A virtual hoard of the shiny things I find on the internet.
There’s a story about dinner tonight.
It’s a story about how I’m probably no longer welcome at Carmine’s anymore in Penn Quarter.(1)
And how I probably should just abandon my Open Table account.(2)
And how it’s probably not worth telling, except over a lot of bourbon.(3)
(1) It involves my little cousin Magnus(4).
(2) Because I’m sure this is on their records now. And that can’t stand. Really.(5)
(3) Good bourbon, please.
(4) Yes, that’s really his name.
(5) It involves inappropriate pooping.
Let’s just say that Tom gave me a look. And that look said, “I hope our parents don’t want grandchildren. Ever.”
And the look I gave him in return was, “I’m kind of not caring what they want, unless they want to be the ones dealing with the poop in the restaurant.”