Futility Now

Because Hazel is out of town doing some kind of art-persony thing, I decided that I’d spend the long weekend eating onions and tomatoes, which she has to be careful around. On Friday, I thought that the proper response to that would be to make sausages and just put diced up instantiations of the target foods all over the top of them. Marvellous!

So things were well underway when I realised that I had totally neglected to buy any sort of bread product to encapsulate this whole business. Luckily I’m from California and my middle name is more or less Fusion.

The Germeximelt:

(Don’t worry, I had hell-of greens too.)

So full of hope, we all sort of trundled down to lovely Ashland, Oregon to spend Thanksgiving with the paternal side of my family. Things were okay until about Thursday morning when it became clear that Zia was deathly allergic to my grandmother’s dog. This was compounded later in the day by my being visited by either food poisoning or a virulent stomach flu. We made it through that night, although I barely tasted any of the fare, and drove home on Friday, something I had to endure on one piece of toast and one glass of water. So yeah, it was pretty grim.

We watched the Disney live-action classic The Journey of Natty Gann. It may have been because I was cocooned in blankets and preoccupied primarily with bemoaning my state, but at the time it seemed pretty reasonable, aside from the creepy underage-makeout at the end (oh John Cusack, you rogue.) What did penetrate my deadened senses as being overwhelmingly awful was the James Horner score, which went back and forth between two horribly cliched themes, one denoting the dynamic bustle of modern life and one denoting the lonely nobility of the iconoclast. At any rate: James Horner, the worst thing about a live-action Disney kid’s movie from the 80s. A true American!

Stuff we’ve been grilling.

Of course, we end with a picture of the cat.

We went to Hash for brunch yesterday, which was quite nice. Like our current fave Broder, Hash has a very sensible approach to portions, which avoids the waste-food-or-feel-fucking-gross dilemma that otherwise very friendly Portland restaurants often provide you with.