The Big City was full of spectacle and parody, Progressives and… Progressives. Oh, and pizza; NY’s claim to the best pizza in the country is arguable, but certainly for the style it made famous, it delivers. Tomb Raider was quite cooperative in continuing a tradition of SP’s and mine, the search for the Ultimate Slice; I may not have found it yet, but I did find much excellence. Best I had so far was an unpretentious spot in Brooklyn, Norm’s, which was recommended by one of Tomb Raider’s sons. I will be happy to take suggestions for other candidates for my next visit there. Tomb Raider, of course, criticized my method of eating a slice, noting that a True New Yorker would fold the slice completely in half rather than the mild bend I gave it. “I have no interest in being a ‘true New Yorker.'”

I did take advantage of some opportunities, and came home with appropriate souvenirs. A large bag of bagels (there are things called “bagels” out here in the rurals, but they are bagels only in that they are wheat-based toroids), halvah, Chinese peppers… there’s a theme here and that’s food. We ate a LOT. The predictions that we’d smell weed everywhere were largely true, and this may be why everything seems mellower there than I remembered from years ago.

In any case, I’m back in the rurals, and will have to rely on my own cooking again. Next trip is next weekend to Atlanta, truly one of my least favorite cities on Earth. All the disadvantages of NYC but without the food and legal weed. Or the company of Tomb Raider.

Of course, in the Thanksgiving spillover, we are thankful for birthdays today, which include an early import from Canada; a rather noisy fellow; a guy who was truly the catalyst for a technological revolution; a guy who wasn’t a Jew but it would have been perfect if he were; one of my very favorite novelists; a superb cartoonist who unfortunately found fame and fortune; an absolutely iconic sculptor; and a guy that always had the protection of Triumph.

Now we Link.

 

One has to wonder, what were these kids taught and who taught them this? Well at least this school rates an “A” for diversity, as long as you’re not a Jew.

 

This warms my Ravens fan heart.

 

Progs just love choo-choos and will never give up the dream.

 

Actual answer: exactly nothing. So shut up.

 

“The author is the founder of Friends of Zion.” With friends like these, (((we))) don’t need any more enemies. Go fuck yourself, Mikey.

 

If this keeps everyone distracted so they don’t have time to fuck up important things, I’m all in favor of it.

 

It would be hilarious if it all came down to a failure in Lucas electricals.

 

The Old Man was in the mood for some smokin’ horns and Gerry Mulligan and Art Farmer delivered.