The downstairs bathroom is finished, four and a half months after Contractor #1 began the job. There have been days during the interval when I would have settled for a chamber pot and a washbasin, but the result is quite nice.
Kathleen says that Stage 2, the renovation of the upstairs bathroom, must be put off for some time, which is just as well, because, who knows, I might die before it comes to that.
Investigative Voice has discovered the post in which I criticized an article for its hyperbole and cliche. You’re more than welcome to examine the response yourself, but a summary is that Investigative Voice does not take well to criticism and retains its unfortunate predilection for white-on-black reversed type.
Still at a high pitch
Over at the City Paper, Edward Ericson Jr. has an article about Denise Whiting, Cafe Hon, and the hontroversy—no, I’m not going back into it. It’s an excellent piece, clear, balanced, fair. But writing dispassionately about Ms. Whiting is a mug’s game, which you will see immediately upon examining the comments. I recommend them; they are a hoot.
The outrage with which people talk about Ms. Whiting is so blatantly disproportionate to the circumstances that the comments quickly come to sound like Daffy Duck spluttering about Bugs Bunny. A reader begins to wonder after a time what responsibility Denise Whiting has for global warming, violence in Darfur, the Ravens’ loss to the Steelers, and the kidnapping of the Lindbergh baby.
My son has made reservations for us this Sunday evening at Volt in Frederick so that we can mark one of those round-number events in the coming week. I plan to try, at a minimum, the smoked ice cubes in the Manhattan that Laura Vozzella wrote about last week and will report back to you, even though this isn’t dining@large, on the rest of the meal.