A weekly email from a restaurant rating web page tells me about “last minute openings” in reservations. After several months, I suspect that all restaurants have available tables at all times they are open. Because I don’t live in New York.

How you may not use ATT’s Create-a-Code:

You may not use or allow others to use the Service, directly or indirectly through your Device or wireless number, nor upload, distribute, transmit, communicate, link to, publish or access any Content through, using or otherwise in connection with the Service, that: Is a commercial product or service, advertises or promotes a commercial product or service, or allows, solicits, or facilitates the sale or purchase of a product or service.

Kickboxing remains the sport of the future.

Maru has fun under the Kotatsu, and the linked Wikipedia entry indicates that “However, cats frequently sleep under kotatsu and are small enough to fit completely underneath.” I would think the average kitty would try to remain in the convenient heated cave as much as possible. If you had multiple cats, you might not get to use it yourself.

I’m browsing through a collection of historic photos of prisoners on McNeil Island, 1875-1906 (through Ancestry Library Edition). The prisoners are photographed in pairs, probably to save on film, but it leads to each picture looking like a solemn portrait of a pair of friends or a promotional picture of an unfortunate comedy duo.

Please enjoy a delightful song of my own composition, written on the occasion of testing that Audacity installed on a work laptop actually worked.

I have just learned of the existence of a thing called an epergne! A drawing and suggestion of how wonderful a word it is is available from the lovely Cul-de-Sac blog.
OED says:

A centre-dish, or centre ornament for the dinner-table, now often in a branched form, each branch supporting a small dish for dessert or the like, or a vase for flowers. (From our quots. it appears that the earlier use was chiefly to hold pickles.)

Write a thoughtful and quiet explorations of feelings and whatnot that doesn’t necessarily go anywhere about the “unusual friendship” between the coroner and the lady who lives with the corpses of her sister and husband.

From the Publishers Weekly review of The Wilder Life: My Adventures in the Lost World of Little House on the Prairie, by Wendy McClure:

“Discovering that butter she churned herself was ‘just butter,’ McClure admits she ‘felt like a genius and a complete idiot at the same time.'”

The book comes out in April. I can’t wait.