I need to find a banana.
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This is what happens when I don’t eat breakfast. Which actually happens a lot – I write about food. Now, I’m no food critic. I just eat it. That about sums up my relationship with food. If I like it, I eat more of it. If I don’t like it, I don’t eat it more than three, four times, just to be sure. Chances are I will eventually come to love all food. You know, your taste buds change, like, what, every seven years? I used to hate Brussels sprouts, but now, no, wait, I still don’t really like Brussels sprouts, but...
I guess Boston has everything.
The other evening, Amanda and I were enjoying a small visit with some dear friends. We were sitting around their hip-looking, modern-esque living room (its style is one I envy: its openness and clean lines), and we were sharing a good bottle of Riesling, a bucket of something called Chivda, and a plate of chocolate and peanut butter squares, made by yours truly. Amanda was recounting her recent trip to Boston, in which she was finally able to satisfy a small bit of her boundless love for ethnic foods: Cuban, German, Haitian, Indian, to name several. I guess Boston has everything. And as...
I was able to order my fish sandwich without incident.
I can no longer ignore the inevitable because Wednesday, June 24, is fast approaching. And that is the day in which I must board a plane. And fly to Memphis, in which, I will get off one plane and onto another one...and head to Tacoma. A city in a state so far away from here that it might as well not even be a part of the United States. Few other things make me as defensive or difficult as flying. Because I'm so afraid of it. Not just because I'm mean. Flying is something that I can safely hate. I become neurotic, distraught, maybe even mean...I'm...
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