Blog #10

We all love to eat.  We all love to go to fancy restaurants and try new things.  I’ve had ostrich (tastes like chicken), wart-hog (tastes like pork), kangaroo (tastes like chicken).  I wonder what an Australian would say the first time he tried chicken.  “Tastes like kangaroo,” I suppose.  In each of those forays into adventuresome eating, however, I knew what I was getting.  But in some of these chi-chi joints, I haven’t a clue.  A few weeks ago we went to a new place.  It was beautiful; the food was colorful and architecturally impressive, built into little hills and balls.  And then I looked at the menu and found this:

Cassoulet in choux pastry glazed in a cumin and mint ratatouille and topped with a chiffonade of Brussels sprouts, arugula and (of course) kale.

Did you know there is no such thing as arugula?  Arugula is actually the sound someone makes when trying to swallow a Brussels sprout.  Back to the cassoulet:  I had no idea what this stuff was and I was not about to order a wart-hog in a poke.  Restaurant people, listen up.  Tell me what I’m getting – in some form of English I can understand.  I don’t really care if the food is parboiled, blanched or bruised; just tell me what it is.  Truthfully, some of the food at these places is exotic to read and sumptuous to look at.  But eat?  Arugula!

This fancy new restaurant was neat

I sat in a comfortable seat

I admired the venue

Then read the whole menu

And couldn’t find one thing to eat.

And what, in God’s name, is a reduction!

There’s a new trend called sologamy (rhymes with monogamy).  Sologamy is the practice of choosing yourself as a spouse.  I am very pleased and totally proud to say I don’t get it.  All I know is that if I had told my mother I was getting married to myself, she would have said, “That’s nice, Dear.  At least you’re marrying someone Jewish.”  What kind of gift do you give at a sologamous wedding?  A mirror?  Batteries?

I have determined what the scourge of my grandchildren’s generation will be.  No, they will not succumb to eye disease from watching screens for hours each day.  And no, their muscles will not atrophy from lack of exercise.  The great epidemic looming in our youngsters’ future is sunscreen poisoning.  A child of today can’t even get near a window without his mother holding him up by his ankle like Achilles and dipping him into a vat of zinc oxide mixed with titanium dioxide.  That’s what sunscreen is made of.  Watch their diet, make them eat kale, seatbelt them in, hold their hand all the way to school – and then dunk them in industrial poison. 

Did you know there are no birds in Guam?  Am I not just a bottomless cornucopia of useless what-nots?  That’s probably why you come back each week.  Welcome back, by the way.  I hope you’re doing fine.  Well, it’s true – about the birds in Guam, I mean.  There aren’t any.  About ninety years ago a family of tree-snakes snuck off a ship and invaded the island.  They multiplied, proliferated and ate all the birds.  Are the snakes “bad”?  They’re just doing what they were created to do – eat birds and make more snakes.  And what about us?  We’re just another species doing what we were created to do – shoot any animal we see and place its head above the fireplace, burn down entire forests to make room for a Bed, Bath and Beyond, dip our children into industrial poison, leave plastic garbage on every square inch of the planet, and make more people.  We are such a successful species that we are likely to force all the other species to extinction.  Pretty soon the Earth will have just people.  And mosquitoes.  And a few sad leftovers in a few sad zoos living in cages and watching women spread Coppertone 50 on their triplets.   Bummer.

May is National Older Americans Month.  I think most of them forgot.

The other day I was looking through some old pictures.  Remember pictures?  We used to take pictures of our families standing in front of the World’s Biggest Ketchup Bottle or just being cute on the couch.  I have travelled with picture-crazy  people who insist on having a waiter take a picture of the four of us at every restaurant  – breakfast, lunch and dinner.  Anyway, we used to have these pictures “developed”; then we’d put them in a scrapbook or throw them in a basket.  Now everybody keeps their pictures on their phones and printed pictures are as rare as birds on Guam.  But I still have my basket of old pics.  You should go look through your old pictures some time.  I bet I can predict exactly what you’ll say when you look at yourself ten or twenty or thirty years ago.  All you women will say, “OMG – look at my hair!”  And all you men will say, “I still have that shirt.”

Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, Prince Consort to the Queen of England is retiring from his public duties after 65 years of princing and consorting.  And what, you might ask, are all these princely duties from which he is stepping down?  Well, Philip’s complete portfolio of duties consists of standing behind the Queen and being her Insignificant Other.  I understand, Philip old chap.  I’ve been doing the same thing for almost 50 years.  The only difference is that your Queen is richer, older and more famous than mine.  Plus you have more medals.  I actually think he is retiring from public exposure because that jacket with the twenty pounds of medals is too heavy.  Come to think of it, I don’t have any medals.  Don’t I deserve one for 50 years of devoted service?  The Supreme Order of the Husband!  It should be beige (for insignificance) with the Latin words “votum est mandatum meum” (“your wish is my command”) emblazoned across the bottom and the semblance of a closet door with a big X over it.  A few weeks ago, my granddaughter Charley was over and she wanted something.  I said it’s in my closet.  She said, “You have a closet?”  She’s learning fast.  As for Philip, my man, well he can retire with this small comfort – they also serve who only stand and tinkle.  The medals, I mean. 

And one more of those useless what-nots.  A few hundred years ago, farmers took the wild cabbage and began to breed certain strains and, just like dog breeders, developed different looking cabbage varieties.  Included are broccoli, cauliflower, kale and, of course, Brussels sprouts.  Arugula!

Ok, I’ve reached my limit and you probably have too.  Please come back next week.  I like talking to you.  And stay well.

Michael

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