Weekend Snapshot in which I demonstrate the unfortunate affects of four days rest upon my idiosyncratic self:

Or

Renaissance Spam:

“Just what is it you don’t like about the basement?” asked I of my infant son – as intermittent protestations filled the air.

“I’m not very old and it smells of mold; furthermore, my toes are cold” said he – signing all this in proto-ASL.

“I’ll fix you up in just a snap, for truth-be-told, you need a nap.”

And so it came to pass that moderately whining son was rocked to sleep thanks to the magic of the FisherPrice™ rocker. (A wonderful hand-me-down of battery powered brilliance that came to us from my brother Kris’ son Allen via my sister Sandy’s son Henry.)

I am drinking freshly ground Hazelnut Folgers™, which mysteriously appeared in my cupboard, and reading The New Yorker™ review of current films (and blogging on Blogger™). I no longer go to movies as I lack the time and the financial portfolio – I find that reading the plot synopses is both more practical and more entertaining. I am reminded by this of Borges, who occasionally wrote reviews of fictitious books that he claimed he was too lazy to actually write.

Two days ago we put shoes on Elliot for the first time. Should one feel schadenfreude for one’s newly shod kinder? He had more traction in his Evenflo Megasaucer™ (a hand-me-across item from BJ’s sister Brit) as a result of the Velcro™ adhered, Carter’s™ Keds™. There will be no bandying about branding in this advertisement sponsored blog – the commoditization of abstract identity according to lifestyle association must still find its representation in actual, functional stuff. If you build good stuff that works for my life I will happily sing your praises – such is my sell-out/bought-in middle class status where my imaginative/creative self can no longer tell stories without (not so) subtle product placement.

Jes is away teaching a paperweights class at the glass studio for one hundred and ten dollars in gas money. I am thus gaining experience in solo parenting for the next seven hours. Since early January, as Jes has been slowly returning to work, we’ve moved into the world of child juggling. As she works mostly nights and weekends we have spared ourselves the horror of expensive and unreliable childcare. Because we only have one car that supports safe, backseat Babytrend™ Flex-loc™ technology (our Suzuki™ Forenza™), we end up swapping cars most frequently in the U.M.S.L. parking lot.

We had what turned into a tapas party last night for our returning friend Erica, who has just moved back from Atlanta to take a promotion in her company – the evil arch nemesis of the cable television viewer: Charter Communications™. We are ruefully subject to their monopoly, and I am blogging this defamation over their network. AT&T™ has not wired this part of the city because not enough people in this area have computers – so claimed a call center flunky with whom I once discoursed upon the subject – he may have been talking out of his #$@. When/if AT&T rolls out their TV/internet service locally, I will switch. Direct TV™ wants a three year contract for their internet service and to that requirement I say bah, fie upon it.

The Tapas Menu of last night:

Afghan Flatbread from the Feb. issue of Gourmet™ - think a turmeric/paprika/cumin flavored nan - with Mediterranean beat root humus (use beats instead of chick peas – looks like red play dough).

This was followed by roasted red pepper soup (leftovers I hate to admit – though I dressed it up by serving it in a modern style fondue pot and adding the sour cream as it warmed through via a can of Sterno™).

We have a number of full and partial vegetarian friends, but for the carnivores I served a Thai chicken satay that tasted like candy. I seared the chicken on a cast iron skillet and then sliced it up, slow cooking it in the satay sauce.

The main course was a coconut red curry with pineapple. I made a separate shredded chicken curry for the meat eaters to add independently to the vegetable base. I’ve started doing more – build your own main course – dishes as a result of various dietary restrictions. I think this started last summer at Brad’s lake house where I made a build-your-own gumbo. I can’t have shrimp and Jes/Vanessa didn’t want the sausage so the base of the soup became a platform for several gumbos.

I like the flow of the build your own tapas meal and might aim for that style of cooking more frequently. If I were a silly intellectual I might call it bricoleur cuisine ala Kenneth Burke. You could come eat at my trendy kitsch restaurant: The Brico Lodge. Is the world ready for such a high concept eatery? Taste, like truth, is an assemblage formed in dialogue between self and world with inexorably intertwined foundations, both bio- and ideo- logical. Would that be a good advertisement tag line?

That said, or abstractly queried, baby is awake and I am off to raid the Frigidaire™ for the Medela™ extracted milk which I will warm in the Munchkin™ bottle warmer and serve in the Avent™ (a UK Philips™ subsidiary) bottle to my boy Elliot™ (he prefers Avent™ to VentAire™ (an American subsidiary of Playtex™)) .