TV Wasteland

Jamie was watching some Kevin Bacon as a stockbroker-turned-bike-messenger-turned-stockbroker-again movie from the 80s when I got down from putting Jane in her crib.  Maybe watching is the wrong word—the TV was on for noise as she folded clothes.  But there’s nothing on at 1:30 on a Saturday, which may be why Kevin Bacon was on.

Fast Food Nation

Once in a blue moon I’ll eat fried fish.  Trying to eat authentic Southern food, I had fried catfish in
South Carolina a couple years ago.  I had the fish and chips at Norma’s (fried lobster and Chilean sea bass before I knew Chilean sea bass was in danger of being overfished).  And I always remember, when the fishiness and batter overwhelms what should be a light and flaky treat, and when I feel that heaviness inside my stomach, that I really don’t like fried fish.

Placeholder: Evening Star Café

It’s probably not fair to review a restaurant more than two weeks after I ate there—by now I’ve forgotten the subtleties that made it what it was.  So consider this a broad-brush painting, a placeholder until I eat there again.