Pizza Buffet

Last year I endured a minor tragedy in electronics that lead to my owning a smart phone with an awful camera. My Samsung S5 tanked just days after the manufacturer’s warranty expired, and my cell phone insurance did not cover loss in the event of failure due to a restart cycle so relentless the phone could eventually reach a blacksmith range temperature. Since I am batty, I am imagining a cell phone glowing with enough heat to fashion horse shoes.

Back to the phone topic, I bought a cheap replacement phone, the LG V8, which retailed for just $144 when it was still available. This phone is adequate in every way except for its camera. In low light, the pictures have so much noise that the raw pictures look like time travelling back to the dawn of digital photography.

This evening we enjoyed a pizza buffet at a local bowling alley. We stopped in the parking lot because it hosted a donation drive for Hurricane Harvey relief, and we ventured into the bowling alley for the buffet.

I tried taking some shots of dinner, but this is the best I could do:

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Why the frame? It distracts from the noise in the picture, and it so happens that we had such a good time at dinner that the moment seemed worthy of such polish.

Our dinner conversations are typically full of tangents. My daughter is taking German this year in school, and she let me know that she found four different words in translation for the word dewlap, which is the double chin found on some female rabbits and male guinea pigs. She also reminded me that people get dewlaps as well . . . and my early turkey neck qualifies as a starter dewlap.

Before we left the subject of dewlaps, she informed us that she found a German Men’s Health article about a double-chin-slimming workout (Gesichtsgymnastick: Das Anti-Doppelkinn-Training).

Some horse race from Saratoga was playing on the TV in the bowling alley, so my husband and I mused about the average size of the horse jockeys. What could their maximum height and weight be? 5’3″ and 100 pounds was my guess. I also remembered how my mom told me in the midst of the Monkees resurgence of the 80’s that Davy Jones had been a horse jockey before his stint in the Pre-Fab Four. My husband recalled this bit of trivia from his youth, too (btw, he was in grade school when “Daydream Believer” was a hit).

The pizza itself was unremarkable aside from its abundance and price. The sauce had bright flavor and well carmelized cheese, but the crust was average. Given the cost of this dinner, I can’t expect anything approaching perfection. All three of us dined to the border of gluttony for a little less than $20.

This was yet another pit stop in my attempt to lose my post-surgery weight, but the family bonding we had at this dinner made this falling-off-the-wagon totally worth it.

Adding on 9/2/17:

I forgot to mention that our dinner conversation included the topic of Manifest Destiny because my daughter noticed that one of the horses on the Saratoga race on TV had that name. Of course I had to mention that glorious scene in Family Guy wherein Stewie proclaims “Manifest Destiny!” in reference to their road trip from Rhode Island to San Francisco . . . which brings me to one of my favorite moments from that series. Stewie has stolen a camper during part of that transcontinental trip, and he insists that he can keep on driving straight to San Francisco because he’d taken some pills that a trucker had nicknamed West Coast Turnaround. There are so many transgressive things about that scene, and it all collides in a delightful way.

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