Sunday Thought Brunch

(Today's brunch menu from the fabulous Luna, in the St Petersburg Hilton Carillon Center (bonus points for the motto, "Without cocktails, brunch is just breakfast"))

The Fresh-Squeezed Florida Orange Juice:

I'm amazed at how nature's work goes on, regardless of the weather.  We've had lots of rain the past week, sometimes at inconvenient times for birds.  Nonetheless, once the rain stops, the skimmers skim, the bat squadrons  take to the skies, the giant blue heron makes its nightly round, and Lake Tom's bug population decreases.  (Props to the mammals, too: the raccoons go about their life's work of liberating garbage from its Glad bag incarceration)

 

The Rich, Freshly Ground Sumatra Mandheli coffee

By the way, this rainmaker storm was just like a tropical storm, only with less wind.  Hurricane season doesn't start for another week.  I hope this isn't a harbinger of the year they ran out of letters.  Eek.  Actually, 2004 was the most horrible season for us.  We got hit with four named storms.  Granted, we got the ass-end of them, but we still had tons of rain and wind, but worst of all was the "hurricane fatigue." Seriously, mandatory evacuation loses its charm after the first one, as do the ensuing power-outages, flooded roads, and being the only jock available to sit there in the shaking building, simulcasting Bay News 9 weather, reading live insurance and power company ads, and watching the pine trees bend precipitously.

The Chicken Andouille Gumbo:

Stacey went fishing last night, which I find ironic since she doesn't eat seafood.  She caught a catfish, a ladyfish, and a dogfish.  I told her if she'd only catch a couple of kidfish and a minivanfish, she'd have caught the complete family.  Also, I told her I don't go fishing for recreation; I go out and lasso and release cows.   I don't think she found that as amusing as I did.

The Bananas Foster Waffles (with cinnamon whipped cream, and a side of bacon):

My favorite line from a Vox neighbor this week comes from Kelly Bee, who recently showed her true devotion to comedy by spraining her OTHER ankle just a few weeks after the first.  Her line:

Now I've got two cankles. Thanks, life.    (Thanks for not suing me, Kelly.  Try and be more careful there, cowgirl. šŸ˜‰

Finally, The Razzmopolitan (Van Gogh Raspberry Vodka, Cointreau, Cranberry Juice, and Chambord in the bottom of the glass (just to aid digestion, of course)):

Work-wife recently adopted a baby  nanday conure, which was nested in a tree that fell into her back yard.  The baby, which looks like a plucked Christmas goose, squawked her awake at 0300, demanding feeding.  I told her it was a good thing she didn't have a nest of howler monkeys living in that downed tree.

The Waffer Thin Mint (sic):

In related bird news, our outside break area is shaded by some tall pine trees.  In several of these pine trees, we have nests of yellow crested night herons preparing to raise families.  These aren't as huge as blue herons, but they're mighty big.  I mention this, because some of their treeborne homes overhang an uncovered part of the smoking patio.  Mighty big birds create mighty big splatters.  Eventually, some of the tables (and more than a few patio habitues) were hit with one of these cloaca bombs.  How did our masters handle the situation? An awning? Gently relocating the nests to a more sanitary location? Nope.  Your standard "Caution! WET FLOOR" sign.  On my last break, guess what nailed that sign from on-high?

Enjoy your Sunday!

 

 

 

 

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8 Responses to “Sunday Thought Brunch”

  1. Howler monkeys would indeed have been the whipped cream on that item. As always, your brunches are a delight, Tom. I wish I could write like you.

  2. One time I got shat on from on-high and I could swear, Tom, that an albatross was responsible. There is a particular stench about bird crap that, to this day, makes me want to hurl.

  3. Thanks, Laurie. Howler monkeys are an unwise addition to any household, and I think work-wife is actually pleased with her new bird (a handsome animal, too (not now, but it will be)).
    I've been meaning to tell you, you and Kevin Smith have forever tainted Starbuck's. Between "Godblog" and "Zack and Miri Make A Porno," I can't order my venti seven-shot non-fat Americano without wondering what sorts of shenanigans are taking place behind the muffin stand. šŸ˜‰

  4. I'm glad my clumsiness brings a smile to your face. šŸ™‚ Hopefully this one will heal quickly, and I'll be back to my normal self in no time. (which means, of course, that I'll have another sprain / break / burn / scrape in no time)

    Happy Tuesday!

  5. Surely, dearest Riss, being shat upon from an albatross on high just can't be a harbinger of impending yay. A seagull tagged me once in high school, splatting me right on my shoulder during archery class. I wish I could say I brought the offending bird down with a swift and true arrow, but I was too grossed out to contemplate revenge.

  6. It wasn't actually an albatross, they are a bit rare where I live, but it really was one helluva shit.

  7. I'm sticking with the albatross. It's just a more potent tragicomic metaphor that way, and why let the truth interfere with a good story? šŸ˜‰

  8. Fair point.

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