Panna What's It?

So the weekend was indeed wonderful, full of tidbites and meeting new wonderful people. It was honestly hard for me to process it all, but first-

Friday brought Baby P his 1st visit to the Sample Room w/the loverly Dorajar (This place, I'm pleased to say, will continue to get my patronage. The Baby P, approves. Although the Grilled chicken salad would have been much better served over spinach with sundried tomatoes. We were jus' sayin'.) Afterwards we hit Elsie's for a b'day celebre' which we stayed at for a much shorter time than anticipated. (Packed bar, No lanes available, karaoke line up a mile long...Eh. We'll go back again when our energy is higher. It was just a long feckin' week)

Sats, instead of working I spent the day house-putzing and working out. That's right, I was able to jog out of doors in shorts and a t-shirt. It was AWESOME! After a refreshing naplet (And a shit haircut) I headed out to small gathering b-day celebre' at the E to Prairie India Palace. I got to kibbitz w/Orley (Honey...you looked hot.) fuh-Hinally meet Nixie (Hi honey. You're really GoJus) and nibble some naan and Chicken Kevin Pollack. (Okay, this disintegrated from Chicken Palaka, to Chicken Pollack, to Chicken Kevin Pollack. Boys and girls, this is the scary place called my brain) after dinner, and one of the largest tabs I'd ever laid my eyes on, we hit Biaggi's for some quieter settings and HI-larious conversations about tights. Or was it tits?

Either way, it was a good time.

Late late late, I spit the bit to the Paul, where I hunkered down, and realized that there are just certain songs that trigger a reverse parastoltic reaction and make me want to leave the room. ("lalalalalaAmerica...lalalalalaMERica..." burrrrrfffff burf burf burf. Who plays that on a XM radio, anyway?) And I was tired. Tired Tired Tired...


Which made the ritual Sunday Bkfst soooooo awesome...Wait for it.

Wait for it...

Waaaaaaiiit...

PAAAAAANNEKOEKEN!

MAN I hadn't been to a Pannekoeken Huis since June 1993 when they still existed on Brooklyn Blvd. Granted, the servers stopped wearing the "Saint Pauli Girl" garb, but they still came trampling out the kitchen screaming the name of the signature dish. (Well, not screaming. We figured the servers who said it...prayed for death. MoPes said that if she'd work there she'd come barreling out of the kitch like her A$$ was on fire SHOUTING the P word. Can you imagine her review? "Um...we really like your...um 'enthusiasm'? But we're a little concerned about how the patrons perceive your appearance? I mean, the wooden clogs are nice and all, miss, but I'm quite sure they aren't ergonomically correct" Okay, funny to us)

I opted for the veggie om, ('Course) and that sumbitch was the size of a football, lemme tell ya. Brunch was followed by BM's @ the Independent and a sniff-worthy trip to Magers and Quinn bookstore. All told...a verra, nice day.

Heute abend, watched a little "Walk the Line-age" to see whart the fuss was about. Here's my mini-review:

Reese? Did not deserve to win. Period. Nope Nope Nope Nope. The lady playing Viv Cash had more range. Someone else deserved that award.
If you do drugs in a movie? You're bound to sweat like you just ran a marathon. Drugs are bad.
I wanted a little more about the music. Just a little more.

Zen..bed. And very good timing. Storm frass, coming up...