J'adore

In time for Valentine's Day, a brief list of things of which I am especially fond:

* Clementines. These things will be the death of me. Whose bright idea was it to sell them by the crate? Do you know how many of these bastards I can eat in a sitting? Do you know what that does to my digestive tract? You know what, forget I asked.

* Wasabi crackers 'n peanuts. Spectacularly addictive. The packaging insists that they're "baked not fried!", as if that somehow means they're not still junk food.

* Wasabi tuna poke from Bristol Farms. It is probably a leading cause of over-fishing, and I have to stop buying/eating it, but it dumbfounds me that that $8 buys you 6 oz of red, tender tuna tossed with sesame oil, wasabi and seaweed. I don't know how authentically Hawaiian it is, but if this is any indication of the food there, I am suddenly a lot more interested in visiting.

* Roaring 40's Blue Cheese. Grab a chair, Stilton. Put your feet up, Gorgonzola Piccante. I have found the domestic, artisanal blue cheese of my dreams.

* "30 Rock." You complete me, Liz Lemon. The Generalissimo plot line and the line "But first, I would like to admire picture of your grandchildren." The callback to Liz's Mexican cheese curls. Your scrappy determination to squeeze every last product-placement dollar out of America's advertisers, if it means hanging around long enough to become a certifiable hit.

* "Damages." The women on this show are so strong, I cannot help suspecting that they're written via the "Sex and the City" method, wherein all the female characters are actually men, but for a few details of names and pronouns. Even so, I do not care. Also, I do not want and will never own a Cadillac, but I freely admit that otherwise, this show could sell me anything. The gracious good taste of Patty's offices; the witty clothes; the gorgeous, gracefully-aging beauty of Glenn Close and Marcia Gay Harden. (Although I think someone went after MGM's with a syringe full of Botox late in the season, because from scene to scene, her brows alternate between normalcy and a yanked-up arch that says "I can't feel anything north of my nostrils.")

* Rye. This is what happens to you when you work on "Mad Men" for any length of time. The fumes coming off the various early-evening tumblers are so enticing, with notes of vanilla and cinnamon. Eventually, you have no choice but to buy your own bottle. And then you are in terrible, terrible trouble, because it is amazing. About a thousand times smoother than bourbon, and tragically, worth every penny of its insanely steep price.

* Timely car repairs. Even though I had to rent a car to accommodate the brake shop's lack of Saturday hours, it gave me tremendous pleasure to drop off the Honda this morning, and get the follow up call that all is well, and that I am in good time to have my brakes replaced. This comes as quite the relief, since the service guys at the dealership have been pushing to replace the front brake pads replaced for the last year 12 months, and I was *almost* positive that they were fishing for extra repairs, but then again, you don't want to rip up your rotors just to prove a point. It also gives me an extra jolt of pleasure to use a highly ethical local guy and not the boobs at Honda of Santa Monica, who charged me $105 to fix my driver's side window in such a way that it actually was far, far worse and would not shut at all.

* Michael. Between triking over to the brake shop to pick up my car key before they close (see: lack of Saturday hours) and keeping me stocked with espresso and milk for my morning fuel, he takes such amazing care of me, and I am so grateful to have him in my life. He is my Lemon Pepsi.