So we went to Pablo’s last night for our Wednesday night courtship ritual, and what to our wondering eyes should appear:
Wow! Our own pizza! We have arrived! (Those of you who saw "Curb Your Enthusiasm" a few weeks ago will appreciate the Enormity of having a Purchasable Foodstuff named after you.)
And a fine and lovely pizza it was, too. Corn on pizza might sound weird, but it’s actually quite tasty.
Then we wandered across the street to Boomers (a blues bar as decrepit and vaguely sad as the name implies) to watch our friend Warren’s jazz group (the Hill Street Jazz Quintet) play.
(That would be Warren on tenor sax.)
Also: we have to go buy a new TV. The old one died. We’ve never spent money on a TV before. This will be hard.