the heat is on

I'm not singing a Glenn Frye song or trying to tell you that I'm wanted by the five-oh: The heat is literally on. For the first time this year. Woe (and cold) is me.

Also in the Woe Is Me category is the soup I made Sunday night.

The yachtsman just walked by, saw this photo, and asked, in a French accent, "Is that vomit?"

This photo really doesn't do it justice: What's in that bowl looks like it was dredged from the bottom of a swamp. Which is too bad, because it's quite tasty. So I'm going to fool around with the recipe and see if I can make the soup a little more aesthetically pleasing, and if I succeed I will post it here. In the meantime, I'm eating pond scum every day for lunch this week.

In the Puppies! category, I present to you Mr. President Peanut Jimmy Carter Poodle Chester Arthur POTUS Leo Rabbit Eugene Manny Luke Skywalker Manwhore Miller O'Neill.

The yachtsman just walked by, saw this photo, and asked, "Are you doing another post about the puppy? Maybe you should do a post about me."

it's snowing now, too

As compensation for the fact that it was snowing last night (tiny, sparkly flecks more than flakes, but snow nonetheless), Chris took me to the noodle shop, where we ate soup from huge bowls using veritable ladles.


You know a restaurant is good when I will return there after having been served a bowl of soup in which floated scores of flies (teeny, tiny flies, but flies nonetheless).