Last night Brni and I met up with an old friend of his from his grad school days. Robin is gorgeous, energetic, smart and very interesting. I look forward to seeing her again someday.
We met at Monk’s Cafe, a very lively (a good hour wait for a table) restaurant/bar with very good food and a dizzying array of Belgian beers. Robin recommended a delicious, hoppy beer, the name of which I can’t remember (sigh). The mussels and pommes frits are to die for, but you probably can’t go wrong with anything on their menu. This is the third time we’ve been there and have never been disappointed with the food.
It was a lovely night, the air crisp but not too cold, parking was unusually easy for the city, and there was a nice, easy energy that was so welcome after the harried, somewhat tense Christmas holiday.
Now, for a second cup of coffee and then maybe a nap. I don’t get out much.
why is it, when it’s really important, you misspell the most basic words? and why is it that the spelling error becomes more important than the point?
(if you don’t know what i mean, join an email list and see how long it takes before someone trashes someone else’s argument by asking if english is their second language)
that, my loves, is the nature of the spelling curse.
when i feel up to it, i’ll address the grammar gremlin.
if i live long enough, i’ll expose the perils of proof-reading poisoning.
but for now, what i really need is a beer.
We’ve lost one of my favorite journalists and a true wit in the spirit of Mark Twain. She’s the one who dubbed the current occupant “Shrub” for which I am grateful. I knew she was suffering from breast cancer and when I hadn’t seen a column for a couple months, I thought, “uh oh, is this it?”
Unfortunately, it was. But, I just read that she got a great send-off complete with beer and barbeque to the tune of “Great Balls of Fire.” Ya can’t get much better than that.