Highland Pride?

Kirsten and I went to a new-ish restaurant in the Central West End tonight called The Scottish Arms. We'd actually been there before, a few months ago (the night of the last time we were at the Highland Games, actually). Anyway, last time we went I ordered haggis, on the hopes that I would a) like it and b) get into Kirsten's pants by demonstrating my Scot heritage and awareness of same.

Problem is, they brought me shepherd's pie by mistake.

But no matter! We went again tonight (as I mentioned in the first sentence of this post) and again, I ordered haggis.

A bit of background is in order. Haggis is the heart and kidneys of a lamb which is cooked, cooled, and minced with oatmeal, whiskey, and onions. Traditionally, the ingredients are then cooked again and served inside the stomach of a sheep, but I guess getting the pieces of Lamb Chop were hard enough, so they don't do that at the restaurant.

Back to the story: I ordered the haggis tonight, and they actually served it. Huzzah!

Kirsten took one whiff and demanded that I not kiss her until we got home and I brushed my teeth. She even made me rotate the plate so that the wind (we sat on the patio) would blow the odor of the ground meat away.

Next time, I'm getting the freakin' fish and chips.

RIP, Ironhead

Yesterday, Craig "Ironhead" Heyward passed away after a lengthy battle with brain tumors. In addition to being a one-time Pro Bowler, Heyward was the man who first taught me that it was OK to use a loofah.

Godspeed, you clean lumbering man.

You Can't Relive a Party

Yesterday was Mr. T's birthday - he turned 54. Did anyone celebrate? I didn't, and I think I'm worse for it.

Do not ask for whom the T pities; the T pities for thee. Fool.

Overheard in my Apartment

Kirsten: "You had a pink blanket?"
Brian: "It was magenta!"
Kirsten: "It was velour!"