In Which Kinzel and Rolanni are Grasshoppers
Saturday, September 25th, 2004 06:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rolanniSo, yesterday -- that would have been Friday, September 24 -- we took ourselves down to USM, had lunch with Kali Lightfoot, the director of the Senior College, then did a two-hour song-and-dance loosely in the key of Women in Science Fiction. The class, which ranged from women who had been reading SF for many years and those who'd barely heard of the stuff, had read Agent of Change for their first assignment (their next book is Remnant Population -- from Miri to Tante Ofelia, oh my!)
The class was more than willing to ask questions, and I'm afraid we may have strayed somewhat from the topic from time to time (be amazed), but no harm appeared to have been done. I saw some people actually taking notes, which always worries me faintly, and a couple people came up after class to indicate that they were going to pursue the series, which was nice.
After class, we meandered over to the Maine Mall to collect stainless steel measuring spoons (our former stainless steel measuring spoons having rusted -- and yes, I am bitter), and stayed to have a snack. I'm always nervous before a gig and hadn't eaten much of the lovely lunch -- some barley soup and a cookie -- which were all burned up and more by the, um, energy of performance.
Looking for comfort food, then, we entered the Food Court; considered and rejected Ben&Jerry's overpriced ice cream, mooched past McDonald's, Arby's, &c. I did hesitate at Panda Express, eying the egg rolls, but finally moved on next door to Olivia's Salads and there commissioned the young person behind the counter for a grilled cheese sandwich.
Bad mistake.
I'm pretty tolerant when it comes to eating out. The mere fact that someone other than![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kinzel or myself is making the food already elevates its excellence, and it must be said, in fairness, that I'm not a very good cook.
But, dern it, even I can make a decent grilled cheese sandwich.
Not so the young person at Olivia's Salads. I will spare the tender sensibilities of those who read here and merely say -- with really commendable restraint -- that the cheese had leaked entirely out of the (white) bread, leaving a sort of fused half-burnt, half-raw ...toast... that didn't even taste like cheese.
kinzel's fate was somewhat worse, he having asked for the advertised broccoli and cheese soup to go with his grilled cheese. The soup arrived gray and lumpish. Fearing clam chowder (the other offered option), he took it back to the counter and was told it was potato and corn chowder, the young person had forgotten to change the sign to reflect the reality of today's soups. She offered to refund the soup money; kinzel took her up on it.
I gave up on my so-called grilled cheese, and went over to Panda Express, where I hunted and gathered a perfectly unexceptional chicken egg roll. A few minutes later,kinzel likewise abandoned his sandwich and did the same.
At long last fed, we wandered the mall a little bit, window shopping and people-watching, then collected the truck and took off -- no, not for home. How little you know us.
We decided, since we were so close, that we'd drop down to Old Orchard Beach, arriving in time to see the moon taking shape out of the mist over the waves. Spent a couple hours walking the beach, then up into town, where we -- or at least I -- stared in disbelief at the burnt pile of rubble which is all that's left of Dy-no-mite, one of the biggest and most successful of the downtown businesses. Big fire earlier in the week; the store was gone in less than two hours.
Back on the beach, we spied Rick Miller and Lacey the Weimaraner, and talked for a bit, then once again sought out the truck -- and this time headed for home, which in the fullness of time we did gain, to the delight of the cats.
******
BtW, Day Twelve
No writing done. Nadazipzilch.
The class was more than willing to ask questions, and I'm afraid we may have strayed somewhat from the topic from time to time (be amazed), but no harm appeared to have been done. I saw some people actually taking notes, which always worries me faintly, and a couple people came up after class to indicate that they were going to pursue the series, which was nice.
After class, we meandered over to the Maine Mall to collect stainless steel measuring spoons (our former stainless steel measuring spoons having rusted -- and yes, I am bitter), and stayed to have a snack. I'm always nervous before a gig and hadn't eaten much of the lovely lunch -- some barley soup and a cookie -- which were all burned up and more by the, um, energy of performance.
Looking for comfort food, then, we entered the Food Court; considered and rejected Ben&Jerry's overpriced ice cream, mooched past McDonald's, Arby's, &c. I did hesitate at Panda Express, eying the egg rolls, but finally moved on next door to Olivia's Salads and there commissioned the young person behind the counter for a grilled cheese sandwich.
Bad mistake.
I'm pretty tolerant when it comes to eating out. The mere fact that someone other than
kinzel or myself is making the food already elevates its excellence, and it must be said, in fairness, that I'm not a very good cook.But, dern it, even I can make a decent grilled cheese sandwich.
Not so the young person at Olivia's Salads. I will spare the tender sensibilities of those who read here and merely say -- with really commendable restraint -- that the cheese had leaked entirely out of the (white) bread, leaving a sort of fused half-burnt, half-raw ...toast... that didn't even taste like cheese.
kinzel's fate was somewhat worse, he having asked for the advertised broccoli and cheese soup to go with his grilled cheese. The soup arrived gray and lumpish. Fearing clam chowder (the other offered option), he took it back to the counter and was told it was potato and corn chowder, the young person had forgotten to change the sign to reflect the reality of today's soups. She offered to refund the soup money; kinzel took her up on it.I gave up on my so-called grilled cheese, and went over to Panda Express, where I hunted and gathered a perfectly unexceptional chicken egg roll. A few minutes later,
kinzel likewise abandoned his sandwich and did the same.At long last fed, we wandered the mall a little bit, window shopping and people-watching, then collected the truck and took off -- no, not for home. How little you know us.
We decided, since we were so close, that we'd drop down to Old Orchard Beach, arriving in time to see the moon taking shape out of the mist over the waves. Spent a couple hours walking the beach, then up into town, where we -- or at least I -- stared in disbelief at the burnt pile of rubble which is all that's left of Dy-no-mite, one of the biggest and most successful of the downtown businesses. Big fire earlier in the week; the store was gone in less than two hours.
Back on the beach, we spied Rick Miller and Lacey the Weimaraner, and talked for a bit, then once again sought out the truck -- and this time headed for home, which in the fullness of time we did gain, to the delight of the cats.
******
BtW, Day Twelve
No writing done. Nadazipzilch.
