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Salami and red wine for supper

One of the nice things about being a grown-up is that if no one is looking, you can have chocolate cake and soda for breakfast, or, you know, whatever.  It’s up to you to screw up your nutrition, or something like that.

I didn’t know that one of the things I’d miss the most about being married would be having someone with whom to split a bottle of wine over supper.  Still, though, I do.

Dad’s a sober alcoholic and unable to resist projecting his experience over everyone else as the Universal Truth(tm) so the minute I have more than one drink at a time, or one drink more than one time a week, he gets shit-headedly (it’s a word, shut up) condescending and hysterical about whether I need to tune-up my meds or see my shrink or somesuch.  I ignore it, since, erm, I’m the one taking meds and routinely engaging in mental health care, Mr. Self-Medicating, but it’s annoying.  (And also, all the drunks on both sides of our family drink G&T’s, so I think I am smart enough about my own drinking to 1) avoid gin, and 2) not drink when I really, really want a drink.)

There is also the fact that I’m a food snot.  It’s not enough for the wine to be “red” or “white” and therefore it goes with supper– it’s got to be a restrained Pinot Noir or an off-dry Riesling or some other first world problem of food and wine pairings.  When the ex and I were still together, we could keep a middling red and a middling white both open over a week without either getting sloshed at dinner every night, or letting the good wine go off before we could finish it up.  The in-laws were likewise pretty sensible– no one looked at you askance if you had a second Prosecco while you were waiting for the gas grill to preheat.

Every so often, though, my niece runs my dad ragged and he’s too tired to eat– which means I don’t have to make something low-salt, light in fat, and vegetable centric for the 73 year old diabetic heart patient with COPD.  And then… then, I can slice up some good hard Italian salami, a few chunks of provolone, and load up a bowl of cherries to eat with the perfect $15.00 Nero d’Avola, and eat that while reading at the table– and then pour myself that second glass while I polish off the rest of the cherries.

It’s not cake for breakfast.  It’s better.

Trash

I read non fiction.  And poetry.  And see serious business documentaries.  But my favorite movie-viewing is trash.  I’m going to see Jupiter Ascending tonight with a girlfriend, just because it has Channing Tatum as a rocket-powered rollerblading albino space werewolf wearing guyliner.

Guyliner.

Tee hee.

(Edited to add, it was fantastically fun.)

I’m sitting waiting for the other half of this morning’s work meeting to show up given Boston’s snow & traffic, and thinking random thoughts like:

It used to snow this much when I was a kid, so the fact that global warming has now brought it bag should be no big deal.  Except I didn’t have to shovel it then.

The urban v. suburban cultural differences at work aren’t just race but class and gender-based, and the intersections in trying to build a company culture is…interesting and treacherous.

Adulthood is about not just accepting but embracing the fact that you will “disappoint” your parents’ ambitions for you, and that it’s their problem, not yours.  Which doesn’t mean you can’t try to break that news to them gently, but you don’t have to coddle them either.  There was a more long- winded version of this post in my head at some point, but this is the sum of it now.

I’ve been reading my beloved SciFi novels in between business reads.   Station Eleven is not typical SciFi, and it’s a great standalone read even if you don’t think you like post-apocalyptic reads, because it’s really about people.  Good stuff.

Been a long time

It’s been a long time since I’ve written here, for lots of reasons, including job changes, considering what, where, and how to say things, and other more inchoate, mostly good things.  Is there still any interest here, at this blog?  I am, silly at it sounds, thinking of a rebrand, in this, my 40th year.  I am thinking of personal v. professional, “writing” v. musing, etc. 

Thoughts?