Plotini with Red Sausola and a River of Avos

It's true that pizza from the Bronx is so big you can't fit a round pie into a square box. And it was good, by New York standards, even though we didn't eat it until two hours after it was made, usually a death wish for decent pizza.

Of course, "good" for New York pizza means "spectacular OMG YO MAMA LOL LOL" for California pizza.

But then -- we got home. Home. Daffies blooming all over the yard.

A patch full of broccoli rabe and Tuscan Kale, which can be mixed with Italian sausage and made into Plotini with Red Sausola and enjoyed with a bottle of Duke. Sure we're NorCalians. Sure we're effete. Sure the vandals or the huns or the Republibums could waltz on in here and take us over without firing one assault rifle. But a month later and they'd all be just like us. "Vlog, they don't have jammy zinfandels like this back in Hunland, do they!" 

Doo, doo, doo, looking out my back door --  and what do I see? A full moon over the avocado tree, which is brimming with ripe avocados, hundreds of them, perhaps thousands, no, tens of thousands! After nineteen years of no (0) avocados, this year will be The Year of the Guacamole! (0 + n = G.) An avalanche of avos! We will burn the pits for fuel and go off the grid. Our skins will turn a burnished dark green and our skin will glisten with avo oil.

PRAISE AVO! 

 Also, the Lakers will make the playoffs and the Dodgers will win the World Series and if I blink my eyes and tap my toes I will run with the big boys again, dribbling behind my back on the way to scoring the winning basket before an adoring grandstand filled with glorious, dark green maidens with glistening (if oily) skin.