Spoilage Alert

Agreed snow writer, agreed:

Was pleased to see this wasn’t rendered in “Yellow.”

And of course, yes, we are Epic. Tomorrow is the 50th anniversary of the great Alaska earthquake. The most powerful earthquake in North American history. Local experts on the radio caution that present day Alaskans are woefully unprepared for the next big earthquake, and I suppose they are right. Happy Wife established us a survival kit in the garage — a few cans of tuna, some dog food, five gallons of water, some cash and possibly some fuel to get a fire going. I don’t know for sure,  I haven’t looked in the bin lately. My preparation involved placing two wine glasses and a corkscrew in the crawl space, which functions as our wine cellar. Must be >75 bottles down there. I figure by the time rescuers find us we’ll smell like tuna and be totally snockered.

Went for a quiet lunch yesterday at Juno, a hotel restaurant. I don’t ordinarily eat much lunch, a smear or two of peanut butter on toast with a pickle (Clausen!) & chips ordinarily sustains me. And I don’t usually think of going to a hotel restaurant unless I’m staying at the hotel, and evidently others don’t either because there was nobody at the bar save one guy. He’d just finished his lunch when I heard him let rip a real stool burner. Or so I thought. Shot him a sideways glance to witness his embarrassment. Turns out it was his ringtone, which I think was supposed to be a duck call, but ringing inside his pants pocket it sounded more like a whoopee cushion.

Anyway, lunch was excellent and the Chardonnay pour generous:

My mom e-mailed me to praise a picture I’d sent her, and mentioned in passing how looooooong their winter has been. They live in the heart of Wisconsin. And I thought, you know, seeking sympathy from an Alaskan for how long and cold your winter has been is a bit like a prom queen seeking the same from a pole dancer because her date was pawing her all night long. Eeeew! What, you don’t care for that analogy? Whatever, you get my drift. Snow drift — get it! Haha.

Happy Wife’s birthday Saturday. Don’t tell her but my gift to her this year involves spoilage, i.e. I’m going to spoil her. Weird how spoilage — something that happens to food entombed in the back of the refrigerator — has come to be associated with the bestowing of extravagance. She knows something’s up, as I’ve already told her to free up her Saturday afternoon calendar, and that it will involve some shuttling from one place of spoilage to the next. She dislikes being the center of attention, and I know this, but you know what, tough. She’s getting spoiled, dammit, and that’s all there is to it.