End of Times
Last week, we had a tornado.
Earlier this week, we had an earthquake.
Today is the beginning of a hurricane.
I'm waiting for the announcement of the asteroid/meteorite within a week or so to complete the hat-trick. The SyFy executives are waiting on a Baldwin to sign to start making the multi-mega-disaster movie...
But none of these is as troubling to me as the travesty John made known unto me this morning.
Chilis, our local restaurant, a.k.a. Chuck's (to my kids, as that's where we always met with Uncle Chuck)... the restaurant we always went to for each and every birthday since the kids were little... has burned to the ground. Never mind that we went there solely because it's the only family restaurant around here. (Try taking your two year old out for sushi or indian for his birthday. Right.) We will certainly miss the terrible rendition of the birthday song we always put those poor wait staff through (we do tip well, though).
I've never been big on tradition (except for that song from fiddler on the roof - it's quite catchy, like the plague). But I really loved going to Chuck's, embarrassing the crap out of whoever happened to officially age, and fight for the last bite of that molten chocolate cake.
The end of times, indeed.