I’ve got something for you, today, completely unrelated to food. (I did make some guacamole, but I’ll come back to that.)
I’m currently reading The Fiddler in the Subway, a collection of Gene Weingarten’s favorite feature articles from his time writing for The Washington Post. The title of the book refers to his story, “Pearls Before Breakfast”. The piece is about Joshua Bell, a world-class violinist who, one morning, takes to a Washington DC subway station to play an hour’s worth of classical, solo violin.
It’s a funny, interesting story, written by one of my favorite writers. Read the article, if you want – but that’s not why I bring this up.
There’s not really an intelligent, self-respecting way to say this… so I’m just going to say it.
I’m in the midst a very heated, very significant Fantasy Football argument. As such, I’ve been unable to focus on much of anything today (other than big, spandex-clad dudes who chase balls around). Your husband or boyfriend can sympathize with me, I’m sure. But still, I feel the need to apologize.
Eight years ago, today, the Whole Foods Market in Boulder, Colorado temporarily shut down. I was a college freshman at the time, and that Kerry-dude had just lost a nail-biter of an election to that Bush-dude.
On any normal day, the town of Boulder could be called quaintly kooky. On the day after a disappointing election, however, Boulder can only be described as completely insane.*
My brother got married a couple weeks ago. Leaves dotting the ground, good wine in hand, Sam Cooke playing almost unnoticeable in the background – the wedding was a humble, beautiful little gathering. Really, really fun.
Looking back now, though, I’m not quite sure which I enjoyed more: my brother’s tear-inducing, love-professing, heart-spilling vows; or the whiskey and rosemary cocktail that was served afterwards. Equally enjoyable, I think.
I’m going to write this with as much love as I possibly can, from the kindest depths of my soul:
Erin – my better half – eats like a ten-year-old.