Make That Extra Crispafloppy, Please

1. crispafloppy

The description for bacon that is cooked to the point of being floppy with a little crispiness.

"This bacon isn't crispafloppy, it's flopacrispy."

(From the "Urban Dictionary." I'm too lazy for links, kids. Sorry. Kinda.)

It falls right between "crisp tee" and "crispay," and is not far down the list from "Crisco Cock Call." (Don't ask.)

I came upon it by accident, and remembering how here would be irrelevant.

Believe it or not, my health is again in jeopardy, in the way that train rides to and from work feel awful (blonde children asking daddy if we are "out of the tunnel yet" 57 times makes me want to whack said children upside the head while in this ear-crackling state*), not in the way of not being able to get out of bed, at least. Either way, Dr. Din is again on the case.

For now, I'm sending out thanks into this ether for the support of all my beautiful friends. You know who you are and what you did and you all rock for it.

If I could give each of you a found object in thanks, I would. (Hm, it seems I just might.) Yesterday, I delivered a clear glass vase to the Romanian as I wandered over to his apartment to see his most fantastic new prints. (The man, I tell you, is a wonder, and I feel privileged to have been able to participate in a few pieces). I picked up this vase and thought to myself, "This is exactly what I think of when I think the word 'vase.'" It was like a child's drawing of a vase: bulbous at the base and narrow toward the top, with a great lip. Only I pronounced it "vaz" in my head, only to switch quickly back to "vase." My brain sort of stuttered: "vaz," "vase," "vaz," "vase." Damn word. Anyway, I gave it to the Romanian, who is a wiz at keeping plants alive while they remain remarkably dead.

On the way to his house, vase tucked precariously beneath my arm, I saw two people walking toward me carrying objects of varying sizes: lengths of wood, a sketch pad, maybe a lamp. I realized then that this is what we Brooklynites do: We pick things up off the streets and transport them to our houses. Then we remove objects from our houses and put them on the streets. The cycle of belongings is Zen-fabulous.

[*No children were whacked upside the head by me during, before or after the writing of this entry. Honest. Desire and action are two separate concepts, people.]