Man I pigged out yesterday. I should be out walking it off, but statistically speaking, it is much more likely that I will go see a movie after I finish this.
I ate breakfast on my way to work and was going to skip lunch. When I heard, however, that a lunch expedition was being mounted, I caved instantly and went with the crew for a carne adovada burrito at Loyola's. They only have carne adovada on Fridays and I wouldn't want to miss it, would I? Then just as I was packing it in for the day, P called and said that I should come over to their house for dinner. I wasn't really up for more food, but...
T did some fresh tuna filets encrusted in toasted sesame seeds with what he called a "burnt brown sugar" sauce that were way past excellent. I mean they were worthy of Peohe's (our favorite seafood restaurant, so far, on the planet). Not like I needed another meal, but I was glad I didn't miss this one.
I know, I'll eat at Subway all next week. And say ten Hail Marys and four Our Fathers and maybe be sin-free in time for next weekend.
The weather is nice. That's what I like about this place. A lazy person's paradise. Not like Hawaii or Balise; the weather was damn cold last week, but still dry and clear and imminently survivable. I hear about sub-zero temperatures in Boston and 2 degrees F in New York and I just want to stay right where I am, thank you very much. Apparently there were three days last week when no one could fly into or out of the Portland (OR) airport because of the freezing rain and black ice. My brother and sister-in-law who live in the mountains east of Salem were without power for two days. A river runs through their back yard and they have plenty of firewood laid in for the winter, so they get by OK, but their lifestyle requires actual work sometimes. They have pictures of us there at Christmas sitting around the kitchen counter in our coats and mittens with clouds of steam coming out of our mouths. Charming. Everyone should do it. Once.
I grew up in Salt Lake and came of age (more or less) in Denver where the snow actually sticks to the ground, sometimes for weeks. So I've paid my cold, wet, slippery dues. I was even in Manhattan one New Year's Eve when it was about 10 degrees and the wind was gusting 30-40 mph. Talk about miserable. Street vendors had stacks of plastic hats and party favors that were blowing all over the place. As we made our way toward Times Square, we stopped three times to help them gather their stuff up and weigh it down against the wind. Then, chicken-shits that we were, we looked at each other and shook our heads and said, "You know, the Metro North will be just about deserted now. How about we get a train while the gettin' is good and watch this mess at home on TV." So we did. Where is my sense of adventure? Not here. I should write a song along the lines of "I Left My Heart In San Fransisco" only more like "I Left My Sense Of Adventure On The Freezing Goddam Streets Of Manhattan". It probably got swept up with the rest of the New Year's debris and deposited in some land-fill on Staten Island. Well, as Maude said to Harold, "I'll always know right where it is."