Brunch, mongrel meal of the gods!

Here is P--'s dad, S--, ably demonstrating just what brunch is all about. Play on playah!

J--(my sister) and P-- (her man) had me over for brunch today with some of P--'s family. I love brunch. One of the things I took to in NYC was the brunching. It's a long, langorous, indulgent meal that allows you to sleep in and waste most of the day over carbs, mimosas, and coffee. The only improvement we might make to this institution would force us to rename it "brunchcuzzi", but the logistics of that evolution remain totally befuddling.

Anyway, popped in the Garmin which finally redeemed itself after much hassle from previous posts. In fact, it endeared itself to me a bit by surprising me with a homey detail. I entered J-- and P---'s address as a "favorite location" and named it "J---". It would have been "J-- and P--'s", but you pretty much have to type with one finger on a non-qwerty interface, so sorry P--. As I rolled up on their place the Garmin announced in fine voice that I was about to arrive at "J--", which I think is hilarious. Not only did it add a little personality to the arrival, but it pronounced J--'s name correctly, no mean feat in my experience of computer-aided-speech whatsits.

See, it's a terrible haircut I got in the last post

So, brunch was lovely. Getting coffee was a whole ordeal since J-- doesn't have a coffee-maker and the very helpful lady at Starbucks was overwhelmed and undertrained in the fine art of filling a box with coffee. We ended up with an overflowing mylar bag full of scalding caffeine, surrounded by a disintegrating coffee-sodden cardboard box. But, through judicious application of milk and Splenda, the day was saved and brunch came through victorious in the end.

Since it's both Father's day and my stepdad's birthday, we called home and wished him a very happy awesomeday. I can be seen at the right agreeing with him that wearing a bike helmet is terrifically important all the time even though I spent the better part of my youth tumbling off various Schwinns and lived to tell of it. Ask me about the time I wet-banana-ed over the hood of a towncar one July if I haven't already bored you with that story.