Southern Fried chicken without the southern or fried. That just leaves a disgusting bird.

I am back. It was a bit of a grey weekend up here. As I mentioned in the previous post, it was that damn tropical depression without the benefits of being in the tropics. Oh well, at least it was warm and there was no snow. No complaints from this corner.

There was my time at Mayfair. Different dude there but the same stink, or a different stink but a stink nonetheless. The best part was that I caught a whiff when after the dude worked out but before he showered. He stunk, but that could have been sweat stink. I was giving him the benefit of the doubt, or is that stink. Unfortunately, the stink remained after his shower. What is up with that?

I did get to spend four hours in the land of the insane this weekend, or as it euphemistically referred to in these parts, Friday night dinner with the outlaws. It was another evening of my father in law "finding" an unopened bottle of concord grape kosher wine (does it matter what brand?) and asking if I wanted some "wine". For the umpteenth time, I turn to him and remind him firmly but in my arrogant and condescending manner (I am such an asshole, but that is the life of the sarcastic male) that the crap he is trying to foist on me is not "wine" but grape juice gone bad. Cut that shit with some soda water and it may be drinkable and get you a bit of a buzz. The downside is that any buzz you get will bring about a dehydration headache of epic proportions. The man should try Thunderbird. Besides, does he really need the alcohol in his system? How the hell could I tell if he were drunk or tipsy? He is "naturally" confused so how can you tell if it is drunk confusion or just his regular version. I am waiting for a slurred, "David, you're my beshhhhhht friend!"

The meal does qualify as one of the worst on record. My mother in law, bless her heart, makes a veal roast. She knows my wife won't eat it and has poisoned the lad from eating such things. There was "Southern Fried" chicken that is an insult to Southern Fried chicken. There was no "Southern" and it certainly was not fried. It was Shake n Bake all the way, but not real Shake 'n Bake but the "No Name" version. As it had the bone in, my wife and the lad were not going to eat it. I would not because her chicken has the texture of mashed potatoes, yet her mashed potatoes are dry and lumpy. Go figure. There was some sort of noodle pudding made with spaghetti and some sort of limp, lifeless green thing (spinach? Fuck if I know what that is and fuck if I will put that shit in my mouth!). Again, I know how it will taste, like fucking cardboard (and that is an insult to the taste of cardboard) with the mouth feel of well overcooked pasta (blahhh!). At least there was a green salad and overcooked prepared egg rolls. I love how the fried outer dough becomes soft and mushy when they are reheated.

My brother in law and father in law seem to eat that shit up. My father in law loves it. He, however, has always had the palate of a goat, so that is not saying much. He loved Sizzler. Look how much food you could get for six bucks. But it is crap. Yes, but look how much you get. He always had the Spinal Tap attitude towards food, it is not about quality but quantity (he gets "eleven"). Yet, my mother in law will not seek out feedback. Somehow, she has some sort of hysterical blindness and cannot see the lack of food my wife, son or I eat when we are there.

Bless her heart, she is great at denial. She has taken it to an art form. The biggest problem is that I am walking dose of "Anti-denial". I cannot help but see the "truth" or bigger picture and have to point it out. I know that "hurts" the denier, but fuck it, I gotta be me. Ciao!