I think that I shall never see/A poem as lovely as cookie-dough ice cream

On Saturday night we had takeout Indian with the N.'s, old friends of mine, and the B.'s, NSBR's sister and brother-in-law. JN and SB were on my right and left, so my end of the table was by far the more cynical end. We had Ben and Jerry's for dessert and NSBR commented, "Hey, this cookie-dough ice cream is pretty good!" SB began shaking with repressed laughter. JN and I looked at him inquiringly. "It's like going back in time," he managed to get out, "It's like hearing something someone said in 1987."

We have officially gone over to the dark side: I ordered an artificial Christmas tree yesterday. It's not your father's artificial tree. Very realistic looking, and comes pre-lit. I won't miss the nerve-wracking process of putting the lights on, nor the shower of needles (some of last year's needles are still stuck in the front door threshold), or the necessity of watering. I'm hoping we use it long enough to save some money. But I will miss the fragrance, and it seems so LA (and thus wrong) to spray the thing with pine scent.