Sunday night/Monday breakfast and quick roundup

Not only am I an introvert, I'm not a multi-tasker. And talking to someone is a task--an enjoyable task, usually, but one that requires my full attention.

In concrete terms: Not only do I not want to talk to anyone until I've read the paper--nor do I want to talk to anyone (except you) while I'm reading the paper--I shouldn't talk to anyone while I'm making breakfast. If you talk to me when I'm making oatmeal, we're going to end up with some burnt oatmeal.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. I read the paper and make oatmeal in the morning, and I was trying to read a book last night. Dad was trying to read that article about Alexei Ratmansky I gave him, but was finding the language heavy, as he does with New Yorker articles. I normally don't, but as I mentioned in an earlier post, I found Adam Gopnik's essay burdened with superfluously weighty language. Does good writing not entail taking any topic, new or foreign or just personal, and making it universally understandable in an effortless way? Mr. Gopnik, it seems to me, went out of his way to litter his essay with esoteric metaphors. But I digress.

Dad read his article, I read my book, mom talked to herself-by talking to us. Did I pay this bill? What did I do with that thing? Do you have enough light there? What do you mean you're going to bed? It's only 10:00!

***
Earlier last night

A.: Eewwwwww! Who didn't close the herring?
Dad: What are you doing with the herring anyway?
A.: I needed to get something out of the fridge and the herring was blocking it. I barely touched it and the lid came off, and now there's nasty herring oil in the fridge.
Dad: There's not that much.
A.: When you keep something that gross and smelly around, you'd best make sure it's completely sealed.
Dad: You're a klizma.

***
Dad: Where's Jay these days?
A.: He's in Provincetown.
Mom: Ooooh--that's like... he's in heaven.
A.: It's gay-friendly for sure.

***
Last night we skyped with a family friend abroad.

Mom: She's gone completely nuts. All she eats is grass.
A.: Mom's exaggerating a little.
Mom: She's veggy.
Friend: Huh?
Mom: No milk products...
Friend: What would you do with the cows? You'd have to kill the cows.
A.: Dairy cows here don't do so well.
Friend: I toured a dairy farm once. The cows were happy--they went right up to the milkers on their own.
A.: Yeah, most dairy farms aren't like that. It's not a nice industry.
Mom: She can't make me give up dairy! She's always telling me what I can and cannot do!
Dad: No she's not.
Mom: Yes she is!

***
But back to the oatmeal this morning:

Mom: What's wrong with raisins?
A.: I don't want any.
Mom: What about that other dried fruit?
A.: It has added sugar--
Mom: Oooh! God forbid! The horror!
A.: It's too bad--I'm always looking for dried cherries without added sugar. Trader Joe's carries them, but they're super-expensive.
Mom: Why not live a little?
A.: I don't like the added sugar. It makes the fruit too sweet. With that fruit, I tasted it before I read the ingredients.
Mom: Your shoulders used to be more delicate. Now they're bulky. You used to look more girlish.
(Pause)
Mom: So you can't have sour cream?
A.: Can I offer you a simple rule--one that I believe I've offered in the past. If it's not an animal product, I'll probably at least try it. If it's an animal product, I won't.

That, and I've never liked sour cream.

***
I had a dream last night that mom woke me up in the middle of the night and offered me food. I said, 'no, thank you.' She asked what was wrong with that food.

***
You know I love public transportation, but if you're going to make it work, you have to make it practical. LA is about to make it more onerous.

I should let you know that the Times has a number of commentaries on marriage. None are interesting enough to be linked here.