A Bright, Shiny, New Day in Brogging

This is only like the coolest brog ever. It's wonderful! I love it! It's great! Well, it's pretty good. It's not too bad. There are some parts that aren't that great. It actually could be a lot better. I don't really like it all that much. It's pretty terrible. It's awful, as a matter of fact.

Sodium related query

Who do you think it was that first looked at salt and thought, "Hey, I'll eat that!", and more importantly, why?

Singin la la la la la-la-la la

Well, folks, even grooviness, penultimate though it be, takes a vacation now and then. But all vacations must come to an end sooner or later. Elstwise they would not be vacations, would they? Exactly.

At any rate, grooviness and coolness are abounding. For serious. For instance, yesterday I went to vote in the primaries and got to vote for my own husband. How cool is that? I mean, really. That's pretty sweet stuff there.

Mrs P has returned from her sojurn in Canada bearing news of a new Ikea store in Canton. The excitement is pert near too much, I can tell you. I've got a little list...

I've often thought about the kind of bakery I would open, given half a chance. I found it, last Saturday, whilst in Detroit. Mr B, who is always spot on when it comes to predicting what I will and will not like, assured me I would love the Astoria Pastry Shop in Greektown. I doubted, to my shame, and was proved wrong in a big way. This place is amazing. I found, to my dissapointment, that my husband did not intend to buy me one of everything so I could sample the full range of yumminess. I instead contented myself with the chocolate mousse, a cookie, and a promise that every future sporting event I am dragged to in the Motor City will be rewarded by a visit to my new favorite bakery. I think I can live with that.

I promised several posts re: our Italian adventures. I will try to scrabble something together later. For now, I will tell the tale of a very obnoxious American tourist. We were seated in a lovely trattoria, enjoying the customary long pause between ordering and receiving our food, when we couldn't help overhearing a loud, brightly dressed, very American woman. She was surveying her menu (full of unbelievably delicious Italian food) and was unable to find that which she sought after. She then interrogated the waiter, "Do you have spaghetti and meatballs? You know, meatballs? You make them with hamburger and breadcrumbs and egg? Meatballs? They're Italian!" It was at that moment that I clearly saw why Europeans hate Americans. And I really can't say as I blame them.

Well, well. Can't sit around typing all day. Must move along. On a final note of coolness, I just want to say welcome back to blogging, Loretta. Very cool.