i forgot to post this earlier, but for valentine's day, instead of joining the d.c. ratrace to obtain an exclusive table at a high-class restaurant, tommy and i cooked our own little slice of heaven right here on O street. on the menu? salad with red onion, feta, mandarin oranges, and almonds; rosemary and garlic roast lamb; polenta with gorgonzola; and strawberries with chocolate zabaglione. photos of our attempts at culinary greatness follow.

this pomeranian, being shown at the westminster dog show, is named Wicked Mean-N-Nasty. seriously.

UPDATE: and this one is called Ghostface Killah.

related: this will make the end of your work day so much more pleasant.

Well, with twenty-five of them under my belt, I think I'm starting to get a hang of this birthday thing. The existential crises are shorter, the familial obligations easier to fulfill, and the toys are better. So excuse the ugly, self-indulgent nature of this post. I assume you're used to it by now.

Okay, so the 9AM conference call was not exactly an ideal start, but Catherine gave me some pretty sweet workout pants as soon as I woke up. Also given to me by my too-generous girlfriend: some Etymotic ER-6 headphones. I know, I know -- I hate audiophiles too, even though the tendency of disposable income to rise as I get older along with my gadgetlust seems likely to turn me into one. I'll restrain myself for as long as I can from buying any scientistically certified magical speaker paint or mystic jars of rocks, but I have to admit that the ER-6s sound pretty amazing. Did you know there's a track of Isaac Brock talking quietly under the pre-chorus lyrics on "Black Cadillacs"? I didn't. I hadn't noticed the weird pin-prick percussion on Kanye West's "Jesus Saves" either. Awesome. Another plus is that I can't hear anything else when I have the Etymotics in my ears. That's going to be great for the gym. What's that? Biking? Well, I've been hit by cars before. It's not so bad.

Anyway, last night Catherine and I went and had dinner with my mom and her boyfriend Ray. She made me a cake and got me some balloons -- what a great mom. I half expected ponyrides to be announced after dinner. I'm just glad she didn't hire a clown: last Friday I caught a few minutes of an episode of CSI that revolved around a woman with a clown fetish whose husband ended up smothering some poor sucker named Doodles to death. Imagine creepy, atonal music playing over a low framerate shot of clown shoes jerking, then going still. Actually, come to think of it I was laughing hysterically throughout that sequence. So nevermind: best clown ever.

My mom went overboard and gave me a combined xmas/birthday present in the form of a pretty sweet-lookin' used bike to replace the one that was stolen out of my car last fall. I won't bore you with its technical details, which I assure you I could recite without any difficulty at all, definitely. But I will say: it has a bell! Hurrah! Rest assured, I'll be pricing handlebar streamers on Amazon shortly.

The one ingredient missing from the perfect birthday: booze, of course.