Would you take the last miserable piece of sushi offered on an empty plate?

Tonya, Oscar and I were at a party today where there was not enough food. An hour into the event, all platters stood nearly empty. The saddest was the sushi tray, for on it rested one solitary piece of sushi – the reject, the one that no one grabbed in the end and in its isolation, it appealed to none of us.

Oscar remarked that the three of us were of different ethnicities and each of our heritages lead us to demand of parties that there be food. I had to answer that each of our heritages was actually uniquely focused on food and no one from our necks of the woods would regard a party a success unless people left saying “there’s too much food!”

We left early. It is a rule: you leave a party before the last piece of sushi gets taken. Take heed: never, ever run out of nibbles one hour before the guests are supposed to leave.

Local hero

If you're dining at Madison's L'Etoile anytime from tonight onwards, seek out Tory: chef, and as of today, proprietor. Tell him congrats and that you're rooting for him. And then do root for him -- he's got the talent to truly succeed.

My future with the restaurant? No longer uncertain. I'm on board after the month of May -- with the coolest sign-on in the world: whichever Saturday I feel like working.

An ode to the insolent and surly

God, I love these two: rotten and crabby, mean and quarrelsome, churlish and ill-tempered, oooooh, they are my kings and queens! I love their boldness, their from-the-gut honesty, their bravado, their swagger, their “don’t mess with me” stance.

I love it, love it, love it!

I love reading it, eating it first thing in the morning, I love running into it in the course of the day – sends chills down my spine! You vamp! You monster you! Let me get a little closer so that I can feel a tingle from your impertinent and saucy self!

It’s like a cuddle with the devil: get rid of the pink, the fluff, let’s have a black & red attack, with fierce fires raging, pushing that steamy arrogance forward…mmmmmm, sexy, nice!

Oh, to trample down the timid wretches, the cowering cringing unassuming yielding, always goddam yielding spineless wimps: get out of my way!

Yeah, bring on the disdainful, domineering, self-centered ooooh, there are not enough adjectives out there to describe them: my kind of people! Come out, let’s play, I’m in the mood for YOU!

And now that we had our little play, can we all please settle down and try on kindness for size? **** (fill in your favorite curse word), it can't be that hard.

Blogging mommies, blogging women

Oscar (what, you have never read Oscar? Go read Oscar!!) does a nice tribute to moms who blog.

I, too, am enamored with this group: their stories are poignant and often brilliantly insightful. Their dilemmas are real and heartfelt. Their blogs are among the most captivating to read. And whereas the typical blogger makes a million references to every nuance of her or his latest little worry or disgruntlement (I include myself in this group), blogging moms are living the saintly lives where internal peace of mind always always has to be put aside when a kid calls. And a kid calls very often in the course of a childhood.

Oscar asked me if I minded being “outed” with my parenthood. He was right to ask as, for the most part, I keep my own daughters out of the blog. I traded away the right to comment here on their lives by writing under my own name. True, they live far away (in a small city on the east coast, easily recognizable by the careful reader as I visit there often enough) and they are older (23 and 20) and so stories of toddler antics would have to be replaced with their more adult cleverness and sharp wit. And they are the wittiest of all witty people out there! But I stay silent about their world.

One question that I have for you, the reader: so what has happened to all the women who are done with child-rearing? Are they too exhausted to blog? With one notable exception, every female blogger that I know is either prior to or in the midst of child rearing. And even if she decides not to have children – she is definitely under the age of fifty. Young voices permeate the blogosphere: they set the tone even as they write from a history that is very very short.

Oh point me to the blogging woman who is a decade older than I am! Missing, she is missing from my list of daily blogs. [The one small consolation is that Ocean has linked me with readers who fall into that group. They are among my favorite correspondents. They pick up things in Ocean – small, deliberate things that, with rare exceptions, a younger reader will have missed, being, it seems, forever in a hurry to get to the punch line and move on to the next blog.]

Still, I am mesmerized by the singular and yet familiar stories of the mommy blogs. And I read them with a smile, because I know that eighteen years of mommy-sainthood brings you the reward of an adult friendship that is indescribably wonderful. And strong. And enduring. Like no other.