trivial pursuit

A+B had a dinner party the other night. They invited me, Dez and Paris, David A., and M, a graphic designer with whom A often collaborates and who is "between girlfriends." She has mentioned M to me once or twice, the second time in the context of setting the two of us up. I suppose you could say that I've become one of her projects. But I give her all the credit in the world for the way she went about it -- she invited him to a party that was already in the works (it was organized around a game of Trivial Pursuit, which Paris loves to play) and didn't mention it to me ahead of time. I asked her this morning if she'd said anything to Mat about me and she said no. So it was just another gathering with nice people, which was good because I don't think M and I are a match. I had been thinking that he was much more interested in B and Paris, and I liked that he had questions for each of them. But this morning A said that he is very shy with women but that she thought he was pitching all his jokes to me. 

I don't know anything except that I enjoyed meeting M and playing Trivial Pursuit -- or Paris's barebone version, which involved each of our two teams reading the questions, in order, on one card and then deciding whether to start on a second one.

learning how to think

Sometimes I feel insulted that D seems to have so little respect for my well-trained mind. But why? He's excited about what he's reading and wants to talk to me about it. Can't I just enjoy his engagement with whomever or whatever, even if I'm not in sync with his way of thinking? I am trying to become a person who doesn't take things personally. It's a difficult long-term project for a hypersensitive person like me, but I think it's worth the effort.

Dinner

I was supposed to go to a fundraiser for our SF supervisor but instead I made myself a great meal. I had pizza dough in the fridge (I made it several days ago -- it is wonderful when I let it rise slowly, and it's especially good when I use a little rye flour). I also had new potatoes and ricotta cheese and rosemary. I had roasted the potatoes the day before; I sliced the wedges very thinly and laid them on top of the ricotta I had spread on the dough. Then I sprinkled some rosemary and cheese (a mild cheddar, which was what I had on hand) over the potatoes.

When I took the pizza out of the oven I drizzled it with a little fancy olive oil and scattered a little salt over it. I made a salad from the greens that were in the CSA box I picked up yesterday (very fresh) and added mandolined carrot and tokyo turnips (they taste like very mild radishes). My oven is great for pizza -- it supposedly goes up to 550 but it runs at least 50 degrees above the set temperature, and with the pizza stone the oven gets even warmer. I hardly ever get a soggy crust.

Mandela moment

I suppose it's because he lived so long, so his death did not shock anyone. And there is no doubt that he was a great man. I was on the T this morning, flipping through my New Yorker. I paused over a full-page photo of Mandela taken in 1990, and a man standing next to me asked, "Do you know who that is?" I looked up and he was smiling, which was a relief -- for a second or two I thought maybe he didn't know. He looked to be in his 60s or maybe his 70s -- a cross between Louis Gossett Jr. and Marvin Gaye. A few of his teeth were missing, but he looked healthy. He said Mandela had been in jail for a long time, and so had he. It wasn't so bad, he said; he spent a lot of time doing kitchen work and he got an education. Then he realized that we were at his stop, so I said see you later. As he walked out the door I noticed he was wearing some odd pants -- jeans above the knee and some kind of black material (nylon?) from the knee down. I hope I do see him later.

holiday pain

What is it about this time of year? I am in a lot of pain because I'm alone. It will pass, I tell myself.

Inspiration Point

Took a post-thanksgiving walk on the nimitz trail with KW and JSV and enjoyed the slanted late-afternoon light. Sadly, KW's cat died the next day. Farewell, Maggie!