As you read this one of three things are probably happening to me:
1. I am sleeping, soon to wake up with a hangover.
OR
2. I am awake with a cold adult beverage in my hand, soaking up some warm sun.
OR
3. I am awake with a cold beverage in my hand, soaking up some warm sun on a golf course.
My Lady Friend and I started our vacation yesterday in Arizona. My parents are retired and spend their winters in a suburb of Phoenix. Every year I escape the death grip of winter’s cold icy hands by heading down to stay with them for a week or so, and the last few years the Lady Friend has joined me.
It’s a week we absolutely love because for a short period of time we get to see what it would be like to be retired ourselves. We golf, drink beer, go hiking in the mountains and lay around doing a whole hell of a lot of nothing. Beautiful.
I will probably share some of this awesome laziness via Twitter: @TheSimpleDude if you want to follow along. Or maybe I’ll get a chance to put up a post here, so check back this week.
In the meantime I will leave you with something odd. Bruce’s Yams.
Bruce always seemed a bit TOO proud of his yams.
The Lady Friend bought these a few weeks ago and I thought it was a little funny. I didn’t realize Bruce was even in the Yam business. Come to think of it I wasn’t even sure there was such a thing as a Yam business. But there is. And Bruce is damn good at it.
I love sweet potatoes big time, but the whole concept of calling them “yams” has always made me uncomfortable. I know they are the same thing, but seriously why the hell do we call them yams? That is such a weird term. Give me some sweet potatoes and I’ll be happy. But you can keep your yams. Sorry Bruce.
SD