It has been an odd year my friends, both for me personally and the world in general. The end of the year is a great time for reflection and planning for the year to come.
This year for me saw the end of my relationship with the Young Russian and possibly the beginning of another. It saw me reach the very bottom, and claw my way back to a point where I can at least contemplate a future.
Together we watched King George further attack our liberties, yet, with all these new powers, we are still at an elevated threat level and 899 of our best and brightest have given their lives. We have watched extremists from every stripe, Muslim & Christen both, continue to twist the words of their God for their own ends. Presidential candidates are telling us they want to change the way business is done in Washington, but go about getting elected in the same old ways.
This past year we saw more tainted food, more deadly goods from our biggest trading partner and we watched our artificially inflated real estate bubble burst, creating the largest financial boondoggle since the Savings and Loan crisis in the 80’s. We watched the Democrats take control of Congress with lofty promises, only to rendered impotent by a veto stamp and their own inability to work together.
Just in this last week we have seen a nations hope for a future snuffed out by an assassins bullet, and Portland recovering some of it’s pride with 13 NBA wins in a row. The New England Patriots seem unstoppable and Dallas may be one it’s way to recovering some of it’s past glory.
What does 2008 hold for us?
Fuck, I don’t know. I’m just an Angry Jew with a nose for the absurd. We just don’t seem to learn the lessons of history. In my 44 years I have seen a lot of events come full circle and repeat.
I am sure we will see more of the same.
I do have a hope though. If we can do anything in 08, it is that we can raise our voices a little louder, make them heard by joining together and reminding whoever wins in November that we wish to be governed, not ruled. That we can tell China, or anyone else for that matter, that enough is enough and we are not going to put up with their crap any longer. That we will be able to be proud of our nation, our states, and our communities.
I wish each and every one of you reading this only the best for the new year. May you prosper and your families know only joy and happiness.
I generally pick my movie choices by listening to the critics. If they hate it, I am almost sure to love it. I have no desire to join their pompous ranks, but I would be remiss in not giving you my impressions of I Am Legend, which I saw last weekend with The Secret Alien.
First Off, Will Smith can really act. I mean I knew this from Ali, but he held the screen, by himself, for the first 3o minutes of the film. OK, he had some help from a German Shepard, but I could not take my eyes of the screen. The CGI of the deserted New York were very well done, without being over the top, and left me feeling the creepy emptiness of a dead city.
I don’t want to put out any spoilers, instead I will just say I would have preferred the filmmakers had stayed with the original ending from the short story by Richard Matheson instead of the predictable Hollywood ending. If you have read the book and seen the film, I would like to hear your opinion.
The Secret Alien and I agreed that we need to make these movie outings a more regular feature and we will be sharing our impressions in our upcoming podcasts.
What has happened to you people? I take a few days off to recharge and enjoy the Holiday season and what do I find when I get back? Nothing. Not a damn word from anyone. Hasn’t anyone been keeping track of things while I have been gone?
You are a pretty ungrateful lot.
Hillary is trotting out Bill on the campaign circuit as proof of her experience in governing a nation. Huh? Lets see, when I think Clinton Presidency I think “I tried it, but I never inhaled.”, “I never had sexual relations with that woman” and “That depends on what the definition of is, is.” Yea, lets all line up for 4 years of that.
The FBI, that infallible agency that brought us Waco and Ruby Ridge is going to build the largest computer database in history, just chock full of fingerprints, DNA, and Biometric data such as facial recognition parameters and iris scans. Hey, so what if recent tests by the German government using three different facial recognition systems had a success rate of 60% with an average recognition rate of 30%, depending on lighting and other conditions, I am sure the FBI will find some way to use the data.
Just ask Richard Jewel, who was falsely accused of the Olympic Park Bombing in Atlanta in 1996. He was the security officer who discovered the device and helped evacuate the area, then placed under suspicion. Heck, he got an apology from Janet Reno and was officially cleared 4 months later.
Or how about we ask Brandon Mayfield of Oregon, who was arrested in connection with the Madrid train bombing in March of 2004 based on faulty fingerprint interpretation by the FBI. Hey, the guy was a Muslim and only had to spend 2 weeks in jail, and besides, the police in Spain figured out that the prints actually belonged to an Algerian and then told the FBI about the mistake.
I mean, thats all ancient history, right? They have learned from those mistakes. The whole Waddling Bandit Case, where FBI agents arrested a 71 year old retiree who they believed was responsible for a string of bank robberies, was just a fluke. Sure, the guy was already a millionaire who did not need the money, but we can’t let a little thing like verifiable alibis for 3 of the robberies stand in the way of the Feds getting their man. It only cost the guy $20,000 to defend himself. He could afford it.
Yup, the FBI are the people I want to have that kind of information about me. Sign me up. I wonder if I can get on the Nation No Call list if I submit my DNA?
All this stuff going on and not an email or a comment do I receive.
What do I have to do to wake you people up?
You are as much a part of this as I am.
I’ll bet if I could get People Magazine to identify me as the REAL father of Jamie Lynn Spears baby, you would listen to me then.
Now, who here does not like a nice slab of Prime Rib?
What?
Alright, very funny. Who let the vegetarian in? Master At Arms…
Every year for the holidays, I treat those around me to one of my best dishes, slow roasted prime rib. Someone out there may make a better one than me, but I have never had any complaints.
So, as a gift to the family that adopted me this holiday, I offered to do dinner on Christmas Eve. I headed to my local Winco Foods, a discount grocer here in the Northwest to check out there meat offerings. There selection is somewhat lacking, but there quality is usually pretty good.
At first I had trouble locating their prime rib roasts and had to ask a white coated gentleman stocking the main meat case to direct me to them. He pointed with his chin to a center aisle cold case, with a big sign advertising prime rib roasts. I sheepishly thanked him and walked over, already salivating at the thought of that beautiful, marbled meat.
What I saw sickened me.
There, stacked ten deep, were over 50 prime rib roasts of varying weights. There were a few whole roasts, the big ones that will feed 10-12 hungry people and require training in proper lifting techniques. I was looking for a 4 bone roast myself. I had to feed six and I wanted some leftovers.
At first when I glanced over their offerings, I couldn’t grasp what was wrong. It was a case of not being able to see the forest through the trees.
As my fellow shoppers pawed over these hunks of meat, it finally dawned on me.
There was hardly ANY fat on them.
Not only that, but not a single one of them had a bone to found.
But Mr Angry Jew, fat is bad for us, so these must be good, right?
Listen friends, there is one simple fact that you must accept, fat is flavor and moisture. You must have it to have quality meat. PERIOD!!!!! In order to cook a Prime Rib properly, it must be roasted slowly at low temperature. If you remove the thick pad of fat from the top of the roast, you are going to have a very expensive chunk of dry, chewy meat.
I have nothing against people wanting to deny themselves the better things in life so they can live longer. If that is your wish, feel free.
Just stay THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY BEEF.
I was so shocked and disgusted I couldn’t even ask the so called butcher what the hell was going on. I fought the urge to climb on top of the case and urge my fellow shoppers to rise up in revolt at this sin against all that is tasty, and beat feet out of there.
My next stop was Albertsons, where, at my request, the meat cutter provided me with a lovely 4 bone, cut and tied, Prime Rib of Beef with a lovely half inch pad of fat across the top. I asked him if the fat free prime rib was part of some new trend in meat. He shuddered slightly and told me that he had handled several requests from customers asking to have the fat trimmed from their roasts, but added he was able to educate them against such a silly thing.
I also had the chance to chat with Blue, yes, thats her name, the Meat and Seafood manager, and she commiserated with me. As she put it, “Sure, they can probably save a buck or two per pound buying it that way, but then again, I stand behind the quality of every piece of meat I sell. If you buy it here, and cook it the way I tell them, there going to have a great meal every time.”
I love going to the mall in the last days of the holiday shopping season. At no other time of the year do you get to see so many people stripped of their thin veneer of civilization as they claw and fight to get that last minute “perfect” gift. To me, its defiantly falls into the “Best Fun You Can Have With Your Trousers On” category.
Now over the years, I have broken the late season shopping crowd into three categories. First and most amusing are the True Last Minute Shoppers. These are usually men and can be easily identified by the look of utter hopelessness in their eyes. Their wives or girlfriends have gotten tired of dropping hints, to which most men are oblivious to on a good day, and have finally straight out told their man what it is they want Santa to leave under the tree. It appears to be an intentional punishment as whatever they ask for is sure to be out of stock or only available in the wrong size or color. This category also includes those that have just found out that Uncle Teddy has been released from the pen and will be coming to the family Christmas gathering and we need to get him something or spend all night making sure he is not left alone with the children.
Next comes the Late Season Professionals. These are those hearty individuals who live for the thrill of the hunt. I am proud to say that this is the pack I usually run with. We know that we can find the best deals close to Christmas and have the killer instinct required to successfully navigate a crowded mall with our sanity intact. This is not a sport for the weak of mind or heart. This will also tend to piss off your significant other, so be forewarned. She has been shopping for you since December 26th of last year and if you can pull off the perfect gift or gifts in the last hours of the last days, well, it may get a little tense.
Then, lastly, their are The Watchers. These are people from either of the previous two categories who have completed all of their shopping and are now able to laugh at the rest. They can come in all ages, sexes, and socioeconomic groups. They can be identified by the smug look of satisfaction as they cruise the mall at their leisure, sipping their lattes and grinning. I have also been a proud member of this group and relish a chance to take along someone with me who has never enjoyed the theater of the mall from this twisted perspective.
Now I was all set to be a Watcher this year. What little shopping I had to do was done weeks ago and wanting to not miss out on the mayhem, I had set aside a day of my holiday break from work to cruise the mall and sip a cup of coffee. That was when fate decided to throw me a wicked little curve ball.
An off again, on again lady friend of mine decided she wanted to try being on again and invited me to join in her families holiday celebration. There will be more about this gathering in a later post, it was too classic not to write about. However, there was a small catch.
I would have to buy a gift for her 8 year old niece.
The girl lives with my lady friend and her sister and is one of those heart melting, cute children who had me wrapped around her little finger 20 minutes after meeting me. For some unfathomable reason, this little lady thinks the world of me and to show up with out a gift for her, well lets just say it would result in some massive Jewish Grandmother level guilt.
So it was with great trepidation that I surrendered my role as a Watcher and joined the ranks of the True Last Minute Shoppers. I wish I could say I joined the ranks of The Professionals, but there was a huge obstacle in my way.
I have no idea what to buy for an eight year old girl.
There was not time to do my usual market research. No opportunity to quiz my friends with kids as to what they got their eight year olds. Her aunt was too amused to offer any real guidence other then to not spend to much or risk the wrath of her sister, who is the girls grandmother. No pressure here, I can do it.
Like Hell.
So off to the mall I went. The financial wizards who have been crying gloom and doom for retailers this year were not far off the mark by what I saw. I had calmed down from my initial panic at the situation, and settled into my Professionals tactics. I easily found a spot on the perimeter of the mall parking lot and amused myself on the walk to the door by watching the same cars cruise endless circles in a vain hope of lucking into a close in spot. A needless waste of valuable patience. While the lot and mall was crowded, it was less so than I had seen in previous years.
I spotted a womans accessory shop that was not too crowded and ventured inside. What little girl doesn’t like jewelery? I approached one of the shell shocked looking sales girls, flashed my most winning smile and humbly asked her if she could help a “mere male” found a nice gift for an eight year old girl.
I have found that a little self deprecation can go a long way of winning some help at making a choice from an overworked sales girl. Alas, my plot turned out to be in vain. Her eyes did not have the glazed over look of a newbie on her first Christmas Rush, I was dealing with a seasoned veteran. She called over to college and asked her to take care of me. When I repeated what I was looking for, she said one word… Claire’s.
Now, for the uninitiated, Claire’s is THE place for pre-pubescent girls to get their bling on.
I followed the directions I was given and was stopped cold. I have to say, in all my time as a Professional Last Minute Shopper, I had never witnessed a more heart chilling sight. Mothers and daughters crowded the store shoulder to shoulder. There was a line 6 deep for ear piercing and all I could make out from the door was a sea of heads bobbing to a bubble gum soundtrack and hands grasping at racks full of sparklies.
No way, not me, I’m not crazy. I had a brief sadistic thought of how much fun it would be to take an eight year old boy, still deep in the “girls are ickey” stage of his life, stuff his pockets with $5 dollar gift certificates, and toss him into the feeding frenzy. I quickly dismissed this as a possible cause of homosexuality and moved on with out a clue as to what to do next.
I was about to abandon hope and go the gift card route, when a beacon appeared before me.
A kiosk with a sign that said Aloha Jewelry.
There was no one around, a hopeful sign. The woman operating the kiosk was a middle aged Asian woman. Not the best choice to help me make a choice but better then nothing, I thought. She was deep in conversation with a very pretty 20 something girl who I took to be a customer. I watched her from the corner of my eye, waiting to be noticed, as I browsed her wares with my best befuddled look on my face. Now you may ask, why all the subterfuge? Why not just ask for help?
The answer to that is simple. Just hop on over to your local mall, today, right now and ask a sales girl for help picking out the perfect last minute gift for an eight year old. You can write me a short note later describing the blank look you received after the holidays.
I was shocked out of my reverie when the twenty something flashed me a warm, genuine smile and asked “Can I help you find something?”. Whats this? Customer service? During the holidays? I sneaked a hand to my wrist to make sure I still had a pulse.
She introduced herself as Kim and when I explained my situation to her, you could plainly see the bemused empathy on her face. She started right in, showing me different ear rings, helping me to settle on some small sterling silver dolphins, explaining that unless she was a real girly girl, studs were the way to go. She then helped me pick out a Hana pendant, a Hawaiian symbol of good luck and long life, on a sturdy silver chain. Kim impressed me with her above average grasp of politics as we chatted away and gave me hope for the coming generation when she confessed her hatred of Hillary Clinton.
If you’re at Washington Square Mall shopping in the coming weeks, stop by Aloha Jewelry, its right next to The Godiva Chocolate shop, and say hi to her. Tell her The Angry Jew sent you and he sends her his warmest regards. She saved my ass when it was up against the fire and I am eternally grateful
I just have not been looking forward to today or the four days that follow, well not until early this morning that is.
I just have not been feeling the holiday spirit this year. It is kind of hard to find in my situation. I used to get it from The X, Christmas was her holiday, mine was Halloween. Thanks to my union job, I was looking down the barrel of 5 days off with nothing much to do, well that was until late last night.
I got off work at one in the morning, as usual, and after the obligatory after work bull session with the guys in the parking lot, I decided to head to the market, get some chips and head home and watch some Family Guy. Nothing says Happy Holidays like Stewie trying to kill Lois.
So I am in line at the market and these four rather inebriated fellows hop in behind me.
They obviously knew the clerk and it was he who asked the question.
“Why are you guys buying $80 dollars worth of condoms and a home pregnancy test?”
They responded by laughing and telling the clerk he didn’t want to know, but friends, I HAD to know, so, being the shy, reserved, introverted fellow that I am, I asked.
They explained that they were roommates, and they had just finished building a bar at their place and the condoms were part of the decor. The pregnancy test would be there as well, to remind them what would happen if they did not use the condoms. Smart, I thought
They went on to describe the bar that they had built to me. All four worked in construction, and they went on to describe to me how they had spent the day buying items to decorate it and booze to stock it. They spoke in glowing terms of the objects they had collected including an $800 dollar custom neon sign.
I explained to them that I was a writer and that this was a great story, I told them I was going to write about this chance encounter, after all, 4 drunk guys with 10 boxes of condoms is a story waiting to happen, am I right?
They then asked me if I wanted to come by and see it.
Sure, I said, why not?
We walked over to their place, which was located in a condo complex adjacent to the market. As we left the store, each retrieved a glass of wine that they had stashed in the shopping carts outside.
“Oh,” I thought to myself “this is getting better and better.”
When we arrived they pointed out four large Christmas inflatables that crowded the patio. Each, I was told, represented one them. They went on to explain who was which.
Now, I can’t tell you what I really expected to find when we went inside. I guess I had a vision of a cross between a basement frat house bar and the saloon that had been in place in our squadron barracks in Japan, many years ago.
I can tell you that what I found absolutely blew me away.
The first think I thought was , WOW, these guys really are contractors. This was not some slapped together piece of crap, a lot of real work went into it. It was an L shaped bar, about 7 X7, and looked as good as anything I had worked behind. It was only about 3/4 finished, but I could easily see myself leaning against it sipping a cold draft from their kegorater.
With great pride they showed off the sign, and the other pieces of real bar decor they had picked up. Were not talking beer signs and mirrors here, this was good, high quality stuff. I snapped a few pictures with my camera phone, but they just didn’t do it any justice. I made a mental note to start carrying my digital camera in my truck from now on. Then they introduced me to Betty, a four foot tall statue of Betty Boop holding a cocktail tray. The condoms were going to go in an urn on her tray. I suggested they hang the pregnancy test around her neck or put it behind the bar in a glass “In Case Of Emergency” case.
We retired to the living room where I showed them my site, and we proceeded to swap stories. As I looked around, I began to notice the that they had really done up the place for Christmas. For a bunch of bachelors, they had obviously worked hard to capture the spirit of the season. Two of them had been friends for life, their parents having been best friends, the third had joined them a few years later, and the fourth was a world traveler they had found in Hawaii six months ago and he had come back with them to join their tribe.
As I sat there sipping my Coors Light and trading stories with them about the places we had been, I could not help but feel the genuine fellowship of the moment. It was a warm, comforting feeling, a feeling of family.
My plan for today was to go roam Portland in search of a taste of the holiday spirit, but thanks to Chris, John, Kelly and Danny, I have already found it. They invited a stranger into their home, made him feel welcome and a part of the family. They invited me to come back tonight, for the grand opening of their bar and grill, and I just might take them up on it.
Is there anything more in the Christmas Spirit then that?
Well here we are folks. One year old and still growing.
It was exactly one year ago today that The Secret Alien turned me loose on the world.
A lot has changed in the last year, some for the good, some not so good, but all of it was with you, the readers, by my side. Together we have taken a good hard look at the world we live in and said, “damn…Thats Fucked!!!!”
There is much more to come. The Angry Jew Nation continues to grow. Over 5 thousand of you have dropped in from almost a dozen different countries, all joined together by our utter contempt for the hypocrisy’s of the modern world.
I want to thank all the readers for making this possible, it is your participation and encouragement that keeps me going.
A special thanks to Philly Phil, he who created and hosts the site, Dave, creator of The Angry Jew Space on MySpace and long lost brother, The X, for being understanding when the checks were late and being my sounding board since the Young Russian left, and of course, Brother John, who has yet to post a SINGLE, SOLITARY COMMENT ON HIS LITTLE BROTHERS WEBSITE, I love ya, you putz.
Well enough sappiness for now, I have got posts to write, and what are you doing sitting there anyway, you need to be out spreading the word, forwarding my best stuff to your friends, so they too may know the peace and wisdom that comes from being a member of The Angry Jew Nation
A study released by The American Cancer Institute reports that uninsured Americans are 1.5 times as likely to die from cancer as their insured counterparts.
DUHHHHH
I wonder how much taxpayer earmark money went to fund that conclusion. The study stated that those without health insurance are less likely to get recommended screening tests, and when they are finally diagnosed, their cancer is more likely to spread. The uninsured are 1.5 times more likely to die within five years of diagnosis.
Gee, why is that I wonder.
Could it be that the for profit insurance companies are pricing Americans right out of their right to life?
Maybe we should change the preamble of the constitution to read “..Life…if you can afford the premiums, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.”.
I don’t know what is sadder, really. That someone had to pay good money to figure this one out, or that we allow this type of situation to exist in our country. After all, we are just the most powerful nation on earth.
Why just yesterday, our paid representatives in Washington passed a spending bill that included such desperately needed items as:
$825,000 to expand the neonatal intensive care unit at a St. Louis hospital
$464,000 for hops research
$705,000 for brown tree snake management in Guam
$2.2 Million for Mormon Cricket control
$223,000 for Beaver management in North Carolina
$475,000 for Beaver management in Mississippi
$353,000 to combat the Asian long horned beetle
$779,000 for wolf predation management in Wisconsin
$332,000 for post-harvest oyster treatment
$244,000 for bee research in Texas
$513,000 for blackbird management in four states
Now that comes out to $7,113,000. So at, lets just say for argument, $200 for a simple colon rectal cancer screening test, thats 35,565,000 Americans who could be screened.
Reviews are the hardest things for me to write. It is easy to poke fun at our leaders or to point out just how stupid the average schmuck on the street can be. Trying to convey a great meal is much, much harder. I want to get it right.
I will never write a bad review. If someplace I am trying for the first time is not up to snuff, I am not going to waste my time and yours writing about it.
Saturday, having nothing but time on my hand, I decided to combine my love of good food with a field test of the Sprint Navigator, the GPS navigation system on my new cell phone.
Since I am currently not dating anyone, I called up The X and asked her if she was up for an adventure. We headed out with Sprint leading the way. As a side note, I really can’t recommend it very much. It warned us to late of a freeway change and then lost the satellite and froze. We pulled off the freeway, and rebooted it. It immediately tried to get us to turn down a closed street.
After a few false starts, it finally seemed to know where it was and how to get us to our destination, The Miss Dixie Restaurant in North East Portland.
I have an ugly confession to make. In the eight years I have lived in Portland, I have not explored much. It was only recently that I found the trendy Hawthorne District, I know, it is pretty sad, but it is a situation I intend to rectify.
Anyway, I never even knew Mississippi Street existed. It is a block and a half of trendy eateries and coffee shops a stones throw from The Rose Quarter. A small sign on the street led us to the Miss Delta.
On walking in I was struck by how much it felt like Memphis. This space could have easily been on Beale street, with the exposed bricks running along one wall the other painted in cool pastels. A well stocked full bar runs along one wall and the kitchen is open to view in the rear. The decor is an eclectic mix that works well with the space. Over the front door is a skeleton Mr and Mrs Clause as well as a skeleton reindeer, a touch provided by Anastasia, the owner and our hostess, who seated us with a warm smile and heart felt welcome.
More great Southern touches came to light as soon as we were seated, Mason Jar water glasses, mismatched coffee cups containing Stumptown Hungarian Coffee, which The X, being the coffee snob that she is, informed me was primo stuff. You know when coffee is served with chilled real cream and cubed sugar, your going to be in for a treat.
Anastasia was there for us at every turn, always ready to answer my silly questions with a smile and a laugh. Portland natives in the know have of course heard of her former restaurant, The Delta Cafe. Which was, and still is under the new owners, a great, if hard to get into, place for down home southern cooking in Portland. This new space gave her and Chuck, the chef and co-owner, something new to explore.
After sipping our great coffee and chatting with Anastasia, it came time to order our meal. They serve from a brunch menu on the weekends between 9:00 and 2:00, so it was breakfast time for me. There regular menu has all my Southern favorites, hush Puppies, Fried Okra, Mac and Cheese, Jambalaya, Gumbo, Cheese Grits, Catfish, Fried Chicken and more. Yummmmm. I can just feel my arteries hardening and my taste buds dancing with glee.
Now, when it comes to food, I am a creature of habit. My eye was immediately drawn to the Chicken Fried Steak and Eggs, especially because it was served with a bacon and DUCK gravy, but I forced myself to step outside my comfort zone and order the Tasso Ham Hash. I had no idea what Tasso ham was, other then the menu described it as spicy, so it was that and the fact it was served with a horseradish creme fraiche. How can you go wrong when there is horseradish involved?
The X suprised me by not so much stepping, but taking a big freaking leap out of her comfort zone by ordering the Blackened Catfish Benedict, southern raised catfish served ala Eggs Benedict.
I explained my dilemma over the gravy to Anastasia when we ordered and she laughed lustily and offered to bring me a side of gravy with my meal. I guess she saw me drooling.
Service was fast and warm and our food was served in no time flat.
The presentation of both dishes was beautiful. I’m not big on presentation, I rarely eat with my eyes, but these plates begged a second to appreciate the love Chuck gave them.
My first bite of the hash was explosive. I wish I could think of a better word of it, but the combination of the highly seasoned ham, which Chuck explained to me was Chef Paul Prudhomme’s personal brand, and the horseradish was out of this world. Dunking my sourdough toast in the bacon and duck gravy only enhanced the experience.
The X was very possessive of her Catfish Benedict, but I managed to use some Jewish foreplay on her (20 minutes of begging) and got a taste. The catfish was firm, flaky and moist with just the right amount of zing and the hollandaise was silky smooth.
Listen, I’m no chef, just a talented amateur cook, and I am sure not any kind of food critic, but I know what I like, and I loved my meal at The Miss Delta. From what I saw, everyone is treated like family, the atmosphere is great, the food is incredible.
I wish Chuck and Anastasia great success with their new venture, the restaurant has only been open for two months and I promise to be back, again and again.
The Miss Dixie is located at 3950 North Mississippi in Portland. Dinner menu prices are in the $10.00 to $16.00 range and there is a full bar.
Just as a side note, I am planning to do more of these outings, and am always looking for new dining partners. If you would care to join me or have restaurant you would like me to review just drop me a line
Unlike most Politicians, I am smart enough to know when I might have been wrong, and I am big enough to admit it, and right now, I have to admit that I may have been wrong about Obama.
Truth is, I am starting to gain a little respect for the man.
The Clinton camp has once again handed Obama a moral victory. It seems that a Clinton staffer made comments to The Washington Post that The DNC should look closer into Obama’s drug use in his early years and stated that his admission of drug use could make it harder for him to be elected President. I guess the fact that King George is a recovering Alcoholic and coke freak seemed to slip Bill Shaheen, Hillary’s nation campaign co-chairman, mind.
Or maybe, it’s just that we only elect conservative dopers in this country.
Well there was Bill Clinton, but he doesn’t count because he never inhaled.
Either way, as usual for Team Hillary, the comments were made without her knowledge and the offending staffer has resigned. The Iron Bitch apologized to Obama for the remark, and it’s back to politics as usual.
What is this, the third or fourth time that something has come out of Hillary’s camp with out her knowledge? Is “I didn’t know” going to be the theme of her campaign? If she can’t control her campaign staff, can we really trust her to keep track of the government?
The way I see things, honesty counts for a lot. Obama used alcohol and drugs in High School. Who didn’t? He has not tried to hide or cover it up, and instead has used it as an example to young people. I’m good with that.
I also loved the way he handled Hillary on this question in the last debate.
