Last night I waited for a very long time at Pizzeria Delfina, where I had been planning to have the Margherita pizza, my favorite. However, once I was confronted with the menu, I entered into a spiral about how always getting the same thing is illustrative of how I lead my sad little life, etc. and so ordered the special. It was liberally seasoned with some mystery herb that my waiter informed me was part of the catnip family. I still ordered it. It was a misguided decision. Let's just be honest, shall we? Even without catnip being involved, no matter how fancy it is, pizza that does not involve tomato sauce always disappoints me. Viva marinara! (as they no doubt say in Italia).
It occurs to me that in this increasingly gluten-obsessed town, with its passion for soy products, my breakfast of Cream of Wheat with 2% milk is totally punk rock.
As you are no doubt wondering, but too polite to ask, yes. There is still a kidney stone stuck in me somewhere. I believe this is day 23.