Sunday, August 14, 2011

Karma is a Bitch (and then you make one serve probation)

Call me vindictive.  See if I care.  Because I am relieved and just a bit tickled pink that MY Chief Judge, Belvin Perry, issued an order requiring Casey Anthony to serve one year of supervised probation as clearly intended by Judge Strickland.  Not only that, but Judge Perry took the opportunity to smack Jose' Baez up the side of the head ONE MORE TIME for his disingenuous behavior in taking advantage of a scrivener's error to his client's advantage.  Honestly, how did Baez get past that mandatory professional responsibility part of his law school education?  A little aside to That Old Fool Cheney Mason - I guess Judge Perry didn't agree with your public pronouncement calling Judge Strickland's clarification order "stupid" - gonna flip him the bird, too?

AP Photo/Phelan M. Ebenhack

The media is acting kind of goofy about this - I thought Nancy Grace was about to bust into a chorus of "nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah" - and Jane Velez-Mitchell actually had the 'nads to suggest that Judge Perry made this decision to ensure his reelection next year - but ignoring that sort of silliness, it is clear that the Judge took his time in researching and writing what was called by cooler talking heads "a well-reasoned decision."

Anyway, the saga continues, as we should expect appeals and applications for stays and then all the drama generated by the Casey Trackers (sort of like the hurricane trackers, only weirder).

Oh, fudge
Who knew that fudge could go bad? I certainly didn't, so imagine my surprise on Thursday morning when the chocolate pecan fudge in my desk drawer appeared to have grown a downy covering of white peach fuzz. And it was really good fudge, too, part of the haul Rob and I acquired at Ellis Brothers Pecans, on our way home from Atlanta. I guess that's what happens when all-natural ingredients and no preservatives come together. I will definitely pick up more fudge next time I am driving by that part of Georgia, and I will remember to store it in my teeny-tiny office refrigerator.

Part of the problem - besides the exquisite purity of Ellis Brothers Fudge - is the depth of my obsession with snackable foods.  I was always a nosher - that's Yiddish for incessant snacker - but since I am no longer able to eat full meals, I rely on snacking foods as my main source of nutrition.  Forget the food pyramid, or pie-shape or whatever the USDA is promoting these days.  My snacking falls into one of two basic food group categories, salty and sweet.  I make sure that both my office and my car are properly stocked at all times.  Nothing meltable in the car, lots of meltables in the office.  My favorite types of chips.  Cookies.  Crackers.  Honey roasted cashews.  Cinnamon roasted pecans when I can get them, which isn't often enough, in my opinion.

Segue back to real food, and I am getting ready to try to create the perfect bowl of clam chowder.  What I really want is to make a nice big pot of Lundy's clam bisque, but that recipe is lost forever.  I am not the only Brooklyn ex-pat roaming the internet in search of the recipe, but all of us have met with failure.  So chowder it is.

Really good news - I finally managed to book our condo at the Edgewater Resort for when we attend the Battle on the Beach.  Rob and his brother Charles will be competing, while my sis-in-law Diane and I will be relaxing at the edge of the beautiful Gulf of Mexico.  I am so ready.

Finally, another time warp moment.  My friend Mark has a blog of his own, and the latest entry is special because he writes about a father's feelings as his daughter readies for her wedding at the end of this month. 

For me, knowing both of Iris's parents for over forty years - really, in some sense, having grown up with them since we were still legal children that first semester at college - the whole idea of Iris being "all grown up" is practically surreal.  I guess I now understand why senile dementia patients can remember the past while forgetting the present, because even the unafflicted remember the past with such clarity that getting older becomes an illusion.

As the Ninth Doctor would say "fantastic!"

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