The TV is broken, again
The culmination of the weekend has been just as fun as the beginning. We went to Books, Boats, and Brushes in New London and then went with my parents to Michael Jordan's steakhouse where the food was absolutely amazing this time. We tried blackjack and did really well, but while waiting for my dad at the craps table, lost a LOT of money and couldn't really come back from it, despite our switch back to blackjack. Next week my parents are going to the Hole in the Wall auction and sitting at the same table as the Chief of Mohegan Sun so I told them to ask him about his opinion of the endurance of the Pequot language and why his craps tables are so evil. I'm not kidding; the odds against 3 straight losses on the pass line are extremely high.
We slept in, drove aimlessly around CT and RI, went to the Taste of Mystic, grudgingly drank Tim Horton's coffee, glanced at Watchhill, and then celebrated my dad and my birthdays. It was really for my dad, because mine isn't for two weeks, but I got a cake. My present is tickets to the entire Ring cycle, which promises to be outstanding. Did I mention my dad tore his Achilles tendon? Let me put it this way-that must be about the worst sports-related injury ever. He has to be on crutches for something like 6 months.
We later hung around Newport, drank at the one bar without three bouncers, and will forever boycott Mapquest. This time, the directions were plain wrong. Luckily, Rhode Island is small enough to recover from trying to find a nonexistant route on the back roads.
Oh, and Fats had three bowls of clam chower today.
We slept in, drove aimlessly around CT and RI, went to the Taste of Mystic, grudgingly drank Tim Horton's coffee, glanced at Watchhill, and then celebrated my dad and my birthdays. It was really for my dad, because mine isn't for two weeks, but I got a cake. My present is tickets to the entire Ring cycle, which promises to be outstanding. Did I mention my dad tore his Achilles tendon? Let me put it this way-that must be about the worst sports-related injury ever. He has to be on crutches for something like 6 months.
We later hung around Newport, drank at the one bar without three bouncers, and will forever boycott Mapquest. This time, the directions were plain wrong. Luckily, Rhode Island is small enough to recover from trying to find a nonexistant route on the back roads.
Oh, and Fats had three bowls of clam chower today.