I just have one word. Metabolism. I know that with mine, when the great famine comes, I will survive. In the words of that interminably skinny Forrest Gump, that's all I have to say about that.
Allergy doc says that all the things I'm allergic to - the local grasses, mold, etc - are just swirling around everywhere outside and that's why I'm perpetually reactive, loaded with junk and trying to clear it. Sounds pleasant, doesn't it? That's another trouble with endless summer. Everything just keeps growing. They gave me some new, heavy duty, turbocharged nasal spray. Yowza. Harsh. Tastes nasty. Bores through like a diamond head drill bit in a coal mine. Stuff works, though.
Checked out a new sandwich joint downtown yesterday called, "The Planet Cafe." I had a grilled portobello-provolone sandwich. Pretty good. Small, not too busy. Don't know if they'll make it.
There's also a new steakhouse in Kea'au. It's the third restaurant in that location since we moved here. I hear it's good, but it's more of a burger and rib place than a steakhouse. It's a steakhouse without steaks. Or with only a few steaks. Two I heard, on their menu. Plus stuff like loco mocos and other plate lunch fare. Plus, they lost the bar and have no liquor license. I'll wager 10-1 they'll go under in six months.
There's a flaming gay guy with white hair in a nice suit on TV right now imploring me to buy Tide Total care to keep my wardrobe from fading in the wash. Like I care about my wardrobe? Can you even call what I wear a wardrobe? Anyway, since when did gay men become the end-all and be-all authority on all things fashion? It's a curious phenomenon. Time to turn off the tube and get to work.
A hui hou. Aloha!
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