First Snow!

Ahhhh.... The little house on the prairie has its first snow of the season today. Those of us who practice denial like a religion appreciate the symbolism most. Covering over the things you don't like until the heat comes in and reveals your crap is a beautiful respite from reality.

And speaking of reality....

Our Hell's Kitchen Agent reports that in a haze of vodka and house music, he fell in love with a much younger version of himself. Our agent is in his late-mid-40's. That's gay-speak for damn-near 50. Upon further investigation, the much younger man was revealed to be in his mid-50's. Yours truly has teeth marks in his tongue from not noting the obvious: When the nearly-60 crowd starts to look like chicken....

The little dancing boy who is knocking on Social Security's door is also a Buddhist. Nee Rosenberg. That's right. Our Buddhist is a Jewddhist. Not that there's anything wrong with that. In fact, we're a little giddy at the prospect that our chicken-chasing agent has fallen head over gefiltefish for an aged Hebrew with a penchant for chanting to fat guys. During Channukah. Tell me that won't get you through a cold winter's worth of writing.

We went on a pseudo-date with an old friend (though, to be clear, not as old as our agent's date - by a decade-plus). We saw the Kansas City Plaza Lights display and ate at what we believed to be George Brett's restaurant. It said "George Brett" on the outside. The walls were display cases with his baseball memorabilia from the 70's and 80's. The staff wore shirts that said "George Brett". The menu said "Brett's". The featured beer stuck in the salt and pepper caddy said "George's Ale". Our waitress took our drink order and I asked - in my star-struck way - "Is Mr. Brett in the building?" She curled her 19 year-old lip into a sneer and snarled "He's no longer involved with the restaurant. It's called '210' now."

"Somebody should tell your shirt," my pseudo-date said. This is a man I could love. We've been wondering around the office if it's telling that he's called twice since Saturday night. Once was today to inform me that it's snowing in my yard - 70 miles from his yard. Never having fallen for a nice guy, we wonder if this is how such things go.

Time will tell if it's a happy accident.

Or a simple snow-job.