Lost in Translation

Flannel

Yeah, yeah, that's not Bill Murray from the movie "Lost in Translation."  Anyway, that movie was strange, sad and not very funny.  The point is, trying to sell whisky to the Japanese is almost as hard as ordering eggs from a wherever-he-came-from cook in the DFAC.

Tonight, Krishna was cooking French Toast, which is white bread dipped in a vat filled with yellow-brownish goo.  I'd like to believe it started out as eggs, maybe eggs and milk, but I think they keep the same container going for 24 hours and it turns the color of camel skin.  I don't eat French Toast, but even if I was a fan, I would think the diners here would reconsider.

Something tells me the workers here have no idea how recognizable the names on the shirts are.  Krishna, Omm and Global are options here.  It's like calling Microsoft support, knowing your phone is answered by a service in Hyderabad and the technician answering with, "Hello this is Steve, how can I help you sir?"

I am reminded of this video:

... or this one:

I forgot today was a rest day, so I got ready to go to the gym and was halfway there when I realized I could give myself another night off.  I did 30 dips and 15 chinups before heading to the DFAC for hash browns, eggs, sausages and Earl Grey tea.

Later, there was hot sauce and salt.

I suppose I should have made it threes all around, but I only had two hash browns to go with my three eggs, three sausages and three butter packets.

This is a hybrid. This is a cross, ah, of Bluegrass, Kentucky Bluegrass, Featherbed Bent, and Northern California Sensemilia.

My trainee has already SWMBO with his future lip hair, so he's got that going for him, which is nice.

If my posts remind you of this, then I'm either doing it very well, very wrong or at least you can console yourself with the fact that I don't have a Facebook page.