Duncan's Blog

Things always seem to sound a tad bit better in translation. Today's entry is a simple translation of the colloquial phrase "Eating for Two!" It happens from time-to-time in my field. What's my field again? Human being on the planet Earth!
The problem with this situation would not be so grave if it occured during but a single meal within a seven day period. Let's see -- for those of you who are into algebra --
Three meals a day
times
Seven days a week
equals
Twenty-one meals per week
That means that each meal, assuming each meal were EXACTLY the same value, would have a percentage value of 4.75% of the week's pie.
4.75 x 21 = 99.75 (we'll cut a little slack for those glasses of water that have sweetened lemon juice or that extra saltine that you didn't think I saw you eat in the parking lot).
I do the Weight Watchers thing these days and I take my commitment pretty seriously. From time-to-time I just get tired of being good 24/7. This week was one of those times. A friend took me out to the CLAIM JUMPER

http://www.claimjumper.com/menu_dinein.htm

(Here's a copy of the menu without the prices). The portions are gargantuous. Think I bothered to share? Nope! There goes a week of Weight Watchers weight watching right down the hole. It doesn't matter at this point because I did enjoy the company... AND THE FOOD. As Scarlet O'Hara would say, "Fiddle dee dee! Tomorrow IS another day!"

How short-term need a short-term goal be ? There are times when I think waking up from a restful slumber, making it to the computer, and remembering what I wanted to learn on a GOOGLE search meets this criterion.
I have been known to experiment to see what would be a hobby, an interest, a passion. I don't have many passions. I acquire language and even though I am a native American English speaker, I continue to learn things that are totally peculiar and specific to our tongue.
Even though I'm slowly approaching 50, I am in the evolutionary state of further learning in my field. I'll be a good nurse one fine day. Most folks like me just the way I am. I get pretty fearless when I've got two buckets of water and a dozen wash cloths and towels in tow!
I raise chickens and have decided that this would be the year I start from egg. Who knows where it will lead? I've even toyed with the idea of keeping a goat around, but that might make the meter-reader a tad bit nervous.
http://www.paccd.cc.ca.us/instadmn/compsvcs/kiosk/jlhome.HTM
Have a look-see at what's going on at the local college. That's good for feeding a long- or short-term goal. Sometimes having 7+ hours of sleep at night is my greatest achievement.

Today's mail pick up had a curious piece of correspondence. It was a handwritten note on a piece of paper the size of a post-in note. It was signed by "Bill" in quotes. I guess William wants to let me know that he is cool enough to have a nickname, but that I shouldn't make checks out to him with that nomenclature.
Bill is from Oregon. He came down to see his son in jail and maybe talk to the local police. I was holding on to a few of his son's personal possessions.
So who is his son? Someone I had met on the HipForum. Yeah, hard to believe that the one person I would end up hooking up with face-to-face, nose-to-nose and toe-to-toe is someone who came to California to flee from a warrant in Oregon.
I won't get into any horrific details about what why when where and who, but suffice it to say the guy was involved in activity that turned out to be far reaching (i.e. a federal offense). What made things difficult for me and put me in the middle is that I allowed him to use my address for mail. He was moving around alot before getting settled and my address would be "fixed". Lucky me!
He and his companion got picked up last April and that, I thought, was the end of it. Now "Bill" is claiming that there is stuff that I am holding onto.
I am so pleased that at 48 I have managed to stay out of jail and free of police harrassment. Now I get it in the cross-fire of others!

I'm a brown-bagger. I'm not ashamed of it. Some people--I've noticed--make sure that they revolve their meal time around mine just so that they can see what I pull out. For the most part, my meals are vegetable based; there's usually a grain (bulgur, rice, barley) and some fish for protein (tuna, salmon, or something fresh like talapia or snapper).
I have an Italian cook at home, so why bother eating out. I've thought about getting an official thermal lunch bag, but nothing seems to catch my eye.
A friend of mine in NYC obsesses over food. She also winds up eating crap from cheap Chinese restaurants that seem to pour on lots of gloppy gravy. When I DO eat out I like to have a meal that is memorable. I also choose places that serve food that I do not or cannot make at home; Ethiopian or Tibetan cuisine uses herbs and spices that are not part of my larder.
Now I'm going to look at lunch boxes before bed

I never realized how protective I am of my professors. My two instructors are both foreign-born. Night classes at a community college can get a bit rowdy. I remember one instance in which a student wrote a story about his friend whom he called Douche-Bag. The Italian teacher had no idea what it meant. Later in the semester she asked if anyone had returned to a gelateria that we had gone to. One of the students said that he had, but that the owner was acting like a total dick.
"Cosa vuol dire DICK?"
Not so easy to explain... or maybe it was too easy!
I also come to terms with the fact that I am surrounded by some people both professionally and scholastically who simply have a narrow based vocabulary register that seems to have an overabundance of profanity. When I hear it I think that the person has either been in jail or that he associates with a more common denominator. My Mother used to refer to such peope as, "The Element!" "That's what happens," she used to say, "when the Element moves in."
I fancy myself a clean man.