Syllabus #168

Look, a picture of something that isn't a cat

Alright I'm going to tell on myself right here and right now.  I am the asshole in this situation.  

So what happened was, Andy's cousin is in town this weekend and we went big on Friday night.  I was the one keeping it semi-together for our collective benefit, but, as these things go, I was hungover Saturday morning and the dudes were both fine.  It wasn't a day-ruining hangover, more like a level 6 out of 10.  Minimal vomiting involved, but nothing that couldn't be fixed with an extra hour of wallowing in bed, petting some kitties, Advil, a shower, and the one-two punch of greasy food and caffeine.

We had big plans to, um, drink more on Saturday, so I had to pull it together.  We dragged ourselves a mile through the cruel sun to grab an early lunch at Red Headed Stranger.  After that, we were headed downtown to board the Music City Brew Hop trolley for a 3-hour 7-hour tour of bad decisions.  

Properly fueled and caffeinated, we went outside to summon a Lyft to take us across the river.  The RHS side of the street was in the blazing sun, so we crossed Arrington to wait in the shade of the trees bordering the parking lot of chef Sean Brock's Audrey.  Their parking lot is bordered by a phalanx of signs warning that parking is for Audrey customers only, so as we crossed the street I was like, "Don't you dare step foot in the Audrey parking lot unless you're ready to pay $300 for a sniff of corn..."  

Which, first of all, a sniff of corn?  What even is that?  Is it the same as a whiff, or does it cost more?  Is it on the cob, or are we talking corn dust, which I hear is an actual thing used to garnish the babydoll spoon portions of Appalachian molecular gastronomy or whatever the hell.  But all that is besides the point, because as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized a guy from Audrey's kitchen staff was walking right past me, reporting for his shift.  He didn't betray any reaction, but there's no world in which he didn't hear what I said unless he was stone cold Helen Keller deaf.

Honestly, who am I to criticize?  I've never eaten there, first of all, so I have no standing.  I'm probably just jealous that I don't feel like I can spend that much money on a tasting menu that I suspect will leave me intrigued but still hungry.  And this guy who heard me making fun of the restaurant, maybe he didn't care, and I'm sure he's heard other people ragging on the place.  But working there is probably a thrill and an honor, and he has to listen to some hungover, PMSing sea hag make fun of what might be his dream job?  

So, kitchen guy, sorry.  I don't know what your specific job is, but I'm sure you grind a real fine corn dust and I hope one day I can afford to sniff it.

Who eats late dinners?  Our dinner time is 6:30 or later.  God forbid dinner is on the table at 6:27, or I get an eye roll and that shit sits there getting cold until the stroke of 6:30 like this is fricking Downton Abbey and we must abide by custom.  That said, anything after 7 on a week night is really pushing into dangerous Hangry territory.  When Andy and I first started shacking up (as the elders liked to call us moving in together less than 2 months after meeting, but guess what that was over 14 years ago and look at us now!) we both worked in a high school.  We'd be home from work by 3:30, back from the gym by 5.  I think we used to eat dinner at 5:30?  It was comically early.  We also had no table or chairs so we sat on the floor at a coffee table and watched Action News on our 500 pound CRT television with an antenna.  I think working an actual 8-5 schedule in an academic library broke us of the earlybird special habit

Lindsay Graham PICKED 15 weeks.  He just chose it.  Picked it the way a child picks ice cream at Baskin Robbins.  Lil' Linds wants Rum Raisin?  Do you know what's in that?  You're not gonna like it.  NO ONE fucking likes it!  How about chocolate?  That's a safe choice.  Chocolate in this analogy is 45 weeks.  Just in case a woman gives live birth and then changes her mind once she loses a few nights of sleep. JUST KIDDING, no one would ever do that.  But that's the point.  The further along in a pregnancy, pregnant people aren't just like, "Well, this has been a fun journey so far, but I just don't feel like buying maternity clothes and making a registry, just kinda over it TBH."  You're hurting the most vulnerable people who are facing heartbreaking choices and life-threatening situations.  To quote the article:  "Yet, perversely, Graham’s legislation disproportionately affects those in the most dire circumstances, when a second-trimester abortion may spare them severe and excruciating health crises."

Analog Reading:

Still confined to the quarters of A Gentleman in Moscow.  It's a little twee in the beginning, and the guy has what modern sensibilities would consider to be an innocent but very suspicious-seeming relationship with a 9 year old girl, but then it picks up about a third of the way through.  I'll allow it.