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Hello, my name is Judas Gutenberg and this is my blaag (pronounced as you would the vomit noise "hyroop-bleuach").



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   pizza and beer ritual
Friday, April 11 2008
The Mobil station in Woodstock has the tattered remains of an American flag hanging from the gabled end of the roof over its gas pumps. There's a sign near this flag saying it was somehow witness to the tragic events of 9Eleven and that it won't come down until justice has been served to a specific woman who died that day. The message is non-specific enough to be interpreted as either bellicose neoconservative or anti-war progressive. Up until Gretchen had the red Honda Civic inspected at this Mobil station and it miraculously passed, I knew nothing more about the place. Now I knew it as a place that will pass a marginal car without giving too much grief. Unfortunately, though, when I showed up there late this morning with the hatchback, I'd failed to make an appointment, and the place was jacked up with cars needing work. Given all the rich folks with nice cars in Woodstock, it seems like an easy place to operate a successful garage, particularly if one weren't especially scrupulous.
I ended up going to the Valvoline place on Ulster Avenue in Kingston. They passed me without a hassle last time I got the hatchback inspected. While there, I took the opportunity to also get an oil change as well, since I hadn't had one in over a year. (I know, that's horrible!) Valvoline oil changes seem to be expensive, and somehow they really racked up the expenses today by going through the extra effort of selling me a new air filter and a new fuel filter. For some reason I'm more of a sucker for such pitches than I am for, say, a Best Buy extended warranty, particularly if it means the guy selling it to me will be better disposed to giving my car a passing inspection.
Fortunately, the car passed, and, as always, it felt like a successfully-completed yearly milestone. There are only a few such milestones each year: income taxes, the end of firewood gathering season, and both cars' inspections, and it's always a relief when I get one of them behind me.

Nineteen years ago when Gretchen and I both lived in Harkness Co-op at Oberlin College, the co-op had a Friday dinner ritual of serving pizza and beer. My freshman year Harkness actually bought the beer, but because Ohio's drinking age changed from 19 to 21, by the time Gretchen arrived the Friday evening beer run was an independent, ad hoc affair. Gretchen is of the opinion that some rituals are good for a well-balanced life, and she thought Friday night pizza and beer was a good ritual (and one that actually spoke to me). Tonight she aimed to revive it by making an entirely vegan pizza. In the past I'd been skeptical of pizza made with fake cheese, but Gretchen had done such a good job with my vegan birthday pizza (I prefer pizza to cake) that I trusted she'd be able to pull it off tonight.
To join us in our ritual, Gretchen invited over our neighbor Andrea and our friend Susan (the one who wrote Chosen by a Horse). The pizza was rich in vegetables and fake sausage but had only a light dusting of pepper-flavored "rice cheese." It was absolutely delicious. It might have been the best pizza Gretchen has ever made, though I always forget the previous ones when I'm eating the latest. For beer, all we had were a few cans of Icehouse, which is the ice beer I've been drinking ever since Coors bought Molson.
After dinner, the four of us carpooled together to Bard to watch a panel discussion celebrating the 50th anniversary of Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe. Mr. Achebe was there, as were a handful of writers, teachers, and what not. The discussion booted up like a computer operating system, with the President of Bard introducing someone who introduced someone else, who in turn introduced the panel. I have to say, I found the whole thing extremely dull. Very little of interest was said, and often even this was said very slowly. Few people talk as slowly as Chinua Achebe himself, although I was amazed how silent the packed auditorium managed to be during the long pauses between his words. My opinion on the evening wasn't shared by Gretchen and Susan, who both seemed to enjoy it. I suspect, however, that Andrea was in my camp.


For linking purposes this article's URL is:
http://asecular.com/blog.php?080411

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