LB's journal 06/09/00

Friday

June 9, 2000

"Gilbert White discovered the formula for complete happiness but he died before making the announcement, leaving it for me to do so. It is to be very busy with the unimportant."

A. Edward Newton, This Book Collecting Game

rainy day commute

who would think a rubber doll could be this cute?

our table

At work I tried to sort through the many things I need to accomplish, prioritizing them. I found out I needed to be in Houston Monday at 9AM. This is not cheering, requiring either Sunday night in Houston (no way!) or a 4:30AM wake up call on Monday.

I decided that code names for projects and products and initiatives can either (1) doom them; or (2) give a handy short hand for discussing what is really a great idea. These aconyms, nonsense names, code words, etc. can be grossly misused, meaning whatever a speaker wants. Or they can give us a way to speak in a shorthand and quickly link one good idea with another. But only hard work makes software. No amount of PowerPoint boxes, arrows and lines or code words makes software.

It seems that I mentioned something about 'things left on top of cars' a few days ago. My friend Anne writes the following:

When we were kids we used to love to go to my grandmother ...[and], on Saturday mornings weather permitting we would watch her fry a few chickens, make potato salad, and pack all the necessary condiments (especially the pickles and olives) and equipment for a trip to Galveston Beach. She had this huge bowl that would hold all of the fried chicken. She covered it with a big floral cotton table cloth. We loaded up the trunk of her black Grand Prix with all the towels, chairs, umbrellas, and picnicware. The food was to go in the car. But the bowl of chicken rested on top of the car until all of us piled in. In her usual hot rod way, she revved up the engine and floored it all the way out of the garage and halfway down the long shell driveway before she realized she had left the chicken on top. Her gut reaction was to slam on the brakes. Immediately, the bowl of chicken went flying. We salvaged what was left and made cheese sandwiches with the bread intended for the sea gulls. This was Pre-Colonel days so there was no buying fried chicken along the way.

Once when I was driving down Balcones Drive. I stopped at the intersection of Balcones and 2222. Bored with waiting for the light to turn green, I turned and looked at the car to the right of me. On the roof was a ball peen hammer. It was back in the time of non-electric windows and I couldn't reach across the seat of my big old Suburban to roll down the window. I tried all sorts of hand motions. Yelling was of no use. I only succeeded in making the people behind me honk their horns because I was missing the green light. The woman in the car next to me looked back to see what all the honking was about, shrugged her shoulders and drove off. . .ball peen hammer in tact. Oh well, at least I tried.

This gave me a smile and then, later in the day, I read Bunt Sign and saw this entry. It's a theme!

Lunch time brought my buddies Nancy and SuRu into my office, proposing a lunch. Out into the rain we went. We decided, I'm not sure how, on Iron Cactus. ("I had greasy Mexican yesterday." "OK, we won't have that.") Well, my chile relleno wasn't greasy in the sense of an Ala Carerra enchilada. Actually, it was pretty good. It was in a Celis batter. So I had a Celis Pale Bock with it. The beer tasted great. I don't drink at lunch. I really don't.

We have no 'event' tonight. So we make an 8:30PM reservation for Zoot. Then we go off to Westwood for a brief workout (twenty minutes on the exercise bike and a few Cybex machines). We go home and shower and actually get to Zoot early with a book, magazine and a bottle of 1989 Penfold Grange in hand.

Our table (the second four top on the right as you walk in) awaits, set for two. We just sit down, without waiting for Maitre d' Mark to seat us. He opens the Penfold's. It is jammy with fruit and smooth as can be. There is a little residue (the label, hard to read in this light, recommends decanting but we didn't).

We share special apps of fried green tomatoes and foie gras with figs. I have a wonderful duck with cherry sauce, bok choy and quinoa and Forrest has perhaps the best beef either of us has ever tasted with a Cab sauce. Forrest has dessert and coffee. They still don't have an espresso machine. Shame.

We speak briefly to John Maxwell (chef) and tell him how much we enjoyed it and how favorably it compares to, say, Daniel in New York. He says he dined last night at Aquarelle at 606 Rio Grande and it was great. Put that on my list.

During our entire dinner a guy at the next table has talked about himself in a loud voice. Topics: J.R. Ewing, Tulane, his career (let's see...few years as a manager, back to business school, leading a venture firm specializing in health care), web sites, me, me, and a little something more about moi. Note to guy at next table: pipe down.

Our friends, Bill and Sara (not to be confused with my sister and brother-in-law Bill and Sarah) come by our table on the way out. We promise to get together in July.

The four top behind the barrier awaits two diners with an 8:30 reservation. A dozen roses arranged in a tall vase with a florist's card awaits, too. The young couple comes in. She's surprised. Mark has provided a small table just for the flowers. The couple toasts with Riesling by the glass.

We go to the Four Seasons after this and it's relatively calm when we arrive. Rebecca is playing. We have a book to loan her. (John Didion's Play it as it Lays.) (While FFP looked for it, he mentioned earlier that he found 'all kinds of good stuff.' "You know, there is a second stack of books on some of the shelves.")

Rebecca asks, "Have you sent Maggie her CD?" No, no I haven't. I want to make her a birthday card is my excuse.

Gene and Amy have a table and we join them. Gene is tired as he's just arrived home from Washington, D.C. this day.

The place fills. Harley guys, lawyers, politicians, wedding attendees. It's crazy. Rebecca plays, "Straighten Up and Fly Right" as always, 'for Mags.' The place is noisy and getting more and more filled with people. Jim, the manager, says that weddings moving indoors, etc. etc. make for a crazy weekend.

We decide it's time to leave. As we squeeze out, as I go past a guy kneeling in the space by a table, half blocking one way of egress, I say, "This guy is praying."

Gene says to me, "Don't step on him, he's a justice of the Texas Supreme Court."

Whatever. Get car from valet and head home.

"Did we get our wine sack?" himself asks.

"Right here under my feet. We've gotten disgustingly good at remembering it."

And we drive through the warehouse district and I'm very disoriented going north on Colorado! The blocked streets have caused this street to change from one-way south to one-way north for a few blocks. Wow! It's the little things that amuse us.