Ciabatta and Strange Coincidences
Yesterday I treated myself to copper highlights at the local Aveda salon to celebrate the fact that I start my new job on Monday (yes, they pushed it back a week).
I was sitting on a leather bench in the front of the salon, a halo of foil binding the chemicals to my hair when a familiar face topped with ropes of black curls entered the establishment and walked by.
Joe?
He looked my direction and I could see the moment when he recognized shan beneath the glamorous foil flaps.
We hugged in wide-eyed excitement, exchanged several-sentence updates and our contact info and then he was whisked off to have his hair cut.
I haven't seen this guy in over four years.
I had heard that he'd gotten married a while back, an event complete with Alan's crazy machinations (this is the guy who once ran naked down a residential street in Dallas yelling Nietzsche's my bitch!) -- but I'd no idea that he has a 6-month old infant. That is crazy!
Joe was a big part of one of the most amazing days of my life (this easily qualifies for the top ten): the legendary toobing trip down what we thought was the Guadalupe. Ten or so college kids, several cases of Lone Star, itineraries and adventures. Joe's house was difficult to locate the first time around (and we doubted Bran and Hiyam's combined sense of direction would safely deliver them) so we scribbled "JOE" on pizza boxes with arrows pointing in the appropriate =====> direction and stapled them to poles.
Joe and I had gone to purchase said Lone Star when we spotted the little red truck whose cab held my two best friends. We tailed them, trying to crouch down so they wouldn't see us (a remarkable feat, given that we were in a telltale new red VW bug) and we got to experience them experiencing our signs. We called our friend Dave, who was back at the house with a white board managing the day's itinerary (you can cross off "purchase beer" and "get bran and hiyam" here -- they're on their way!).
What an incredible, long, day. The Comal River was freezing; I'll never forget Michael Bryant discovering that the concrete on the side of the river at one of the stop off points (or, you know, someone's private property. it's hard to tell) was warm. Ignoring the ants, we all pulled our toobs over and laid across the warm goodness. Took pictures. Laughed.
At the end of the trip we sang childhood songs and ate Cheetos. Allowed our drivers to sober up and headed back to Austin.
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yesterday i made provolone ciabatta melts (see my recipe site for details). they were a hit. i will likely spend the day putting together my double-sauce enchiladas, although they won't be the same without sharing them with my favorite hughes in the whole big huge world.
I was sitting on a leather bench in the front of the salon, a halo of foil binding the chemicals to my hair when a familiar face topped with ropes of black curls entered the establishment and walked by.
Joe?
He looked my direction and I could see the moment when he recognized shan beneath the glamorous foil flaps.
We hugged in wide-eyed excitement, exchanged several-sentence updates and our contact info and then he was whisked off to have his hair cut.
I haven't seen this guy in over four years.
I had heard that he'd gotten married a while back, an event complete with Alan's crazy machinations (this is the guy who once ran naked down a residential street in Dallas yelling Nietzsche's my bitch!) -- but I'd no idea that he has a 6-month old infant. That is crazy!
Joe was a big part of one of the most amazing days of my life (this easily qualifies for the top ten): the legendary toobing trip down what we thought was the Guadalupe. Ten or so college kids, several cases of Lone Star, itineraries and adventures. Joe's house was difficult to locate the first time around (and we doubted Bran and Hiyam's combined sense of direction would safely deliver them) so we scribbled "JOE" on pizza boxes with arrows pointing in the appropriate =====> direction and stapled them to poles.
Joe and I had gone to purchase said Lone Star when we spotted the little red truck whose cab held my two best friends. We tailed them, trying to crouch down so they wouldn't see us (a remarkable feat, given that we were in a telltale new red VW bug) and we got to experience them experiencing our signs. We called our friend Dave, who was back at the house with a white board managing the day's itinerary (you can cross off "purchase beer" and "get bran and hiyam" here -- they're on their way!).
What an incredible, long, day. The Comal River was freezing; I'll never forget Michael Bryant discovering that the concrete on the side of the river at one of the stop off points (or, you know, someone's private property. it's hard to tell) was warm. Ignoring the ants, we all pulled our toobs over and laid across the warm goodness. Took pictures. Laughed.
At the end of the trip we sang childhood songs and ate Cheetos. Allowed our drivers to sober up and headed back to Austin.
-------
yesterday i made provolone ciabatta melts (see my recipe site for details). they were a hit. i will likely spend the day putting together my double-sauce enchiladas, although they won't be the same without sharing them with my favorite hughes in the whole big huge world.
