Oh goodness

This evening after bathing and preparing to shut down the house for the eve, the blond fox asked if I would mind taking out this evenings leftover fish from the oven and put it in the fridge. Unfortunately, I happily agreed. I reached in the oven retrieving what initially felt like a solid piece of fish wrapped in foil on a cookie sheet. However, once I removed the item fully from the oven, fish jizz proceeded to pour from the aluminum foil all over the wood floor in the kitchen and all over my freshly bathed toes. And as a single profanity boomed from my vocal chords, echoing through the house, I of course had to ask the blond fox why he cooked the fish in a swimming pool of some unidentifiable liquid. Salad dressing and olive oil it turned out to be.

And now despite a second toe washing and sanitizing of my kitchen floor, my kitchen smells of fish and there is a piece of fish wrapped in foil that I know with 99.9% certainty will be trashed, untouched and uneaten by the end of the week, but at least this little bedtime snafu provided me with some bedtime blog fodder.

Tip of the Day: If you are not responsible for cooking it, don't assume you know how to handle it.

phone talk

I have never been bored. It's true.

When I was in the 6th grade I had a phone friend named Ashley. For a period of about two weeks she called me everyday after school. She would ask what I was doing. I always had a response. When it was her turn to talk she would tell me how bored she was. I never knew how to respond. How could someone be so bored?

I tried to picture her in her house. What did bored look like? Did she sit on the couch and stare at a wall? Couldn't she make up a game, or read a book, or draw, or go outside? I just didn't get it. After awhile she stopped calling. Most likely because I was too boring.

Thought of the Day: What a tiresome being is a man who is fond of talking -Benjamin Jowett

Send in the Clowns

Today was a "send in the clowns" kinda day.

"Send in the Clowns" is a song from the musical A Little Night Music. It is also a phrase used in theater, it means, "if the show isn't going well, send in the clowns."

I first heard the song via a CD my Grandpa made me of his clarinet music. The first track was of his brother, Bill, playing "Send in the Clowns" on the piano and singing along in his deep, melodic voice. I loved his version of the song so much, that I tried to get a dj friend in New York play it at the end of his set. He never did.

Last year I found out that Mark Kozlek also covered the song. Kozlek's cover is almost as good as Uncle Bill's version.

gracias, adios

Halfway through my junior year of high school I left the suburbs to study abroad in Costa Rica for a year. After a student orientation with the euro kids that bordered on, Girls Gone Wild, I was sent to live with my "host" family in a small town where no one spoke English, or at least a version of English that would be gratifying to a native speaker.

Well, that is not entirely true, occasionally my classmates would try out their English language abilities on me. They would say something like "fuke" and then break into hysterical fits of laughter.

I digress. For months I lived in my head, not understanding the conversations going on around me and secretly mad at my Spanish teachers for failing me so miserably. I coped by nodding my head even when I didn't understand because it was too tiring to have someone repeat themselves until I understood. This was especially true with jokes. I once had a Costa Rican "uncle" insist on trying to re-tell me the same jokes over and over until he thought I understood them. This still sticks out as one of the most painful nights of my
life, as he and I quickly became the joke of the night.

Slowly I started to pick up the language by mimicking the phrases of those around me. For instance, after every meal I noticed that my Costa Rican "sister" would pick up her plate when she finished and dump her plate in the sink. As she got up, she would say: gracias, adios. At least that is what I heard. Every night, I would follow her lead, pick up my plate, say "gracias, adios" and head for the kitchen with a big, shit-eating grin on my face.

At about the four month mark during my year-long stay, I finally got a handle on the language, at least coversationally. It was at that same point that I realized "gracias, adios" was really, "Gracias a Dios" (Thanks be to God).

What we hear, and what is, are often two different things entirely.

Thought of the Day: Gracias a Dios