Get Out of Dodge

I watched a bit of a television broadcast from Lawrence last night. A few of my associates fretted about how a national audience would perceive my home state. I really don't care. Perhaps perversely, I take great pleasure in the mild shock value associated with Kansas. "Where am I from?" I proudly respond to queries as I travel. "I'm from Kansas!" It gets 'em every time.

A La Carte

In a harried rush during my first visit to Tapatio, I fumbled through the ridiculously large menu and ordered the first item that caught my eye. Big mistake. My food was fine, but as I left the restaurant I noticed that its more discerning customers were dining in style. I spotted a gorgeous cucumber-based salad, a full plate of oysters and a mouth-watering skirt steak. I really need to learn how to slow down.

The Big Thaw

That was unpleasant. I've been suffering from a seemingly unshakable virus for weeks. My watermelon-sized noggin alternately spun and ached. Just as only the deepest piles of snow will remain after today's welcome warm-up, the persistent bug that's tormented me is almost eradicated. It's good to feel human again.

The F-Word

Family members use it. Restaurant critics abuse it. Even my favorite basketball coach utters it during interviews. I involuntarily grit my teeth and clench my fists every time I encounter the f-word. I'm driven half mad, consequently, that the word is part of the name of Foo's F-Word Frozen Custard, the default daytime meeting spot in my neighborhood. The affronts don't end there- the establishment claims its lunches are "yummylicious."

Wreck of the Old '94

I could have died last night. My '94 Honda gave out as I was headed west on a busy highway. I survived. My rusty but trusty companion might not be so fortunate. I'm going miss her.

Green Around the Gills

How sick have I been the past few days? Too sick to leave home. Too sick to cook. Too sick to do dishes. Too sick to drink beer. Too sick to listen to music. I'm feeling much better now, thanks.

Bête Noire

I'm currently reading a dense history of France. It's engrossing, in part because I'm embarrassingly unfamiliar with much of the material. (How is it possible that I'd never heard the incredible story of Heloise and Abelard?) Even so, for the first time in my life, I'm wholly unsatisfied with the printed page. This passage represented the final straw:

In his chateau on the Loire, he lived openly with his beautiful mistress, Agnes Sorel of the legendary and much-painted breasts, known as la dame de beaute...

I apologize for being such a despicable 21st-century pig, but that's instant put-the-book-down-in-favor-of-Google Image stuff. All historical references, ideally, should offer instant access to further investigation. I guess I need to start saving my pennies for an iPad.

Accumulation

Best snowstorm ever.