Free-Floating Hostility

Saturday, January 01, 2005

Free-Floating Hostility is Utterly Contrite

Free-Floating Hostility cannot excuse its 16-day hiatus with a technical catastrophe (like 34) or transatlantic travel (like Sevilla: A Writer's Life). Free-Floating Hostility's in-laws were in town. With humblest apologies, we offer a recap, in highlight form, of the past two weeks.

  • On Friday, December 17th, Free-Floating Hostility went to the Mondavi Center to see Handel's Messiah (you see, we walk our talk). The American Bach soloists (who are not soloists) perform on period instruments with historically informed creative choices, which is interesting, but a little wimpy. We ran into three sports professionals, all of whom tried to diffuse their obvious embarrassment with the same line: "Gettin' a little cul-cha, ay Mike?" At the intermission I asked Mike how he was liking it, and he answered, "My taste in classical music runs to loud and fast, and I can only assume it will get louder and faster as Jesus gets closer to becoming the Messiah."
  • Also Friday, 12/17. Alex told us the story of how when he was a chronically constipated baby, his father attempted to give him a suppository at an unlucky moment, and Baby Alex crapped on his dad's face.
  • On Sunday, 12/19 "The Wire" had a spectacular season finale. Mike missed it.
  • On Monday, 12/20 April's birthday. I had a patient who spent an hour trying to produce a urine sample and finally had to leave promising to come back the next day needing to pee.
  • Tuesday, 12/21. The patient came back, and still couldn't pee for an hour. She eventually managed after I counselled her to "find a place deep within yourself and forget about the clinic."
  • Wednesday 12/22. The clinic Christmas party. I had obtained exemption from the gift exchange, but no one informed Dr. Mormonstein (not her real name, she's just from Utah and mysteriously semi-Jewish), so she made a big show of saying "I have your present, it's just not wrapped yet." The rule was that gifts had to be homemade, and she informed us that she had woven the napkins she gave out. Some featured monograms vaguely related to the names of their recipients, others were stained, all screamed "Regift me to your enemies." Mine, when finally wrapped, came addressed to Amy.
  • Wednesday 12/22, the FFH in-laws arrived by plane. They went to sleep.
  • Friday 12/24. Christmas Eve. FFH in-laws went to the movies to avoid celebrating the holiday as long as possible. Reluctantly agreed to come over and have dinner of fettucine al'aglio e olio, asparagus wrapped in prosciutto, mixed green salad with almond slivers and kiwi, and a dessert of lemon mousse accompanied by 7,003 of the 9,234 christmas cookies pressed upon me by coworkers.
  • Saturday 12/25. Christmas Day. FFH in-laws spent nearly the whole day with us because businesses were closed. Scott and Rachel joined us for supper, consisting of roast beef (my dad being the de facto meat chef), stuffing, sauteed spinach and mushrooms, cucumber and tomato salad with pickled ginger, and a dessert of baked apples and ice cream.
  • Also 12/25. The topic of FFH's outstanding wedding thank you notes coming due in the next three weeks was raised. Scott, who is done with all but three of his thank you notes, offered to compose ours for us. This is what he wrote (edited slightly for context but for nothing else):
    Dear Bert + Ernie. Thank you for the shitweasel. We were really glad you could come to our wedding. We are also really glad Mary reminded us to write this shitweasel card because our etiquitte B running out fastly! I'm done with this stupid card. Merry Xmas. Love, Anna + Michael
  • 12/25 ct'd. My dad said he'd learned a new word that meant "having a comely behind." He said he couldn't remember what the word was exactly, only that it was something like supercalifragalisticexpialidocious. He said he'd consulted Juan Antonio, his diplomat friend, who confirmed the existence of a Spanish equivalent. We eventually determined that the word Dad had learned was "bootylicious."
  • 12/25 ct'd again. At Jeanne's suggestion we played the Dictionary Game after supper. For the word "foofaraw" my dad suggested "nest of the foofah, a south american monkey." Scott suggested "a bootylicious shitweasel." Dad won the game handily.
  • Sunday, 12/26. FFH and its in-laws went for a wine/spa tour of the Napa Hills. After a nauseating drive up the mountain we lunched at Ana's Cantina of St. Helena, which had dollar bills tacked to the ceiling and a pervasive odor of urinal. Then the women took mud baths (verdict: it really is a tub of mud), spent a long time trying to wash mud out of places mud should never be, then had wonderful massages. The men visited a few wineries, including Chateau Boswell, where my dad angled unsuccessfully for free wine for the 18th Century Seminar.
  • Monday 12/27. Oatmeal breakfast for the family that was awake. David finally asked why his oatmeal was purple, and I answered that I was bored and had turned it purple. "Was anyone else going to ask about the purple oatmeal?" he demanded of the group. "I'm used to having my oatmeal turned funny colors," Mike explained.
  • 12/27 ct'd. News of the tsunami. General consensus that this year couldn't have been more throughly fucked up.
  • 12/27 ct'd. A farewell dinner for Mike's in-laws, who were returning to New York that night. We finally ate at Soga's, one of two restaurants in Davis not affordable for college kids. It was alright. High level of consternation displayed over possible ignorance of the word "pencil."
  • Tuesday 12/28. Anna's in-laws and Mike went to Old Sacramento, found nothing there, and returned. Mike proclaimed it "the world's heaviest concentration of tchotchkes."
  • Thursday 12/30. The same group took a trip to Oakland. Mike met Kobe Bryant's jury consultant, whom his mom knows from the days when she brought the San Francisco Mime Troupe to the East Coast and whom his dad knows from sleepaway camp.
  • Friday 12/31. New Year's Eve. Departure of last in-laws for Detroit. Having artfully avoided anything that might turn into a social engagement for the evening, FFH rings in the New Year in peace in its own living room, watching the local spanish-language channel.
  • Saturday 1/1. Blogging recommenced.

1 Comment(s):

  •   Posted by Blogger BrooklynDodger at January 02, 2005 10:16 AM | Permanent Link to this Comment
  • Let it be known that the FFH in-laws from Detroit were not the in-laws who raised the thank you note issue. Some of ours were never sent, and at least one check found its way into a suit jacket pocket, which not being worn for a year after wedding, was not found in time to be cashed. By then, the account was closed, giver having moved [a move active verb than relocated] from Syracuse to Washington. In-laws were too embarrassed to ask for a new check.

    By way of excuse, there were no home computer data bases and form letters in those days, because there were no home computers. We actually didn't even have electricity back then, and had to watch TV by candle light.

    Regarding the visit and TV, profession of FFH permits watching football and basketball almost non-stop.

    Regarding shitweasel, we call to FFH's attention the existence of the Garden Weasel, sold on TV; perhaps there is a real item used for cultivation using manure? At least the name should be copywrited.

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