My father is famous for intentionally (or, more often, unintentionally) modifying song lyrics when singing to himself, and tonight's version of Verve Pipe's 'The Freshmen' was classic.
Today I took my old Pontiac Sunfire for a spin; I had sent it home with my parents last fall, and we haven't gotten around to selling it yet, but I thought it could probably benefit from being driven. Part of me misses having a smaller, sportier car with better gas mileage, but the Rav4 is obviously a serious upgrade. My next car (likely in six or eight years, depending on how the Rav4 holds up) will probably revert to the sporty side. By then, I see one of three scenarios unfolding: 1) I will be making it as a novelist and so will likely buy something used (unless I'm *really* making it, in which case I will buy something extravagant), 2) I will have sold out and committed to corporate America, and will purchase a high-end sports car to console myself, or 3) the Mayan-predicted end of the world will have arrived, in which case, if I am still alive, I will likely be too preoccupied with finding something to eat to worry much about buying a car, even if there were still automakers in existence.
Tonight, I made risotto for dinner as an accompaniment to the barbecued chicken and pork that my father made (yes, two types of meat for three people is overkill). The risotto recipe is from Mario Batali's cookbook, and I've made it for my friends before -- it's simple, although risotto requires frequent stirring. But I realized as I was standing there stirring for twenty minutes that my parents would probably be happier with rice cooked with Campbell's cream of mushroom soup and fake onions, and my suspicion was correct (as my dad said, "it was great...but you don't have to make it again for my sake"). Sigh. So I guess I'll be eating risotto leftovers by myself for the next couple of days. I also drank a glass of wine that was produced in Minnesota -- it wasn't too bad, and I'm eager to try out some Iowa wineries once it warms up a little bit. But I can't go to wineries until I finish this book, which means I should get up tomorrow and write!
2 comments:
Persians are best suited in homes of eccentric old ladies that wear draping clothing, large jewelry and big glasses. They usually have 10 or more cats and frequently show up in the Inquirer because they fall, die and cats start to feast on them. Technically, I'm an Exotic. The Exotic is a close cousin to the Persian. However, the Exotic is typically owned by very hip 40-somethings that are young at heart and fun to be around.
nothing
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