Relatively quick trip to the big town about 50 miles away this morning, for my part to order a new pair of glasses and finally put this long-standing vision crisis behind me.
A friend sent me $20 as a 60th birthday present, and I spent it in unwise and promiscuous self-indulgence.
I need an eight-pound roaster like I need an E-class Jag. But I’ve had my mouth set for roast chicken for weeks, and for weeks – despite numerous dead chickens – for various reasons it keeps not happening. This morning I was in Wally World with some time to kill and ended up leaving with this absurd big boy and a bunch of veggies and a box of cheap wine. Now the boys and I are spending the afternoon in a haze of too much food. What we don’t eat right up will end in the pressure cooker with a bunch of barley and potatoes, no doubt.
You can get used to living on subsistence food. I’ve found it quite easy, really. Since sometime in ’08 I’ve lived primarily on potatoes and onions and rice and beans and bread and eggs. I’ve never been more healthy.
And yet. Sometimes.
“Patience, hell. I’m gonna kill something.”
Hey, it’s a birthday present.
Well, hell, Joel.
Happy Birthday.
Chow down.
Glad you used that $20 to indulge, Joel. I’d have hated to think of you frittering it away on rice, beans, and chainsaw sharpening. Happy birthday!
Glad you’re finally getting your glasses, too — and HOORAY for the generous souls who paid to fix your eyeballs and got you to the point where you could order those glasses.
Yeah, you’re definitely not a Southerner, or you’d’ve bought a bucket oflard & fried that thing. Diff’rent strokes, I guess. Enjoy!
Expect some mail directly (no, damn it, it it’s not brittle!)
Well, damn, that looks illiterate. The “enter your comment” never goes away on my Demon Box screen, so I can’t review the left side of my posts. Please forgive.
Happy Birthday.
Happy Birthday Joel!
It isn’t a peasant if you have to pluck it yourself.
Happy belated Birthday, I hope the chicken was good! My brother turned 50 two days ago.
Happy stuffed-to-the-gills birthday, Joel. Of course, you feeding the boys some bird means they will want you to have a birthday again in a few days. Inspect your calender for evidence of alterations done in doggie hand (paw?) writing.