has some kind of skin condition on her forehead which she has been scratching at, so now it’s scabby and oozing, and obviously we want to get that taken care of before we leave. Dave made an appointment at the vet to take her in on Wed and was fairly surly about being the one who always has to take the cats in, but he shut up when I reminded him that he’s only been doing it since last September, and before that I took care of all the cats-during-the-week stuff, because my job was closer and more flexible and I had the car. Now my job is not close, not particularly flexible and costs $20 to park for a day*, so it makes more sense for him to do the cat shuttling. I could work from home in mornings or evenings and take the cats that way, though. I just hate working from home because I’m not as productive.

Ooops, that was kind of a long detour. So, anyway, going to Barbados. In a few days. Yay! And not much else to report otherwise.

* This seems like an outrageous amount to me, but according to Forbes recently, Boston is tied for #19 on the top 20 list of Highest Cost of Living Cities, so maybe 20 bucks to put my car onto 275 square feet of concrete 8 stories up is actually a good deal and I just don't realize it. Because I am blinded by my first world priviledge and all.

It’s going to take a lot of fireworks to clean up this mess

*fyi: metaphors and language in this post might offend you. I’m pissed.*

So, watching the state of the union last night enraged me, mostly because Bush appeared so pleased with himself and I’m so damn mad at him for the mess he’s made. Not like the country hasn’t been fucked up for years … the groundwork for this current recession was laid at least as far back as the Clinton years.

I had to turn off the State of the Union after … not very long. Don’t worry though, I skimmed the full transcript so I’m still informed. I like that this version of the transcript notes the pauses for applause or laughter, but not how Bush’s little black piggy eyes twinkled with self-delight at every scripted reaction from his flunkeys. Way to go, dickhead, you made your yes-men chortle at your jokes! One of my favorite highlights:

I have a message for every American who is 55 or older: Do not let anyone mislead you; for you, the Social Security system will not change in any way. (Applause.) For younger workers, the Social Security system has serious problems that will grow worse with time. … As we fix Social Security, we also have the responsibility to make the system a better deal for younger workers. And the best way to reach that goal is through voluntary personal retirement accounts.

Hooray for Americans 55 and older, you chose the right years to be born in and President Bush congratulates you! Screw you younger people though; y’all need to keep paying into this system to support the aging generations stupid enough to bring you into the world, then pay again for your own retirement (preferably into an 401K or other stock market account that will also help shore up Wall Street’s shoddy shortsighted business practices.)

And then people express surprise when I tell them that I’m not sure I want kids. The only fucking retirement plan I'll ever be able to afford is made by Smith & Wesson; there’s no way I’ll ever have enough money saved to stop working. And I’m talking about working for my own benefit, never mind a dependent or two.

However. You can get the bad taste out of your mouth by watching this. The man does a genius impersonation of Bush and the clip is only about 3 minutes.



Anyway. Out with the old and in with the new, right?

Actually, I’m not so sure that anything new is coming down the line. Whoever gets into the White House is just going to continue doing more of the same. Even if I didn’t believe that, it wouldn’t matter, because I live in Massachusetts. I guess I’ve got a shot at influencing the primary candidate on Super Tuesday. I’m not registered for either party (haha, like I would register Repugnican anyway.)

But who wants phone calls from one party or the other? Bleh. I get enough unsolicited crap from political cults – seriously – and “non-profits” which don’t disclose the percentage of donations which actually go towards the cause you ostensibly wrote a check for. Also, dickbags should be sending me a check, because I just got the bill from the January oil tank and it is A THOUSAND MOTHERFUCKING DOLLARS. Coming right on the heels of the SIX HUNDRED DOLLARS I paid to heat the house (and the dripping hot water faucet and empty apartments above and below us) in December. So now my heating bill for this winter so far is SIXTEEN HUNDRED DOLLARS. I think that’s more than I’ve paid in TOTAL for the past 2 years. So I guess the meaning of “capped oil prices”, as defined by my oil company, is really more like “we’re gonna put a cap in your ass and you can suck it up or freeze, bitch.”

Yeah, I get that oil prices are market dependent but I also get that I’m being raped by the market. Yay capitalism! Keep driving your huge cock up my ass while I bend over, I love it hard and bloody. So thanks very much for making this oil war, Mr. President. In your genius effort to gain a foothold in one of the major oil fields in the world, you’ve made prices go to 100 dollars a barrel, in large part because of war uncertainty. Speaking of uncertainty, don’t get me started on the stock market (although actually Wall Street has been fucking things up for at least 15 years now, I can’t blame a single administration for that.)

Which gets me back to being disenfranchised. If I want to do anything with my vote in the Mass primary, I’d probably give it to Romney (former Mass governor) because I think he’s less electable than John McCain (who is looking more and more like a really good contender for the Republicans) and I suppose a Democratic administration is marginally preferable to a Republican one, although I don’t think well of either party.

One thing that has struck me in watching the democratic primary race (and keep in mind that this is the first election I’ve been in the country for and eligible to vote in since 1996) is how weird everyone seems to feel about Senator Clinton, like they were all kind of on the fence about her in the first place and were just looking for a reasonable excuse to jump ship. Her campaign has started using some icky nasty rhetoric against Barack Obama and yes, I find it icky and nasty too. But a lot of people are saying that’s why they’ve stopped supporting her, which … what? You didn’t realize most political campaigns are run this way? You didn’t realize HRC was a politician? What sandhole has your head been in? Ditto with her pro-war votes.

Leaving aside the fact that she’s so divisive as to be practically unelectable (plus an HRC nomination for the Democratic party is guaranteed to stimulate the right wing nuts to crawl out from under their rocks and swell the ranks of voters against her), I just don’t hold it against her that she’s rolled over on a bunch of shit because it was politically expedient to do so. You know which politicians don’t roll over and will speak out? The ones that are so entrenched that taking a controversial stance won’t affect them. (Ahem, Senator Ted Kennedy of Massachusetts. Really fucking brave to diss HRC or speak out against the war when you’ve been in the senate –or maybe just Congress – since 1962. Nineteen sixty fucking two. I had to get my calculator out but that’s 45 years (depends on if you count 2008 or not.) It’s not that I disagree with him when he says the war is bad or that he supports Barack Obama, I just think he’s a big blowhard who’s risking zilch and therefore I don’t give his words much weight.

Also I appreciate that HRC has been in Washington for a long time and probably knows everyone. I know that creates its own problems but I’ve noticed that at work and in regular life, having a good relationship with someone – your pharmacist, your boss, your sister – makes a BIG difference in trying to get things done. Not that I would necessarily vote for her since her willingness to do what’s politically expedient means I can’t trust her to stick up for my interests, but who am I kidding? No one gives a shit about my interests.

Anyway. If you don’t like HRC then your option is Barak Obama and I’m not in love with him either because how can I judge someone with no report card at all? (Although I still hope I spelled his first name right.) Possibly I’m just jaded because the campaign for the current Mass governor, Deval Patrick, was similarly grass-roots and messages of hope and inexperience* and since Patrick has been in office, I haven’t seen much in the way of changes, apart from some casinos coming to Massachusetts. Woohoo, that means a lot more money is going to go into a few pockets in central Mass and a few more people will probably develop gambling addictions and Patrick will claim he’s added X numbers of revenue dollars and X number of jobs during his tenure when he runs for re-election.

But I guess I hope Obama gets the democratic nomination, because I prefer him to Anti-Choice McCain. Bleh, though. The whole system is just really crappy. And it’s easy for me to pick holes in someone else’s campaign or administration – one of the things I find amazing about the Presidential primary races is how many people want the fucking job. You could not pay me enough money to be President, for reals.

…Or maybe I am just really crabby because after all that, I did wash my jeans (spilled milky tea on them) and lo and behold! now they are too tight. Fucking hell.



* Deval Patrick is also black, which I feel like adds another similarity to the Obama comparison but I don’t know how to factor race into my campaign strategy analysis so apart from noting it, I’m going to leave it out. Sorry.

Of cabbages and kings

well, kings or Presidents. This is the first election I've been in the country AND of age to vote since 1996, so I'm following the primaries with some interest.

Not obessive interest though - I live in fucking Massachusetts, so by the time the primaries arrive here the matter will be decided without my primary ballot.* Similarly, Massachusetts always votes Democratic, so even if Romney does win, he won't win his home state.

Not that it matters, since the shrinking population of Massachusetts means we're about to lose another seat in Congress. Yay. Could it be the shitty weather, shitty roads and high cost of living? Or maybe it's the fact that Mass is 49th in the nation (right ahead of Michigan) when it comes to job creation and economic recovery.** I guess someone has to be last in order for a first to exist, though.

But hey, what are blogs for if not to pontificate upon politics that you wouldn't bore anyone with at parties? I'm not really interested in the Republican primaries, although I hope someone really dire and unelectable like Guiliani will win, because that would almost ensure a Democratic sweep in the White House.

I'm not scared of Romney since his tenure in Mass just seemed to show that he'll go where the prevailing political winds take him. Which is an opinion I also hold about Clinton. Both Clintons, in fact. But lots and lots of politicians are basically mercenary. I bet it comes with the job. Office politics is not something I'm good at (though I like to think I get by okay) but it's a really useful skill.

I don't really think H. Clinton would win a Presidential election; I think she's been smeared so thoroughly - plus people still REALLY REALLY hate her from B. Clinton's White House tenure - although I think she'd do a fine job. I also think Obama is more electable based simply on being a dude. Look at the historical facts: black men got the vote before women, there was a black male Supreme Court justice before there was a (white) female one. Okay, those are only two facts and I bet there are a zillion more facts in support of my case and a zillion facts against. I don't have them because I'm not much of a politics wonk.

Anyway. I'll be interested to see how it all shakes out. I'd most like to see a Democrat in the White House, even a mercenary one, and after that I kind of don't care. I think an Obama/Edwards ticket would probably work well, as would an Obama/Biden ticket. I would lovelovelove to see an Obama/Clinton ticket, but I don't think that would be very electable - a black person AND a lady, uh oh, that's super double-plus ungood for conservatives. It'd probably stimulate them to emerge in droves to vote for even a maximum wingnut like Huckabee. Bleh.





*In fact, can one even vote in the primaries if one is not registered with a political affilition? I'm registered as an independent because I just don't want to deal with anyone else wanting my details and money. Does that make me ineligible to vote in a primary? I know, I know, I'm on the internet ... I could just look it up.

** I work ni high tech, one of Mass's few growth areas, so this economic stuff doesn't actually affect me, except that I can't afford to move to San Jose - which has, not incidentally, better weather, high tech jobs and swing state status, so my vote might actually count.

New Pornographers in Boston

We went out with another couple to see the New Pornographers play at the Roxy in Boston last night. We went for shabu shabu for dinner first - it's this thing where they give you a bunch of vegetables and meat and a pot of boiling broth or water to cook the veggies and meat in. It was fucking delicious and affordable. I heart Chinatown. Also, despite the fact that there were nine million people with individual pots of boiling water, the windows weren't even steamed up, because they have the most hardcore, efficient and quiet ventilation system I've ever seen.

Anyway, the concert.

That was what I could see. Thanks, Roxy, for not allowing people upstairs to the balconies.

Admittedly we didn't arrive as the doors opened and scooch down front or anything. In fact we skipped the opening act (Emma Pollock, who is from Glasgow and seems to sing innocuous folky stuff, judging by the songs on her myspace profile and by the last half of her last song that we arrived in time to hear.) So no loss on the opening act.

The band themselves were good, although man - despite not being able to see, there were crazy bright horrible floodlights that were flashing in time to the music, directly in my eyes. I saw a lot of people wincing every time the floods got started. I swear it was like the Battle of the Seizure Robots in there. (I always thought that was just a Simpsons joke, but it turns out that the joke is based on a banned Pokemon episode whose bright flashing lights really did induce seizures in epileptic viewers. Fucked up!)

But no complaints about the playing - totally professional and tight, which I would expect from any supergroup and especially this one, which has been around for a while and has been touring Challengers extensively. I even got chills during My Rights Versus Yours, although that might have just been the garlic from dinner making itself at home in my digestive system.

One of the Pornographers (heh) was holding some kind of round object up at one point and we all compared notes.

"Is that ... an orange?"

"I thought since the lyrics were talking about the sun, maybe it's some kind of model..."

We eventually realized that it was a shaker. We realized this when he started shaking it near the microphone - to absolutely no effect, since you couldn't hear anything over the electronic beeps and clapping and shit that another dude on stage was putting out with his laptop. Seriously, in the front lineup were people singing, playing guitars and keyboards and one dude with a mike and a laptop. The hilarious thing about the guy with the laptop (Mac) was that he just stood absolutely still for most of the show, like he was watching paint dry or in a catatonic trance.

Anyway - we all agreed that it was a good show and also that it was a lot of standing up and that we are all old (even though the people we were out with are, I think, both 27. Le sigh.) Most of the audience looked like they were in their mid-twenties to mid-thirties, and I'd say the four of us covered that demographic pretty well. The rest of the audience must have agreed with us on tiredness, because the crowd was a lot more subdued than I'd expected - I'd attribute that to Boston stuffed-shirtness, but I've seen crowds go batshit for Weezer and Iggy Pop. (Weezer was younger than last night's crowd, and Iggy's audience was mostly older.) Maybe it's just that young professionals work harder? (... not that you could tell from my workplace.) Maybe it was the band's fault, I can't say they bothered with much patter (and what there was was completely mumbled into the mike, so even if songs were announced beforehand I had no idea what was coming besides another song, named something.) Also, I wasn't actually wearing my black rimmed cat's eye glasses, but plenty of other people were wearing glasses like that so the hipster quotient was fulfilled, I think.

During the post-mortem afterwards, one person observed that it was good, but only with about every third song was she all, "hell YEAH! This song rocks!" ... to which Dave responded, "That's because they only write four kinds of songs." Which I think is fairly accurate. They played about 50% from Challengers (the only album I really know well) but I could peg where their other songs fit into - "oh yeah, that one's like "All The Things That Go To Make Heaven And Earth". I wish I knew what the name of the last song before the encore was, because it was fucking AWESOME. (And in the same vein as "My Rights Versus Yours".)

Nico Case has pipes though, I'll tell you. She was so loud (I think - maybe too close to the mike?) but also so perfectly on key that it kind of maxed out the equipment. I don't really know how to describe this effect, except to say that it's the same thing you hear when you've got an old vinyl copy of Fleetwood Mac on the stereo turned up pretty loud and Stevie Nicks's voice kind of blats out of the speakers, as if when they originally recorded it in the studio she overwhelemed the recording capabilities of the equipment. I'm not a huge Stevie fan but last night might have converted me to Nico. (Sniffle ... wish I could sing like that.)

Final thought: last night I didn't think the live versions of the song were super different live, but while writing this post I looked up and accidentally clicked on Challengers in my iTunes liberry and they really did rock a lot harder live. Plus my earbuds that live at work suck ass.

There you have it, my not very profound (but long winded, as usual) thoughts on the show last night. I hope you enjoyed it, because I usually average about one concert a year (and even then I often fall asleep. Sorry 'bout that, Iggy. And Death Cab. But especially sorry to Iggy, who put on a fucking great show and was like this crazy flea hopping up and down, all old and wiry and full of energy and muscle tone. My celexa-induced somnolence was stronger than your manic vibes.)


...and here's where I should apologize for stealing some of Dave's best lines in this blog post. It's why I love you though, because you're funny. And also because your knowledge of Simpsons is better than mine. Thanks, doll!

drinking and cooking: two great tastes

This weekend, among other things, I made Smitten Kitchen's black bean confetti salad. With a few changes - I only had one can of black beans so I used that and threw in a can of small white as well; I didn't have 4 bell peppers (only one red bell, getting sad and wrinkly) so I used some on-their-way-out green beans and frozen corn instead. (I also didn't have cayenne so I substituted hot pepper flakes. Cayenne would have been better, though, since I didn't bother grinding the pepper flakes and thus didn't get terrific heat distribution.) I also doubled the dressing called for but it still wasn't quite enough when finally plated (I tossed some of the bean salad with romaine.)

Never mind. It was a delicious adventure in food photography - I learned that the flash on my camera is not my friend:

(it makes food look yellow)
but that taking pictures without flash works fine:

(food looks more appetizing, or at least more real)
as long as you're still capable of holding your hand steady for long enough:

the dissolute cook
On the other hand, the blurriness of that photo means it's hard to tell quite how bad my hair looks, and you can't see that I'm all broken out from wearing sunscreen on saturday. (Honestly, why do I have to be allergic to sunscreen? Aren't there enough things wrong with me already?)

Picture taking + drinking: these hobbies were born to be together.

or not.
note rotten photo composition and prominent, nearly empty wine glass


Other weekend events:
Zoe had her first bath and was surprisingly good natured about it:

I'm vewy mad at ou

Dave and I hung out a lot:

(my hand was partially over the flash here which accounts for the dumbass lighting effects.)

I made the first batch of salsa of the year: I blitzed it too long in the food processor so the texture is more, uh, frothy than I love (also too early for local tomatoes) but man, it was good and I'm working on refining the order in which the ingredients need to go into the blender. (Garlic, jalapenos, olive oil and balsamic first, then onions and tomatoes and coriander, pulsed, then salt. Pulse again. That's how I should have done it, anyway.)

We went to the WBOS EarthFest, which was HEAVING with people - it was really hot and crowded but we eventually elbowed our way onto some grassy riverbank:

You can see in my haunted eyes that the crowd experience was traumatic. Also you can see some people passing by behind us.

And we checked out the Somerville memorial day parade, which I did not take any pictures of (but I really don't think I could have done the oddities justice anyway.) Man, those shriners went on forEVER (I swear to god, one of them was riding a converted lawn mower). The cars just kept getting smaller. They had shriner clowns, too. (One clown was on a chopper bike.) Shriners are fucked up, is all I can say. The somerville dog owners' association was a little disappointing (last year it was the highlight) - not many dogs, although there was one crazy springer spaniel mix that kept running circles around her owner, in typical springer style.(I think she'd been trained to do the running-in-circles trick but only a springer would keep it up nonstop for a 3 mile parade.)

Also, many many marching bands - mostly school kids or people loosely associated with the military - and all the tuba players were wilting with heat. Just like last year, we were across the street from the nun encampment. There were also nuns in the parade, I forget why.

We missed most of the politicians (okay by me) since we missed the first half hour.We let when eleven screaming fire trucks and abulances (I think there were more than 11, actually) came up the street to blow our ears out.

Inty and Dave took a nap together:



And that's my weekend round-up.

Summer Slack

I hate punny titles but the flesh is weak sometimes, you know?

So yesterday Mom was in Boston for a big flower arranger’s convention (if you have to ask … you probably don’t want to know. But I linked it anyway, just for the hell or it.) And since Mom’s not in Boston that often these days, we decided to get together for dinner. Her choice, since it was her treat, and she wanted to go to Jasper White’s Summer Shack..

Okay, I’d been there before – at the Cambridge one (it’s a chain) with Dave and we thought the food was good and the seafood fresh but it was pretty damn pricey, considering what you got. I shared these concerns with Mom but whatever, fried oysters are one of her favorite things and the Summer Shack almost always has them – plus, did I mention she was the one paying? So I was kind of psyched, actually, since the Summer Shacks get a lot of press locally and are generally regarded in a pretty favorable light. I was hoping that Dave’s and my slightly disappointing experience was because we were eating out when we couldn’t afford to, which colored our experience, rather than the place itself being sucky.

Alas.

I wouldn’t say it was a disaster, but I sure as hell wouldn’t go back there, even if it is on someone else’s tab.

For starters, the service was friendly and prompt. This is good, right?

Well, not so much when they are so eager to clear the table that the busboy has your plates in their hands before you’ve answered.

“Hey, I’m not done yet!” I said, and he reluctantly took his hands off my plate. (I wanted to eat my fucking corn on the cob, for chrissakes.) So the busboy went to clear Mom’s plate.

“Hey, I’m not done eating her fries yet!”

Granted, that one might have been a little counter-intuitive, and I think he did wait to see Mom nod before he had her plate, and it’s probably not a comment I could have gotten away with at all if I wasn’t a skinny bitch


but … dude had the plate in the air and his back to me when I said something. Which, given my protest from a moment earlier AND the fact that Mom’s plate was still pretty full, seems like it’s a habitual offense and not so much a one-off.

It’s not like it was a Friday night pre or post Red Sox game and the joint was hopping and they need the table; it was a Tuesday and I don’t think the restaurant was even half full – we’d been seated for probably 40 minutes, which I don’t think is unreasonable for a two-top.

Also, I wasn’t super pleased that when my lobster arrived, I had to flag someone down and ask for a bib (c’mon… I’m wearing a cashmere sweater and work clothes. How hard is it to think that maybe I want a bib? Lobsters spurt everywhere when you open them up – insert early ejaculation joke here – most people who’re lobster-experienced know this.)

Although, props to Jasper White’s for thinking ahead, since when the bib arrived it also came with a nutcracker (no, not the kind that’s like the bearded dude from the ballet) – which was good, since the “claws which come cracked for you”, as the waitress assured me, arrived sporting a delicate hairline crack across the top. And like many New Englanders, I like to enjoy my lobster – ALL of it. It’s sofa king expensive, how could you not? And the bib also had a couple of wet naps for cleanup afterwards, which was a nice gesture, although no substitute for going to the ladies’ and properly washing my hands.

So the lobster itself was nice and fresh, not particularly sweet but fine, I’m happy as long as the claws aren’t all horrible and shrunken and floppy. (Lobsters held in a tank for a long time will eventually lose weight and the claw meat will shrink.) And the corn was fine too, and my mom’s fries were more than fine, they were delicious. Good thing I made that busboy leave the plate behind. As were her fried oysters (although I still miss the big fat fried oysters I used to get in New Zealand. At, I believe, Ponsonby Fish and Chips. Somewhere on Ponsonby road, anyway.)

I can’t speak to Mom’s wine but the Australian Cockatoo chardonnay I had was not bad – and for 6 bucks a glass, not bad for a restaurant price, either. We each had two glasses, so I think Mom’s pinot grigio was also probably acceptable.

Also, okay, in a place called a shack I’m not expecting much in the way of ambiance, and I can’t say I was bothered or put out to see the giant fry-o-later ventilation ducting criss-crossing the ceiling or the painted walls. But: place is giant, like a cave, and with all the echoey acoustics of a natural ampitheatre. Would it be too much damn trouble for them to carpet the ceiling or something – it’s not like it’ll ruin the décor - to try to deaden the sound a little? We were yelling at each other all through dinner, although unfortunately not loud enough to drown the hoots and hollers from the group of bike couriers 40 feet away at the bar.

(Psychodrama aside: You know that as soon as Mom shouted, “You look so thin! Your face is gaunt!”, I started eating like I’d seen the locust cloud on the horizon and needed to fatten up for the coming famine.)

For dessert, I had something called Tollhouse pie, which was about what you’d expect: a big slab of undercooked cookie-dough-ish stuff inside a leaden pastry crust, topped with “chocolate sauce” – you know that weird black, almost gritty hot fudge sauce you see at make-your-own-sundae bars at hotel restaurants at brunch? That stuff. It came with “icecream” which, I foolishly, thought might be a scoop of vanilla. Nope, it was a big pile of soft serve, complete with little funnels from the machine. Ah, just like TCBY. I ate it anyway.


Mom had rhubarb-strawberry pie for dessert, which looked a little pale and gummy to me (for me, when I use rhubard and strawberries together, half the joy is seeing those fantastic garnet-colored juices bubble up) but she said it was good, although she left the pastry untouched as it wasn’t worth it.

Anyway. I probably wouldn’t have actually bothered to write all this up and trash the restaurant online if we hadn’t had one final insult added to injury. Upon receipt of the check, mom realized her reading glasses were missing, and, thinking back, thought that the too-eager busboy had probably rolled them up with the napkins and disposed of them. So she caught our waitress and asked her to have someone take a look. Waitress was back at our table in a remarkably short amount of time saying, “I looked in every trash can and there was nothing!” Uh huh. She wasn’t even gone long enough to locate the trash can, much less bother to look anywhere. So, fine, Mom should keep better track of her glasses, right, and not presume to, say, leave them on the side of the table we weren’t using?

Guess who also discovered this morning that her sunglasses were missing? I, too, had foolishly placed them within the busboy’s reach next to my purse on the table. Which, taken along with all the other things, made me think … yeach. Maybe it was just the fault of a shitty, hurried busboy. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to be working that night or had been screwed with double shifts three days in a row. Maybe the waitress really did look for Mom’s glasses. Even so … all of this together did not add up to my idea of a hundred dollar dinner. Even if it wasn’t my hundred dollars.

The breakdown of the bill, if you’re curious and still reading (hahahaha, I make myself laugh):
$80.33 on the bill plus $16 for the waitress. All for a one pound lobster, a fried oyster dinner, four glasses of wine and two desserts.

Summer Shack will henceforth, in my mind, be known as the Summer Suck. The Overrated Summer Suck. I have no idea how Jasper White acquired his reputation but dang, it ain't deserved.