Weekend at Eric's

Anyone who's been there will recognize this scene. Cigarettes and coffee, bullshit and ammunition, the things that make a visit to the Straight White Guy the hoot that it always is.

Eric and Fiona were, as always, the consummate host and hostess, making sure there were enough ribs to go around.

Brothers and sisters, I'm here to tell you, those things were tasty. As a recent convert to the pleasures of the flesh, any flesh, I was like a child at Disneyland, eyes wide with wonder. That mess o' ribs was easily enough for ten people, and we three just about finished them off. Eric was dogging it, focusing as he was on the biscuits, otherwise we would've had them. The evening continued comfortably, owing to a pleasant meat-eater's high and a bottle of 12 year old Scotch that, sadly, didn't survive the night.

The next morning, after the pork hangover wore off, Eric and I did get a chance to double-team the lovely, topless, and above all discreet Sylvia.

(apparently, discreet has a whole different shade of meaning in other cultures)

Although the plan was to go out shooting, the closest we got was eating cheeseburgers outside the range, as documented by Eric.

It was a beautiful day; nothing ventured, but much gained, if only in the area of lazy whiling that we all too often forget to explore. And besides, I've heard that getting your clock cleaned at the pool table builds character.