For reasons I could never hope to explain to that sometimes hooting, often drooling creature otherwise known as the typical American male, I know in my heart that the first 20 films made about James Bond were a sign that the Apocalypse was upon us. The 21st, dear friends, was our Messiah.
The verdict is in, and the most comforting things in the world are family, music, perfectly-sharpened pencils and fleece.
I cook like I drive: most of the time I don't really know where I'm going but I'm too proud to stop and check a map. Two hours and twenty why-not ingredients later, there's a good chance I end up with food -- for the garbage disposal.
Over the course of my life
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