Futility Now

It seems sort of nice when you don’t have to hear it. In a sign of America’s increased optimism in the face of non-retarded leadership the place was packed this weekend, and it definitely projected a melodious soundscape, rich in the tones of freedom and, umm, tequila.

Part of the reason that we’re trying to escape, however, is that La Carretta has become the least of it. There’s a new development going in right next to that venerable booze-house, and it’s going to be called, get this, “The Shops at Brooklyn Yards.” I guess there’s not a lot to add once that’s out of the way. Where was that tequila again?

Although this happened before we went to beautiful Canada I decided to post it immediately afterward for some reason, and that reason was not the opportunity to put some kind of fake Scheme expression in the title field, I promise.

AT ANY RATE, this is a sandwich I made from a broad cross-section of leftovers we brought home from Christmas Eve dinner:

Ham, artichoke hearts, 2 kinds of salami, sun dried tomato and (although you can’t see them) green beans. It was pretty unbelievable.

So we went to Vancouver B.C. (not WA) for New Year’s Eve. Vancouver is pretty cool. It has reasonable architecture, a marvelous waterfront, and some really weird birds.

In lieu of the sort of festivities you young people are all so in favor of, we stayed in and cooked short ribs.

They were delicious, and we didn’t have to listen to anyone shout “wooo!” at the top of their lungs, or vomit. I’m not a huge fan of vomit.

Here’s a picture of C sitting pensively at the dinner table.

Luckily that ominous atmosphere is just a trick of the light. Nobody’s life was tragically and bloodily snuffed out in the immediate aftermath of this picture’s being taken.

Happy New Year.

We are now in the slow, arduous process of recovering from Christmas. Mostly this involves walking around in a daze and trying to figure out what the hell we’re going to do with all the candy that my interlocutor’s family likes to throw around at Christmas time. Motivated more by love than common sense, she has supplied me with a bottle of Fernet Branca as a holiday tipple. Hopefully this won’t set us back far enough to interfere with rocking out for New Year’s.

So here’s what happened: first, we got a bunch of booze.

That Chinon was a helpful suggestion from a friendly passer by at New Seasons, and while I’m sure her intentions were deeply good, it was thoroughly mediocre. I guess it’s my own fault, as I should really know better than to take wine advice from strangers. As expected, all of my selections were excellent.

We also scored a turducken. In this picture, it’s sausage-stuffed cavity is pointed at you, dear reader.

Here it’s looking a bit more presentable, don’t you agree?

So, here’s how it all looked when it got onto table.

And a plating (vestigial chops from my service career).

As the people who set the playlists for horrible department stores know, once you’ve had your turkey it’s time to crack straight on to Christmas. We were no different: we set out on Sunday to get a tree.

So there you have it. Festivity city!