Tradition is dead.
Because there's no such thing as too much cheese. Unrolling the braciole of consciousness; shaping the meatball of life. Because everything is funny; you just need to view it from the proper angle. Good for cats. Made in Poland. Because everything is like a hat. You know how those gorillas can be... Very unforgiving.
Sunday, February 20, 2005
Alane is not Irish. That much is perfectly clear. And yet today she is intent on making corned beef and cabbage and calling that dinner. That's okay. Really. But today is Sunday. ANd when I talked to Frylock earlier today he asked me if the sauce was on the stove. Shamefaced, I told him no -- this house rarely does the Sunday-macaroni thing. And that sent me into a mood of refelction. Turning my attention to the next generation of Mastandrea, I asked Vito John Paul what he wanted for dinner. He said he wanted popsicles.
Tradition is dead.
Tradition is dead.