Oh, happy bloated me!

Just got back from dinner at the Pumpernickel Restaurant in Bolton Landing (home of a really freaking big cuckoo clock), because I was feeling a bit homesick, food-wise; I desperately needed some good old-fashioned home-style plate-the-size-of-Wyoming stick-to-your-ribs-and-pretty-much-everything-else German cuisine. Mission successful: I won't be getting up off of this chair anytime soon. You know you're in the right place when everything on the menu is either pickled, breaded, slathered in gravy, or all of the above. My Omi would be proud.

I've decided that I am indeed going to go see Richard Thompson in Albany on Nov. 3, but only if I can find someone to go with me. Kristi has already refused, and most of my friends have never even heard of the man. Sigh. I feel an upsurge of crankiness welling up.

Oh, and in the Picking My Jaw Up Off the Floor department: cup stacking as a sport? You'd better believe it. (QuickTime necessary, kids.) Found this linked from Sharpeworld, land of all things smugly ironic. This girl is not human.