Now that I can't tweet, I just have to say my tweets to Scott. It's not the same. Here was one, but he was doubtful that anyone else besides me has this problem:
There should have a name for the disorder when you can't estimate how much salad to make for two people.
I had to eat so much salad just so he would stop busting my chops about how much salad I made and there was still salad left. This is a the cruel world I live in.
There's a glowing piece in the Bee today about Thiemann's restaurant Mother. Pretty exciting. I hope you guys read that review of that weird Oak Park place Arthur Henry's Supper Club. I like that something opened there but when I heard that concept I was like, "wha?!"
Here's more gripping information about me besides the salad thing: I thought I would read more books when I stopped subscribing to the New Yorker but instead I am just watching more crappy TV. Didn't see that one coming. I have been reading this Philip K Dick book with an Abraham Lincoln replicant in it for a while. Even though the book is funny I think I'm avoiding it a little bit. Recommendations?