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Dairy Queen Deserts and Christmas Disappointments

By Amy Spiegel

Many years ago, when it was just Jim and I (it actually seems more like a lifetime ago), we took a second honeymoon tour of the Southwest. We drove through Louisiana and then Texas, visiting friends and family along the way. One special friend that we visited as often as possible was our dear friend, Dairy Queen. As fond as both Jim and I are of milk products, locating these gold mines of lactose-loaded delights quickly became a daily tradition. As we started our long leg across southern Texas, however, our mid-day pit stop at a roadside DQ became more of a challenge. We had entered a Dairy Queen desert. Like thirsty travelers in search of an oasis, we would eagerly await each exit food sign, quickly scanning the edible options. If there was no Dairy Queen, we would laugh a bit to ourselves and light-heartedly say “Ah, there will be one at the next exit.” And so it would go, Dairy Queenless exit after Dairy Queenless exit. With each passing hour, our disappointment mounted and disbelief turned to desperation (we might have settled for a Baskin Robbins just to get through the day). Then, somehow, it became funny. It was so tragic, this lack of ice cream, that one had to laugh. And we did. It became a standing joke for the rest of the trip and even now. Of course, it didn’t hurt that upon entering the great state of New Mexico, we found Dairy Queens aplenty.

This week, I felt a bit like a wanderer in a desert with no oasis in site. My family will tell you that I look forward to Christmas even more than I look forward to a perfectly dipped chocolate cone (especially because Jim always bites the tip off my dipped cone, perfectly dipped or not, as it passes from the drive-thru window to me. Not that I am bitter.) I especially love arriving at my parents’ house a week or so before the big day. My mom always does a great job decorating the house and we usually have several special events planned for the kids: ice skating downtown with my dad, going to Dollywood for the shows and lights, and hosting friends and family while a fire crackles in the fireplace. This week, however, my kids have hardly left the couch as bad colds have kept everyone homebound. No one has slept well and Sam ended up with pneumonia. It’s enough to make a girl go “Bah, hum bug!” While laying beside my kids at night, rubbing their backs as they hack in my face (why don’t they write about that in Mother’s Day cards?) I have prayed that God would heal the kids in time for them to have a little fun. Is that too much to ask? I felt like I was back in our little Toyota Corolla all over again, driving down an endless highway, just looking for a little relief. And relief was granted but certainly not in the form I expected or frankly wanted. No, the kids didn’t leap from bed and say “Hallelujah, I’m healed!” But they didn’t complain or whine much about missing out on all the things we planned. Yes, I still had to get up over and over to get them water, fix their covers and rub their chest with Vic’s Vapor Rub (again). But God granted me more patience than I usually have and a great husband and parents who got up every morning so I could sleep in. It’s such a cliché that God always answers our prayers, just not always in the way we hoped, and yet it is a truth that too often seems to take me by surprise.

So this Christmas, be prepared. You will be disappointed, either by something that is or isn’t under the tree or more likely something someone does or doesn’t say or do. In your disappointment, however, try to remember just what you are celebrating. We recognize the birth of Jesus as the great gift-the deliverance of mankind from bondage and death. But for some who had looked forward to his birth, it was the greatest disappointment of their lives. Sometimes the greatest blessings come in forms you don’t expect, whether you are looking for the Dairy Queen or the Messiah.

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Want to Get Rich? Major in Philosophy!

By Jim Spiegel

A recent PayScale Inc. study on college graduates across the disciplines revealed some surprising facts about the earning power of a Philosophy degree.  Fifty different bachelors’ degrees were compared in terms of average incomes for recent graduates and for those a decade after graduation.  The study found that the highest average percentage of salary increase is achieved, that’s right, by Philosophy majors—a whopping 103.5%.  In terms of raw numbers, Philosophy majors’ average salary upon graduation is $40,000, and ten years later the average jumps to $81,000.  And when average salaries in the 75th and 90th percentiles of all majors are compared, Philosophy graduates are actually near the top—neck and neck with electrical engineers and computer scientists—averaging $168,000 in the latter case.  Hard to believe?  Perhaps.  But as Ronald Reagan used to say, facts are stubborn things.

So much, then, for the tired cliché:  What can you do with a Philosophy major?  Evidently a lot, even in terms of income.  As I reflected on this data—which I must admit, surprised even me, though probably not as much as most folks—I did a mental inventory of my own former students whose careers I’ve monitored over the years.  These impressive numbers began to make more sense, even on my anecdotal scan:  Several of my former students are attorneys, thriving financially while (I like to think) helping to redeem a field which, well, needs some redemption.  Some are college professors like me, enjoying the best job in the world while making a decent living.  Others work in publishing, as marketers, editors, and, in one instance, as a literary agent.  A few others started their own businesses and are doing quite well, thank you, beating the business majors at their own game.  All of these folks and others like them drive the numbers up, averaged against the income of other Philosophy majors who now serve as pastors, missionaries, or non-profiters—whose income is more modest but whose vocation is no less rewarding, all things considered. 

How to make sense of this?  Why would a Philosophy major, of all things, be so lucrative over the long haul?  Again, just a little reflection explains what should have been more obvious.  In Philosophy one develops several skills which are crucial for success in whatever field one ultimately chooses to pursue:  critical thinking, conceptual analysis, problem-solving, and skills in oral and written expression.  Try to think of a career in which excelling in these areas will not put one at a distinct advantage over one’s peers.  Add to this the fact that Philosophy majors tend to be more morally circumspect than most, having been trained in the art of moral-decision making and especially encouraged to be persons of integrity.  Put these ingredients together and you have a pretty good recipe for success and even leadership in most fields.

So the next time you hear someone insinuate the impracticality of a Philosophy major from a career standpoint, you can set them straight.  You might even dare to inform them that if they really want to make the big money, then they should be a Philosophy major!

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Snapshots

By Amy Spiegel

Brief comments on film by Amy.
Some old, some new.  Domestic films and foreign too.

The Fallen Idol and Daisy Kenyon — Both of these films date from the late 1940s and are fair to midland as far as quality. However, what struck me about both of them, and many other movies of this era when I took time to reflect on it, is their surprising acceptance—and in the case of The Fallen Idol even glorification—of adultery. I often lament this in today’s Hollywood but see now just how far back that thread of influence stretches. The Fallen Idol is a pretty good film, and the performance by Bobby Henrey as the little boy is great. I watched Daisy Kenyon because I love Henry Fonda. Unfortunately I forgot how much I dislike Joan Crawford. I kept waiting for her to pull out the wire hangers and start beating the daylights out of Dana Andrews. This is one of my favorite periods in film history, but there are many other movies from this era that I enjoy much more (e.g., All About Eve, Only Angels Have Wings, and To Have and Have Not).

State of Play — I love a good thriller that doesn’t involve a character who is a member of Parliament by day and transvestite psychopath by night. You would be surprised at how many political/legal thrillers this excludes. State of Play happily is not among them. This mini-series has so many of my favorite actors who aren’t big stars that I can’t name them all. (And since they aren’t big stars, frankly half the time I can’t remember their names and then have go to IMDB in order to remember what they were in that I liked so much). State of Play has all the great elements of suspense: murder, affairs, lots of people with cool accents running around the city of London. If you like this one, you might also want to check out Horatio Hornblower which A&E did along with the BBC. While it takes place in a different period, isn’t political at all, and is set mostly on ships in service of His Majesty the King, most of the actors in both of them are British. 

Lars and the Real Girl— While certainly not for everyone, I loved the spirit of this movie and the performances were great. Surprisingly clean for a movie in which one of the major characters is a sex doll. Perhaps that deserves a bit of explanation. Lars is a loner living a very quite life in his brother and sister-in-law’s garage apartment. He begins “dating” Bianca, a sex doll he ordered through the internet. Upon the advice of their family doctor, Lars’ family and friends go along with it. I love the dig at modern medicine and its propensity to want to drug everyone in sight and the message that love and acceptance can be the ultimate healer. And this isn’t Hollywood “If you don’t agree with me, then shut up!” acceptance. It’s acceptance motivated by genuine sympathy and compassion. There are even multiple positive Christian folk in the movie. That has to be a first!

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Faith, Film, and Philosophy

By Jim Spiegel

The other day I received some good news from one of my publishers, InterVarsity Press.  The book I co-edited with Doug Geivett last year, Faith, Film, and Philosophy, is going into a second printing.  This is gratifying because it means the book is selling at a decent clip.  The responses of our readers are more important than sales, of course, but it’s always nice to know that your book is not wasting your publisher’s efforts and expenses.  The folks at IVP, especially Andy LePeau and Gary Deddo, believed in this project from the outset, and Doug and I are indebted to them for getting behind our vision for the book.  It feels good to see that support rewarded.

In case you’re not familiar with Faith, Film, and Philosophy, the book features essays by fourteen philosophers (including Doug and myself), each which discusses a film (or two or more) from a Christian perspective.  The films discussed include dramas, comedies, documentaries, and horror films—classic and contemporary, domestic and foreign.  And the philosophical issues explored range across many of the major areas of philosophy, such as epistemology, philosophy of mind, ethics, and philosophy of religion.  Contributors include James Sennett (on Citizen Kane), David Hunt (on The Matrix), Ron Tacelli (on horror films), Win Corduan (on Hong Kong films), and Dallas Willard (on American Beauty, Cider House Rules, and Pleasantville).

Doug has put together a website featuring more information about the book and other content related to film and philosophy:  http://www.faith-film-philosophy.com/.  When I complete work on my current project—a Philosophy introductory text—I’ll have more time to contribute content to that website, such as film reviews.  But Doug already has some interesting stuff posted.  I recommend checking out Doug’s blog as well.

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Moral Silver Linings in a Dark Economic Cloud

By Amy Spiegel

Like the worst of rubber-neckers passing a twenty car pile up on the interstate, I have watched our nation’s recent economic turmoil with a strange mixture of sorrow, fear and (here comes the strange part) relief. I feel genuine sorrow for those who find themselves without work or facing difficult decisions regarding their homes and futures. Several years ago, Jim and I were the victims of fraud and faced the serious possibility of owing two mortgages that we could not have possibly paid. I was pregnant with Bailey at the time and remember the sense of dread that hung over us at the prospect of being without a home just as we were starting our family. Through the years, we have faced lean times and while I can’t fully know what it is to be without work, I hope I have enough empathy to grieve with those who are grieving now. Though I strongly disagree with his basic philosophical assumptions, one thing I have already learned from President-Elect Barack Obama is that I have not cared for the poor of my country or been shamed by their neglect as I ought to be.

While thinking of others, I also think about myself and my family. What sort of country will my kids be living in? This is a generation of Chuck E. Cheese-goers who, though not living in an affluent home by our national standards, certainly have not known great want. Their idea of going hungry is Mommy saying no to that third pack of fruit snacks and deprivation is having to eat Thanksgiving leftovers four days in a row. How will they respond when called upon to make real sacrifices? As all the things we take so much for granted now become more and more a luxury, how will I respond?

But like I said, while the feelings of distress and concern have certainly dominated my consciousness of late, I have been surprised by feeling of liberation it has brought as well. Perhaps an illustration will help. Toothpaste. Dental hygiene naturally comes to mind whenever one is discussing global economics, right? When I stroll through the aisles of my not-so-local superstore, I am amazed at the number of not only brands but sub-brands of toothpaste. Now I appreciate minty breath and a healthy smile as much as the next gal, but come on. I will not waste your time with an enumeration of them all, but this is an area of our economy that perhaps could use a little trimming. Pre-stock-market-plummeting-face-first-into-the-sidewalk-of-Wall Street I would have felt compelled to stand for a good five minutes, muttering to myself about which brand was best suited to meet our needs. Now? I know exactly which brand is best suited: the cheapest. The same goes with my kids’ clothes. For years now, we have been blessed with a large quantity of hand-me-downs, especially for the boys. I usually relied on these for the basics and threw in some new stuff to make sure they didn’t look too shabby. I have found myself caving to social pressures and double-checking for stains and holes, especially if we were headed anywhere near a GapKids which I personally think is designed to make everyone feel like Raggedy Anns in order to convince you that it really is reasonable to purchase a $30 pair of jeans for a child who will outgrow them the minute you leave the store. Now? I wave to those fashion fascists and their overpriced goods as I stroll past holding the hand of my not so neatly dressed, but nonetheless cool, kid. (Okay, so I sometimes do go in, but only when there is a really big sale and mostly for Maggie, because girl stuff is too fun not to buy.)

If the predictions are true and things are only going to get worse, there will be plenty of opportunities for economizing. But rather than crying in your Starbucks mug over your lost lattes, embrace the freedom of less being more. And remember this, our country’s twenty car pile up still looks a lot better than most. Count your blessings and smile, even if your teeth aren’t super-bright.

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Spiegel’s Pick for Band of the Year

By Jim Spiegel

I recall reading a review of the Smiths’ 1986 album The Queen is Dead in which the writer gushed about the lyrical genius of their front man—a very young Steven Patrick Morrissey. The reviewer’s closing line stuck with me, because it rang true and because it struck me as a particularly bold prediction. “This guy,” he said regarding Morrissey, “is going to be around for a long time.” Well, over two decades later, Morrissey is still churning out great records and has proven to be one of rock music’s finest songsmiths. It all seems so obvious now, but how could that reviewer have been so sure?

Recently, I’ve come to a similar conclusion regarding the frontman of another band, coincidentally upon the release of their third studio album (as TQID was for the Smiths). The band is the Killers, and the frontman and main lyricist is Brandon Flowers. It wasn’t until last year that I purchased my first Killers album—their debut, Hot Fuss, by which I was pleasantly surprised, especially by the quality of songwriting. It didn’t take long for me to recognize that “Mr. Brightside” and “All These Things That I’ve Done” were instant classics and that there was an artistic vision here that transcended the band’s pop icon status. (Remember, folks, even the Beatles were very popular AND—eventually—avant-garde artists. And no, I don’t mean to put the Killers on the same level as the immortal Liverpudlians.)

Next, I picked up Sam’s Town, the Killers’ tepidly received sophomore effort, which is as underrated an album as I know of—though it certainly has its flaws (mainly the ill-advised “Enterlude” and “Exitlude,” the cheerful moods of which clash with the somber themes on the rest of the album). Sam’s Town, too, has its gems, including “Read My Mind” and the title track. But most significantly this album demonstrated the band’s willingness to explore and evolve, musically as well as lyrically. Certain thematic patterns also began to emerge, most notably Flowers’ disillusionment with fame and his sense of mortality—which is particularly acute for a guy in his mid-twenties.

With their latest release, Day and Age, the Killers have hit their stride, both in terms of matching musical form to lyrical content (the album has a strong dance vibe, owing to the production of Stuart Price) and in terms of songwriting subtlety. There are more instant classics: “Human,” “Neon Tiger,” and “Spaceman.” The latter of these is an especially brilliant piece of songwriting, as Flowers deftly uses an alien abduction as a metaphor for the corrosive effects of fame. And the ambiguous “Neon Tiger” might refer to the band themselves as they wrestle with the temptations of their own celebrity:

Far from the evergreen of old Assam
Far from the rainfall on the trails of old Saigon
straight from the poster town of scorn and ritz
To bring you the wilder side of gold and glitz

But neon tiger there’s a lot on your mind
They promised just to pet you, but don’t you let them get you
Away, away, away
Under the heat of the southwest sun

This sounds like a self-exhortation—from and for a band that hails from the “town of scorn and ritz”—Las Vegas. Ironically, in spite of the superficiality of their hometown, this is a band that does have “a lot on [their] mind.” Will they eventually succumb to the cruel vortex of fame and the relentless demons of celebrity? Time will tell. But for now, Brandon Flowers seems resolute in his will to resist, all the while growing as a songsmith. At this rate, it would appear, this guy is going to be around for a long time.

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Confessing My Bigotry

By Amy Spiegel

In recent months our country has made great strides to overcome long held prejudices and bigotries. It has been a time of historic progress and cause for much celebration. But it has also been a time of reflection and introspection. Both as a nation and on an individual level, we have been forced to assess our core beliefs and convictions. In taking stock of my beliefs, I have been saddened to realize that I have a deep-seated, narrow-minded intolerance of a certain group of people. Not so much the people, actually, but rather the activity in which they participate. After all, as we are taught in the Sunday School of Tolerance, “Love the sinner, not the sin.” So I have decided to come out of the closet and confess my long-held discrimination against . . . golfers. Not only do I not like golf, I hold this derogatory opinion unapologetically.

They say that many prejudices can be traced back to your upbringing and a lack of exposure to other people’s points of view. Perhaps this is true in my case as well. As a young child, I didn’t know any golfers. None of our neighbors were golfers and we certainly didn’t have any golfers in our family. My first contact with golf wasn’t until I was a teenager when I was asked on a golfing date. My date made no effort to dispel the stereotypes of golf such as that it is more boring than watching grass grow. He wouldn’t even let me drive the cart which has always seemed, to me, the best part of the game. It was, hands down, one of the most tedious afternoons I have ever spent, not to mention the worst first date I have ever had the displeasure to experience. (There was no second date with this fella, if you were curious.)

Later in life, when I might have overcome this morally handicapped view, my own perceptions was reinforced by bigoted professors who taught that golf courses were a great force for evil in the world. Their propaganda taught me that runoff from the fertilizers used on golf courses is a serious pollution problem, not to mention the waste of water involved in keeping those greens green. (But perhaps I am the pot calling the kettle black. Remember, I am the girl who contributes several 32 oz. Styrofoam cups to a landfill near you every week.)

The final nail in the coffin of my dislike for golf was hammered home when I married Jim, who is a strict segregationist. He strongly believes in categorizing as “sports” such competitive activities as baseball, football, and basketball, while golf belongs with such things as shuffleboard and tiddlywinks in the category of “games”. 

I am sure there is a great deal to golf that I am missing, but frankly, I don’t care to discover its hidden value. Let’s face it guys—the golf course is your shopping mall. True, shopping is more intellectually and physically demanding, since it requires math skills and is conducted without the aids of caddies and carts, but both activities give you an opportunity to hang out with your friends for hours on end while spending a great deal of money. So the next time the wife is heading out the door on her way to Macy’s, just envision her in plaid pants with a golf bag swung over her shoulder and wish her well. Maybe in this way we can all rise above our prejudices and recognize that golfers are people too.

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It Just Isn’t Fair

By Jim Spiegel

“It just isn’t fair.”  How often we hear those words, or utter them ourselves, and in so many contexts, ranging from NCAA football rankings to the problem of evil.  When our sense of justice is offended, we sometimes express our indignation with these four simple words.  Justice is defined generally as giving to each its due.  And when we complain about the injustice of a situation, it is because we believe that someone has not received what they deserve. When a good deed goes unrewarded, when a person’s integrity is overlooked, or when a crime goes unpunished, it just isn’t fair.

Well, lately I’ve found myself using this phrase—if only in my mind—in a different way, to express my incredulity at how blessed I am.  It isn’t fair that I should have a wonderful family, a decent house, a satisfying job, good health, fine friends, etc.  As I count my blessings, it’s really overwhelming that a flawed mortal like me should be lavished with such gifts.  But, of course, the injustice is more profound than this.  Given original sin—that natural state of rebellion into which we all are born—it isn’t fair that God should even allow us to take a single breath on this planet, much less to enjoy ourselves and have fulfilling relationships.  If God were to give us all what we deserve, well, we’d all have been vaporized early on.  But, thankfully, “he does not treat us as our sins deserve or repay us according to our iniquities” (Psalm 103:10).

If it is unjust when someone is not given their due, then the Christian gospel is founded on a sort of injustice.  That God would condescend to redeem fallen humanity, to take our sin upon himself, and to rescue us from our rebellion is unfair to the extreme.  We call this injustice “grace”-a profoundly unmerited favor.  But it is precisely because we benefit from this injustice that rarely, if ever, do we think to declare it is unfair.  Just as we call a “good deal” a purchase in which we receive more than our money’s worth, we are likely to categorize the Gospel similarly.  When Jesus atoned for our sins, we got a “good deal,” right?  Yes, in the sense that we benefit in unfathomable ways.  But the truth is that it isn’t fair.  In fact, it is unfathomably unfair that the almighty, holy God would humble himself by taking on human form and then suffer a criminal’s death for the sake of those whose sin begat such evil in the first place.

Of course, there is justice in the atonement in the sense that—through our mystical union with Christ—the crucifixion and death of Jesus satisfied God’s wrath.  But the mindblower is that God would take this step to begin with, that he would subject his only begotten Son to such unspeakable torture for our sake.  Amazing grace, indeed.  And it’s more to be thankful for than we can possibly comprehend, even if, strictly speaking, it just isn’t fair.

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Carnivores, Herbivores, and Everyone in Between

By Amy Spiegel

The holidays are fast approaching. At least, I think we are supposed to believe they are approaching, seeing that a variety of stores have had their Christmas decorations out since they put the blowup pools on clearance. I have begun my seasonal chant to the children. “It’s not about the toys. It’s not about the toys.” If only I could convince them that it’s all about the food. Soon after the pumpkins make their first appearance, the issue of food begins to creep to the forefront of my mind. Okay, it’s always in the forefront, but the issue of holiday food comes to the forefront of this ever-on-the-forefront issue. As mentioned in previous posts, Jim and I have been vegetarians for some years now and holiday gatherings often present a particular challenge to our ethics. You might think that being a vegetarian implies the obvious—that you don’t eat meat—and you would be correct, I suppose, regarding a large number of vegetarians. But we Spiegels always like to make things a little more complicated. Jim timidly suggested one day that we stop eating factory farmed meat after research for his ethics class left him horrified and more than a little queasy. I had flirted with vegetarianism since high school for a number of reasons, one of the more influential of which was probably just to irritate my parents. (In an act of divine justice, our kids as teenagers will probably defy us with pepperoni pizza and ham sandwiches.) So it wasn’t, as many imagine, that we woke up one day with a deep loathing for meat and have shunned it ever since. In fact, sometimes at night we lay in bed whispering sweet nothings to each other about the days of Wendy’s cheeseburgers and hot dogs at the ball park.

What amazes me is that here we are now a decade into that decision and I still feel like I am trying to figure out how to go about it. Again you might be saying to yourself, what is to figure out? You are a vegetarian, so don’t eat meat. What’s so complicated about that? A lot, actually. There are the “What qualifies as meat?” questions. There are obvious answers to this and not so obvious ones. Rump roast? Definitely meat. (I think we could safely qualify as meat anything which refers to a particular part of the body, rump, ribs, wings, etc). Fish we have ruled as non-meat. Contrary to annoying pleas I once made to a college boyfriend, I don’t think fish have enough going on upstairs to register significant pain and suffering. But there are all sorts of tricky, grey areas such as chicken stock and the bacon that comes on top of the salad that you didn’t notice on the menu but it’s already mixed in and you hate to make a fuss. When faced with such a situation, we usually make eye-contact and silently ask one another “Are you going to eat it?” It can, at times, be rather comical. We have good friends who are also vegetarians of the meat loving sort. At a university banquet a few years back, we each had a large portion of country-fried steak placed in front of us. After an embarrassed pause, we began to tentatively eat our dinners. By the end, I was restraining myself from licking the plate clean. Gravy—yummmm.

The holidays, as well as other family gatherings and church potluck dinners, are filled with tension and temptation. You want to be polite, not to make people feel uncomfortable and let’s face it, ethical dilemma aside, flesh can be quite tasty. I feel guilty just piling up on veggies as if my plate is some sort of moral judgment on those around me. I feel guilty adding a slice or two of turkey when (a) I have made the commitment to forego said turkey and (b) if I am honest, I am not just being polite. So I am faced with either being the party killjoy (this makes it sound as if our families sit around, knife and fork in hand, banging on the table and shouting “Argh, give us our meat wench!” which is far from the case) or being the party hypocrite. In reality, probably no one is looking and no one really cares what I put on my plate except for my kids who love to steal the best parts for themselves. So this holiday season, I vow to turn over a new, guilt-free leaf. Be my plate carnivorous, herbivorous, or somewhere in between, I will walk with my head held high. In other words, I will make sure I follow Jim through the line and only get meat if he does. What can I say? I guess I’m just chicken.

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My Time at the ETS Conference

By Jim Spiegel

Its been a good couple of days at the annual Evangelical Theological Society conference here in Providence, Rhode Island.  This morning I presented my paper on the problem of evil—specifically, comparing the free will and soul-making theodicies—and it was received well by the 50-60 folks in attendance, several of whom asked some interesting and helpful questions about my thesis, which is that the two theodicies are properly seen as complimentary (because logically interdependent) approaches to the problem.  I have posted my paper on a separate page on this blog, which you will find on the right side bar.  I’d welcome any comments, pro or con, as I’ll be submitting it for publication soon.

In addition to attending many informative and stimulating (as well as a few ponderous and soporific) paper presentations on assorted issues, from apologetics to gender issues to the hiddenness of God, I’ve been perusing endless book exhibits, chatting on subjects profound and frivolous, getting lost in the labyrinthine convention center halls, and eating far too much food—including fresh, melt-in-your-mouth Atlantic salmon on two occasions.  (Amy’s going to be sick with envy when she reads this.  Sorry, honey!)  Yes, our brand of vegetarian diet—“ovo-pecto-lacto vegetarianism,” to be tiresomely precise—does allow for fish (that’s the “pecto” part).  It also allows for chocolate mousse, by the way.  And I’m paying for it now with some late-night indigestion (belch).  Oh, but it felt so good going down…

Goodnight.