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like hauts de thoiry
Jul. 29th, 2006 10:28 pmtoday:
1. fish sandwich breakfast at mt hope diner. studied differential geometry.
2. filled hot tub electrical trenches
3. soaked in hot tub
4. sanded down hardwood floors in co-op front room
5. drank beer on porch during lightning storm
6. went on very nice drive
7. ligo
Fish sandwiches are new to me, but here they are ubiquitous. Every diner, most restaurants, and even some civic organizations that don't otherwise serve food will host a Fish Fry on every Friday. I'm told it's a tradition, something about Catholics and not eating meat on Fridays. I don't know anything about catholicism, nor how many catholics observe this, and so forth, but the fried fish sandwiches here are everywhere. A fillet of haddock, dunked in a deep fryer. On white bread, a roll, or a sourdough loaf. A fried fish sandwich for breakfast is wonderful. Maybe I just didn't notice, but I'm pretty sure we don't have this in California. (I also don't remember people on the West Coast identifying as Italian, Irish, or German. Those ancrestries are lumped together into European Descent, or, filling out the bubbles, White/Not Hispanic. But here, if someone is Italian, they will tell you.)
I took a spontaneous drive out into the Villages, south on East River Road. It was really very beautiful, with spiderwebs of lightning across the sky, hailstones collecting in my hand out the window, the sun setting in the West, the anvil clouds, the successive agrarian ridgelines disappearing into the distance. It reminded me of watching lightning from the Hauts de Thoiry.
1. fish sandwich breakfast at mt hope diner. studied differential geometry.
2. filled hot tub electrical trenches
3. soaked in hot tub
4. sanded down hardwood floors in co-op front room
5. drank beer on porch during lightning storm
6. went on very nice drive
7. ligo
Fish sandwiches are new to me, but here they are ubiquitous. Every diner, most restaurants, and even some civic organizations that don't otherwise serve food will host a Fish Fry on every Friday. I'm told it's a tradition, something about Catholics and not eating meat on Fridays. I don't know anything about catholicism, nor how many catholics observe this, and so forth, but the fried fish sandwiches here are everywhere. A fillet of haddock, dunked in a deep fryer. On white bread, a roll, or a sourdough loaf. A fried fish sandwich for breakfast is wonderful. Maybe I just didn't notice, but I'm pretty sure we don't have this in California. (I also don't remember people on the West Coast identifying as Italian, Irish, or German. Those ancrestries are lumped together into European Descent, or, filling out the bubbles, White/Not Hispanic. But here, if someone is Italian, they will tell you.)
I took a spontaneous drive out into the Villages, south on East River Road. It was really very beautiful, with spiderwebs of lightning across the sky, hailstones collecting in my hand out the window, the sun setting in the West, the anvil clouds, the successive agrarian ridgelines disappearing into the distance. It reminded me of watching lightning from the Hauts de Thoiry.
