S T R E A M # 2 4

In any case what matters most are the subjects closest to the heart and that of course goes without saying. So what’s left to say? Well, today it’s going to be pleasant—and not simply dude to the weather. (Or, if you prefer, due to it. Albeit admittedly nonsensical, “dude to the weather” is funnier. Don’t you think so? It’s certainly curious. You must concede that much. No? Pshaw!) And how do I know this? I don’t. I’m not a meteorologist. But I can feel it in my gut. Some folks feel it in their bones or, more specifically, in their knees or in their elbows. I feel the weather in my gut. Ah, but what sort of weather are we discussing? Internal or external? I say both are closely related to tomato paste. I do. You see, there is, or there was, recently, a scare connecting salmonella to tomatoes. And what happened next? All this flooding! All these tornadoes! See? It’s all relative. Aside from that, he fully intends to strut up to a chick on the beach or in the park or on the farm and ask: “Scrambled, basted, fried, boiled, or easy-over.” And after she says “Huh?” or “What?” or Chirp! he’ll repeat the question and add that “supposedly, the choice—the first choice that comes to mind—can say a lot about a person. Supposedly.” He couldn’t tell her, or you, what “basted” means, though. Not that it’s top secret, no. He’s never ordered basted eggs before. He’s always chosen among the other aforementioned options. His Grandpop always orders his eggs basted—but he likes to say, “bassted.” Pop has trouble hearing, so he’s got his own way of pronouncing words he’s never heard or hasn’t heard in a long time. His dermatologist, Dr. Lazar? (Pronounced “Lah-zar.”) Pop calls him, “Dr. Laser.” (as in: laser beam.) And that furniture store, Wickes? While everybody else pronounces it “Wicks,” Pop refers to it as “Wickies.” Granted, these are all minor matters. Ah: the dictionary says that “baste” means to “pour juices or melted fat over (meat) during cooking in order to keep it moist.” I’m going to assume that goes for eggs, too. Because eggs are a form of meat. No? Eggs are almost meat. No? Eggs are neither fruit nor vegetable—that much, I know. (Pat me on the back. Pat me, dammit! What are you, a germaphobe? I understand. Me, too.) My dictionary offers two other definitions for the word “baste.” The second has to do with needlework, and the third has to do with beating somebody. I’d bet you dollars to doughnuts that Pop doesn’t even know what it means to “baste” an egg; just like he doesn’t know what’s in a Denver Omelet (a.k.a., a Western Omelet, which is, essentially, if you didn’t already know: diced ham, onions, and green bell peppers). Pop knows that he likes Denver Omelets and “bassted” eggs, but he doesn’t know what makes them what they are. He doesn’t care, either. Just like he says he won’t eat ham because he wants to “keep kosher.” But whatever’s in the omelet he orders he’ll eat it. As I am not one to leave him in ignorant bliss, I’ve pointed this (and many other habitual inconsistencies) out to him, but he doesn’t care. (I like that—“habitual inconsistencies”—even though it, too, is nonsensical. Or isn’t it?) Pop, he doesn’t care for raw onions, either. He’ll have the waiter take them away if they’re on his plate. He will! He’ll say, “Will you take away the onions?” And he’ll say it with the most remarkable distaste—as if the cook had deliberately left a pile of toenail clippings on the plate. (You know, as a side, as an alternative to coleslaw. Yes, I know: An omelet does not normally come with a side of coleslaw. It is not outside the realm of possibility, though, is it.) I keep forgetting to add that “e” after the “m” in “omelet.” I’ve never pronounced that “e,” either. I suppose I should start doing that. Makes it more fun. Makes “omelet” sound like “amulet.”  Bottom reached? (Not yet.) 

18 June 2008