I have a crush on a restaurant. Really, it’s more like love. Sure, I might weigh a couple bucks and change, but this is one Pooh-Bear-bellied woman who is not afraid to be seen with her head stuck in the honeypot. I seek out interesting places and tasty dishes. I knew I would find delicious … More “…it tasted like I might need to go to confession…” 605 Grille in Madison, Indiana
This is my fourth day of sitting on the banks of the Ohio River. Today is my last opportunity, before we return for a weekend of celebrations with family, to see this bridge span lifted. Madison-Milton Bridge Project
From my seat by the window, I was sipping the tea and attempting to draw what was in my line of vision: Thap Rùa (The Turtle Tower/Pagoda) in Hồ Hoàn Kiếm (Lake of the Restored Sword, or of the Returned Sword). That cafe, the Avalon Cafe, I visited twice. It gave me views, tongue-rolling tea and … More Iced Tea that Tastes Like Happiness from a Little Cafe in Hà Nội
How in the heck do we stay on track in 2012 America? We have access to pretty much anything we want to know via the internet, and I want to know everything. Sometimes I think I need blinders, especially when I sign on to Facebook. Otherwise, that wondrous time-suck evaporates a quarter of my day … More Random cyber observations: Corporal Punishment and Sea Swallows
I will probably be disgusted with myself for this post longer than you can hate me for typing it, for thinking it, for sharing it. But these murders so close to where we grew up have left us all sick, or confused, or angry, or hateful, vengeful, feeling everything and nothing, and knotted at each … More Murder and Compassion. Am I rising above, or failing the victims?
Do any of you have strange dreams when you’re sick? I’m battling the latest installment of pass-the-flu, our yearly, sometimes semi-annual tradition here in the wintry northeast. When I’m sick, my dreams, already the product of a somewhat unconventional mind, get even more strange. Take, for example, last night’s dream about McSweeney’s. Well, it wasn’t … More Unconscious McSweeneying