I love anything with a hint of bruslin, politics, or conceptual ketchup.

Tonight we went to my favorite vegetarian restaurant in San Diego, which is rather nastily named "Spread." yes, ostensibly it's because of the many wonderful peanut and almond spreads that the owners lovingly make by hand (my favorites are the butterscotch peanut and the white chocolate almond espresso) or, sure, it could be like a spread, as in "that's quite a spread you've got for dinner." But really, really, we know what first comes to mind. Anyway, I love these people, they are very warm, their food is crazy delicious, and they are even huggers once they get to know you (i.e. you come in a second time). Today one of the menu offerings was fries with "conceptual ketchup." Dude, wtf. I was laughing so hard at this ridiculousness, but apparently it wasn't as funny to them as it was to me. And apparently this "conceptual ketchup" is all the rage on the Food Network. Man, I'm a foodie, but this to me is like when my bosses started using the word "leverage" and "synergize" too much. I roll my eyes. Anyway, everything was delicious, both conceptually and in reality.

I received a piece of mail from the tax assessors office today that was entitled "your property taxes and you." That sounds dangerously close to the title of a book I had to read in 5th grade sex ed. And this mailer was less titillating, though apparently by sending in their mailer I get 70 bucks off my property taxes. Huzzah. 70 dollars a year closer to paying off my hundreds of thousand of dollars mortgage. Seems miniscule, yet I fear that if I don't send it in my Mom will get enraged like she did once when I was 16 and was cleaning out the perennially overstuffed drawer by the home phone and I dumped a bunch of pennies in the trash. whoa. WHOA. She was like Ben Stiller's character Mr. Furious from Mystery Men, but when his powers actually kick in. I mean, I guess I did literally *throw money away!* Holy crap, what a spoiled American child. Needless to say, I have it stamped and ready to go.

It's election time, which means the time of year when I get agitated and perplexed that my parents are rational, kind human beings who are sincere Christians and yet vote in a manner so diametrically opposed to myself. I've been saying for years now that we are trying to get to the same place (world peace, helping the poor and widows, heaven on earth, etc.) but we have radically different ideas of how to get there. I tend to be much more cynical about people and think the government needs to take care of the poor because I believe I see evidence that the wider population will not. They believe they should keep their hard earned money and give to their church who will help the poor. and I don't believe that enough people who say they want to keep their money to give to the poor actually want to give to the poor. I believe they want to buy video games and boats. This does not stop us from all loving each other tremendously, evidenced both by frequent contact, support, and by them letting me steal their coffee when I run out. Still, as I sent in my mail-in ballot I basically knew I was offsetting the vote of at least my Mom. My Dad can be a wild card. He may watch the O'Reilly Factor, but he also loves Project Runway (and Tim Gunn) and Glee, so he's definitely got a bit of voting maverickness in him.

I asked on Twitter whether there was a word for the flavor of burnt/carmelized raisins because I love it so much. (I have to apologize to my Mom whose bread pudding I destroyed last night by picking out all the carmelized raisins and then puzzling the pudding pieces back together. I'm really to old for that, but...in an Amelie sort of way I may never be old enough.) Anyway, apparently there *isn't* a word for it. SO I decided to make one up. Like Shakespeare. The word for burnt/carmelized raisins is "bruslin." That's right. There was a bruslin Irish pastry I used to get at The Cheese Shop in Wellesley and I still sometimes dream about. See, it works.