Mysterious Barricades

Oh Todd, where art thou? I sent you an email yeterday about Billy Tucci, and I was hoping we could back-and-forth about it. Ho hum, without someone to back-and-forth with I am lost in my sobriety. I love you and I hate you, Todd. 

Bob Cratchett. Is that how you spell it? Well, that guy is who I should be when I grow up. I’ll be broke anyway. Good ol’ Bobby, he don’t need no money. He is thankful and content with the very little that he has in his life, and he teaches his family to be the same way. They’re all thankful and content. Those jerks. I hate their contentment.

Focaccia. I want to learn how to make focaccia. Where pizza can be ostentacious, focaccia is always classy, but so many places around here make it so oily and greasy. Let’s get that bread out of it’s awkward teenage years and into my oven, followed by my belly. I would pay someone to teach me how to make a good focaccia.