In the Land of Hypertension
We went to the annual Thanksgiving Dinner at Mother Canary's bachlorette/assisted living pad at the Mighty Tower last night. Viv drove in from the the University, Liam, Princess, E! and me from midtown and Brother Atom Bomb from the burbs.
When we arrived, the place was jammed with family and friends, all noisy and hungry, in the spacious lobby of the Mighty Tower. An ancient lady in a shiny red dress with tiarra was noodling away at the baby grand, the Big Boss of the Tower was introducing himself over a tempremental P.A. and the Old Folks Choir was lining up for the Big Show as the staph skittered about tossing plates of this and that here and there for the happy crowd to eat.
And now I know why Grandmas have swollen ankles. The Chef's name was Salty McSodium.
He moved here from the Bonneville Salt Flats. He has a summer home in Salt Lake City and a winter home at the Salton Sea. He takes his boat out on the Great Salt Lake and sits on the poopdeck sipping his favorite cocktail, a Salty Dog. He has a salt and pepper beard, but mostly salt. He's a real salt of the earth. And boy can he cook!
You could hear the sound of ankles expanding as we ate.
The Old Folks Choir played the same set they did last year. They sang the Battle Hymn of the Republic, Swing Low Sweet Chariot and when they did the Impossible Dream, one of the Old Folks held up big black and white pictures of various wartime mayhem and destruction. I guess we were supposed to be thankful for war. If so, we got a lot to be thankful for, 'cause there sure is a whole lotta war goin' on.
On the way out, Brother Atom Bomb was nearly attacked by an oppossum the size of a Shetland
pony (it probably smelled turkey on his breath). I offered him a few dollars if he'd wrestle with it until it went limp, but he declined. I even pointed out to him that opossums are the only mammal that does not catch rabies and that they were good eatin', but still, he declined.
When we arrived, the place was jammed with family and friends, all noisy and hungry, in the spacious lobby of the Mighty Tower. An ancient lady in a shiny red dress with tiarra was noodling away at the baby grand, the Big Boss of the Tower was introducing himself over a tempremental P.A. and the Old Folks Choir was lining up for the Big Show as the staph skittered about tossing plates of this and that here and there for the happy crowd to eat.
And now I know why Grandmas have swollen ankles. The Chef's name was Salty McSodium.
He moved here from the Bonneville Salt Flats. He has a summer home in Salt Lake City and a winter home at the Salton Sea. He takes his boat out on the Great Salt Lake and sits on the poopdeck sipping his favorite cocktail, a Salty Dog. He has a salt and pepper beard, but mostly salt. He's a real salt of the earth. And boy can he cook!
You could hear the sound of ankles expanding as we ate.
The Old Folks Choir played the same set they did last year. They sang the Battle Hymn of the Republic, Swing Low Sweet Chariot and when they did the Impossible Dream, one of the Old Folks held up big black and white pictures of various wartime mayhem and destruction. I guess we were supposed to be thankful for war. If so, we got a lot to be thankful for, 'cause there sure is a whole lotta war goin' on.
On the way out, Brother Atom Bomb was nearly attacked by an oppossum the size of a Shetland
pony (it probably smelled turkey on his breath). I offered him a few dollars if he'd wrestle with it until it went limp, but he declined. I even pointed out to him that opossums are the only mammal that does not catch rabies and that they were good eatin', but still, he declined.
posted by Billy Canary at 8:39 AM
5 Comments:
I have no idea why those two paragraphs were broken up like that. Wasn't my doing. Sheesh!
So that wasn't feedback, it was ankles swelling!
It's vain to post comments on your own blog before anyone else does.
It seems that I read somewhere that opossums either aren't as passive as they say or that they actually due get rabies.
http://www.opossumsocietyus.org/frequently_asked_questions.htm#There%20is%20an%20opossum%20in%20my%20yard.%20%A0What%20do%20I%20do?
It's not vain if nobody reads the mofo.
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