Sunday, March 19, 2017.
Oil Light. Another Lyrical Ad-Lib. Chef's Soiree.
The day begins with my regular Sunday morning choir gig. Then the usual Saturday grocery stop, a day late. I get started on the tax returns in the early afternoon. I was to have done a radio show today, but the boss gave me the day off because of a conflict planned before the HD2 changes.
That conflict is the second and final performance of the NPAS concert this afternoon. I have been running through the lyrics to prevent yesterday's trip-up. Then life throws me a curve ball. En route to the auditorium, I see the oil light come on in my one-year-old Beetle. A yellow light, not a red--but still something that calls for attention. I don't have time to address this, what with curtain time impending.
But my brain keeps noting the oil light instead of feeding me the words to "I Won't Dance." I jank the same way as yesterday, but in a different part of the song. Once again, I'm in the weeds for about ten words before I'm back on course. And I actually rhyme my ad-libbed lyrics twice. Weird.
But the audience and my fellow singers all tell me that the song sounded good, and that I was just making up the words as part of the act. I'll just let them think that. Now I'm wondering whether I will ever be allowed to sing an up-front song again.
I'm pretty sure that I'm the only person today to show up at Advance Auto Parts wearing a tuxedo. The guy running the counter won't let me check the dipstick, so formal am I. As usual, figuring out what kind of oil to feed the VW is complicated. A hallmark of VWs is that everything they're built with is unique to that car. It was true of my first Beetle in 1960 as it is today.
The oil wasn't extremely low, and is needing less than a half-quart of oil. The oil light is off when I leave, and as of this writing it hasn't illuminated again normal. I am overdue for an oil change, which probably explains everything.
Tonight is the Chef's Soiree, a big North Shore event that supports the needs of children whose families are plagued by any number of problems. It's the major food-and-drink grazing event of the year, and has always included the best restaurants on the North Shore, and more than a few from the other side of the pond.
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Chef's Soiree.[/caption]
Mary Ann loves events like this, enough that a few years ago the Youth Service Bureau asked the two of us to serve as honorary chairpeople. The food is the usual kind: lots of crawfish over rice, gumbo, shrimp remoulade, and pasta. But all of it showed steps up from previous Soirees. We especially liked the Bolognese pasta from the new Maribo, orrechiette pasta with oysters from Opal Basil, parmesan chicken from the Longhorn Steak House (a national chain that surprised everybody), and a great sausage jambalaya (a subject on which MA considers herself an expert) from Jambalaya & Company, a catering outfit. About fifty wines are available, and a Mustang is raffled off. I usually take a chance on that, but last year Mary Leigh told me it was inappropriate for a man of my age and tastes.
It was a terrific evening in the new location, around the old water tower at the Covington end of the Tammany Trace bicycle path. (The old spot was flooded a few times too often by the Bogue Falaya River.)
