Why is it when you hear Irish music, you tap your heels instead of your toes? Is it something to do with the bog? I saw a show tonight with Bill Whelan, the guy who wrote Riverdance. They flew a dancer in from Dublin, but there wasn't a raised stage, so only the first row could enjoy him. Well, every once in a while his foot would flap up to hip level, but, kind of a waste, no? The Irish consul general was there, what a treat for him--Irish music.

Tomorrow I'm seeing La Bete with delicious Joanna Lumley. My sweetie's meeting me after and taking me out for Thai.

I'm making Anne Burrell's "cheater's duck confit" for him for Thanksgiving and ordered the duck legs today to pick up Wednesday at Chelsea Market. Accompaniments are garlic mashed potatoes, arugula salad, pumpkin pudding, and whatever he brings over to weaken my defenses, hee!