Honest Conversation Is Overrated
Actual Human Interactions Witnessed Or Overheard
In Twentieth And Twenty-First Century America
In Twentieth And Twenty-First Century America
There's a not very interesting q&a session with Christopher Eccleston that's only notable because the closed captioning replaces the word "dalek" with "garlic", leading to two great quotes:
"Garlic comes to mind because I was able to show a very unpleasant side of The Doctor" and "Often we bully when we're terrified, and The Doctor is terrified of garlic."
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If you find yourself at a funeral service, allegedly for me, and anyone mentions God or blessings or prayers, or any quotes from that book that Samuel L Jackson reads from in Pulp Fiction, or if the DJ plays "I Will Always Love You", "Tears In Heaven", "My Heart Will Go On", "At Last", or anything by Michael Bolton or Kenny G, you are either being pranked, and I am still alive and watching you via webcam, or else whoever planned the service didn't know me very well, and you should say "Fuck you. Adam never liked you." as you leave, out of respect for my memory.
Any remembrances should be kept under three minutes, probably with a turn around the two minute mark. And if they mention Jesus, it better be because I fucked a Brazilian guy by that name, and he showed up unexpectedly. It should be self-catered, and not include anything with olives, raisins, or American flags. Also, I'm planning on outliving all of you, so please pass this info along to your descendents. I just read a review for a book from 1994 that mentioned that "This was before Iphones (sic), no internet, back when you had to change channels by wriggling the rabbit ears antenna on your TV."
Did this person live off-grid in a swamp somewhere? My family was rarely at the cutting edge of any technology, but we had cable TV, and knew The Internet existed during the early 90s. My grandfather had rabbit ears antennae on his TV in the late 80s, but thats just one of the many reasons nobody liked visiting his house. I'm curious to see what happens if this person reviews a book from the 1980s. "This was back before computers, no radio, back when you had to travel by stagecoach to wash your frilly pantaloons." This past weekend was Pokemon Go Fest, and Comrade and I were in Our Diner (tm), feuling up and catching Pokemon. We had our phones out while we waited to place our order, and then the kind of thing that almost always happens to me, happened to Comrade.
Rando: You know if you put down your phone for a few minutes and live your life, you'll be a lot happier. Comrade makes the mistake of making eye contact. Rando: Have a conversation. Talk to him. He points to me. Rando: You'll learn things from each other that you ever knew before. Just talk. He can teach you things. I nod. While still looking at my phone. The server comes over and takes our order, and while he does, Rando starts looking at his damned phone and then texting someone. About ten minutes later, Rando stands up to go. Rando: "You know twenty years ago WE invented phones." This contradicts many things I know about the world. Rando: "And we haven't looked up since. You've got to talk to everyone. Everyone. You see a person you don't want to talk to and you TALK to them. Learn something new. Stay blessed not stressed. I'm going to put that on a t-shirt. Make a million. Two milion." Rando walks over to another table and admonishes them to put down their cell phones. The servers clearly see him antagonizing people and do not even react. Because this person comes in all the time. And he does this all the time. He wants people to put down their phones and talk TO HIM because nobody in his life wants to talk to him because he's afuckennoying 24/7. I realize that even the server didn't talk to him or make eye contact when they dropped the check. The owner, who greets and seats people on weekends, hid in the kitchen as soon as the guy stood up. I'm on my way home and the radio is playing a remix of Phil Collins's "In The Air Tonite", and it doesn't have the drum fill. Like, why even listen to the song without that fill? They had the opportunity to make it just three minutes of drum fill, and they decided to keep the lyrics and synths?
Fire. The. DJ. Comrade and I have known, almost since we first met, that we are going to get married. I think, at this point, both his parents and mine also know that we are certainly getting married eventually. And, since we somewhat quickly decided we were going to Vegas, neither set of parents stopped asking us all week if we were married yet.
We are not married yet, and have made it out of Vegas unmarried. That was never the plan. And this vacation was meticulously planned (aside from Thursday, but that entire day didn't exist, remember). The problem with planning is that there are things you can never take into account (but, no, this post does not involve marriage of us or anyone else). For instance, we never got to see the fucken flamingos. Not a single pink feather showed itself despite Comrade dressing head to toe (and I mean Head To Toe ... he bought a flapping flamingo hat on our first night in town, and I designed him flamingo shoes before the pandemic started) in flamingo wear. We never got to see the flamingos. The only feathers were the razors in the horrid pillows that I will happily never sleep on again. Our plan was to meet some poet friends on Thursday. Unfortunately, Thursday, remember, Never Existed. So we decided Monday would be a real day, and we'd shoot for that. In the untilwhile was The Weekend. (Also, The Weeknd, and Everybody's Working For The.) I know there were adventures. I was there. But what did we --- OH. I love pools (yea, yea, yea, hot tubs). Whenever I vacation, I go somewhere with a pool. Last October, the pool in the house we rented was Infested with colonies of ants on strike. They floated in massive islands of floating corpses. It was impossible to rid the pool of them. So we didn't swim as much as I'd hoped. I'd wanted to swim at the Adults Only pool at our casino on Thursday. It's not an ADULTS pool. You have to wear a bathing suit. But no one under 21 is allowed. I'm not sure why. The pool is less than four feet deep, and filled mainly with White People drinking White Claw and bopping their heads to songs with lyrics they should never sing along to. I find a good rule of thumb to see if there is Institutional Racism afoot at your party is Are There More N Words In Your Music Than There Are People Of Color At Your Party? If the answer is yes, maybe your party is not very inclusive. We'd spent a great deal of time in line for the pool behind a gay couple in love with Comrade's flamingo outfit (he did not wear the hat to the pool, but the shirt, the shorts, the socks, and the shoes were present), but were angry when they were told they could not bring their "expensive" new vape into the pool grounds. We snuck past them while they griped, grabbed some towels, and found the only two empty chaise lounges in the whole pool area. Comrade did his crossword puzzle while I, UNHOLY GODFUCKERS, dipped into the pool. Apparently, when you don't have children to pee in your pools, they are Very Cold. I took Pool Duck out of my pocket, and attempted to take a picture of him but he does Not Float Well. He does squirt well, though, so when Comrade entered the SHITBALLS OF BEN & JERRY pool, I squirted him with Pool Duck, and swam away. Because the scene was Not Ours, we did a minimal amount of dancing (To The Windows....To The Walls) in the pool, decided to stay there at least as long as we'd been in line to get in, and then grabbed our towels and headed back to our room. Other things happened. I'm sure of it. We had pizza for dinner, and I spent the night writing. On Monday, we got up Comrade Late, which is impressively afternoon. We were too late for Der Nasty Egg (aka EggSlut), so we ended up getting really mediocre sandwiches at a sandwich place which I won't name, since part of the problem is I ordered the sandwich a way they wouldn't normally have prepared it, so it's mediocrity was My Fault. Then we grabbed a Lyft back downtown. You've noticed a distinct lack of gambling. I don't do it. Comrade wanted to it once. Start with somewhere between $20 and $100 and stop at Zero or Millionnaire Status. No slot machines, though. Poker or Blackjack. Something that requires work and skill. Instead, we played Vending Machine Slots, and we Won. For $5, I bought a random Sock Pack that turned out to be Flamingo Socks. So we Won At Gambling. I took some pictures of Jackpot Duck in an art garden, and then my poet friends showed up. Dinner was a blast. Poets are Great Poets and Great People, still. Our service was, um, well, Comrade and I are cursed, remember. But we had a decent meal at the bar where the Great Poets met, and talked for a couple of hours. It was glorious. You really should have been there. Then, the other gamble. As I've mentioned Several Times, I don't like burlesque, but acknowledge that much of that is I haven't been exposed (ha, ha) to professionals, but some experimental amateur stuff that varied from Probably Promising Somewhere Down The Line to Vision Is Overrated. One of my friends, who serves as a sort of Las Vegas Entertainment Ambassador, as well as a few other friends, suggested that we see a show called Absinthe. I balked. We'd done a lot of touristy things and while the museums were fun, the shows we'd chosen weren't for us. Comrade continues to be amused by how much I fucken hated that Beatles Cirque Du Soleil show, even though the acrobatics were astounding. I just enjoy either a story or No Story and their idea of narrative storytelling was middle school pageant garbage. But with beautiful acrobatics. Still, The Ambassador was adamant we'd like it, and arranged for us to get comp tickets. It was only a 90 minute show, and it was in a tent across the street from The Flamingo. I figured it couldn't be As Bad as The Beatles. Thank you, Ambassador. Absinthe was, along with the Neon Museum Main Tour, and Omega Mart, one of the absolute highlights of the trip for me. For Comrade, it was tied for first with the random woman who put her hand in front of his face and yelled "FUCK OFF, SKANK!" because she was either on or off a necessary medication. I don't know why that brought him such pleasure. I'm pretty sure the emcee for Absinthe was not the usual person. His was not the face on any of the press I saw, but Hell's Jello Salad he was amazing. He was dressed and talked like the carnival barker who used to co-own a comic book store I used to work at. Only instead of being exhaustin....actually, he was The Same Exhausting, but in the context of the show, it was great. His assistant, Wanda Wheels was like a filthy Psychic Tanya from the Amazing Johnathan show. They were perfect. The acrobatics were really on par with Cirque Du Soleil, except they were 1-3 performers at a time, instead of a dizzying and unwatchable amount of people distracting you. The narrative was spare but perfect. Yea, there was burlesque dancing. There was a couple who performed amazing roller skate acrobatics, there were three jugglers who were better than most juggling acts I've seen, there was a perfect pole dance artist who didn't even bother to set up a character because she had such presence that she didn't need to speak or have a complicated intro, she just dazzled, there was a chair stunt at the beginning of the show, and a fair amount of people contorting themselves while hanging in the air. The highlights for me were the German hula hoop guy who had no lines but exuded joy and hulaed the hell out of dozens of hoops, the Polish balancing act who morphed from a very different role to a homoerotic contortionist pair where the focus was contortion not humor. I also enjoyed the host and Wanda's banter. In particular, Wanda went on a long rant about the filthy things she was going to do the mother of someone in the audience, only to be interrupted by the host who asked the audience member about his mother who, of course, was dead. "It was sweet to think of her, though." Wanda deapanned. "Happy Mother's Day." There were also many audience interaction bits that bordered on or widely stepped over Offensiveness. Some things I would have crafted differently, but it mostly punched up, and the character being misogynist and homophobic at points fit with the rest of his personality. And most of it made me laugh, as it was intended. So it was easily the best Show we saw. We got back to our room, talked about it for a bit, and then packed for our Tuesday night flight. We got up Tuesday earlyish, stored our luggage for the day, and wandered back to Der Nasty E...EggSlut. Still as good the second time. We caught some Pokemon. Then we hit The Saddest Capitalist Portion Of The Trip. The M&M Store, where you can spend too much money making your own assortment of mediocre chocolate that all tastes the same no matter what color it is, anyway. We didn't buy anything. Then, the Coca Cola store. Long time readers might remember that Twice, I've gone to the Coca Cola in Disney Springs. Once downed the alcoholic flight of Coke drinks, and once downed the non-alcoholic. I ordered the non-alcoholic one (I'm not sure they sell the alcoholic one in Vegas) to split with Comrade, and we sat by the window and did Everything Wrong. A Coca Cola Flight is two trays, each containing twelve quadruple shots of various International Coca Cola flavors. If you do it (don't do it), start with Tray #2, which is mostly terrible, and end on Tray #1, which is at worst bland, but often good. Tray 1 starts with I Don't Remember, and winds its way to That Was Pretty Good. Tray 2 starts with Beverly (actually, its name) which tastes like someone juiced a Christmas Tree Air Freshener, stopping occasionally to spit in it. It's followed by something that tastes like cherry mouthwash, which is actually a Welcome Change despite it being otherwise awful. The third drink is a cucumber soda that really does wash away the terrible taste of the first two. It's not good, it's just cleansing. Then there are various okay to mediocre flavors until you hit the end. Sour Plum Cola tastes like someone is peeing barbecue sauce into your mouth. I can not, for the life of me, understand why they'd inflict this on people who Gave Them Money To Enjoy Themselves. If you have to drink it because you're at gunpoint or you need to atone for accidentally tossing someone's grandmother into an angry nest of Murder Hornets , do it all in one gulp. DO NOT SIP SOUR PLUM COLA, you will vomit. We stumbled our way to The Venetian, which we'd been meaning to get to. Along the way, people tried to sell us their CDs (who stil has a CD player in 2022?), complimented our shirts, and that one aforementioned woman called Comrade a skank for some reason. Our plan had been to do the gondolas. I expected it to be Disney ride cheesy, but it actually just looked sad. Want to ride a gondola down a fake canal in the middle of a strip mall designed to look like a generic town in Europe (seriously, if you can tell the difference between Las Vegas's Venice, and their Paris you deserve some sort of degree). We decided to just go to a food court, put something in our bodies that wasn't carbonated garbage water, and then go back to the Flamingo and charge our phones. Instead, we headed to the airport early, charged our phones there. And then grabbed something to eat. We went to a nothing bar place with eight food items, somewhat akin to the terrible place in JFK. But they had lobster bisque on the menu. I'm a sucker for it. Most place serve you a cream and sherry concoction, whisper the word "lobster" over the top, and send it out of the kitchen. There were Huge Chunks of lobster in my bisque. I was shocked. My salad was just a salad, and Comrade's pizza was just a pizza, but that bisque, while not some five star dazzling bowl was the second biggest positive surprise of the trip, after Absinthe. We paid our check just in time to board our flight, and y'all there was no third person in our row. We put Comrade's bag on the empty seat, and my bag under the empty seat, and we both have legroom, and neck pillows (seriously, these stupid neck pillows are more comfortable than seagull feather pillows at The Flamingo), and the wifi is free, which is why I prefer JetBlue to American, whom we had to fly on the way to Vegas for some reason. All in all this was a fun vacation, and the first one I've taken without poet friends in this millenium. While I would have enjoyed their company, and I still believe that renting a house is cheaper and more fun than staying at a hotel or casino, I'm glad we did this. And that we Did Not get married while we were there. You know how much I hate cliches. How did I forget the smell of vanilla? The women on our floor all smell like they were dipped in cupcake frosting. Dressed like they are playing a cupcake fairy in a high school play. So much vanilla. So many sequins.
Also, on the Thursday that never happened, security hit every room in the casino looking for explosives. So that was fun. Oh, and the security guards that hit our room were racist (not against us, obviously, but their commentary on the people next door was the kind of dog whistly bullshit that would never get them in trouble but is racist all the same). Comrade and I are legendarily cursed with bad food service at restaurants. We've been mostly lucky this trip.
At JFK our server, who appeared to be serving every table in the restaurant, told us to take off our masks because "the days of fear are behind us." But he got us our food on time. At Off The Strip, the place was packed with drunk football Fucks who were falling down stairs, shouting non-stop swears, and getting in every server's way. Our server was really good except that he wasn't really acknowledging Comrade. He handed the check to me, so Comrade was like Hell No, and got out his credit card, handed it to the server, who ran the card and returned it. To me. Today were downtown at MTO, there was some sort of unbuttoned denim shorts party of twelve sharing a gigantic communal vat of champagne and Corona virus. A food runner went to drop off some bacon at a table, and a server pulled it away and said This Goes To Another Table. The customer said No, That's My Bacon. The server said he didn't remember ordering bacon, and the customer replied that she hadn't seen him in fifteen minutes, so she'd ordered it from someone else. He is our server. He took ten minutes to get to us, chatting with the food runner while the other served worked his ass off dealing with tables and making another vat of champagne corona for a different table. He didn't write down our order and hasn't been seen since I started typing this. Send thoughts and prayers. When Comrade and I went to Florida with a group of poets last October, it was mostly chaotic. I wanted to do certain things on certain days. Maybe they happened, maybe they didn't. Comrade found it either overwhelming or infuriating depending on the day, so when I told him we were going to Vegas, he said something akin to "Can you at least plan it out this time?" and was surprised when I turned my laptop towards him and showed him my Google Calendar completely filled in with certain events shaded for Won't Cost Us Anything Until We Hit The Gift Shop to Not Yet Paid For to Already Committed To And Paid for. But just because I made a minute to minute schedule for our trip didn't mean there was any hope of us following it. Weather happens, transportation gets screwy, Comrade sleeps 23 hours a day, a butterfly sneezes in Saskatchewan causing a drunk NFL fan to shit their pants and pass out in front of you on your way to dinner. There are many variables to work a schedule around. On our first day, the only things I Really Wanted To Do were hit up EggSlut for breakfast, and go to the Pinball Hall Of Fame. Everything else on the schedule was about checking out the casinos between The Flamingo and the Pinball HoF. And I didn't care at all if we failed to be in the proper casinos at the proper times. We started about a half hour after I'd planned. Sleepy Comrade had to be lured out of bed with the promise of breakfast. "Are we going to The Nasty Egg?" he asked. "The Nasty...do you mean Eggslut, you weirdo?" He shrugged. "I don't hear the difference." We zippered in and out of a couple of casinos on our way to The Na...Eggslut in order to balance fresh air and air conditioning, and because all casino interiors look the same to me, so I need to occasionally orient myself in the outside world. EggSlut is in The Cosmopolitan, which may be the only casino in Vegas with proper signage. We found EggSlut immediately, and decided we would get our food there, and buy juice at a nearby juice bar. The juice bar, of course, ended up being like one of those "milkshake" places that actually sells powdered protein drinks in various gritty flavors that only visually resemble milkshakes. They sold alcoholic drinks and things like grass juice and vegan goat puss, and other things that aren't really juice. By contrast, Eggslut was amazing and sold lots of egg products. I did not research how slutty the staff were. That's their business. Comrade had an egg sandwich that looked pretty tasty, but I had the actual EggSlut, which is a "cage-free coddled egg on top of a smooth potato purée, poached in a glass jar, topped with gray salt and chives, served with slices of baguette". Everyone not Vegan or allergic to eggs, potatos, chives, or salt, should try this. It was amazing. We got soft drinks at a fake bodega where, not for the first time, I saw that everyone in Vegas is looking for tips. Tips are for food industry workers who aren't adequately paid for their work. I work behind a counter in retail. I work really hard at, and consider myself Very Good at dealing with customers. Don't tip me for it. It's my company's job to adequately pay me. After breakfast, we toodled around the Cosmopolitan, seeing some creepy statues, an art vending machine, and a much more interesting food court than any of the surrounding casinos'. We then jetted towards The Pinball Hall Of Fame, which is barely on The Strip. Its nearest bus stop is actually at the Welcome To Las Vegas Sign. It's past the point where The Strip becomes visually split between Lavish Opulence and Impoverished Abandonment. As practically across the street from Mandalay Bay's shark reef bar and water slide are three shuttered motels with dumpsters full of furniture, a Subway sandwich shop, and a McDonald's that looks pretty depressing, even for a McDonald's. We were ten minutes into the wastelands (coming soon: a new motel; vote for this candidate in last year's election!; check out this creepy pink elephant statue) when we saw the bright Pinball HoF sign, as well as the building with a stark white front that read PINBALL in giant red letters. I hadn't been to the PHoF since 2014, when it was in a different location. Their website is still the same Angelfire garbage it's been since ... 1994? ... but I thought the new location might have given a little more life to the hall of fame. Not so much. It's still a warehouse vibe with lines of mostly pinball games. Some ripped open, so you can see the guts and how they work, some fully operational, some with sad little signs that say "Currently out of order, check back tomorrow." each sign with about two years of dust on them. I expected the average age of the clientelle to be middle aged. But it was mostly people around my parents' age, playing a game or two, going outside for a smoke (no smoking, no vaping, no pot in the PHoF), and then coming back in. They looked as bored and zombiesh as most of the casino dwellers. It was rather sad. Comrade and I did have fun, but I do wish one of my super-invested-in-pinball friends was also there. I like pinball, but I'm not super knowledgable or talented at it. I'm reasonably good at the Addams Family Pinball Game because that's what they had at my high school. "Pfffft." Emily snorted when I mentioned this to her twenty years ago. "That's THE most popular pinball game in the world. There were over 20,000 of them. That's like being pretty good at Pac-Man." I am not especially great at Pac-Man but I can hold my own. Before I could find the Addam's Family, I found a Twilight Zone pinball machine (same designer and basic game play as Addam's Family) and tried that out for a bit before moving on. Then we stumbled on Addam's Family. I was Not As Good At It as I had been the last time I played it, which was just before the pandemic, but Comrade watched, asked questions, and settled into play for a bit, as I moved to a Star Wars pinball game next to it. When a ball gets lost in a game, the machine clacks several times looking for it until it can push it back to where it belongs in the game. This was most of the soundtrack to the Star Wars game. I'm not sure what was wrong with it but I was constantly getting mutiballs that I did nothing to earn, and then the flippers would just shut down until there was only one ball on the board, at which point they might start working again. I got some insane scores that I did Not deserve, and was on my fifth consecutive free game when I asked someone at another machine if they wanted to play the remainder of my games. I found other pinball games like Bad Cat (terrible), South Park (awful), WWE Royal Rumble (hilariously mediocre), Nightmare On Elm Street (broken in a similar way to Star Wars, Comrade played it for over a half hour), Aerosmith (wicked pissah), two very different Indiana Jones games (both pretty decent), and a variety of unmemorables. Next to a delapitated claw machine with no interesting prizes was Super Mario Brothers. An original 1993 machine clearly marked with "If you hit this machine, you will be banned for life. NO SECOND CHANCES." It was only a quarter per play, so Comrade and I decided to do some 2 player action. I used to be As Great as most people my age were at SMB. I knew all the tricks thanks to Nintendo Power Magazine, and they are Still Lodged In My Brain. So while Comrade struggled to make it past world 1-2, I was in 8-3, strutting my glosious plumber's behind. That was about as good as it got. We spent exactly the $20 I'd budgeted for pinball, and were there for two and half hours, each of us having used some quarters to buy sodas, and also lose a few in various machines that weren't quite working. I'm really glad we went but I wish it wasn't quite as depressing to be in. I'm not advocating for loud music, showgirls, or zany mascots, but the warehouse vibe is even sadder than the casino floor aura to me. We walked all the way back to Mandalay Bay, and waited for a tram to take us to Excalibur. There were no adequate signs for the Tram, you had to guess where you thought they might be, so we walked around (literally, not within) the building until I saw where the tracks went in, and then worked our way back inside. Many people on the tram seemed to think it went further than the three stops it contains, and definitely went back and forth at least once before getting where they wanted to. We would have joined them, but I couldn't visualize another hotel past Excalibur with tram tracks, so we hopped out. Just in time.
We were scheduled to hang out in the Bellagio Gardens but we had accidentally done that on our way to the PHoF, so there was nothing other than casino walking on our schedule until sunset. Bellagio Gardens are totally worth about 15 minutes of your time. A few couples saw me positioning Garden Duck for some fancy shots and falsely assumed I knew what I was doing, and asked me to take pictures of them with their phones. When we crossed the Strip to the Balley's side, there was a massive sign that said Monorail Station, and because we'd walked quite a bit, we thought we'd take the monorail back to the Flamingo. But, you know, it's Vegas. GIANT MONORAIL SIGNS on the walkway, pointing you into the casino. No signs within the casino to tell you where to go. After many false starts, I found a guy selling problematic hats who told us we had to hug the walls all the way to the back, go down a flight of stairs, walk through a food court, and take a left, and THEN we would see signs for the monorail. He remains the only helpful person I've ever met inside a casino. The GooglePay app for the monorail didn't work intuitively (it does sort of work), so I ended up putting a twenty in the machine, and now have enough dollar coins to blind a dozen and a third casino sign makers, whould the opportunity arise. Per the recommendation of a friend, we decided to hit the Holy Roller (think, the London Eye style ferris wheel) around sunset. We made it up two minutes before peak sunset, and got some good shots in, making friends with a trio of Phillipino tourists who needed their pictures taken at various stages of our 30 minute trip around the wheel. There was also a family with children. We avoided them. The Holy Roller is kind of worth it. It's not transcendent. It won't in any way change your life. But it's a nice view of the Strip and the mountains, and we saw a massive area being set up for something...it was an ominous warning for the next few days. They tried to sell us $50 photos they'd taken of us before our trip, but they were worth, at most a $10 flash drive. For dinner, we headed over to Gordon Ramsey's Fish & Chips. Where Comrade had ... ummm ... fish and chips, and I went off menu for the G Spot, a chicken, shrimp, fish, and chips sampler. I thought they were all really good but Comrade thinks the awful restaurant he used to work at made better fish and chips. I disagree. The people on staff at Fish & Chips were some of the happiest food service workers I'd seen anywhere in a long time. They all seemed to genuinely like their jobs, and were having a good time. I plan on heading back there one more time before we leave. I also went into the I Love Sugar store, which is a Disneyesque super store of candy with Nostalgia Brands, a wall of jellybean flavors, a Make Your Own Pez Flavor Pack, and an upstairs "martini" bar that specialized in Diabetes. I bought several slices of fudge to compare them to the various companies I've made fudge for. They were okay. They were priced pretty well, but the overtired woman behind the counter gave me a peanut butter instead of tiger butter. I'm still working at finishing them, several days later. Comrade had requested something "brownie-like". So I got two marcreamcakes from Sweet Sin. These are basically filled cupcakes with macaron hats. They were both delicious. Way better than the fudge. We finished them instantly. I looked back at the schedule, pleased to see we'd hit almost every stop. Sometimes in the wrong order, but we hadn't missed a thing. Then I got a text telling me that our kayaking reservations for Thursday were cancelled due to wind. And not the wind caused by eating too much EggSl... Nasty Egg. |
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