Dig In

Now that the primary circus is over, my morning web-surfin' on quiet days in the office lacks some of it's former zest. But two loves of mine remain:

New York Times Columnists

The Debunking of Hysterical American Health Scares

Vis a vis the first link, I'm really hoping that this format will catch on, and that they'll set up a double column with Dowd and Kristol. Mostly because I'm pretty sure that Maureen Dowd would end up clubbing Kristol to death with a bottle of gin, thus ridding the Op-ed page of his vileness and striking some fear into David Brooks.

And speaking of salt, Taste of Chicago is going on this weekend. And even though last year resulted in a handful of people with salmonella, I'm planning to attend anyway. I think that, what with the constant threats of e-coli spinach, poison salmon, and tainted tomatoes, I've gone past my horror threshold. And really, what's a little food poisoning compared to the ridiculousness of enjoying a B-L sandwich on a summer afternoon?

Black Cat Bone and a Mojo Hand

Happy Friday 13th everyone! I'm trying to think of a way to celebrate. Finding an underground blues bar and getting drawn into a high-stakes game of chance with a one-armed man sounds appropriate, but I'm taking suggestions.

Thus far, my bad luck has consisted only of my body playing a cruel trick on me. You see, last night I decided against opening a bottle of wine, thinking that I had to get up early for work, and I'd only end up drinking a glass too many and having a headache. (Yes, I've been depressingly responsible about that sort of thing these days...)

But you know what? This morning my head hurt anyway! For reasons entirely non-alcohol related! I feel completely taken in.

But on the bright side, dear readers, it seems that we're actually not perishing from sloth, fat, toxins, and cell-phone radiation.

Coming up are pictures of the west coast and the tale of my secret monacle, but since I'm in the office I feel like I should maybe, you know, work.