pass over the fish product

We're off to the see the wonderful wizard of gefilte fish. It's time for the annual trek to Bethesda for Passover. Our transportation will be Jewish (Vamoose!). The food will be Jewish (mmm...fish product). Even I will be Jewish. Wait, that's not right. Hopefully they won't make me go out onto the porch to eat my contraband breakfast. At least there will be a cute ewok to fawn over as she squeaks and leaks (her goopy eye) all over us.

on the road to donutville

Today we travel. And travel. And travel. First there will be a bus, where I will have to figure out how to manage 3 jugs of beer, a flat donut box, and a bag full of cameras. Then, there will be a car with one happy dog, 2 great friends, and many snacks. We might stop here, where I may delay everyone by obsessively taking pictures with my new toy. And then we will fight the rest of the free world trying to get south in this fine weather.

All for the sake of Priority 1: housewarming party (where I get to meet another happy dog) and Priority 2: my grandmother's birthday, conveniently located 45 minutes from each other.

See you Monday after I break the bank in film usage.

pinch the floor

Here is my contribution to the sloshing, joshing holiday that is St. Patrick's Day: a shamrock-esque bathroom floor*, which is something many people will be using as a woobie when they pass out tonight. My chiropractor asked if I was going out for the occasion, and I said, "no it's not really my thing." There was a time when it might have been my thing. Back when I challenged boys to keg stands and made a habit out of waking up covered in my own vomit. Pretty picture, isn't it? Sadly, it happened more than once. And sometimes it wasn't just my own shirt that got soiled.

They (oh naming powers that be) should dub tomorrow Stale Beer Smell Day. Example: when Charrow and I took a weekend trip to Savannah, GA we made the mistake of going the day after St. Patrick's Day. Maybe you're thinking oh, Savannah, what a sleepy little southern town filled with weeping willows and beautiful town squares where people eat ice cream cones and chat about the health of the GA bulldog. Oh, no. Splashes of dried puke dotted the sidewalks down by the waterfront and groups of hungover college kids wandered the streets in search of greasy food salvation. The alleyways smelled like the inside of a frat house toilet and the restaurant we went to after our 12 mile run was brimming with sodden rugby players that consumed all of the hamburgers (sorry, rugby loving friends).

These days I'd rather indulge in too many donuts and have a hangover that drives me to fresh fruit.

* from the bathroom of El Beit in Williamsburg

Bagel with extra bagel on the side

I love bagels. I would eat one every day of the week, but I don't because eating copious amounts of bread makes me want to take a scouring pad to my insides. Sorry, that's not the picture I'm trying to paint. What I mean to say is, bagels are amazing, and today, I present to you my ode to the Everything Bagel.

welcome to the cloud

Welcome to my new stretch limo. I've been envious of other blogs that have large pictures on them, but I need to stay away from the timesuck of starting a new blog on wordpress (oh thesis, how I long to implement thee), so I picked a stretched version of my current "au naturale" blogger theme. Fascinating, I know. I've also added a label cloud that is paltry at the moment, but I've finally decided to join the taxonomic (?) movement, so you can expect a bigger and better jumble of words as the banalities pile up.

Today is a movie watching, popcorn eating, internet futzing, sloth of a day. Now if only I could get rid of that warty "you should be productive" feeling.

zzzzap

This is how my brain has been behaving lately: read more, more, more of other people's writing! produce nothing, nothing, nothing of my own!