The Colonial Theatre Tea Garden

The beauty spot of downtown Richmond was, in 1921, the Tea Garden of the brand-new Colonial Theatre. Herein, we recreate the essence of elegance, joy and hauteur that was once found in Virginia's first real picture palace. Bathtub gin is available at the top of the grand ramps.

Friday, June 25, 2010

Warning: Post of great randomness follows.

Boy, do I ever feel productive. I have just finished seven pints of pickles and a quart of preserved blueberries. I love preserving things; I get to be Home Ec Dude, Science Boy and Food Beast all at the same time. Please realize, though, that I'm really none of the above. I'm the least efficient person in three counties and I don't believe in science, as long as everything does what it's supposed to do. My recipes are all decades out of fashion. I am very good at following directions, though, which is about all you really need to do when canning food.

I also wish to point out that this is no mean feat in a house with three mostly possessed cats. Wally wants to be involved in everything, and Pickle almost became part of the pickles, because she kept jumping on the table while I was slicing cucumbers. (Daisy, who is not the brightest light in the marquee, actually has the sense to get the hell out of the kitchen.) Also, they like getting underfoot while I am carrying a ten gallon pot of boiling water. Brilliant cats, they are.

Like most of the known planet, I've long since been sucked into the world of Facebook. That thing has got to be the best invention EVER for sheer time-wasting abilities. Apparently, I have three hundred and seventeen friends! Who knew? What bothers me, though, are the random "friend" invitations. Hell, it's one thing to hear from someone in beautiful Walkersville, Maryland whom I've not seen in the last twenty years. It's entirely different to hear from some 22 year old chick (they all seem to be named Hayly, Kyly, or Gabby) whom I've never met and who may or may not be a hooker. Seriously? I don't look THAT desperate, do I? (Don't answer, please.)

Last on today's "WTF???" list: bugs. Just like every other summer. Damnit, bugs, WTF??? Fruit flies, you know I hate you. Why do you insist on moving into my house? Especially when you decide to hover around the sink: WHY??? There's nothing in there. There's no food. If all 672 of you are going for that microscopic bit of something that didn't go down the drain, it's not going to last too long. Give up. Invade someone else's kitchen. Moths!!! You too! You're even worse because you seem to have a tiny modicum of intelligence. You have gathered that there is food that you like here. Why you feel the need to invade my Old Bay, I don't know; it doesn't seem very moth-y to me, but then I'm not a moth. And, aren't you supposed to be interested in flour? I mean, I'm glad that you aren't, but it's right there, and you go ahead and infest things that are much harder to get into. Now--and moth #2345236, you know I'm talking to you--what on earth possessed you to get inside the radio dial??? That just can't be a good idea. It must have required considerable effort on your part. And what did that effort get you? FYI: No food inside radio. You're going to roast alive from the heat of the little dial light and there is NO FOOD IN THE GODDAMNED RADIO. Ants, I perhaps have the greatest respect for you, because you actually go for easily-accessible, normal ant-attracting food products. Also, you only go after things that I'm dumb enough to leave out. My bad. Oh, wait--no, a horde of you inexplicably invaded the bathroom! What, is soap the new haute cuisine in antdom? I'll still give you credit; you're bright enough to see the ant trap, realize that I hate you and don't want you here, and you've left. Please send a memo to the fruit flies and moths.