Urk!

Well, this isn't really a new post in the sense that I intended, but it will have to do for the nonce, whatever hell the nonce is. I hope it's happy with this entry whatever it is, but if it isn't, screw it.

Some bad stuff is going on right now, some old, some new, but I'll be back soon. I really did start writing a new entry for last Wednesday, but Dame Fortuna smacked me up back of the head. I will have very spotty Internet access for the next few days so please bear with me if you're able. Thank God for the nonce; I know it will keep reading me regardless.

I miss you all. And I'm essentially fine, by the way. Thanks to those of you who inquired.

I'm at least having fun rewriting the next new entry in my head.

- Hulles

Rerun: I Ate Garrison Keillor's Sandwich

[I've always been sort of fond of this post, which was also mentioned in the Rake article. I'm not sure why I paired up GK with Sharon Stone in my imagination, but it works for me. -- The Management]

[This one's for Lo.]

No shit. I ate Garrison Keillor's sandwich today for lunch.

As I have mentioned elsewhere, Nina's Coffee Café, the redundantly-named coffee shop¹ where I do most of my writing, is directly above the bookstore that GK just opened, Common Good Books. Today Mr. Keillor wandered upstairs into Nina's at lunchtime and ordered a sandwich, an egg salad croissant to be specific. He got it to go in a paper bag and hurried off, no doubt to do jello shots with Sharon Stone or whatever it is famous people do when they're not doing the things they're famous for.

But they gave poor Garrison the wrong bag. He got my friend Julie's vegetable wrap instead. Julie, canny coffee shop diner that she is, checked the order and discovered the error. She of course got a new vegetable wrap. And yours truly got the egg salad croissant.

The reason I got the sandwich is that the guy who made it is a friend of mine, Jason, and he knew quite well that an egg salad croissant is not something that long retains the flavor and freshness for which Nina's is so deservedly known, so he gave me the bag and told me the story.

The sandwich was good. A little messy, but good.

And poor Garrison got stuck with a veggie wrap. It's probably better for him in the long run. He probably needs to watch his cholesterol.

But I bet he's somewhere right now, gazing forlornly at his perky little vegetable wrap and wondering if he can get away with chucking it at Sharon Stone's head while her back is turned and quickly pretending the guy next to him did it when she turns around ready to bite someone's head off. That's what I'd do with it anyway. And as for the mysterious fate of his egg salad croissant?

I bet he thinks the Ukrainians got it. And I for one ain't telling him different.

-- Hulles

1I'm going to keep calling it that as long as they keep calling it that.

Rerun: Rum and Pear Can Juice

[I decided to rerun a couple of the blog posts that were mentioned in the Rake article in lieu of actually writing new stuff for the time being. This one is one of the earliest "poverty" posts here. Thank God it's short. The friend mentioned here is Unca Don, if you're curious. - The Management]

Recently I was home alone, imagine that, but was feeling festive for some reason. It so happened that I had a (used to be) pint bottle of something called Ginseng Ron, ron being Spanish for rum. This bottle had been given to me by a friend who had recently returned from a trip to the Dominican Republic. It was in his hotel room, so, being the sort of thoughtful friend that every really poor person wants and needs, he brought it back just for me. In other words, he wouldn’t drink it on a bet, but he knew I’d drink it. I had already tasted it and decided that I’d save it for a special occasion, like when I need to set my cat on fire to make coffee but don’t have any gasoline.

This being the only liquor in the house, however, I had an inspiration: I had a jar of liquid from a can of pears in the refrigerator; I could use the Ginseng Ron and make a cocktail! It would be something like rum punch, I thought. Well, I made the cocktail[1]. I actually poured the rum with a flourish[2], if you can picture it. Unfortunately, the drink tasted foul, sort of like kerosene syrup. I of course drank it anyway. I have to admit, though, that the glee I had from efficiently using up the damn pear can juice far outweighed the nasty taste of the cocktail. Plus, as we poor folk say, any cocktail is better than no cocktail at all. Plus, my cat was pretty happy that I used up the Ginseng Ron. All in all, it was a festive occasion.

- Hulles

---

[1] 1 large dollop of GR to however much juice is in a can of pears, if you want the recipe.

[2] A flourish is not a special kind of pitcher that you pour rum from; it is a dramatic arm gesture that gay men (and I) make.