Hey, I may not drink any more, but I still know what TGIF means to most Americans! And I can still dream (sob).
I feel like frying some fish filets tonight: catfish, red snapper, tilapia, whatever catches my eye. Good bread and a green vegetable to serve on the side, maybe Swiss chard … something with a bite. A couple of nights ago I experimented with shrimp & grits with Sriracha sauce. It came out as chicken Italian sausage & shrimp & pearl onions over cheesy polenta with Srichaca sauce. I thought it was damn good, though I’ll use plain chicken breast meat next time (the fennel in the Italian sausage was one flavor too many). And it was hot! In deference to Donna I’ll cut back on the amount of Sriracha next time. Anyway, recipe and photos are here if you’re interested.
With all the talk of voter roll purging, I thought I’d check our status this morning. Yep, we’re still good. Then again, we’re white senior citizens and neither of us are registered Democrats, so there’s nothing in our records to alert the enemies of democracy, who by all accounts are mounting a serious effort to keep minorities and young people from voting this year. Here’s a site that makes it easy to find out if you’re still registered to vote.
Speaking of voting, I’ve been following the Massachusetts campaigns of Scott Brown and Elizabeth Warren. I’m truly shocked Scott Brown hasn’t been expelled from the Senate (and polite society) the way Joe McCarthy was after Joe Welch lit into him with: “Have you no sense of decency, sir, at long last?” I mean, Jesus, doesn’t the ignorant fool know about white-skinned, blue-eyed native Americans? They’re everywhere. A lot of us can probably find some native American roots in our family trees. Did you know, by the way, that Christopher Stevens, the American ambassador to Lybia who was murdered during the recent attack on our consulate in Benghazi, was a full-blooded Chinook, a citizen of that Northwestern tribe? Apparently I will never run out of reasons to not vote for a Republican ever again.
We’re going to a Halloween costume party next month. Catching up with taped episodes of Stephen Colbert last night I had the best idea for a costume:
Sadly, I don’t think the iPad battery would last long enough to get me through a party, and of course Stephen Colbert had to conduct the interview sitting still because he couldn’t see a thing, but damn if that rig of his isn’t an unnerving sight. I laughed and laughed.
My knee is getting better, and I should be able to resume bicycling soon. I’m scheduled to lead two walking tours at the air museum next Wednesday; that’ll be the first test. Getting old is everything it’s cracked up to be, let me tell you.
I started this post with filets of fish, which reminds me of the recent outburst of homophobia brought on by the CEO of Chik-Fil-A, which reminds me of the Jack in the Box commercial I saw a couple of nights ago, where Jack and his human-headed wife are playing a game of “Scrabble” (disguised to thwart trademark lawsuits). Jack says something she doesn’t agree with, and she lays down the following tiles:
I sat up straight when I saw that, the words “You can’t say nookie on TV” springing to my lips. But, clearly, nookie is now okay. And for that, Jack gets my patronage, just as Chik-Fil-A has lost it.