A Bonefish Is A Real Fish


On reading Heaney's The Errand

The first time he read the piece,

Big-bearded and paternal,

He saw the trinity in it:

The father with idea, bidding the son do,

And the son seeing the joke in it.

The spirit of it, of course, was harder to see.

Was it most easily the level itself,

Or the new tying of the tie,

Or was it more simply, more richly,

The filled smile lit between father and son?

Can't keep paternity from leaking out the pen...not that I mind. I look forward to Rich and Phil's joining of the club this year.

Well, looks like Fred Hoiberg is letting the side down. The Wolves are in big trouble. And Indiana won tonight, which just upsets me, 'cause the only Easter Conference team that could possible beat L.A. is Detroit, with all those long manly biceps in play. Never thought I'd be pulling for Rasheed Wallace, but here I am. At least he's sporting the full beard now, and that looks good, although his teeth are as bad as ever.

Does presentation matter? You better believe it does.

Hablando de... The wife (and chile) [brief aside: I wonder if I should morph this habit of mine of calling the girl our chile (rhymes with pile) and writing it that way into calling her something peppery. I think I should. Seems like it would be fun.] and I (please remember that this continues from "The wife (and chile)" above...am I annoying yet?) went to a new place in town called the Bonefish Grill. Hanging above their sign was a brass fish skeleton done in a cartoony fashion. Kind of fun. We get fish. Every day. The wife had a white sangria (don't ask me, I know blood is red), tasted a bit like Hawaiian Fruit Punch to me, and I a cheap pinot grigio. Kimberly had mahi-mahi, of course, and I sea bass (Chilean sea bass, just like every other restaurant...I guess it's gotta be Chilean if it's gonna be good), both covered with bits of crab and asparagus in a lemon-butter-sauce-thing. It was nice. A lot of work, or I should say, a lot of professionalism went into its preparation, so I didn't feel as if I had been wasting my money; Kimberly loved her mahi-mahi (which is called dolphin for you non-Floridians, and enough of you are down here now that menus have all started saying mahi-mahi instead of dolphin: you mean you kill Flipper?!) and thinks I'm a difficult-to-please poophead. She seemed uninterested in how impressed I was by the franchise's concept and its execution in decor and staffing. And I'm sure the food will be perfect next time...they just couldn't resist making everything buttery and creamy, which I now know and can tailor a bit. For example, knowing that their garlic-mashed potatoes are loaded with butter and garlic, and that their zucchini is loaded with butter and garlic, and that their today's-special-lemon-butter-"Oscar"-sauce is loaded with butter and garlic, I might order some stuff that didn't have much butter and garlic. Worth visiting. Gainesville's Bonefish is new, and it seemed as if everyone thought it worth visiting. It was Friday evening, but not even six o'clock when we walked in, and it was jam-packed. Maybe we'll head back in a few weeks...

That links back to Rasheed Wallace because Bonefish's presentation is finer than Wallace's, though certainly no less premeditated.

Please note that "our missiles are ready to strike at Anglo-Saxon culture" at Little Green Footballs. And this from nice, progressive Iran. They "need to take over Britain," and they're not even the most bellicose Muslims out there.

Does the West want to open a second front in the War on Terror (such a limited, limiting moniker)? Send more missionaries into Kurdistan. That'll solve that problem right quick (just a few generations).

Darn tootin'. Tomorrow's Crusader...sorry the pic's so big. Dig the loincloth thingy.

OK. I should stop this silly blogging business and get to prepping for Sunday School. Ready set go. And tomorrow I'll be enjoying Rainbow Springs for a little birthday bash for mom. Go get a tan if you want to keep up with me.