The wonders of KAF continue apace. Here’s a real quick look at some at them:
Any Which Way But In
The new take out only entrances are now in use at most DFACs. At the Northline, this means that there is only one entrance for those of us who can dawdle over sit down meals. The problem is that far more than half the diners appear to be in this group so the takeout side of the DFAC is virtually empty while the dine-in line stretches the length of the building…outside…in the cold. Anyway…someone got real enthusiastic about signage indicating the dine-in entrance. There’s an A4 size (hey, what the fuck is up with A4 paper? It’s stupid and screws up my printer. Why can’t you non-North Americans be like everyone else?) sign on every single rocket barrier…all very clearly showing the way in…except…
Cambridge seems to be on a roll lately. They have these “new-to-me” sausages at breakfast everyday. I say “new-to-me” because I’d given up on DFAC sausages with my first mouthful of the gag inducing sawdust tube I tried back in ’08. These “new” ones have been there for a while and my breakfast companions have been raving about them. Unfortunately, I generally distrust their opinions because they sometimes disagree with me, otherwise, I would have tried the sausages sooner. They’re spicy and delicious. Try ’em!
I’ve already mentioned the Fish and Chips. They’re always a reasonable bet although the quality does vary depending upon who’s cooking each night. Brits may not be known for their culinary skills but they sure know how to fry fish (and bread and tomatoes, unfortunately). I had the fish again tonight but rather than chips, I had “Bubble and Squeak” from the main line. I wasn’t exactly excited about trying this melange of potato and yesterday’s veggies but I couldn’t resist the opportunity to greet L at the table with: “Oy! I’m ‘avin’ me Bubble and Squeak, guvna.” She was less amused than I. But, I’ll be damned, it tasted good!
D: “What the hell is that”
L: “It’s a chip butty. It’s delish but it’s better with best butter”
Me:”What the hell is best butter?”
L: “It’s different than this” Holding up a margarine packet
Me: “Well, yeah, cause that’s margarine.”
L: “This is marge…and best butter is better”
Me: “You mean, like, just butter? What the hell makes it best butter?”
L: “Best butter is best. It’s better than regular butter. You can spread it.”
Me: “So, best butter is just soft butter”.
L: “No, it’s best butter”.
Me: “I give up.”
D:”I still can’t believe you’re putting fries on a bun.”
L: “Oh no, you don’t put fries on a chip butty…it has to be chips”
D: “Now, you’re trying to tell me there’s a difference between fries and chips?”
D: “You and I need to talk, lady.”
L:”Chips are fatter than fries but not wedges…that’s something else entirely.”
D: “Gee, all we have is these potatoes…should we have fries or chips with dinner…I can’t decide. Hey, maybe we could have both!”
Me: “Fries AND chips…boy, I’d feel like a bit of a glutton but variety is the spice of life”.
L: “Oh, shut up”
Me: “I still don’t know what the fuck best butter is”.
I’m still forced to wear a toque all the time because my haircut is still horrific. I did, however, momentarily feel some optimism…then:
Me: “Hey, my hair is really starting to grow back”
L: “It’ll look worse before it looks better.”
My wife and I went to Paris during my last leave. We have significantly different ideas about art. Basically, she likes it and I don’t. Regardless, we, of course, had to visit the Louvre. The crowds of tourists were awful (yes, I realize we were part of the problem). As we approached the Mona Lisa, the throngs became unbearable. There are thousands of fucking paintings in the place that are at least as good as that thing but people were crowded and jostling around it…most were snapping photos but Joan even saw one guy taking a video of it.
“What the hell does he expect it to do”, she wondered. Anyway, like I said, I’m not much of an art guy. I simply don’t see the point in most of it. I can appreciate the skill required to carve the statue of the guy getting his ass bit by the lion but I have to wonder “Why?”. And, really, stop with the paintings of the “virgin” Mary and baby Jesus already…how many do you fucking need? Other than Jesus doing the Robot Dance, the Louvre left me underwhelmed.
As I regaled D with my Louvrian tale of woe the other day, he commiserated. I went on to tell him about the portrait my wife had done by a street painter (for 50 fucking Euros)…so un-Joan-like was it that we dubbed it “Portrait of a Woman We’ve Never Met”. Apparently D’s wife-at-the-time got the same picture done when they were in Paris eons ago. The lesson here is: beware of Parisian street artists. Just ’cause the fucker has a beret and a wacky beard doesn’t mean he can paint. I further whinged about the other painting (110 fucking-fuck Euros) Joan bought. Apparently it’s a picture of a bicycle, two people and the Eiffel tower. Takes more imagination than I’ve got to see that in those globs of random paint. “I like shit to look like what it’s supposed to be,” I exclaimed. D agreed, “That’s why I like those pictures of the dogs playing poker. It looks like dogs playing poker, the detail in the cards, the dog smoking the cigarette”. “And that’s the real brilliance of them…dogs don’t really smoke cigarettes but in the painting it looks like they do,” I added. “Exactly. And the one where they’re playing pool…the green visor on that one dog looks exactly like the real thing”, D pointed out. “Yeah, and dogs don’t really wear visors either…or play pool for that matter”, I mused. Some of you snooty artsy types might assume D and I were kidding around. Those of you who know us, on the other hand…
Planning is For Losers
We were all pretty chuffed when the ring road around the airfield was finally all paved. It was supposed to have been finished in ’09 or ’10 but was just finished a few months ago. What, then, would be more rational than digging a fucking trench across it? The order in which you do things sometimes matters, guys. I wonder if members of the KAF Infrastructure Planning Board often get their shoes stuck in their trouser legs as they dress in the morning.
Lunch at the Northline pretty much sucked all around today. K was concerned that “General Tsao would be so disappointed to see what they’ve done to his chicken” but I was more concerned about the visible aridity of his roast beef.”I tried to ask the guy to give me a couple of the pieces that were in the juices but he gave me these two that have probably been cycled through every pan since lunch opened” he understandably moaned.
Best butter is just butter and English chips are just fries.
“Even if you do learn to speak correct English, whom are you going to speak it to?” – Clarence Darrow