Ah, the White Russian. I used to think kahlua with milk was good, until I tried it with vodka and cream.
It snowed today and so far the snow has stayed. Global warming has delayed our winters and our springs, but at least we still receive a pile of snow each winter, and can ski and toboggan and all of that. There's nothing worse than frigid weather without snow.
I drank a White Russian with lunch, the most delicious pasta I've ever had, which I'm proud to say I invented: small shells, salmon mixed with a bit of mayonnaise, avocado, arugula, olive oil, white wine vinegar, sea salt, and pepper. Then I fell asleep. I did not make perogies. I did manage pork chops and mashed potatoes and salad for supper, before hockey and karate and an invigorating walk in the dark snowy town, small plaster houses drenched in Christmas lights, TV's on in living rooms, cats perched on sofa-backs peering out front windows. I listened to the first half of No Line on the Horizon and thought about the meaning of U2's 360 Degrees Tour. They are preparing us for their departure, assuring us that they don't need us anymore, and we don't need them. They open with "Breathe": "There's nothing you have that I need - I can breathe." And they close with "Moment of Surrender": "At the moment of surrender to vision over visibility, I did not notice the passersby and they did not notice me." For "With or Without You", instead of singing to a girl on stage, Bono flings the steering wheel mic around, plays with it, rants at it, that stupid inanimate thing stuck to the ceiling. He can't have us anymore - he's decided, or has been told, by Ali, or God. He is moving away, "getting ready to leave the ground".
I am post-call, after a quiet weekend.
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