Wedding done. New Day. First order of business, in a sensible world based on logic and kindness, would be breakfast, but many things stood between me and sustenance. Eventually we went to a place down the street whose name was chosen to suggest a mildly intoxicated brunch experience. The Tipsy Egg.
The omelette description said it came with my choice of sides. There were no sides listed in the omelette section, but the facing page of the menu had a box marked SIDES with the usual compliment: flavor-free diced potatoes intended as a means to transport salt and ketchup; toast; French toast, etc. Each had a price.
Let’s ask the waiter.
“So the omelette comes with my choice of sides, right? And these, here, are the sides, correct?”
“Correct.”
“So if I wanted a slice of French toast, it would not be four dollars extra, as it says.”
“No, it would be four dollars extra.”
“But it’s a side. Only some of the sides are omelette accompaniment sides?”
“Correct.”
“And which ones might those be?” I asked.
“The home fries, country potatoes, toast.”
“You can understand my confusion over French toast being in the enclosure of Sides, but not being an omelette side.”
“You can have it if you want it.”
“But it would be four dollars more.”
“Correct.”
They’re asking for trouble, really. Someone’s going to insist that they provide French toast at non-upgrade price because it’s in the Sides Enclosure. It’s like the restaurant I showed you yesterday, the one with all the misting: we went there because the website had a four-dollar taco menu. When we got there, we were handed a menu that had an $18 build-your-own-taco menu. I did not want to build my own taco. I wanted someone to build a taco for me, using their expertise in these matters.
I noted that we were here for the four dollar tacos, and was told “I’m not sure we do that anymore.”
You realize, of course, that this means war. I showed her their website with the taco menu, and said “It’s on your website” in a genial tone, saying no more than that. IT’S YOUR MOVE.
“I’ll check with the kitchen,” she said, and here you know it’s going to be subject to any number of personalities and moods in the back of the house. But eventually she returned with the Taco Menu. Good thing, too. One of the best I’ve ever had. Incredible. All the stars. Must Yelp! No, I hate Yelp. Must Google Review, so I can get Points, and maybe move up the Google ladder of trustworthy people whose word is bond when it comes to the important things life, like tacos in another city.
Anyway. Choosing the omelette was the last act of volition I had that day. Everything else was being taken hither /thither to meet different relates, culminating in another dinner alongside a golf course in Cave Creek. I think I mentioned before the appeal of living in a place with a name like that, especially since they had businesses like Cowboy Pizza! It speaks to your inner 10-year-old. Welllllllllll, podner, no, because it wasn’t my type of town. I need a solid Main Street, not some buildings off the highway hugging a bend in the road. I’m sure it’s a fine place to live and people love it, but no. We ended up having dinner in a restaurant attached to a golf course, and I watched foursome after foursome come off the links, lugging their bags to shiny fine cars. It’s not my place.
But the rocks are interesting.
I finished a slew of series, and in most cases was content the shows had ended. Not to review Severance or anything, but really: stop right there. It's only going to get less satisfying from here. The last episode reminded me, at one pont, of the finale of the Prisoner: it got BIG STRANGE in a way that broke the previous episodes' carefully maintained credibility. (The robot and the marching band. C'mon.)
I've nothing today but a guest on What's My Line, and a strip club:
You in the third row, with your hand up?
"Wilshire, sir!"
Born in the saddle:
Nancy Sheppard was born on December 29, 1929, on a ranch in Fort Worth, Texas. Sheppard was descended from a pioneer family in ranching, who often attended the rodeo with her father as a child.[2] Her father was a professional roper, who was a member of the Cowboys' Turtle Association (now known as the Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association (PRCA).
As a child, Sheppard's mother had shown horses in the Fort Worth Coliseum.
Sheppard made her first rodeo appearance at the Hayward, California, rodeo as a trick rider and roper at 9 years old. She performed at the Pendleton Round-Up in Pendleton, Oregon when she was 11 years old. She was trick riding at Madison Square Garden in New York City when she was 17 years old.
She has a big tribute here.
Something I noticed in Landman, when the Gals walked out of a nice high-class strip joint:
I found this surprising, since it's Fort Worth, and I have a recollection of a downtown Minneapolis place:
Oh: it's a chain |
