Sunday, June 29

But I Don't Like Fish

I was watching the E! Channel tonight (yes I watch E!. Cut me a break, I'm on vacation and I took my brain with me) and I was drinking some iced tea (sweetened, with lemon, please). The show, the name of which I forget, flashed on a service provided in Los Angeles called, are you ready?


I was in the middle of a mouthful and I swallowed it kind of weird and choked a little.


Esqueese me?

Yes, apparently, the angelinos have become bored with eating off of ceramic and glass and now feel the need to eat off of the human body. At $900 an hour for a male and female, um, plate. I'm sure this is appealing to men who like to look at a good-looking female body with bodacious tatas covered with... fish, but even with a buff man with butt cheeks you can bounce a quarter off of as my plate, this does nothing for me but make me say "ick!"

Further investigation revealed that this is Japanese in origin (those horny Japanese!) but nonetheless, all that comes to mind is UNSANITARY.
First of all, how clean is this dish? Where was it before it became service for 12?

Secondly, what if the dish is, you know, flatulent? Then it has to clench to suppress the flatulence and the sushi slides into prohibited areas. Or what if the dish has to sneeze or cough? Or falls asleep?

Thirdly, why sushi? The innuendo is not lost on me, but seriously. If you know me or have been reading this blog, you know that I am possibly the only Italian in the world who doesn't eat most seafood (or drink wine). So the idea of picking raw fish out of a stranger's potentially lint-filled belly button is just not appealing to me. Now, you put a little veal in a delicate marsala sauce with a side of risotto on there and you just might get me to dig in, but sushi? No thanks.

And you can't pick the sushi off the human plate with a fork because you'll poke the hell out of the plate (and make the plate bleed- gross!), so you have to use chopsticks.

I guess I've lived in a small town too long, because this is just straight up CRAZEEEEE to me.

Friday, June 13


"Agiduh" is not fun. It comes in two varieties. It is spelled "acidez," but of course we don't say "Ah-chee-des." Duh. We say AGIDUH.

Agiduh is heartburn, acid. We use it like this:

1) After we eat something which causes heartburn or indigestion. The remedy for this in my family is a glass of Brioschi. Brioschi is little pieces of slightly lemon-flavored effervescent agiduh relief that you put in water and drink. It tickles your nose if you drink it while it is still bubbly. :)

2) When you are aggravated, you get agiduh. Your spouse, your kids, your job, waiting in long lines, just about anything that makes your blood simmer can cause you frustration which can then fall under the category of AGIDUH. When this happens, you MUST tell someone, or just say it out loud. Everyone has to know you are getting agiduh or that agiduh is impending. Otherwise, the effect is lost. "You kids better knock it off, you're giving me AGIDUH!" No one wants to give Mom agiduh!

Wednesday, June 11

Happy Birthday Dad!

Today my father turned three quarters of a century old. I wish him at least another quarter and much good health with which to enjoy those years.

I have written about my dad before, because he has had a big influence on my morality (as has my mother) but also on my political understanding and views.

My dad is super-conservative. When I was a kid, I never realized that his views had a label. I debated some of those views as I got older and thought I knew more than he, but I eventually came to my own conclusions about them and with the exception of a few, I share those views.

Growing up, my sister and I knew the words "pinko" and "commie" as part of our vernacular. Patriotism was instilled in us from the time we learned that an American flag is not a toy, and that people died to allow us to live the way we do. When I was a senior in high school, my dad and I, both Stallone fans, went to see Rambo, First Blood, Part II, where Rambo rescues the POW's in Vietnam. That sparked great coversations about history and communism and I learned words like "black pajamas," and finally realized why my parents would not watch a Jane Fonda movie.

A veteran of the army who served in Germany after WWII, my dad is a treasure trove of historical knowledge. All of what I learned about that war and that period of history comes from my father, not from my junior year history class. (Although I do remember the word "blitzkrieg," but that's about it.)

It's not just because of politics that I hold my dad in such high regard. It's for his deternination, his intelligence, his sense of humor, honesty and his tremendous love for me that I love him so much. It's for the way he broke the news to me that my goldfish died when I was five, and shed some tears with me. It's for the way he taught me that being silly makes you feel good, but never at the dinner table. It's how he drove me to and from a friend's house or a dance at night even though he was exhausted after work. It's the way he showed me that living a honest and clean life is the only way to live and that nothing is more important than family. It's because I never heard my dad say an off-color word- ever- because he has too much respect for women to say a dirty word in their presence.

So, for all he taught me, and for all he means to me, Happy Birthday to my father. I am fortunate and grateful to have you as my dad.