I was going to say "rabbit pellets" but I've read Watership Down too many times for that to have any other connotation but one that's a little stronger than I actually feel.
Athena mentioned the other day that she has Go Lean Kashi for breakfast, so--since this would probably give me the same fitness results, you know, even though I'm not also exercising quite so much--I decided to look it up. How different could it be, I wondered, than the kashi I've been eating since I joined the gym in January and looked for a cereal with less sugar than Cranberry Crunch?
It has more calories per smaller serving size and more sodium. It also has lots more protein and fiber. That I knew by reading the panel. Today I poured some into a bowl and discovered it also has rabbit chow in it. Those half-inch cylinders of solidified bran. Yeah.
I halved it with regular kashi, and it's not that bad. It doesn't look much worse than the ribbed lozenges of RDC's cereal that I love to watch Blake dismember. (I say I've seen a lion eat a gazelle with more surgical precision than he shows eating a wedge of orange. When he's gnawed a hole through a little pillow of cereal such that the ribbing really looks like, well, ribs, I get to think that again.)
Verdict: tastes better than rabbit chow.
I haven't seen either for a long time. I remember watching "Return of the Jedi" with SSP, so in 1990 or 1991, and already the 1983 Rancor looked as cheesy as that version of "Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde" when Jeckyll falls behind a sofa and Hyde rises.
Anyway, last night ranting about the neighbors' air-conditioner I couldn't remember the Emperor's line about the hatred being strong in Luke and that being a reason he would join the Dark Side. Then one of my own lines occurred to me "Hate the [Someone]" and I knew it was a photo caption but I couldn't remember from what.
Tonight, again at 9:00 sharp, they (grr) turned on the hell machine. With my windows open, I can take advantage of their watering, because their sprinklers act as evaporative coolers and the chilled air zips into my house, thankyouverymuch. Again, the "Hate the [Who?!]" line occurred to me, this time with its context. That's what I need: 24 hours and the same circumstances to remember something.
(A million years ago, driving to a movie probably at Trinity with ABW and KRW and RDC, somehow none of us could remember a particular Yes song for a particular reason. We were just passing the Mansfield Depot on Route 44 at this point in our conversation. Time passed. Something like weeks or months later, passing that exact same point with the exact same people (probably going to our next movie), the answer--the lyric, the meaning, the memory, whatever--surfaced and I blurted it.)
"Hate the waiter!" came up as a "Say 'cheese!'" substitute when my sister and I were in a photo booth. Division 16? that former firehouse and now former restaurant on Boylston, near Mass Ave, near the Cheri, and stop me before I reminisce further, had a photo booth. I may never have been in one of those coin-fed, four-photographs-to-a-strip booths. We had just had miserable service, either at Division or wherever we had fled from. So just as the warning light flashed I cried "Hate the waiter!" and we growled and made fangs at the camera.
Hold on a sec. Excuse me, Blake (he is tucked on my lap).
Got it. First picture: I'm trying not to laugh, so my face is about to burst, she's cracking up, hand demurely over her mouth; second, we both look scared; the third is Hate the Waiter. I think I allowed her the first picture of the four for herself. When was this picture taken? My hair is long enough to pull back but she hasn't started growing hers yet. I'm behind her and can't tell what I'm wearing or even my earrings, which might not be helpful anyway considering how long I wear my clothes. Hmm. Acne inflaming my forehead: 1991-92 school year. Grad school, feh. No pressure.
Please for next time remember not to open old photograph albums when RDC is away. At the least I was reminded that today, today, is NAV's eighth birthday, and I don't have the Vs' email address! And also reminded that I need some sort of wallet-size photo pages for an album for all those pictures of newborns I get. (Can I tell any of them apart? Could I even if everyone didn't use the same pink and blue rainbow hospital background? I could not). I found a 5x7 of my father and his sister my namesake and wedding pictures that I haven't put into an album yet even though the marriages have long since dissolved and really, there must be a drug for this. Or a disabled parking permit: hello, I'm crippled by nostalgia.
Enough. To bed to bed to bed. To sleep, perchance to dream. Maybe instead of "Shakespeare in Love," my usual RDC-is-away movie to watch in bed I'll watch "Richard III." Since, just for closure's sake, I don't have any of the Star Wars movies.
But that reminds me, the Boulder Shakespeare dealie is putting on Cymbeline this summer. Don't let me get superstitious about days on which that play is staged.