I'm full from leftovers from the catered lunch our executive committee had before returning to meetings for the afternoon. The fingerling potatoes were just perfect. They had solid potato flavor enhanced by the flavoring of the onion-family accompaniment and, what, maybe a touch of something balsalmic, but the main thing was how the had just the right tooth. Mmmm. If I could cook potatoes like that, I'd eat me a lot more potatoes.
Thinking of the free food reminds me of hearing how one coworker (let's call this coworker "A") is so crazy about free food it's crazy and/or you/I wouldn't believe, and then of hearing how another coworker ("B") knew who the lunch-outta-the-fridge-stealing other person was ("C") but wouldn't tell me who because of sensitivity to that person's (C's) having confided and (maybe) cuzza C's having some psychological issues that lead to the compulsion. And now I'm wonder whether the two people might be the same person--- as in A = C. It was also B who shared the observation about A, which fact seems to increase the likelihood of the equality.
Yesterday's "Noir Alley" movie supposedly features an homme fatal--- it's a guy instead of a woman (femme fatale) who is deceptive and driving the plot (and the degradation of another) with shenanigans. But I don't think it really worked that way, this film, as a flip of the usual noir thing, cuz in this case the fatal is the protagonist, and the story's told from his POV, and you don't have (as the main thrust of the film) the victim (or victims) who let themselves be seduced astray by him living to face the consequences (including the realization) of how badly things have gone for them because of this sneaky seducer, and our collectively being weirdly sympathetic with them. Cuz it's not a woman's story. It's still a guy's story.
This gripe is apart from the way the whole homme fatal thing doesn't have the context that the femme fatale does: a male-dominated culture in which women use the powers they have, including seduction, to try to get their way sneakily, and in these cases with at least some degree of selfish evil. Maybe it's also a culture in which women are feared to have a vagina dentata type of power, too, post-WWII, having had riveting Rosie awakenings & all. But I guess that male perspective hang-up is also why Larry Ballentine is the central character in They Won't Believe Me, as we're led through his experience of womanizing and gigiloizing and its consequences, vs. tracking a central woman's experience of being led down the path by a charmer and seeing it ruin her however-respectable life. After all, that's not a novel story, user man uses woman. That story wasn't a pulp-harsh freakish occurrence, all "Let this be a lesson to you" or even "Most are good role-accepters, but the secretly selfish ones'll get you!"
Ach, back to work. Postcard later.