Went to Chicago for the weekend, because Peter's in town and because my grandmother's 86th birthday is today.

Peter and I engaged in our customary bout of hey-dude-nice-to-see-you-let's-go-bowling bowling on Saturday night. He didn't bowl very well, but I bowled so very poorly (barely topping 100 in each of four games) that the net effect was a thorough beschwomping.

I know I'm in or near my hometown when there are half a dozen people at the alley who've seen my t-shirt before, get the joke, and give me a smile and a thumbs-up. (The writing on the shirt looks vaguely like Hebrew but reads “Go Fuck Your Self” upside down. I wear it on formal occasions.)

I joined my grandmother for our customary I'm-in-town-so-let's-have-breakfast breakfast. Wearing a different shirt, of course.