Oops

One of Matt's treasured photos of construction equipment was accidentally scooped up and tossed out with the mail...he was quite distraught until we found it in the recycling can.

"Mommy," he said, "that's not appropriate. Pictures are not made of recycling."

Oh, heck no.

As if things weren't bad enough, now we have a peanut-butter safety scandal.

This can't be happening.

Peanut butter is the elixir of life. It's probably in Genesis somewhere. Those little jars in King Tut's tomb? Likely had some. And Columbus didn't just drop by for spice, you know. Most of the family loves it, and say what you will about my gene pool, but its carriers hang around a reeeeallly long time. The reaper had to wait 101 years for Great Aunt Katherine, and it was sent back down the road crying by Grandpa.

The Condiment of Dorian Gray, you might say.

Kill my industry,

kill my 401(k),

kill my metabolism,

but you can have my peanut butter when you pry it from my cold, dead fingers.

Well, it is!

Matt recently told Jim: "Spice is the spice of life."

The Venetian has several cool restaurants/bars.

We sat a while in Aquaknox, then enjoyed the life-size (?) eggs at David Burke, which is described as

"uber chic and ultra modern dining." I don't know if anyone goes inside, because they're too busy having photos taken with Mr. Dumpty.