Food and Mozart

Friday night, I had the pleasure of being able to go out with Omaha and another couple to attend a concert. We went first to the uptown restaurant Sazerac, where we were feted by a very professional waiter. Man, the difference between one of these people and the kind of waiter who serves you at the local Denny's is like night and day, and I can't imagine the pay rates are all that different, are you? She was funny, engaging, knowledgeable about wine.

Omaha had the baked macaroni & cheese and I had the chicken. The chicken came with red potatoes and asparagus. The potatoes were amazing, the asparagus perfect and the chicken... well, the chicken was dry. Omaha was likewise unimpressed. We also got a cheese sampler on a square, flat plate of cold steel, which was fascinating both for its minimalism and for the variety of flavors they brought us.

The night at the symphony was lovely. We heard Mozart's The Magic Flute, and then Clarinet Concerto in A, the latter of which was soloed by a neurotic little guy with the most peculiar stage presence, the "I'm a rock star who's not sure how he got here" energy. Apparently, he is the world's finest clarinet player. I'm not sure how bankable that can be.

After the intermission, we heard the whole of the Requiem, with four soloists who were okay, and the Seattle Choir, which was fabulous.

Afterward, we all went to the Brooklyn restaurant for dessert, and then headed home. Thanks to Patrick and Sarah for a lovely night, and to Anne and Peter for watching over the kids while we did so (even if they did hand the kids back in a slightly wired state of mind: too much video games and dessert).

Saturday: I am diseased once more

Saturday, I tried to help Omaha get her website up and running locally, but it didn't seem to be working the way I wanted it to. I'll investigate further when I have the time an energy. Unfortunately, that doesn't look like it'll be happening soon: I appear to have come down with the crud that's going around. Coughing, head like a brick, sore throat, general run-down sensation, low-grade fever. We did go out long enough to take a flash drive to the photo processor to make prints for our low-tech relatives, cat food, dry cleaner's, the bookstore at the mall (where, while Omaha was looking for a book, I picked up a copy of We ♥ Katamari), and the clothing store to get Kouryou-chan a new dress.

Bleah. I have no creative energy.

I will say that the makers of We ♥ Katamari totally nailed what was essential about a sequel: it had to be informed. The King of all Cosmos is awed by the fact that he has fans on Earth, and wants to give them more, to hear their praise, and be happy in their rewards. It winks and nudges at the "We had no idea this game would be so popular, so we're giving you more." It's a game that's grateful for its own existence, and for the fans that loved it. It gives the player more, but in such a happy and cheerful way that it wins you over your reluctance to dive into a sequel.

It was easy to water the cat. We've gotten good at it. And we've found frozen, raw rabbit mixed with the appropriate level of nutritional supplements that works for her. Better than the pasteurized stuff, at least to what remains of her feral imagination.

The Food of the Gods now less so

I discovered last night, under my bathroom counter, a bottle of Nyquil, once called the Food of the Gods by those of us fighting off the nasty ravages of some unnamed virus. I realized that I had an old bottle, as it still has real pseudoephedrine in it. Curious, I went to the Internet, suspecting that Nyquil now has that "substitute" crap in it that doesn't work, phenylephrine.

Nope. It just doesn't have anything. Nyquil is now 1/4 less effective than it used to be. Frackin' meth heads.

As Omaha pointed out, they no longer bill themselves as the "Nighttime sniffling sneezing... yadda yadda" medication.

Arby's "Fresh", but also Foolish

Yesterday, we were in a bit of a bind about getting everything done on our task list and getting the kids fed, so we stopped by Arby's to feed the kids and ourselves.

Arby's has a new line of sandwiches, on "normal" sandwich bread, called the "Market Fresh" line. And the entire line is billed as being more "deli-like," with fresher foods (what does that say about their regular line) and photographs piled high with vegetables. The entire advertising scheme shouts out, "These are healthier!"

They aren't. Omaha and I grabbed the nutrition sheet off the wall that they had at the store. The "Market Fresh" line is, on average, 680 calories per sandwich, whereas their ordinary sandwich line carries 380 calories per sandwich. It was mindblowing to see all this green, and yet all this fat.

Do the math yourself.

Misery loathes company.

Wanted to do: Hack on lib_mod_oath's signature segmenter and encoder.

Actually did: slept.

Damn the flu.