Sundays at the Fulton

A quiet night, last night, in which Larry and I had some good food and discussed Kelly's poor cat, my niece's dance recital, the favorable economics of running a dance studio, pathological liars, the ambitions (or lack thereof) of friends and relatives, and my disappointment in the lack of loose-end tying in David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest, which I finally finished this week. I also learned something interesting about Larry, but since y'all weren't there to hear it, you miss out.

A stellar, probably record-breaking performance from Larry in the initial Jumble unscrambling, but a pathetic outcome overall, this being the second time in the year or so we've been doing this that we had to give up and look at the answer. Must be the bad juju given off by the PD's new PDQ section.

Struggled to find words --
Kris did it so much better.
We will miss him much.

Transportation difficulties caused us to move the Sunday confab to Nighttown, where the service was worse than mediocre. (I reiterate that we do not get poor service from the Fulton, and that while being thrown a free round once in a while would be nice, it's not necessary to my continuing to like and patronize the place.) Tim bristled at the undercover patio section being nonsmoking, Larry tried to set his arm on fire and succeeded in setting the tablecloth on fire, Kris introduced us to Alexander, and I shared a story that illustrates the sheer idiocy of some members of the anti-choice movement.

Beyond that, I'm having a hard time recalling exactly what we talked about. A little help here?