Stick with me! Stick with me! Stick with me! Stick with me! Stick with me! Stick with me! Stick with me!

Fans of Jeff Lint will be delighted to discover that an issue of his legendary comic The Caterer has been reprinted. Buy copies here:

Go on!

Here's some stuff I found in the "SkyMall" catalogue on the flight back from New Jersey:

Ear Pops
A toilet flusher made to look like a gear stick
Slippers with built-in torches in the toes
A doll of George Bush

Everybody be nice to me from now until Christmas, or I might buy you one of these things.

Thanksgiving in Jersey turned out to be a lot of fun. Elizabeth's parents kindly made dinner for me, Elizabeth and her brother, their aunt Tova, their fundamentalist Christian aunt and uncle and cousins, a local nun (Sister Norberta) and her two Chinese foster children (Lin Ji and Cambridge) and Richard Gowan. I should point out that Elizabeth's immediate family are all very nice (and normal).

Dinner passed off without a hitch, but there were sticky moments during the afternoon when I mentioned the satanic Harry Potter during a four-hour game of Trivial Pursuit with the fundamentalists. And then again the next night when we went out for Brazilian barbecue and the blond, bemulleted restaurant singer did an Elton John number. "He had a civil union, you know," said the Christians. "Disgusting." Oh, speaking of Christians and songs, I made one new discovery during the weekend -- in addition to making their own cuts of Hollywood movies, evangelical Christians also make their own versions of popular songs from the '60s and '70s. Apparently Pink Floyd's "Another Brick in the Wall" becomes "God's Gonna Kick Down the Wall." I wonder if such things are available on CD? Anyway, digressions aside, the Brazilian barbecue was pretty cool. In addition to coming round with meat on swords, the waiters also turn up with special treats like an entire roast pig on a trolley, cut off a bit, and go on their way.

Actually, we ate amazingly well the whole time -- on Sunday lunchtime we went to Carmine's, a great Italian restaurant on the Upper West Side in New York City, where the food comes in huge portions ("family style"). I never had a better baked clam. Also, we went to the local pub in Jersey, The Cottage, which was an Irish bar that signified its Irishness by hanging English premiere league shirts on the walls, and putting Liverpool memorabilia around the place. Surely some mistake? Oh yes, and Elizabeth's dad and I went to Guitar Superstore and played guitars.

In any case, a fine Thanksgiving was had by all -- I think I managed to get on OK with Elizabeth's immediate family, so as long as I don't, for instance, mercilessly ridicule their relations in a public forum, all should be well...oh, wait...

First snow of the season here in Chicago, which should give me something to write about until March or thereabouts. My ears are extremely cold. And so, sadly, is the bald bit at the front of my head where hair used to be.

You know, I always thought I'd seen the best ever version of "Baby It's Cold Outside" performed by Dave with a sock on his hand in Transplant (it was Transplant, right?) -- but I think I may just have seen a better one on an old episode of The Muppet Show. This duet was between Rudolf Nureyev and Miss Piggy and took place in a steam room, with Nureyev singing the woman's part while Miss Piggy tried to steal the towel he was wearing. Nureyev, whose spoken English is not too good, let alone his singing voice, escapes at the end by breaking through the steam room wall.

Speaking of Dave, I had a strange dream last night in which Dave got run over by a bus in Chicago while hanging off the front of it attempting to make it stop. I hope this doesn't signify. Still, it was better than the dream I had the night before where I was working on a cargo ship and got a huge burn on my arm.

Another peculiar meat crossed off the list

As Richard predicted, with the close of the baseball season my attention has once again returned to offal. Yesterday we ventured to the far northern wilds of the city to visit Angelica's, a fine and very cheap Polish restaurant in the Polish Village. Kind of like a Polish version of The Stockpot. Although everything was written in Polish, I don't know of anywhere else where I could get veal tongues in horseradish sauce for seven dollars. Though if you do, let me know.

Best gig ever

Check it out.