Damn the french


This weekend Betsy's dad (the famous Ray Ray) and stepmom Carol are visiting us from sunny southeastern Ohio (where Glenn is tasked with singlehandedly winning the upcoming presidential election for Kerry, but that's another story). Yesterday we did some requisite touristy stuff.

We started at Clary's on Abercorn, which is fast becoming our favorite weekend breakfast place. Then it was off to the races. Bones our former resident dachshund was competing in the annual Oktoberfest Weiner Dog Races on River Street. He started off strong, but in the end, he choked, and like so many of the dogs before him, turned and ran in the wrong direction.

Next it was on to a 'trolley' ride around the historic district. This was relatively enjoyable, except for the presence of a pack of goddamned foreigners at the back of the bus. Throughout the tour, they yammered ceaselessly in french, despite repeated shushing from the septuagenarian driver/guide and icy glares from me and the rest of the passengers. I tell ya, I've no use for the french. Goddamn frogs.