For dinner, we went to the combination Sushi-Italian restaurant. I used to think it was a strange idea, but now I'm firmly committed to the dichotomy.

Elvis had pizza; Xavier and I had sushi. We had a moderately surly waiter and the sushi wasn't quite as good as normal, which rather upset me because I was the one that recommended it. I think it was because the Brazilian guy was not there: evidently, he's the one that rocks the sushi. On the other hand, it was a bit too warm, which was probably the fault of the waiter. Still, it was pretty dang good.

(See, Deb? I used dang! Or was it supposed to be darn?)

Anyway, I spent the day with "I'm a little bit country. I'm a little bit Rock and Roll." stubbornly lodged in my head. It's really hard to form intelligent thoughts when Donnie and Marie refuse to leave you in peace.

I like hanging out with Xavier. We always end up talking about really interesting things. We talked about The War, of course, and Peter Arnet getting his pink slip. We also talked about profiling. Xavier is in favor of it, despite being from a country so notorious for drug trafficking and general lawlessness that he's never not been stopped at a checkpoint, security or otherwise. With all the travelling he does, it must be a real bitch. Xavier, however, is sanguine. He's a sanguine kind of guy.

In other news, today I learned that if you dig through your husband's accumlated (read: 9 months) pile of statements, junk mail, paperwork and other random documents, and pull out all the tax info, you get a lovely shoulder rub.

Hmmm.