Wickety goodness.
Jo came home a few days early from her hiking excursions in the Northern Cascades, but it's so nice here that I'm not headed back to Scappoose until tomorrow. I took the more vigorous of the two dogs for a hike today, and was shortly after taken out for a fabulously gluttonous evening of Indian food at the Bombay Cricket Club.
At which point I came to several conclusions: A. The British clearly chose to colonize India due to the fact that this region's cuisine is the only thing glorious enough to counteract the shitty fare that they had been suffering through in England for centuries; And B. that I have no IDEA what the hell kind of sport cricket is! I saw wickets a la croquet mixed with some kind of ball/stick hitting action, like a cross between baseball and golf. Uhh... riiiight. Cricket. Which I guess is probably how the rest of the world feels about American football.
When we came back several hours later, too sedated with food to do anything but surrender to gravity on the couch, we put in "The Last of the Mohicans" and vegged out in front of the giant wide-screen television. It turns out that Kevin Costner is not in this movie, and if he were, it would be called "Dances with Wolves." So there were no wolves or gratuitous Costner ass, but I did reaffirm my fear of death by being hacked to pieces on a battlefield.
Namaste,
Jacki
At which point I came to several conclusions: A. The British clearly chose to colonize India due to the fact that this region's cuisine is the only thing glorious enough to counteract the shitty fare that they had been suffering through in England for centuries; And B. that I have no IDEA what the hell kind of sport cricket is! I saw wickets a la croquet mixed with some kind of ball/stick hitting action, like a cross between baseball and golf. Uhh... riiiight. Cricket. Which I guess is probably how the rest of the world feels about American football.
When we came back several hours later, too sedated with food to do anything but surrender to gravity on the couch, we put in "The Last of the Mohicans" and vegged out in front of the giant wide-screen television. It turns out that Kevin Costner is not in this movie, and if he were, it would be called "Dances with Wolves." So there were no wolves or gratuitous Costner ass, but I did reaffirm my fear of death by being hacked to pieces on a battlefield.
Namaste,
Jacki