bacon had a mom

From Herbivore:   How did bacon become the hipster meat of choice lately? We are sick of hearing people talk about how much they love it and we’re tired of seeing that ad pop up on Facebook that says “Everything goes better with bacon.” Piss off! That “bacon” was a living, feeling creature whose mom loved her. Think about that before you start making cutesy shirts about how good bacon is.

ode to the Raven

Yea, yea, I know what you’re all thinking but trust me it’s not that. This is not nostalgia for drinks at one of the best late night bars in D.C. (which well it could be) – no this is a tale of the Raven coming through in the greatest times of woe and need.
So, walk with me through time … you see my picture adorns the walls of the Raven, lies among the fallen brethren, has for years, perhaps a friend or fellow consumer of jack and coke foresaw my fate then … but I denied it. Denied it until the moving truck was upon me and my martini and wine glasses called for safe passage to another land.
My mother had promised, alcohol boxes and their nice little card board cutouts were the solution that my glassware needed to weather the journey to a far and distant place. Simple I thought, until I started the search – the quest high and low for the ever evasive box with the card board dividers still intact, or the dividers (or let’s be honest the box for that matter). I quested to no avail.
So, in desperation I turned to the Raven … the place where all desperate people turn. It was a bright and sunny Sunday afternoon. And low and behold, I was saved. The day keeper not only locked the door to the bar, took me on a quest for the guy with the key to the magical land where the box dividers reside, journeying to the seven eleven, the key, and ultimately to the spot where my query lay. He did it all with joy and sympathy to my box-less plight.
So, my dear ramblers … a toast: caw, caw … to the Raven! May she stand forever to serve those in need.