Coney Islands

Now and again my taste buds become obsessed for something. Lately it's been for a Coney Island. In the old days (i.e. 1980s), I'd hightail it to Nick's Famous Coney Island on SE Hawthorne and satisfy my obsession. Frank, the owner, a man obsessed himself by the Yankees and by Neil Diamond, would be the cook, Kenny "the Commander" would be taking orders, a man with a photographic memory who never wrote down anything, even with a full house. But Nick's, like almost everything in this town, ain't what it used to be. So I went to the store for the stuff to make my own.

A nostalgic cruise, with dixieland being played on the radio by someone other than Dr. Jazz. No calls to breakfast in his warm voice. Home and cooked my brunch. Now getting ready for the Oregon game, which all the TV pundits say they'll lose to Winthrop.

Last night I had a coughing fit, had to come downstairs to give H peace. But I feel good right now.

Projects to grade! I'll catch up tomorrow and Tuesday without basketball to distract me.

I took the leap and ordered a ukulele. Had decided to get a low end model first, then if it sticks have a friend in L.A. help me find a better model when I'm down there for a wedding in June. Decided on the concert size, a tad larger than the standard soprano. Searching the net, I found a close out sale -- if the ad is right, it's a pretty good model at 75% off, so we'll see how it goes. Not much invested if it stinks. Also ordered a couple books and printed out a wealth of info from the net.

Hack, hack, hack. I can get 100% well any time now, oh ye gods.

Eager to get my grades in and then use the break to get back into my rhythm. Back to the Cold War novel. Crank up the music studies.