sea pork

It turns out that I'm a remarkably simple creature; in fact, I'm practically a tunicate - but more on that later. Next time I'm in the hips, just remind me to follow a bout of joyous weeping with homemade wild mushroom pizza:

A cribbage victory - nay, drubbing! (Which included a very odd hand):

And a bouquet of spray roses:

Then give me a sunny day, and I won't even mind that our ambergris fortune turned out to be a rotting bucket of sea pork.

I'm pickled.

At some point, I will again have interesting things to share, but tonight, friends, I am simply too stupid. For now, here's what I've got: a second round of steaks - post-dessert! - is never necessary, though it can be amusing. Same goes for two a.m. pâté. Avoid additional cocktails when you've already had too much wine to make a decent showing in trivial pursuit. Finally, if the sixty-somethings are undeniably the most attractive people at a table full of thirty-somethings, you have two choices: 1) decide that people simply improve with age, prop up your feet, eat a ding-dong, and wait to get gorgeous or 2) seriously reconsider your health and beauty regimens. I'm leaning toward the first.