The clickity-tickity-tick of thousands of needles fighting unsuccessfully to stab through the shingled roof over my head woke me around six this morning.
Half-blinded by unfulfilled REMs while blinded the rest of the way by the nearsightedness I’ve been cursed with since childhood, I groped the nightstand for my glasses before stretching over to reach the window shade.
Even in my bleariness, I clearly recognize winter’s last big ”eff you.”
View from my living room 7 a.m.
The chief operating officer of Facebook a year ago gave us her "sort of feminist manifesto" for women to succeed in business: Don't worry about being liked, don't give in too soon, work hard, and assert yourself. She padded that out to 240 pages, charged $24.95 a pop and called it "Lean In," a rallying cry that instead lent itself to jokes about shattering glass ceilings with low-cut blouses.
You should expect many things if you plan to spend four hours and $250 a person on a dinner billed as a "farmer's feast." One of them isn't a post-meal craving for pizza.
Yet I was jonesing for a slice. Or five. So was my wife, and she had splurged an extra $150 on wine pairings.
These may or may not be sitting a on a toothpick.