Thursday forenoon Bloody Mary

 Ben & Jerry's boycotting the settlements, mox nix mir, forty years ago I preferred Haagen Dazs anyway, Macadamia Nut, and now it's Blue Bell hands down, Homemade Vanilla, no contest. But, oh, Tillamook's strawberry is excellent. 

Thursday after Wednesday evening at church, fried chicken left over from Tuesday with love ones, and corn pudding, best ever, has cheese in it, perfect, most dishes need a touch of salt, not this. 

A preprandial libation. A libation is generally a sacrifice poured out to a deity, this one, in a classy twelve ounce plastic mug with handle, two large cubes ice, pour in V8 regular chilled ice cold, top within two inches of the rim, inch of Polish potato vodka, heavy duty splash of gin for flavor the vodka lacks, three olives, olive brine from the jar to lend essence of dirty martini, plenty of Worcestershire, drip, drip, drip in Louisiana hot sauce, which, taste test reveals, does not do the trick, so shake shake shake shake shake Tabasco, which has both the heat and the essential flavor, stir vigorously, sip and approve. No celery stick but, voila, a Bloody Mary for the denizens of Mount Olympus.

After dinner (Dinner at Six, twelve noon) one square of TJ's dark chocolate covered toffee, mug of black. Years ago I read a story of life in the Raj in which the Indian manservant, proud of his mastery of English expressions, mindless of the literal, elegantly announced each afternoon, "Dinner at Six, eight o'clock". At 7H, Dinner at Six is served at twelve noon. 

Recently a friend asked me, "What are you reading these day?" I didn't know, I'd been paying no attention. I've been watching WWI films on Prime Video, also Downfall, Poirot for free on Youtube, and reading The New Yorker, which arrives faithfully every Thursday unless it's early on Wednesday or late on Friday or Tuesday. But weekly some forty-eight times a year, in Thursday afternoon's mail, dated the following Monday. Don't mind that the political stuff is reliably one way, but "Tables for Two" about food, one-page "Growing Pains" essays about real life, and the fiction are what I've been reading. Short stories, the fiction is usually as coarse as an Appalachian outhouse, but with irony, and if you think you can figure the ending ahead of time, have at it. The personal history article is always magic. And the cartoons. I value PCNH for the comic strips alone, The New Yorker for the cartoons. Deep, intellectual reading? Hey, I'm almost eight-six, I read what I DWP.

Nap time.

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CRT, sorry, I missed CRT.