Vonnegut and Crab Season

I recently stumbled upon a clip of The Daily Show on YouTube when Kurt Vonnegut was a guest. I have Slaughterhouse-Five somewhere in my childhood home, so when I went home to have dinner with my parents, I grabbed it off the shelf and flipped through it again. "Eheu, fugaces labuntur anni." I certainly felt that pathos during my searches for a job. But the despair is fleeting. If Postumus were to have answered that ode, he surely would have countered Horace with words of hope, and with scenes that matched the dearth with light. It's nice to see that Mr. Vonnegut has some light to shine on the darkest subjects: "Evolution is being controlled by some divine engineer. And this engineer knows exactly what he or she is doing. And why and where evolution is headed. That's why we've got giraffes and hippopotami and the Clap." The conversation leads to Iraq, and the problems with democracy, so the dark subjects keep on coming.

Chlamydia made me think about other STIs, and since I was also hungry at the time, my mind naturally wandered to crabs. It's August, and the blue crabs are starting to look mighty fat in the Chinese seafood markets. I know that most non-Chinese stay away from the hepatopancreas, but those fatty sacks are so savory and rich when cooked right. Our petite kitchen will be pushed to the max with half a dozen live blue crabs, but just thinking about the scallions, the ginger, the sizzle and the fragrance of rice wine...mmm! I guess the funnest step of preparing that dinner will be to convince Ian to hold the chopstick still, while I open up the tasty crustaceans.

I would never eat dog, though. I yearn for a pup, but I will not have nearly enough time to care for one. For the time being, I've taken up the task of disciplining my weird little cockatiel, Twinkie. He's not too friendly towards strangers, or even my mother, so it's about time to engage in some training sessions with a hardy glove and some yummy seeds. He's a hoppy little fellow who likes to whistle and trill, mixed with an abundance of "tsks tsks tsks." I see the potential of a truely loving friend in him, especially when he coos as I scratch his neck, or when he nibbles at my necklace while he stands on my shoulder, or even when he trusts that my finger will be there to guide him off the top of the window blinds and feels around with his little foot before stepping down to safety. Now if the brat will just stop hissing and biting...

I settled on an entree. Publishing turned out to be hard to break into, and from experiences, a road paved with crazies. I am not a picky eater, though, so I have settled on another option. If the duck confit weren't available as a special at my favorite restaurant, I would have the entrecote au poivre. I start on my meal next Monday. Wish me happy digestion.