I've cried about Wouter two or three times. Real actual tears.

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A Small Voice From The Living Room: "Hey, Dad?"

Me, tired: "Yeah, bud?"

Little Voice: "When you finish with your mise en place, will you read me a story?"

Me, laughing: "Sure, bud."

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Everything is really great, and really hard.

I bought some new Jack Purcells today. And they are white.

I'll need them. Summer is threatening.

She threatens and threatens, but the bitch never seems to make a move.

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I'm out of restaurants for good. For now.

Who can really complain about the bar? The nights are late, but there's only three of them and the rest of the time is the bike. The mise en place. The kids.

We'll pull the car out onto the grass on wednesday nights this summer and walk around drinking beer out of plastic cups and smelling race gas. Horrible old rock-a-billy bands. Biker chicks.
It's good to get down. Boogie. Yeah.