A new feature, in which I fill you in on my day via cell phone pictures.
Today we went to the neighborhood deli for lunch. My daughter is modeling the French braid the babysitter made in her hair last night.
Why is it that everything French is fancier? French toast is fancier than regular toast, French kisses are fancier than peck-on-the-cheek American kisses, and French fries are ... well, OK. Maybe not French fries.
Then we ordered our food. We were thisclose to getting my daughter to order real food, but then she saw the kids' part of the menu and wanted chicken fingers with American deep fat fried potatoes. At least she got milk. Chocolate milk.
Meanwhile, busy with my cell phone camera, I decided to immortalize what happens when you shut the garage door on your finger. Not the metal motorized one that the car uses; the regular one with a handle that humans open. And close. On their fingers.
Luckily, while they're wearing thick cashmere-lined gloves.
But this is what happened anyway.
Just so you know, Lamaze breathing comes in amazingly handy long after you'd think you'd need to remember it.
Another tidbit for you: I'm buying stock in companies that make deep, dark nail polish. This is one of the rare moments in the last month where I haven't been wearing any.
Moving right along.
When you're feeling sorry for yourself for having a boo-boo, there's only one thing that really satisfies.
Chicken soup with the world's biggest matzo ball.
You probably can't tell, but that thing is about the size of my fist. It was wonderful.
Back outside, there were many St. Patrick's Day idiots in evidence. Mostly male. I'd say four males in idiotic-looking green attire for every female.
Confession time: sometimes St. Patrick's Day leave me feeling a little left out. In fact, St. Patrick's Day leaves me feeling like a repressed minority. Frankly, I think the Anglo-not-Irish deserve a voice. What about t-shirts that say "You needn't kiss me; I'm not actually Irish." No?
Actually, I sort of like St. Patrick's Day. But the biggest celebrations seem to be in areas where it's really too damned cold to enjoy a parade. The people wearing the stupid green regalia? Looked pretty miserable.
Maybe that explains all the drinking.
And finally, one of my favorite views. The John Hancock Tower seen from the alley between two apartment buildings.
I took this coming back from one of the many little convenience stores that you find in apartment building basements. This one actually sells things like dried yeast in packets.
Good thing, or we wouldn't be able to make pizza dough for our weekly pizza night. Tonight's pizza featured eggplant, mushrooms, and shallots.
After dinner we watched Cat Ballou, and I watched my son laugh and laugh. It felt good to introduce him to Lee Marvin.
I think The Dirty Dozen should be next.