2003-10-21 - 12:55 p.m.
I did not make meatloaf last night, as the husband has developed an inexplicably aversion to it. I myself swing on the meatloaf decade pendulum; up to about age 12, I loved the stuff. Then I hated it for ten years, and now I'm starting to long for moist meaty loaf, preferrably accompanied by mashed potaters and frozen peas (naturally, defrosted and heated before consumption). Yes, I am becoming Middle America. Soon I shall cultivate a beer belly and learn to belch at whim.
No, instead we had tacos, because the husband is laboring under the delusion that he is part Mexican. A friend once called R an honorary Mexican, and I'm afraid it's gone to the dear boy's head. If I hadn't had to run off to choir, I would have made yummy salsa, but I did, so I didn't.
On the dog name front, "Liberace" is straight out. My father threatened projectile vomiting if that should become the chosen handle. If anyone thinks of a name for the little guy, suggestions may be left in the guest book. Keep in mind my parents, like the intellectual snobs we are at heart, prefer names with some clever allusion, particularly to music or literature.
Speaking of literature, I read an interesting article on Samuel Richardson's Clarissa yesterday, and then felt guilty for all of about 4 hours for not being able to get through the damn thing. Perhaps it was because I attempted to read the abridged version; the article claims that the unabridged (all 1,500 bloody pages!) is much better. Maybe one day I'll pick it up again, but I just remember C as being a crashing bore. It was such a relief to get to Austen, who really knew how to write a novel. As great as C may be, I find it impossible to call it "the pinacle of English literature," especially when set next to the expertise and artistry of Jane Austen.
Die Entfuehrung aus dem Serail (The Abduction From
Which Mozart Opera Does Your Life Most Resemble?
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