--If you ever go tubing, avoid families by showing up after 1:00, spring for the floating cooler, and plan on stopping somewhere along the river bank for something from that floating cooler. Despite taking not having taken my words of wisdom, tubing down the Shenandoah was pretty cool, both from a "hey, I'm tubing" and temperature sense. Plus, the historical nature of the Shenandoah, including historic battlefields, was somewhat inspiring. And then, a very nice picnic after with Tony's excellent potato casserole, my new favorite grape/feta/mint picnic salad and a few other treats.
--Baltimore is a shell of a city. It feels depressed. Beautiful row houses are boarded up and disintegrating. Crime is rampant. With the exception of a few blocks, the city is dead at night. A few people are trying...and the rest aren't. As you'd expect, the food scene is pretty sad. I did have good Afghani food (thank you Tony) and very nice brunch at Jillian's (at the free to the public at all times Baltimore City Art Museum, thank you Julie). I really do thank the visionaries of Seattle and San Francisco (plus the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake) for ensuring that I'm able to live in such vibrant, lovely cities.
--If you're going to Baltimore, don't fly into Reagen International. It turns out that despite being in a colony where it's easy to knock through 5 states in a day, Reagen isn't that close to anything, except the capitol.
--Morton's in Bethesda is overpriced and not worth it. I'm also trying not to be bitter that the bartender didn't tell me about the burger special (Sunday nights only, delicious looking hamburger with sides and fries, all proceeds for some children's fundraiser, the plates coming out of the kitchen looked far better than my crab cake and chopped salad).
--I've gone on two business trips with Char. Both times, I've ended up sick. We now share an office. I think I need to start watching my back.

Now, to the real point of this blog. Denver. Or more specifically, the $0.75 tamale.

With the exception of the airport, I've never spent any time in Denver. Tracy has always sung its praises, and I've heard many good things about Colorado in general. After spending a few days in Denver, I have to agree, it's pretty damn cool.

Twenty years ago, someone had a dream. The downtown area is revitalized, seamlessly blending commercial stores and restaurants with Old Frontier construction, especially once you get past the commercial strip; the frontier buildings reminded me of downtown Napa and Yreka, both also frontier towns. The Denver Arts area intermingles effortlessly with the Capitol building (did you know before reading this entry that Denver is the capitol of Colorado?), the Colorado river and the convention center (where the Democrats are heading). And amazingly, unlike other areas, such as LA and Seattle, the convention center doesn't look like it was dropped into the middle of the city, but rather, thoughtfully integrated within what already existed.

Tracy briefly mentioned that Denver has good Mexican food, which immediately set my foodie instincts aflutter. While walking to Tamayo, a very tasty and slightly upscale Mexican restaurant for lunch (so good, we ate there twice), we passed a few carts selling a selection of burritos and tamales. Street food, in my opinion, can only be good...and the next day, we were stopped. If it were bad, we reasoned, we would have only spent $1.50. If it was good, that would be $1.50 of deliciousness.

Luckily for us, the red chile pork tamale was in that second category.

The masa was the perfect blend of not too dry, but moist enough to stay together. The pork was braised, slightly spicy in the red pepper sauce. I fell in love on the spot, practically choking back tears as I ate. Pure perfection, wrapped in a corn husk. The tamale was worth more than $0.75, in my mind.

"I'm going to buy some to take home," I told Char, and promptly marched up to the seller. A conversation later, he promised me that I'd have two dozen to take home the next day, a dozen of the green chile and cheese, a dozen of the red chile and pork. He claimed the chile and cheese were "very good", and who was I to doubt the man that had brought me red chile pork tamales? Char and I decided to split the cache.

See that picture below? Look closely. That's my suitcase, holding a dozen delicious green chile and cheese tamales. I have always kept a few gallon size ziploc bags in my suitcase for emergencies, of what sort, I didn't know until now. Tamale emergencies.

Tonight, I made a grilled tomato salsa and guacamole, heated up a few tamales, and feasted. The dish, prefeast, in the picture below. Tomorrow night, I'm looking forward to the pork tamales. Good Mexican food...so hard to find here, so delicious (and cheap) elsewhere.

By the way, we had to stay in the Denver Ritz Carlton. Powers outside of my control upgraded me to a suite, which was only slightly smaller than my condo. I gave the five-minute tour of my suite: sitting room, bedroom (most comfy hotel bed ever), dressing room and giant bathroom. Two HD TVs meant some serious Olympic viewing time, reminding me that it's time to upgrade from the analog and rabbit ears to HD for football season. Oh, and Elway's oatmeal brulee, delicious. Think creme brulee, but with creamy oatmeal enclosed in the warm sugar crust.

Quinn's calls itself a gastropub, which means that the traditional pub food is there, but elevated to another level. Rarebit? That's served as a warm pretzel with a complex cheese sauce. Salad, yes, but spiced up with new ingredients; my favorite is the bread salad, with fennel, radishes, olives, cucumbers, lettuce and of course, grilled bread. Hamburger...wagyu beef with a pile of delicious fries. Meat, in the form of braised oxtails with gnocchi. Foul, duck confit. Bangers and mash, elevated to a housemade sausage with lentils. Fish, in the form of scallops. Braised eel. Oh, and the list continues...

A few weeks ago, I ended up at Quinns three times in one week, once with my brother, once with Gabe, Jess, Lisa and Tracy, and once again with Lisa, plus Andy, as they helped me snap out of a blue funk with good food and drink. It was an excellent weeklong adventure...Along the way, I snapped a picture of the salad and savory cheesecake, with fresh raspberries and a raspberry dressing. Oh, delicious. The photo looks delicious, the taste is even better.

BTW, I met the head chef in the bathroom line. A Boston Southie, polite enough to want me to cut ahead of him in line. "No," I insisted. "You are feeding all of us. I can't go ahead of you."

So not surprising, when Pete suggested having dinner at his house, I went to work. He foolishly assumed that I'd bring dishes already premade, but alas, he was wrong, and I may have done some non-permanent damage to his kitchen. It was worth it - I made the very excellent grilled vegetable bread salad and satisfying blueberry cobbler. Thanks to Paul for cooking the vegetables, and helping to cement the vegetable salad as one of my favorite recipes of the summer (made even better by the fact that all of the ingredients can be found at my local farmer's market).

Here's the grilled vegetable salad recipe, from Cooks Illustrated. First, dressing. Lemon juice, balsamic vinegar, garlic, olive oil, dijon mustard, fresh thyme, salt, pepper. Then, cut up, mix, olive oil up and grill bell peppers, red onions, zucchini and eggplant (my favorite); when done, toss with some dressing. Also, toss spring lettuce with the dressing. Think ratatouille, minus the basil. Also, grill a piece of bread along the way. On a pretty plate, layer the bread, lettuce and vegetables, top with shaved parmesan and enjoy the deliciousness.

I liked the summer salad so much, the next day, I cleaned out the fridge, went to the store and made a super gigantic batch. I've made two salads, and last night, tried to make a dent in my phyllo dough (long story, never get recipe inspirations after a few too many greyhounds when you live within stumbling distance of a grocery store) by wrapping the vegetables and a generous portion of goat cheese in the dough. Delicious.

Sadly, my salad pictures did not turn out. But, here are some of the phyllo dough pics for you to envision and think about (plus, if you're really curious, either come to my house for dinner and let me recreate, or look at the Cooks Illustrated picture).

I also have enough vegetables left for something else. I'm thinking a spin of Carrie's vegetable tart, with pie dough wrapped around the veggies and cheese.

First, Pete, carpool driver for the day, forgot me, leaving me stranded at work. I took the Connector (Microsoft's superb employee bus service), but to get to the pickup stop, had to slog through gushing rain. I was soaked when I reached the bus stop. Ironically, I took my umbrella out of my bag that morning, thinking that it was too much dead weight.

Then, a few hours later, while talking on the phone, I heard a weird dripping noise. It took me a few minutes to realize that it wasn't nature, but inside my home. Drat, I thought. The damn windows are leaking again. Then I realized that the sound was coming from the bathroom. Water was pouring out of the ceiling fan. My home had turned into the final chapter of Solaris.

As a positive, I met my upstairs neighbors, who are very nice and friendly. We think we've figured out the problem, which while it's going to need to be fixed, isn't one of those "uh-oh, we can't use the shower for days and days" types of problems.

All night, I dreamed the sounds of gushing water. That may have been the real rain, playing with my dreams.

This morning, halfway through my shower, the water suddenly stopped draining. For. No. Reason. Whatsoever. Jiggling the plug did nothing. Now, I own a plunger and half a bottle of highly corrosive and toxic drain unclogging agent. It turns out that dropping little nubs of soap down the drain is not a good idea; we theorized that the little bit of thin bar that I dropped yesterday wedged itself horizontally in the drain, the perfect size to completely block all water flow.

Is it just me, or has water been a theme over the past 24 hours?

My brother and sister-in-law had planned an outdoor wedding, but at the last minute, moved inside because of dark and menacing clouds. That was a wise decision, because we could hear the mad pounding of raindrops throughout the entire ceremony. I remember the rabbi saying that in the Judaic tradition, water is a sign of luck, happiness, success.

Hmmm...

About the lack of blogging. I have sooo much to write about, and I don't know when it's going to get done. Really, it's been work. I've been on a project that has stretched for eons, and lately, has caused me so much gray hair and angst and upset, that bad feelings have spilled over into all parts of my life. Things have been better over the past week, in part because my very understanding manager, who realized just how bad it has been when I said, "I have not been this bitter and cynical about anything related to work since I left IDC", made an executive decision that I am to transition off as soon as possible. Happy days will soon return.

Perhaps the water is bringing good tidings.

When I was in New York a few weeks ago, Jason, Gabe and I talked about the sheets. I never realized, but quality linen sheets are pricey (Jason’s are fairly affordable, and considering the time we spend in bed, shouldn’t we have nice sheets?). And linen sheets tend to be frilly, with scallops and embroidery, things that make them appealing to only a very small demographic (i.e., women in the 50s and 60s). In retrospect, there is something timeless about linen; Jason pointed out that it’s not a coincidence that tablecloths and napkins are referred to as “linens”, because in the not too distant past, we were surrounded by linen. After looking at what was available, hating the quality and the price tag, Jason made a set for Gabe’s birthday, and Linoto was born.

Jason runs Linoto with a strong emphasis on quality and experience. My sheets took a while to arrive - the fabric quality did not pass Jason’s standards and we had to wait for better quality fabric. Carefully packed, the sheets were washed and soft and ready to go on my bed.

Fabulous!

Highlights for me: conversations over meals, the fashion, the raw and harsh portrayal of the devastation of a broken heart; cosmos at the end (why did we stop drinking these?); and the sheer energy created by four best friends. Lots of hits, a few misses, and Carrie’s wedding dress was not as tacky as it seemed in the after pictures leaked (although what was up with the bird?). Oh, and I adored the bridesmaids dresses.

It’s not entirely unusual to hear me reference moments from the series, particularly when discussing the single/dating life (I also reference Seinfeld too, which I guess tells you that my brain remembered more in the 90s and early 2000s than today). It’s always interesting to gage people’s reactions when I drop a reference. Those that made it into their 30s single nod in agreement, often adding their own perspective along the lines of “the same thing happened to me”. Those that didn’t make it into their 30s single generally seem a little perplexed, as in “how could this be true? It was an entertaining show, but that’s about it”.

I don’t know if it’s a fun fact or a sad fact or something in the middle – but some things in show have happened to me. Not just the general theme of hanging out with other single friends, but dating disasters, interactions with singles and non-singles, bad and good break-ups, happy and sad. Call it a badge of honor.

In celebration of the final episode four years ago, I made Caroline dinner (pad thai and spring rolls, if I remember correctly). This time, before the movie, I made margaritas and guacamole. After, Hilary, Lisa and I had dinner at Quinn’s, where I consumed a Manhattan (their special Manhattan is excellent), a cosmo (not so good) and a tasty, tasty espresso martini (which is the new “it” drink, I’ve had in both London and Seattle). And we talked about the movie, and of course, dating.

The next day, Carrie and I spent about 30 minutes discussing the movie. Apropos, I was drinking wine. I also informed her that when she gets married, she needs to take a cue from Carrie Bradshaw in her choice of bridesmaids dresses.

In this picture: cherries (peaking from the back, the first crop of the season), asparagus, lamb's quarter, spring lettuce and mint (accidentally cut out of the picture). Some of it will make tonight's dinner: salad with sauteed asparagus and goat cheese, and topped with a balsamic-lemon juice-shallot-honey-sour cream dressing. For reasons that I can't figure out, I've been craving salad a lot lately. Luckily, it's spring and early summer salad time at the farmer's market. I'll accompany with a Chateau Font-Mars Picpoul de Pinet, from Languedoc, of France. Intersting fact: the grapes grow on top of a field of fossilized dinosaur eggs!

The seasonal market, which is 3 blocks from my house, opened in mid-April. I've been trying to go every Sunday (when I'm in town, that is). It's a great social scene, I usually run into friends and neighbors. More importantly, the high quality produce and foodstuffs. Almost all seasonal, the food has all essential things that I love: fresh, grown by small farmers and truly, really organic. Beyond produce, other good stuff: flowers, eggs, meat (I may even buy chicken, a food that I try to avoid, because, well, most chicken is pretty bad), fish, chocolates, honey and ice cream, with more rotating in and out over the summer.

Does anyone have ideas for lamb's quarters? I remember a spectacular meal years ago with lamb's quarters filled ravioli, but not really ready to tackle that. The seller said it was like spinach, so I'm thinking about simply chopping up and sauteeing with garlic and a splash of lemon juice. Ideas are appreciated.

A bonus picture: baked tomatoes stuffed with couscous with basil, parseley, pine nuts and parmesan, tomatoes a la the farmer's market. I'm thinking that they are hot house grown, and extremely delicious. Oh, and also free of that nasty salmonella strain (a by-product of our industrial food chain, of which I could spend many hours ranting about its evils, but won't).

My six-month subscription with eHarmony ends today. Despite the recent flood of messages from the uber-religious people with new matches (!) and offers of discount renewals (!), I'm ending my relationship with eHarmony. In fact, I'm ending my relationship with all online dating sites as of today. I took this vow when I turned 34, and stayed away for a year. Then, 35 hit me and I decided to try the online thing one last time. Obviously, six months later, it didn't work out.

Over the past ten years, I've dated many of the sites: Match, Yahoo! Personals, Nerve, Lovelab and others that I've forgotten, probably on purpose. It seems that my relationship with those sites mimics many real life relationships. A roller coaster of happy and sad, huge emotional investments that sometimes do, but often don't pay off, disappointment, rejection, broken promises. Second and third chances. Stories, mostly bad, with relatively few good ones.

Nothing would make me happier than to have a sous chef in my kitchen (food allusion!). But, the reality is, that despite my many-pronged efforts, mine is a solo life. In a twisted way, the end of online dating is a sad end; most practically, I'm cutting off an area that blatantly promises a bright and shiny future with the love of my life, only to be found on this site!

Before I become tempted once again by someone's story about meeting their significant other on an online site, I'll think about my history with the sites: a relationship of give and take, which by the end, consisted of me doing most of the giving and the dating site, most of the taking.

PS - For all of my blog readers, please no more advice. Trust me, I've taken your advice, repeatedly. If you want to help me, find me a date with someone who not only has a pulse, but can carry on a conversation, likes to drink and isn't a picky eater.

The opening day party sort of passed by, but the next day, a sunnny Sunday, I remembered the notice, when Lisa and I saw the "sorry, no more" sign at the new ice cream stand at the Broadway Farmer's Market. Have you heard of Molly Moon's, I asked, do you want ice cream?

We went, we tasted, we loved.

For me, a scoop of salted caramel and cardamom. Lisa also chose salted caramel, but with a scoop of Vivace coffee. (She also noted that my scoops were bigger than hers. Uh huh, I smiled and smacked my lips. Can I have another taste of your coffee?).

The ice cream was amazing. It tasted homemade, like what I remember eating at my Grandma's house when I was a kid. None of the cloying sweetness of [insert name of ice cream store]. Ground up Vivace coffee beans in the ice cream. Crystals of sea salt in the salted caramel. Other flavors that I didn't get to try: "scout" mint, balsamic strawberry, honey lavender, ginger, and so many others.

A few days later, I mentioned Molly Moon's to Tracy, who knows Molly and the back story. Molly has always dreamed of opening an ice cream shop, one without artificial-ness and styrofoam. The creamery has been a while in the making...and since opening has been a huge success. Molly has been working non-stop to make enough ice cream, even putting out the call for ice cream making help amongst friends.

It's finally summer in Seattle, so likely, I'll be making a special trip or two to Wallingford for Molly Moon's. Yeah to good ice cream!

There is a good reason why we eat radishes raw, neatly sliced up in salads, dressed with something acidic. That's because cooked radishes, in this case, braised, are just not good. Maybe it was the recipe, although it did come from Vegetarian Cooking for All, which usually produces fairly solid results (only, add more flavoring. Trust me).

In case you're curious, here's the recipe. Saute a chopped shallot and thyme in a few tablespoons of butter, add trimmed radishes, cover in water and braise 3-5 minutes. Add radish greens, braise another minute and then remove radishes from braising liquid. Let it boil down for a few minutes, add some butter "to turn it into a sauce" and sauce up the radishes. Simple, right?

In case you're curious, here's how it all went wrong. The radishes took much longer to cook until tender, approximately 15 minutes. When cooked, they sort of had that radish bite, only meek and watery. And the braising sauce...tasted just like water with butter added. The dish was thrown away.

On the positive side, the seared coho salmon (generously seasoned with salt and pepper) and sauteed spinach (with thinly sliced garlic, salt and pepper, then squeezed of excess liquid, then seasoned with a bit of balsamic) were both delicious, definitely making up for the disappointing radishes.

All criteria checked. Friday night, Tracy drug me to Sun Liquor, where Eric made me a few non-alcoholic vitamin C laden juices, then insisted that a hot toddy would make me feel better. He was right. Saturday night with Jess and Lisa and Jeff at Quinn's, with a glass of pinot noir and glass of Monastrell (which was quite delightful), and an excellent tongue salad and chickpea soup topped with parsley oil and candied lemon peel and other goodness.

However, the real purpose this blog - to detail the deliciousness of Sunday night's dinner: the spring vegetable risotto. Published in the latest Cooks Illustrated, the recipe ventured from all other risotto recipes in a unique way. Rather than simply heating chicken stock and adding to the risotto, it called for simmering all vegetable and herb trimmings in the chicken broth for 20 minutes, straining and then cooking the risotto as normal. An added punch - a few teaspoons of lemon juice thrown in at the end, and topping each serving with gremolata (lemon zest + mint + parsley).

Delicious, I tell you, absolutely delicious.

A very interesting unoaked Chardonnay, a 2006 Crossings from New Zealand, went quite well with the risotto, which contained spring vegetables of the asparagus and peas and leeks variety. Many years ago, when I finally figured out that I really hated the oaky and buttery flavor of chardonnays, I heard of unoaked chardonnays, and found a few in the form of white bordeaux varietals. The deliberate labeling of "unoaked" was a pleasant surprise, refreshing and not at all like the California chardonnays that I just don't like.

All in all, a nice meal along the road to recovery.

Nilay, a fellow foodie, drug me to Borough Market (located at the London Bridge tube stop) promising that it was a spectacular famer’s market. Nilay was right. I loved it, and convinced Tracy to come with a week later. It is not dissimilar to the San Francisco Ferry Building Farmer’s market, only bigger and more crowded.

Both times, I gazed at the vegetables and fruit and meat and fish on display, pondering cooking adventures. Ostrich steaks, with roasted new potatoes, asparagus and beets. Fish with a side of fresh rocket mixed with strawberries or apples and blue cheese and nuts. Freshly slaughtered rabbit, cooked with thyme and served with carrots and peas and buttermilk and herbed mashed potatoes, tied together with some type of red wine reduction. Or a picnic, with hand made salamis (rivaling Seattle’s Salumi), any number of cheeses, walnut bread and brownie for dessert. I couldn’t help but notice shopping lists in many hands.

I ate well during both visits to Borough, sampling from many stalls, bits of cheese and meats and other assorted things, and buying a few other things. Monmouth Coffee, which makes coffee a la Blue Bottle in San Francisco, hand dripped, using high quality beans. Freshly squeezed juices. Ostrich burgers. Seared scallops, nestled on a bed of ground bacon, bean sprouts and thinly sliced carrots. Wraps, with tsatziki sauce and couscous and a mound of sautéed veggies. And sausages, of every variety, all accompanied by salad and chutney and mustard and onions on freshly baked crusty bread.

Produce at the market:

Delicious rabbits:

Freshly squeezed juice:

Other culinary points to note about London…Indian food at a still being remodeled Clapham restaurant, which marked the beginning of my “I have to order saag [spinch] with every single Indian meal” trend. High-brow Indian food at Red Fort in SoHo (if you go to Red Fort, get the duck. Trust me). English roast – lamb, cheesey cauliflower, broccoli, carrots, potatoes and Yorkshire pudding united by tasty brown gravy. Mussels at Belgo Centraal. Vegetarian Indian (again with tasty saag). Giovanni’s, an excellent Italian hole in the wall, with a personality filled owner and impressive food to match the owner’s personality. It’s important to note that while Giovanni’s is in Covent Garden, it’s not easy to find, tucked down an alley.

I have three things to write about my trip outside of London, to Coventry and Leamington Spa. First, if you ever find yourself in the general area of Leamington Spa, eat at Wilde’s. I wanted to return a second night, only Tracy wouldn’t let me. We started with squid and chorizo sautéed with shallots and scallions, then mixed with rocket, and an amazing bruschetta covered in some type of rich tomato sauce and roasted eggplant and broiled with a generous slice of goat cheese. I demolished a duck breast, perfectly rare with a crispy skin, laid atop a demi-glace. For dessert, I had Wilde’s Eton Mess, a true mess of strawberries and berries and pieces of meringue, folded with whipped heavy cream.

Wilde's Duck:

Wilde's lovely Eton Mess:

Second, I visited a company that had the best quality machine coffee that I have ever tasted. I could choose from black coffee, white coffee, black tea and white tea. It absolutely made the iCup taste like swill.

And third, the London train system is a bit shaky, even when you take the privately run Virgin train. After boarding the London Euston bound train in Coventry, we were dumped off at Rugby Station a few minutes later because of a signal problem. We went back to Coventry on a standing room only train, and over the next hour, heard much conflicting information about schedules – regardless, it wouldn’t be a straight shot to London. We passed on the first train – there was no room for three people, luggage and any sort of fresh oxygen. We tried to board the second train, to Leamington Spa (from where we’d transfer trains to go to London) only to be unable to get on. The cars were full, except for the one we were trying to board, which was empty in the middle because a cranky old man was standing and refused to move down to allow other passengers on board. People, including myself, were shouting at him to move down. In desperation, I banged on the window, and others followed. Eventually, we started to curse the man, who refused to budge. At the end, I pulled out Shakespeare: “May there be a curse upon your house!”

A few minutes after the banging on train windows debacle, we tried to get our money back to take a very expensive cab ride back to London, and discovered that the signal had been fixed. So after all, we did take the train back to Euston Station. We did even better when we were quietly told that one of the first class cars had been decommissioned for all passengers…from that point on, our weekend in London was absolutely lovely, with a stay at the Hotel 41 and of course, cheer and eating.

About the cheer – much to write about, for another blog entry.

And one last thing to mention…thanks to a generous employer, I flew SAS business class to Europe. SAS business class rules, for so many, many reasons, which range from the obvious to easily overlooked. By comparison, United business class is, well, kind of junky. Oh U.S. airlines…why must you fail so spectacularly?

Pictures to be posted later.

Correction: I received a comment that the entire British railway system is privatized, and since becoming privatized, has turned to "rot". A Maggie Thatcher legacy...and duly corrected in the entry.

Although, I didn't as much get hit by the flu as pummeled, flattened, destroyed.

A sore throat on Tuesday morning, which by mid-afternoon, had transformed into a near death state. I think my co-workers were a bit alarmed when I said, "I feel funny" while waiting for the train, and later, when Tracy asked me if a beer would make me feel better, simply said, "no". All know that if I'm not drinking, something is wrong.

After what seemed like a 3 mile trek to the hotel in the lovely city of Helsingborg, (which later, I discovered was about 3 blocks away), I collapsed in my room, only emerging Friday, 2 1/2 days later. And that was because I was determined to visit H&M (really, seriously, how could I not go to the store in the country from which fabulous clothes come) and buy chocolate. A more minor, albeit important, reason: I had to check out of my hotel and move to our prepaid hotel in Copenhagen. I got it together - sort of - for a weekend in Copenhagen before flying home on Sunday.

It's now the following Friday, and I've only left my house for food, the library (overdue books and it is next door) and yesterday, the doctor's office. I thought that I would make it to the office today, because I actually felt a lot better yesterday afternoon...and then I woke up this morning and realized that I wouldn't be going anywhere.

I think my out of office message sums it up nicely:

I am still sick.

Never fear, I am alive and not being held hostage in my house against my will. After visiting the doctor yesterday, I now have some antibiotics and should be back in the office Monday.

I'll spare you the gory details, but thought I should point out that I'm on my third box of Kleenex, I have new cough muscles and my kitchen counter is beginning to look like an apothecary (my new favorite fever induced word).

If this is urgent, please try...