Mi Mejor Amigo in Paraguay

There are so many wonderful things to write about that it's hard to pick just one. But I think today I should talk about mi mejor amigo in Paraguay, Emilio the waiter. Emilio works in the restaurant in my hotel, where I have eaten the majority of my meals this week, and to me, he seems to typify the people I've met here: kind, friendly, and willing to work a little to communicate with la mujer norteamericana loca (that's me).

Settling In and Setting Out

Today is my first official day in Paraguay. Yesterday, I decided, really doesn't count, because I was too exhausted to communicate in anything longer than a facebook post (so apologies if you also are my facebook friend, because some of this is gonna be review). It's early days yet, but so far I'm feeling pretty good about the whole thing.

Crime Scenes and Carl's Junior

Next time, on Hoarders...

I hate moving. I'm a nester by nature, and the whole process of boxing things up and carrying them away to be unboxed elsewhere gives me the icks. This little whinge-fest is by way of excuse: it's not that I didn't want to blog, it's that my computer was in seven pieces in four different boxes. But I'm getting settled, and it's time to get back to our buddy Aristotle.

To recap: you've got ethos, where an argument (buy a Buick) succeeds or fails based on the character of the speaker (Tiger Woods), and you've got pathos, where emotion is used to persuade the audience to do such varied things as adopt puppies and commit genocide. Now let's meet the new kid, logos.

The Joy of Vegetables(?), or Why the Bookstore Disappointed Me

The kind of thing I had in mind,
but with veggies.

The lust for veggies continues. I'm embracing it. I mean, as a coworker pointed out yesterday, there are worse things I could crave. At least it's not bacon. Or crack-cocaine. In service of that, I decided the other day to look around for some cookbooks featuring vegetables, and I had an epiphany of sorts concerning the way we eat in this country. Those of you who already eat decently, bear with me. I'm in new territory here.

I knew what I wanted, almost precisely. I could picture it. It would be just like certain cookbooks I already own, the ones with a big, colorful, glossy close-up shot of a bowl of pasta or a Frenched rib roast. The ones with titles like "The Beef Cookbook," or "365 Days of Pasta," except this one would be "The Joy of Vegetables." I was excited about the idea of looking through a big shiny book of veggie dishes, getting ideas for new and exciting dinners.

Attack of the Sexy Veggies

Something has happened to me. I'm not sure how to describe it. I'm not sure where it came from, and I'm not sure what it means. But it's happened. It's early afternoon on a Sunday, and I'm eating an apple.

That's not too weird, on the face of it. I like apples, always have. They're sweet and juicy and crispy. Yum, apples. What is weird is that I didn't get up this morning, putter around making small talk with Husband, and then make a massive plate of  bacon-basted eggs with a side of bacon. Or pancakes (with bacon). Or beans on toast (with bacon and eggs and the occasional grilled mushroom). Or eggs benedict (with ham because sometimes you gotta get some variety with your preserved pork choices). I didn't even go all Froggy and make crepes with butter and sugar, topped with more butter and sugar.