Good Food, Good Music, Good Dog

Lynnette’s relatives from California are in town for a wedding and we went out to dinner with them last night at Max’s of Manila. I think I had met most of them something like eight or nine years ago, right around the time when Lynnette and I began going out. My memories of it were vague. I suppose, though, there’s nothing like a feast to jar loose memories and erode self-respect.

Not pictured: the other 7 or so plates of food we ate.

Not pictured: the other 7 or so plates of food we ate.

I have to hand it to Lynnette’s family. They can eat. By no means would I consider myself a competitive eater or anything like that, but if I’m hungry and motivated, I can put a lot of food away. It took a little while for the food to come to the table, but once it did, it kept coming. I ate a lot. I have more of it in the staff room fridge waiting for me at lunch. I have already visited my favorite bathroom on campus and there is a 100% chance I will do so again before my work day ends.

There’s something spectacular about the combination of not having eaten anything substantial all day and attending a dinner where you know you won’t have to hold back. I would personally liken it to those images of sharks and tuna chasing around balls of bait fish in the ocean: everybody knows there’s a whole lot of food so everyone can take their time and eat until they can’t.

Friday, I'm in love.

Friday, I’m in love.

I wore a t-shirt to dinner which featured a visual representation of the lyrics to the Cure’s “Friday, I’m in Love.” During dinner, Madison asked what all the pictures meant, so I told her that they corresponded with the words to a song. I then went on to explain each box (the shirt is pictured upside-down in this photo):

I don’t care if Monday’s blue, Tuesday’s gray and Wednesday, too. Thursday, I don’t care about you, it’s Friday, I’m in love.

Monday you could fall apart, Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart, Thursday doesn’t even start, it’s Friday, I’m in love.

I don’t care if Monday’s black, Tuesday, Wednesday heart attack, Thursday, never looking back, it’s Friday, I’m in love.

Monday you could hold your head, Tuesday, Wednesday stay in bed, Thursday watch the walls instead, it’s Friday, I’m in love.

Madison had questions: “What’s a heart attack?” “What about Saturday and Sunday? I like Saturday and Sunday.” When we got home, she surprised me by asking to listen to the actual song. She sat on the bed and listened to the song and followed along on what behaved like storyboards. Madison generally doesn’t care for rock or guitar-driven music, so when she got into it and started bobbing her head up and down while smiling broadly, I do believe it was the highlight of the week. We have listened to “Friday, I’m in Love” three more times since.

I don't understand what the appeal is, but it's funny as hell.

I don’t understand what the appeal is, but it’s funny as hell.

Two nights ago, Abby entered the bedroom where Lynnette, Mad, and I were. She was wearing my knee pad as a scarf or something. She likes to burrow into our clothing, and somehow, she figured out how to put it on by herself. I took pictures, posted them on Instagram, and thought little of it.

Last night, she popped into our room again, again wearing my knee pad as a fashion accessory. Lynnette has taken to calling it a “security knee pad.” I don’t know why Abby loves to put my knee pad on her head so much. It obstructs her vision and likely makes her head a little heavier. But she appears to love it. “Do I have to get another knee pad for myself?” I asked her. She responded by lifting her nose to the sky and shaking her head. It wasn’t a “no” so much as an attempt to shuffle the knee pad back down her neck to secure it. Whenever we try to make a play for it, she backpedals and refuses to let us take it off.

I know she hated wearing the cone when she had her surgery, but I guess there’s something comforting about wearing one’s master’s knee pad as a faux cone. This is one of the times I really wish Abby could talk. I assume she would say something like this:

Daddy, I love to wear your knee pad because it keeps my neck and head warm during this chilly season in Mililani Mauka. Nearly as important is the fact that I get to smell you – and your abject failure to get to ground balls which you should easily be able to field – at all times. Can I have a Greenie, please?



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