Mmm. Peas.

I've noticed that the best I've gotten at blogging is once per month at best... I missed Jan by just a few days. I'll try to get to at least once a week...

Something that made me giggle out loud:
http://www.mcsweeneys.net/2008/1/28liebert.html

My favorite:

MY PET PEEVES...

When a can of cheap peas says "Pea Color and Size May Vary" and inside there's just one giant blue pea.

Hah! I hate that. But I do have a passionate love affair with peas. I'll eat them right out of the can without even heating them. Well, I haven't done that in a while... but I'm not against it.

We finally went to "Common Roots" coffee shop today on Lyndale and 26th st. I would love to leave the cubicle farm behind one day and own a little cafe/restaurant/bar. I would have the best breakfast burritos on the block. And there would be yummy red wine and it would be served in little glass tumblers instead of wine glasses. And we wouldn't serve miller or budweiser products. But where? and when? And how much do I need to save up to start something like that? And how would I actually "do" it, considering I've never even worked in a restaurant, let alone learned how to run one. It makes me wonder if I should get a second job working at a bar or restaurant, just to get closer to learning the biz.

Don't worry, I won't serve cold canned peas. BUT I would serve my mother's wonderful creamed peas recipe in the springtime when there are peas at the farmer's markets. It can't be those stupid new peas that you don't have to shell. I don't get those. It's got to be the real peas that our grandmothers shelled on the porch at the farm. Not that I actually have my own memories of my grandmother on any sort of farm, but I have a romantic vision of women rocking on an old wooden porch swing in the setting sunlight on a warm and breezy late spring evening with a red bowl sitting between them as the dog snatches discarded pea shells. That was quite the run-on sentence. Nice.