Time, it's a crooked bow

Mara and I went to The Highland Kitchen for supper last. She loves this place and really wants me to love it. Sadly, I don't really love it. I'd been there with Spira a couple of weeks ago and the calamari I had was so spicy hot, my tongue burned hotter than the forges of Hell throughout the meal and a while after. And the bluefish cakes were tasty, but for nine bucks, they could have made the two they presented me larger than acorns.

Mara had talked this place up pretty heavily and I want to share her enthusiasm, but I just can't. This place likes it's food spicy! We had mussels for an app and there was so much curry in the broth, I had to look around to make sure we weren't in Calcutta (we weren't). Fortunately, there was some bread on the table to assuage the pain from the curry. I like curry, but I like it like a friend I don't always want to see but am usually happy when I do. After last night, I won't need to call on that friend for quite a while.

The HK had mercy on me and didn't load my cheeseburger with hot sauce or jalapeno peppers. I was grateful, to be sure. Mara had a salad for her entree and I noticed she kept waving her hand in front of her mouth.

"What fire are you attempting to put out?", I asked.

"Maybe it's just me, but I think they dosed the pecans in this salad with pepper."

"Let me try one."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I've got to have it confirmed that this place is run by sadists."

I ate a pecan and she was right---it was coated with hot pepper. I resolved that if I eat there again--which I may, because they do have good food-- I'll order a pitcher of beer and extra bread before I eat. Maybe that's what they want me to do. I'll have to think on that.
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Before dinner, we hung out at the dog park by Union Square and watched a bunch of pooches chase each other, sniff asses, and in one case, fuck. I hate not having a dog. To me they're way more awesome than just about everything.
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Had a dream the other night that I was in Iceland visiting Brianna and her family. Luke Warm and some guy who vaguely reminded me of Vince Vaughn had come along for the ride. It was a really long dream and vivid. I don't really want to get into it, but here are some things I remember.

1. The air was thick and humid. In Iceland? Sure, why not.

2. They had a Shaws grocery store, but they spelled it Shws. A distaste for vowels, I guess.

3. At the dinner table, I asked Brianna's sister if tourists always bring up Sigor Ros and Bjork when they visit. She said they do.

4 I only stayed for the day.
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Watched some of the Olympics with Mara last night. We watched women's beach volleyball, swimming, and some gymnastics. I particularly enjoyed the volleyball. Mostly because I was watching tan, statuesque, scantily-clad women scamper about, but also because I genuinely enjoy the sport. Seriously.
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Feel like I have something more to add, but I can't seem to recall what that something is. Probably not very important. Think I'll dive into The Bonehunters and maybe read from Watchmen after that. Ciao, readers.