2:39 p.m.
The last furniture we had remaining to be delivered is finally here, and now we’re surrounded by boxes and packing material and chairs and end tables and floor lamps scattered every which way as we attempt to bring order to chaos.
It will, however, be nice to have somewhere to sit besides the one lone sofa staring off into a near empty living space . . .
And I’m itching to get started on the pasta, but I can’t really get into it with delivery people wandering about and boxes piled in the way. Yes, I know, the deep deep woes of the leisure class.
I started off this morning making a quick profit on the tanking market, then the Federal Reserve stepped in, offered a bail-out (which turned into three bail-outs) and I emerged this afternoon slightly bruised and lightly battered by the experience of betting against powerful lobbies.
“Don’t tug on Superman’s cape, son!”
Needless to say, thanks to a government that no longer believes in a free market economy, I ended up playing a zero sum game when I could have walked away a winner amidst a sea of hosannahs. Much appreciated, Gov — Luv Ya! Mean It!
10:17 p.m.
I think if I had actually set out, deliberately, to make the worst ravioli in the world, I couldn’t have done as badly as I did tonight. If Mario Batali had seen what I’d done to his recipe, he’d have strangled me with his bare hands.
Absolutely everything that could have gone wrong, did. And absolutely everything that could have tasted horribly, did. I spent about six (or more!) hours slaving away on the damn dinner, only to have to toss out all the pasta I made, scrape the fillings from the ravioli and toss it together with some store bought linguini that I, thankfully, had hidden away in the cupboard.
Now I know why store bought pasta is such a big business. Making that sh*t by hand is hard!
My one consolation is that Brian is doing the dishes. He’s really sweet in that respect — no matter whether I fail hideously at what I try to make for dinner, he gamely rises to the challenge of the mess I leave behind . . . and believe you me, I am a mess!
Thank god for the great bottle of wine: Tin Star 2003 Napa Valley Red. Everything else paled in comparison.
