Yesterday, someone accessed a post called “Yeah, But Is It Art?” in which this picture appeared. I wrote the post in 2011, and had forgot what it was about, so I looked. It was just me, nattering, as usual, but then right after I saw this I went and had a lovely time at the beach.
I walked a few miles in the sugar-white sand and got perhaps a bit too much sun and wind, which were both quite lovely, thank you, then put on a proper shirt and shoes – a chambray with my cargo shorts instead of nothing, along with white Skechers and socks, because I am not a troglodyte who goes to a restaurant in flip-flops – and stopped at McGuire’s on the way home.
You have heard me speak of McGuire’s and their thirty-dollar steaks.Well, it is that picture of Venus, in the original size, though I’m sure not the original painting, that dominates the main room at McGuire’s. I knew it looked familiar, but I did not realize until today where I had seen it.
I tried their rib eye, because Molly recommended it. I still prefer the filet mignon, even if it is smaller. It was perhaps because there was such a huge chunk of beef that they brought me only seven asparagus spears as my side dish. Honestly, with all that steak, I could not have eaten another one, though she offered. Oh, and I told Molly to forget the bread. They always bring a little loaf of lovely, fresh, brown bread that I never eat, and she thanked me for telling her not to.
I also tried their “traditional Irish ale.” Yeah, right. Yeesh! Not quite up to par. As soon as I finished that, I ordered a proper Irish Red to attend my steak, and got a high five from Molly. Oh, and the James Bond is her drink, too. She told me, as soon as she walked over, that it was martini day and would I like one. I said I would have one for dessert. It’s citroen or citron liqueur they put in the gin and vodka that gives it the strong citrus flavor. One would never put an olive in one of those.
NEWS FLASH – while I sat here writing, my phone rang. It was a wrong number. She said she was trying to call Amazon. Where is 619, anyway? Should I have told her about my books?
So, anyway, I’m home now, and yes, I slathered myself in aloe lotion. I know, I know, but I was only out for an hour and a half, and I’m hardly pink on my shoulders. I had sunscreen on my fabulous face, of course. And now I have Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, and a story to write. No, really. I am writing – in my head, at any rate. It’s a story about pixies and lumberjacks, if you must know.
Now be patient.
I mean it.
That is all.