The usually alarmist posting style of WebMD let me down when trying to diagnose The Mc at 3am Sunday morning.

What their timid article about our friend FP should really say is: “Those suffering from food poisoning will frequently clutch their stomachs, beg for death and run unexpectedly towards any object that might serve as a receptacle for their projectile vomiting.”

It should continue on to say that people in the throes of poisoning can be quoted as saying “oh God…oh God… oh God… oh God…honey, it hurts … oh God… oh God…”

That would have made it much easier to diagnose, which is key in treatment. I mean, I could treat him for something else, like lice, but I’m not sure the desired effect would have been reached.

With regards to treatment, the article should list the following:

Things you should *not* do:
- Allow the barfer to consume liquids within 30 minutes of last explosive episode
- Give the barfer Emotrol, Pepto or Immodium

Things you should do:
- Call your health insurance nurse line after the second “episode”. Do not wait until five hours later when the sickling is finally ready to accept defeat against the unseen
- Take copious notes so you can mock the ill when they’re – un-ill.

Nothing says “love” and “healing” quite like getting a laugh out of your PFL’s misery…then sharing it on teh interwebz.

51.

51 posts. In 2009, I watched this blog crash and burn.

I started this damn thing nearly ten years ago. TEN YEARS. Back then I was writing up posts in Notepad (light coding, mind you) and FTPing up static files. I converted to Blogger. I later converted to WordPress, and spent hours in a bar with Dave and Paulie helping me fix things that broke during the move.

Somewhere in there I met The Mc, continued to heal in grueling, Kleenex abusing weekly therapy sessions, and subsequently found myself with less time to write and less things I needed to purge.

I counted a few weeks ago and found I’d only written/posted 51 times last year, as opposed to an average of 300+ in the years prior.

Unsure of what 2010 holds, I’m still thinking about the blog. I’m thinking about and missing writing, I’m thinking about and missing the things that used to make me write. I’m also thinking about all the effing self-censoring I’ve been doing that has stood in the way of writing. Oh, but the list of excuses goes on and on: the cats won’t let me sit without wanting to be petted, that I’d rather be with The Mc than write/run/walk/justaboutanythingconstructive. Twitter and Facebook which mean a shift in thinking complete coherent thoughts to thinking in 140 character summarizations. Then there’s the other mostly secret blog I’m keeping about the big thing in our life I’m still not allowed to talk about. There’s watering the plants. Doing laundry. Running errands.

Meh.

This year, despite being off to a contradictory start, I’m going to try to do better.

For me.

A friend of mine with a generous spirit recently donated to our local NPR station, WABE. The donation wasn’t enough to warrant receipt of a stainless steel coffee tumbler, but instead an evening with Lynne Rossetto Kasper.

For those who haven’t yet been properly introduced, Lynne is the host of NPR’s The Splendid Table, during which she speaks of food with such a passion, with such colorful words and such dreaminess in her voice that you find yourself in love with the items she’s describing.

Callers ring into the show with questions surrounding a surplus of an item or soliciting new ideas for an old favorite and Lynne greets each of them with a calm gusto I lack the words to describe.

After a lovely chat with WABE Sr. VP and General Manager John Weatherford and his lovely bride, and a ten minute (!!!) chat with Lynne herself, we were seated.

Lynne read the menu and improvised, causing my friend to lean in and whisper “I need to take her to lunch with me every day. Imagine what she could do to a Chik-fil-a menu…”

Indeed.

The meal was a fancy 5 courses number, delightfully and appropriately preceded by light delicious apps and free flowing wine. There was one that involved bleu cheese on a gingersnap but I was still so high from my conversation with Lynne I’d forgotten it almost instantly.

Course 1 – Classic Caesar Napoleon of brioche crouton, filet of romaine heart, aged parmesan frico, salt cured anchovy and quail egg.

It was fine right up until Kim double dog dared me to eat the anchovy. *shudder*

Course 2 – Chef’s choice seasonal fresh fruit sorbet intermezzo. It was so delightful, I don’t remember what the hell fruit it was.

Course 3 – Main entree: Thyme seared petit lamb chops and crab cake Napoleon severed with truffled asigo potatoes, grilled white asparagus tips and broccoli-rapini and finished with demi glace.

Good, not great. My lamb was over cooked, but there was a sweet spot on the potato that nearly sent me to the moon. Looking over my shoulder, I could see Lynne’s chop was cooked perfectly.

Course 4 – Cheese course: brie, 18 month aged gouda, manchego, aged white cheddar and gorgonzola blue. Present but not mentioned: strawberry, fig, and an unidentifiable brown object.

Course 5 – Desert: study in apple. Dried cranberry and apple crisp in micro hazelnut torte shell, vanilla bean crème brulee stuffed roasted apple cup, cinnamon apple fritter with bourbon crème anglaise.

Topping it off: the rest of my wine followed by French Italian (!?) dark roast decaf.

For me, it wasn’t about the food entirely: it was about Lynne and her contagious spirit and passion. It was about spending quality time with a friend sharing a perfectly imperfect cliché riddled once in a lifetime experience.

You can buy Lynne’s book The Splendid Table’s How to Eat Supper: Recipes, Stories, and Opinions from Public Radio’s Award-Winning Food Show
By Lynne Rossetto Kasper, Sally Swift via this nifty link.

As for scoring dinner with Lynne? Cough up some change during the next pledge drive, you never know what surprise fringe benefit you’ll get out of it.

Almost a year ago, we were packed like sardines on a ship of ignorant tourists that had a port of call at Labadee, Haiti.

I’m thinking about the people we interacted with that day, how beautiful the land was and how these commuters might be doing today.

I’m sure you’ve already given so I’ll spare you the guilt trip about it. Note: I have it on good authority that if you don’t give, every time you think you have to pee, you’ll instead have to push a cactus the size of an orange out of your hoo-hoo. Just sayin’.

Don’t know where I am or what I’m doing, but I’m not here and I wish I was.