the race discussion.

For whatever reason, my satellite radio wasn't working this morning. So where I'm normally hearing Howard Stern on Sirius, I was hearing Steve Harvey on WCGI.

A woman called in with a house problem. Something about mold on her molding. And like any good radio host, Harvey eventually worked it around to the important stuff.

Him: How tall are you?
Her: Oh, I'm just 5 feet.
Him: And how much you weigh?
Her: 'Bout 165.

I cringed, waiting for the usual Stern chorus of hoots, hollers and pig snorts. But instead,

Him: Ooh, girl. Mmm.
Sidekick Guy: Perfection.

Made my morning.

the kiss of death.

If an unknown band makes a single album and no one's around to hear it, does it pen a song about its demise and embark on a farewell tour?

Seems so.



May 3rd at the Empty Bottle. Awesomely, Joan of Arc opens.

yumor.

He has this way of making me feel like the funniest girl in the world.

It's the laughing.
And the grabbing.
And the kissing.
As if the laughing weren't reward enough.

It makes me want to learn jokes.

silver cloud.

First spied this trinket at the Milwaukee Art Museum. Excepting the French roast eyes of S., 'twas the prettiest thing I'd seen all day. The tag read Juliet.

She's popped into my head once a week since.

You know what they say. The follies a woman regrets most in life are those she didn't commit when she had the chance.

6 dollar tip.

"Maybe I'm the first valet who's ever understood you."

Maybe you are, Antoine. Maybe you are.

Never have I finished the meal, denied the dessert, got the bill, calculated the tip, gulped the wine and looked up to see the car. Right out front, doors ajar.

Indian Garden on Devon: Go for the food. Stay for the Antoine.

baby, we'll be fine.

The Louise Brooks bob, such a tough look to rock right. Ice ice baby, are you so sorry for everything?