Updates, Ahoy

Drunken Wife First and foremost, thanks to the lovely wife for dragging my sorry birthday-ass out to a powerful-good dinner at Bolete in Bethlehem. People, support yourselves some farm-to-table eating. Seriously. First, it’s healthier than its counterpart; do you want crazy hormones and pesticides in your food? Duh, no. Second, it’s more delicious than its counterpart. A healthy animal, sad as this may be, is a freaking tasty animal.

Bolete’s a killer example of a farm-to-table experience. It isn’t cheap, but it’s worth every penny. I’d cut off a pinky to eat there again. And they’d probably cook it up for me, and I’d love it.

In no particular order, we ate things like: a cayenne-infused blood orange cocktail; sangria with strawberries and balsamico; a brown-sugar syrup-infused greyhound with ketel one vodka and roasted grapefruit and clementine juices; foie gras with blueberries, sea-salt crusted peanuts, on brioche; herb salad with lemon-rosemary viniagrette and toasted hazelnuts; grass-fed beef tenderloin; duck breast and duck confit over asparagus; a white chocolate pot-de-creme with grapefruit.

Oh, and if you’re freaking out about the foie gras thing? Don’t. I know. It’s cruel. They force-feed ducks. That’s terrible. Except it’s not. I don’t have to tell you — I’ll let Anthony Bourdain and Michael Rulhman do it. Foie gras ain’t bad. In fact, it’s pretty freakin’ delicious. As the picture below suggests, I’m sure.

Scrumptious Fat Anyway. What else was I saying? Oh, right. Updates and such. Okay, first, look up above this entry here, and you’ll see a little header that reads, “Holy Shit, Free Thing.” You can click that to get a free piece of short fiction from yours truly. Is it good? I dunno. I like it well enough. I’ll change it from time to time as my whims shift.

Second, things are going well on the script front, so keep your fingers crossed there.

Third — uhhh. I think there was a third thing. See? See, that’s what happens when I try to update late. I forget shit. Brain like a sieve, I swear. Uhhh. Bea Arthur died? We’re all going to perish from swine flu? I have poison ivy?

I dunno. I’m drawing a complete blank. More later, nerds. Goodnight.

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