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For our special anniversary dinner last night, we finally got to try out Glebe Point Diner after hearing about it for so long. (It was awarded a hat in this year’s Good Food Guide.) I had tried to get a table for our wedding anniversary last November, but I left it too long and they were booked out. This time I wisely called a couple weeks ahead. We got there half an hour early (since it was raining and we took a cab instead of walking) but they were still able to seat us. The place was busy and the service was harried but pleasant. The menu/wine list was just a single photocopied A4 sheet (since evidently it changes often depending on what’s in season). I had crab and chestnut soup as a starter, while the Snook had bluefin tartare. Both were excellent. The soup was creamy and moreish and warming, while the tuna had big juicy chunks that zinged with finger lime. There was a bit of a wait for our mains, but they were worth it. I had crispy duck with Brussels sprouts, fig, and barley, while the Snook had Scotch fillet steak with mushrooms and asparagus. We also ordered some veg (“Roman beans”) to share between us. (The portions were more generous that I’d expected though, so I think you could easily forgo the sides.) My Brussels sprouts were hiding under the duck, and they were the best sprouts I’ve ever had in my life. Soooooo good. The only annoyance I had was that we had to wait forever to get our bill (and ask twice!), but I think that was because the host was busy ordering taxis for people going home in the rain. Forgivable. The cost (less than $70 each) was actually pretty good considering we each had two decent sized courses, half a side, a beer, and a glass of wine. I’d definitely recommend it… if you can get a table!

Note: They do have a couple seats at the bar, which I turned down when they were offered last November. I’ve changed my mind on them though. It looks like a worthwhile option if you’re trying to get in on short notice.

Man, I’m sorry it’s just an April Fools joke. I’d LOVE a Tauntaun sleeping bag!

Hmm, should I call up EB Games and see if they’ll let me put down a deposit on Super Pii Pii Brothers? (Link courtesy of new co-worker – and blog reader! – Tim.)

I forget that it’s still April 1 in America. Eileen totally got me this morning with her Ryan Seacrest story.

The bags are packed and the taxi’s been ordered. We’re off! America, here we come…

Happy anniversary to the cute boy from my office who I’d been crushing on for weeks and who kissed me on the dance floor at the dodgiest club in London… and who six years later kisses me when I wake up in the morning and I’m cross and my hair’s all crazy and I have kitten-breath. I never thought I’d find someone who’d accept all my faults, play along with all my hare-brained schemes, and inspire me so much to become a better person. Thank you, Snookums.

Knit a representation of two-dimensional space. That’s awesome! I love knitting geometry. (Link via Boring Boring.)

I feel bad for bitching about my job now after how nice they were today. I woke up feeling sick to my stomach but forced myself to go in anyway since I’d already taken two days off this week. (I don’t think it’s food poisoning as nothing has, uh, moved; it’s more like nausea and cramping and pain in general. I think it may be flu-related. This has happened to me several times before.) I was doing all right until noon, but then the smell of other people’s lunches hit me. I came as close to puking as it’s possible to get. I decided to get on out of there. My friend Kevin couldn’t leave yet though, so I decided to catch the bus back. I staggered out to the stop and waited in the hot sun. Within five minutes, my legs start shaking and my face went clammy. There was no way I could last the 30 minute trip home. I managed to get back to the office where Kevin took one look at my white face and put me to bed in our “sick bay”. That was nice. He also evidently called my boss and told him what had happened, because before too long the HR chick showed up with a Cab Charge so I could take a taxi home. That was even more nice. I rested for an hour and then caught my cab. Now I’m home and Dr. Amy Jones has started her ultrasonic kitty healing process (i.e. she’s purring in my lap). Hopefully I’ll be recovered enough for Major’s wedding tomorrow!

Want to move to Oz? Australia has announced they’ll be letting in an extra 5000 immigrants next year.

Another year, another racial brouhaha at my alma mater. On Tuesday, former Notre Dame player and Heisman winner Paul Hornung gave a radio interview in which he offered this analysis of our string of losing seasons: “We can’t stay as strict as we are as far as the academic structure is concerned because we’ve got to get the black athlete. We must get the black athlete if we’re going to compete.” What an ass. The university was understandably annoyed and commentators were offended. I especially liked this scathing response: “Never mind that about half of Notre Dame’s current roster is black. Never mind that Notre Dame football doesn’t lack black athletes, just great athletes. That’s irrelevant. Of significantly greater relevance is Hornung’s assumption that academic standards must be lowered to give the darkies, er … I mean the colored, er … I mean the black athletes a chance. After all, the white athletes clearly have no problem meeting these standards — the evidence being the brilliant sociological elucidation offered by Professor Hornung.” Right on. After initially defending his boneheaded remarks, Hornung today apologized.

He reminds me of the chubby kid on the tour my Mom and I took for prospective students back in 1994. Most of us wanted to hear about student life and classes, but that idiot only wanted to know if we’d get to go inside the stadium. Finally the tour guide snapped. “Look,” he said, “if all you’re interested in is football, don’t apply. Notre Dame is a tough school and there are only six home games a year. A Notre Dame degree is about more than being just a fan.” We nearly applauded.