Chile con queso con rajas at El Chile in East Austin. Departing somewhat from the standard Velveeta model, the queso at El Chile appears to contain, in part, queso.
It was one of those momentous moments that, had anyone been conscious when it ensued, would not soon have been forgotten. I allude to the stately occasion of some silent, unsung hero having been the 1,000,732nd (since December 14, 2005) visitor to I Blame The Patriarchy. The majestic event slipped into the mists of time without pomp or flourish while I, no more a spinster aunt but an excrescence of the Tempur-Pedic, was fated merely to digest insensibly a big fat Tex-Mex dinner and an Inspector Appleby mystery.
Which slightly dotty peer of the realm would turn out to be the mastermind behind a series of elaborate art heists? This was, it stings my heart to admit, the question occupying my mind when by all rights I should have been throwing a yacht party in the Seychelles for brave iconoclast Number 1,000,732, whoever she was, and for all the rest of you august mavericks who doggedly persist against the mighty tide of pernicious hegemon to Blame The Patriarchy.
Although I suppose Number 1,000,732 was one of the 18 knobs who arrived via Google, searching for “15 year old girls nude.” It would be too good to be true if she turned out to be the lone searcher for “Twistolution” or (I know. As a soporific, other bloggers’ zany search strings are right up there with the classic two-Seconals-a-glass-of-armagnac-and-The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire insomnia cure, but indulge me; I don’t ask for much) “plastic gonads hanging from truck.”
Which brings me to my next point: the Shulathon is scheduled to commence in about a week, so if you haven’t finished The Dialectic of Sex yet, my gentle suggestion is to get crackin.
I leave you now with a couple of remarks from Richard Dawkins (with whom, if he actually were what he looks like, i.e. a middle-aged spinster aunt with a horse farm and a decent record collection, I might consider taking up).
Polls suggest that approximately 95 per cent of the population of the United States believe they will survive their own death. I can’t help wondering how many people who claim such belief really, in their heart of hearts, hold it. If they were truly sincere, shouldn’t they all behave like the Abbot of Ampleforth? When Cardinal Basil Hume told him that he was dying, the abbot was delighted for him: ‘Congratulations! That’s brilliant news. I wish I was coming with you.'” 
1. Dawkins. The God Delusion. Houghton Mifflin, 2006 p. 356.