A Liberal Squirt

In short.

I woke up early, having slept little, and set to shoveling with Jess. Our neighbor is older and had a hip surgery before we moved in, and it seems the unofficial duty of our household to dig her out as well. And so we did. Two something hours of labor. Thus our appetite was justified when I head over to Charlie's for his thickly crusted pizza. He let me in on the embarassing details of where he got the recipe and I got him dizzy on microbrews. We listened to the Undertones and I was roused out of my benadryl stupor (damn cat allergies) to invoke the ghost of William of Occam.

Home. Quick nap. Calzones with Dad.

I returned to finish ripping another set of cds -- the last, in fact, from one of my wallets, marking a milestone (for the record, the last one to go was Jeannie C. Riley's Harper Valley P.T.A.)

Another milestone: I marinated chicken in sesame and olive oils, with crawlfins pepper, and cooked it perfectly. I struggle with chicken. This was juicy. I splashed a liberal squirt of fish sauce on the bone-in nuggets, dropped them onto a bed of brown rice, and buried the lot with a fistful of bean sprouts. Lunch for tomorrow, boyo!

And that's it. I'm rushing to savor the last minutes of the weekend with Jess before the end transforms, as if by black magic, into the work week.