In'n'out of grace
Goddamn I love tomatoes. It's weird, I've been so distracted by the mysteries of strawberries this year I almost forgot about tomatoes. Just in the last week they're gone from the "maybe I'll take a flyer on these Sungolds" to the "how many Beefsteaks can I possibly carry?" stage. Now we're just waiting for the dry-farmed Early Girls. Joe, I'm talking to you.
Just the other day we were reminiscing about Forster, Dawkins, and all that other 'nineties shit, but now it turns out they literally cannot give Wired away. Who even knew they were still publishing? I just assumed the site was part of the wayback machine.
Damn it people, this is why the Supreme Court matters. They're trying to take away our god-given right to get wasted. I do not, however recommend drinking raw milk or these revolting cocktails [via #1hs] (I note with satisfaction that no one has stolen my best bad drink idea: Aunt Flo's Visit [hint: blood orange scratch sour]). Or fucking with Patricia Wells [thx muse]:
"Would you like a sangria?" the waiter asked. Sangria in Provence? I don't think so. We asked instead to see the wine list and were told we'd have to see Sébastian. Since then, we refer to the lunch as Waiting for Sébastian.