‘Tis the season to count calories while consuming massive meals and sitting on airplanes. Luckily, my waistline is in decent form and on it’s way to the end of my svelteness experiment. The meals began on Thanksgiving Day Eve, also known as Wednesday. M invited a variety of foodies, J and I over to her flat for an early dinner. The meal consisted of the staples, though prepared in fresh and healthy ways: turkey, potatoes, sweet potatoes, two types on cranberry sauce, homemade rolls, bread salad in place of stuffing, green salad, wine and a variety of desserts and appetizers.
Conversation topics: food, more food, France, the world, startups, renting in SF, ghosts.
A French couple was there, and it was their first Thanksgiving. Hopefully the impression was positive.
A teaser for the office bathroom redecoration I’m working on. Hint: it involves wallpaper.
Wild strawberry fields forever.
Boat masters; prostate cancers.
Endless birds and forever alone.
It’s turtles all the way down!
Dropped and ready to score.
A taste of China on the cheap.
Free damp couch.
Our local spirit cat.
Thanksgiving Eve dinner at M’s.
On Thursday morning, J and I flew to Tennessee to visit her family. We dined the day after Thanksgiving with all members of her immediate and extended family.
The first two days were idillic: mild weather, running around outside with young nieces and nephews-in-law. But rain and snow drove people indoors for the remainder of the stay.
And I started sniffling and sneezing nonstop.
I played my first game of RISK, and was the last to fall to J’s armies. I enjoyed the game enough to order a copy online that mimics the board design from the 70s, as well as the original rules.
My strategy for the next time I play:
- Amass troops on the border of Siam and China.
- Attack all opponents.
- World domination!
A video of the line that I filmed while C.H. drove:
Open. Open. Open.
Cone dog millionaire.
A fort is only as strong as its weakest window.
Seasoning the carcass.
A workshop conversion into enchanted land of giving thanks.
Dual view for maximum awesomeness.
Cellulose snow drifts.
Back home and enjoying the dry air and vistas.
We almost didn’t make it back to SF.
“I’m sorry, that flight number doesn’t exist,” the American mumbled as he scanned the dot matrix print out at the counter.
I looked at J in confusion.
Suddenly, M.C. Czech busted into the scene and exclaimed:
“STOP! Kafkaesque time.”