Sunday!

Back in the days when I lived in New York, there was an obnoxious ad that ran every two minutes or so. A sped-up laugh would kick it off, and then the announcer would yell "Sunday! At Raceway Park!" The announcer, Alan Kalter, would move on to better things (The Late Show with David Letterman), and I would move on to California, but that commercial will haunt me until the day I die.

Which is not what I came to talk about. Bear in mind that I'm suffering from dyslexic fingers this morning, so everything I type is taking longer as I go back and fix many many transposed letters.

Which is not what I came to talk about either. No, this time it's a Sunday breakfast long ago with brioche (or, more likely, croissant or muffin or bagel) and classical music. Somewhere in Ithaca there's a kind of mall made up of connected buildings -- I remember these as old buildings, for some reason -- with an indoor courtyard. Or something. And you can have Sunday breakfast, or brunch, down there. Just you, whoever you're with, some coffee and pasrtry, and Wolfgang or Ludwig or Johannes or Antonio providing the best background music.

Which brings to mind another item for discussion: always take notes. If you're going to be providing detail about an encounter some twenty-five years later, it's always a good idea to be able to be descriptive about the surroundings. Descriptive and definite. Descriptive, definite, and not dyslexic, since that just makes everything take longer.

Some mornings you really need that cup of coffee to get you through the task of writing your pre-coffee blog.