A Sunday Reflection . . .

Saint Jude / Patron of Lost Causes

I have become a committed TV watcher. By that I mean for the first time since childhood I am planning life around what is on the television that night. I'm too old to be embarrassed by it, but at the same time, I am not proud of it either.

It is to be expected I suppose. For the last thirty years or so, if I haven't been working, I have been at a little league game, or performance, or recital of some kind or other, or hitting ground balls in the front yard; all things I enjoyed, by the way (okay, and the occasional night out with the boys). But now with only one son living at home, and he on his own, my wife and I have evenings free and have begun to waste said evenings watching regular prime-time television.

I have never been so normal. I like it. I think.

American Idol. . . 24 . . . Boston Legal. . . Life. . . Office. . . I'm hooked. They, or it, has got me. How do I loose myself from this enjoyable grip?

"For the good that I would I do not: but the evil which I would not, that I do."*

I admit, in the hierarchy of evils, excessive television watching is at the low end of bad, nevertheless, goodness is a habit achieved at the expense of the other law working in me. There is some self-denial in any good act, some thing to which I must say "no" as I am saying "yes" to the Good. Some remote to put down and some book to pick up.

At least it seems to me. I say this knowing that two opposing but commonly accepted views are always pulling at me, that the real evil is in believing in the existence of the Good (Nietzsche), or that Faith is perfection of the world and not the redemption of the world (nearly every religious broadcast). I'll oppose those notions, remote in hand or not, because I believe the Great Philosopher who said that virtue is the habit of doing good. There is just no explaining that away.

Which is why I like Boston Legal, it neither denies depravity or promotes the angelic.

That's Tuesday and Wednesday night, 8 - 11pm. In case you were wondering.

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* Saint Paul's epistle to the Romans

The Last Man-Room Standing . . .

I walked into a tobacco store today.

My purpose was to buy Stephen his favorite pipe tobacco, and Andrew and Brinton a nice cigar. The store is not in Fort Worth so its name and location will be withheld just in case they are doing something illegal -- which I hope they are.*

A tobacco store is a manly place. Lots of shelves with cigar boxes, tobacco, imported cigarettes, and all the paraphernalia that accompanies such products. No bric-a-brac, candles, and frilly things. Just wood shelving, glass cases, smoke products, and smoke.

As I was browsing, I thought that this may be the last store in America where I feel comfortable. And I don't smoke. But most everyone else was smoking: pipes, cigars, even cigarettes -- I had time-warped to 1950 -- and with every puff these patrons were testifying to their pleasure-filled disregard to the shouting other side.

Behind one counter a middle-aged man was selling fountain pens that he had made. Beautiful things they were. I tried one. We talked. I said, thank you. He said, anytime. A sales-man, a fountain pen, and a smoke filled room. I had stepped back into time and I did not want to leave.


At check out, the friendly girl who took my money was smoking a cigarette, and smiling, but not at me; at the fact, I assume, that she was a check out girl and smoking a cigarette. She took my payment and boxed my gifts, lit cigarette in hand, arm bent, fingers extended, like a movie star -- puffing on her cigarette. I could have kissed her.

I browsed a while longer and finally had to go, and as I stepped onto Walnut Street I saw a young man in tight black jeans and spiked black hair.

I was back.
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* Editors note: Some readers misconstrued the meaning here. I am not implying that the establishment personnel were smoking funny tobacco. I do not mean that kind of illegal, I mean the smoking inside a public building kind of illegal. Man, you guys must have a guilty conscience or something.photo by: trialsanderrors

Yucatan Taco. No lo entiendo.

Am I right in thinking that the Yucatan Peninsula is in Mexico?

Maybe the Yucatan Taco folks could take a little visit someday, because that is the poorest excuse for Mexican food I have had in a long time.

And it is expensive as well.

I ordered the ground sirloin taco. Three bucks. The only drier beef I had that week was at Dutch's hamburgers. The Yucatan taco meat was ground, and maybe it was sirloin, but it was as tasteless as cardboard. And the mound of lettuce in the middle of the taco, I guess that's to make it look pretty? And the sauce? Was that queso or yellow mayonaisse?

I also ordered guacamole with chips. I don't expect handmade quac but when you are charging $5 for a small dollop I expect better than the tube variety. It was god-awful. Seriously.

My wife had the nachos. It looked kind of cool -- if you like a mountain of chips and shredded lettuce, but it too was ladled with what appeared to be queso. About half way through the mound we gave up looking for anything worth eating.

Now, if Yucatan is just a bar that serves food as a side item. No problemo. Very cool place to drink a beer and hang out. But I think it is a restaurant and it is just bad food. And 3 bucks for a bad taco is just bad ridiculous.

Sorry. Not going back. For the food, anyway.