Some who know me may wonder, why with a friend and not close to home, like my daughter or brother?
The truth of the matter is that I've always been a private person, having grown up an only child. I've also been on the net since before it was GUI based, and I've seen the explosion of personal information taken in every which direction, good, bad and for the most part boring. So toe in the water and let's leave it at that for now. Maybe it just takes getting used to. We'll see.
So me and Dave go back to school days. I'll give more background info on him in future posts, because a little of that goes a long way and in one dose can be lethal. One thing we share in common; we're foodies. One more; as we get older, our metabolism... is... slowing... down.
Hardy fucken har.
Here's a recent convo:
me: Man, we had SO much grub left over from the office party I thought I'd give some to the security guard and the invisible mud peeps (mps) cleaning crew.
D: You mean the mud people as in brown persuasion?
me: Uhm. So first I ask if it's alright to give the mud peeps some food, and I get the word to tell them to just come on up. So, as I get my "alleviate privileged amerikkkan guilt quotient" temporarily sated, I gather up some cupcakes for the poor, downtrodden mps and make my way downstairs. But not before I grabbed a box of lemon cake.
me: I give the mps the cupcakes and tell them, "Tenemos mucho comida; Antes termine va al cuarto" - they smile and thank me and my quotient scale hits "F" for fulfillment. Of note, the security guard, an older brotha prolly in his 60's, looked down sorta derisively at the cupcake but nodded a thank you. Anyway, here's the rub: I kept the lemon cake.
me: But there was more, and they were going up there...
me: The fish place we went to that time...?
D: Yeah. So, I got a small one for myself and a large one for my sister (Sonia) and her used-car salesman chump, er, bf. (disclosure: I called him that, but Dave would agree. No, laff, then agree.)
I get home, chow down my cobbler, then settle in.
me: To "Command Center 3"? (in joke)
D: Yeah. So then Sonia comes home. I said, "hi."
[medium long PAUSE]
D: [not missing a beat] Yeah I did.
me: [belly laff]
D: Then there was my protest.
D: Well, yesterday I went to the local burger joint and got fish 'n chips - we've been there before. (Dave lives in a suburb of LA near JPL/CalTech, not exactly close to me) They gave me this MOUNTAIN of fries.
me: So you scarfed them?
D: Well, I got about half way through them, then I said to myself, "Damn, I'm only half way through. This is gonna get serious." (NOTE: One thing I didn't mention; Dave's 6'3" and, well, as his peeps say, he's big boned-ed).
me: [small belly laff]
D: So I plowed down to the last three fries and left them.
D: Yeah - those were my "protest fries."
D: Horchata. Yeah, I went and got a refill then went home. Walked in the house and threw it away.
D: My "protest horchata."