Sunday, Sept. 23, 2007
Dear Diary:

This week, for reasons I simply don't understand, I had a sauerkraut craving. I have no idea why sauerkraut was on my culinary radar, but there I was in the grocery store Thursday, carefully weighing my pickled cabbage options.

Sadly, they do not sell sauerkraut in small amounts. Apparently, most of your 'kraut eaters are deeply committed to the ingestion of pickled cabbage and do not want trifling portions. So my basic options were large, larger and lady, you're going to need two hands to lift this.

Fine. Home I toddled with a large container of sauerkraut. I made myself an open-faced sandwich comprised of sourdough bread, 'kraut, and a topping of mozzarella cheese, put it under the broiler, and promptly satisfied my pickled cabbage needs.

Which left me with approximately 1,214 additional portions. Oh dear.

I tried interesting the spousal unit in the pickled cabbage possibilities. He sniffed it, wrinkled his nose, and said "Wouldn't want to be missing this boat," with sarcasm that was only slightly less pungent than the 'kraut fumes filling our kitchen.

His loss.

So the next day I made myself an open-faced sandwich comprised of sourdough bread, 'kraut, and a topping of Mozzarella cheese. Again. Which left me with approximately 1,213 additonal portions. Even worse, my 'kraut craving was over.

What to do?

I really hate to throw food away. The sensible thing would be to throw the 'kraut in the compost, but that would probably wipe out our worm colony. I could throw it in the garbage, but that is wasteful.

So I dutifully put it in a plastic container and put it in the back of the fridge where I will find its mouldy corpse a few months from now. Once it's disease ridden I can throw it away in good conscience because it is no longer food and instead a health threat.

As you can see, I live my life with Vulcan like logic.

Or maybe not.

--Marn

These Generous Souls recently sponsored me to Run the 2007 Jog for the Jugs In Montreal. Not only are they immortalized in the Bazonga Boosters Hall of Fame, hey, they get to post the shockingly garish graphic below on their web sites. I can feel your envy from here.


Boob oop de doop eh

Lily B.

Ms. Shilly Shallier

Gloria Hill

Anne S. in memory of Susan Davis, a second mother to her

Joe

Brian in memory of his grandma Arlene Noble and aunt Karen Roberts, a 13 year survivor

Bev in honour of her baby's first mammogram.

M.R. Cooper to honour sister-in-law Kaydee Cooper

Nacwolin in honour of her friend, Ruth, a breast cancer survivor

Bluesleepy in honour of her grandmother, Mary Post, a breast cancer survivor

***Dave in honour of his mom, Gloria Hill

Skibigsky in honour of three generations--Bessie Duckett, Neva Shively and Patricia Marshall

Joe

Huntington

Mileage on the Marnometer: 348.29 miles Ten percent there rubber duck. Ten percent there rubber duck.Ten percent there rubber duck.Ten percent there rubber duck.Half way there

Going Nowhere Collaboration

Goal for 2007: 500 miles


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Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -


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This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

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2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you.