My mom called me the other day to make sure everything was OK. She'd noticed that Oilchanges had been somewhat quiet and, like many a mother would do, she called to make sure that the quietness of my public persona didn't point at some other, more disturbing quiet within me. I assured her that I was quite happy; I simply hadn't made any noteworthy dinners lately. Contented that her boy was ok, she proceeded to caution me against getting too "preachy." "Preachy?" I said. "Too political," she said. Perhaps I have been on some political high horse lately, bad-mouthing the Food Network and bashing the Barefoot Contessa with just a little too much glee. Anyhow, that was last week, and I have since come down with the common cold. I wonder what Rachael Ray would prescribe? What 30 Minute Meal would she have up her sleeve for me? Chicken soup? I heard she doesn't drive, so even if she did whip me up some chicken soup, one of her minions would have to deliver it. I can hear her barking at her errand boy, Hey Bruce! Deliver Oilchanges some soup! Anyway, here is my computer, all comfy in bed. I doubt I shall watch Quadrophenia after all. I'm not particularly interested in The Who, and I need to do some grocery shopping anyhow. It's another, Friday night spaghetti night on old Orchard street. Buena fortuna! means good fish. Treat yourself before you eat yourself alive!