By Emily Dickinson
Fame is a fickle food
Upon a shifting plate,
Whose table once a Guest, but not
The second time, is set.
Whose crumbs the crows inspect,
And with ironic caw
Flap past it to the Farmer’s corn;
Men eat of it and die.
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My Uncle Mickey's wife Lesley is in town for business, so on Thursday my mother and I went downtown to have lunch with her at the Park Hyatt -- the Blue Duck Tavern's California Gold Rice Risotto is as good as its online reviews, and it was great to see Lesley whom I hadn't seen in nearly three years. After lunch and catching up on family stuff, my mom and I walked around in Georgetown for a while and stopped at Whole Foods for fruit, dark chocolate (her) and vegetarian frozen food (me).
Adam went with the cross country team after school to the course where regionals will take place and managed to arrange his own ride home, so I went out to the mall to get my free-with-Facebook-coupon L'Occitane En Provence peony hand cream. After dinner, we watched Beauty and the Beast and Elementary; I like the former better, since it has non-murder cases and more interesting women, but I am nonetheless delighted that the latter got picked up for a full season. Look, alpacas!
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