Eggs On The Horizon

I DON'T REALLY have anything new to add here, but I really had to put this up. Yester-day's lunch was impressive enough-- ham and cheese on rye with mustard and, get this, sliced shallot and black olives-- but this was one for the ages. Making a left-turn from the previous manifestation, I went ahead and made what I am calling Quasimodo. It's a quasi-Monte Cristo. A classic Monte Cristo has both ham and turkey, but this has just Black Forest ham. The classic also has Swiss cheese on it, where this has American, as that's what I have on hand this week. The bread is French toast. The totlettes are totlettes. The small black cup is Ketchupo!(TM), and the red blob in the white dish is Polaner All Fruit strawberry spread. In the words of Mel Brooks: Woof.

There is no movie of the day. We've been watching this for awhile, the 2008 BBC series about a small handful of people left behind after an influenza epidemic wipes out almost the entire popluation of british actors. So far, my reaction has been just to kind of watch it and think "Well, alright, I guess that's one way you could approach it, writer-wise," whereas the Wifey's reactions have largely been along the lines of "What the @#$%!?! WHY would you (insert irrational action) when there are a BAZILLION (insert retail product/real estate concern)s just LYING ALL OVER THE PLACE, UNUSED!?!" Which, not that any single one of her observations have not been absolutely correct, 100% spot on. I just haven't been able to invest the necessary energy to picking out the nits.

So we watched this. It has been watched by us.

And next? Survivors, Series 2. Another six hour-long episodes. See you in October.