Another night: Great burgers

So the day was okay. Took the train into the City and survived. Dinner tonight at Dauphines Steak House. No steak for me -- just a burger and fries.

Been thinking about the existential bent of last night's posting. I'm finding I have incomplete thoughts of late. My vanilla blog has a huge hole in it recently when I tried to link the Secretary of State's current Mid-East trip to a failed foreign policy and a new strategy for US intervention. Heady stuff, eh? And then, here, attempting to link strip clubs to 50 First Dates and existentialism -- and, again, not being all that successful in drawing the linkage.

So, I'm here, now, waiting for my burger. Already Debra has come up to say hello. "Mr. Sausage Factory," she purred. Ooh, la, la. Nice to be known. And Corey stopped by and we chatted briefly about an upcoming rally in southern Virginia. The Nazis and the Klu Klux Klan have evidently joined forces and want to march at some National Park. Last week I clicked the Next Blog button in the upper right of some Blogspot blog and I ended up at some blog about it (and, now, I've lost it). Seems there's some folks planning a love-in to counter the hate of the white supremists. Cool, and I've been talking it up. Somehow Corey and I got on the topic last night. Seems she has an interest 'cause she's in a committed inter-racial relationship (okay, the plain way to say that is her boyfriend is black; like I care). (Sidebar: Like I care about her boyfriend's race. I guess it was important because we were talking about the love-fest, so there was a link. But for some people, it's like they just have to tell you. Like some people who are gay: they feel they have to announce it. Whatever. Be yourself. Perhaps that's my existentialist response. Be yourself and I really don't need to know about it.)

While I'm thinking about it: I highly recommend the burger at Dauphines. Charcoal flavored and cooked to perfection on a NY style potato roll. Best burger I've had in years -- and that's not because it comes with a side of young titties, but 'cause it tastes good.

Good food -- and Anna, the waitress -- tempted me with a triple fudge chocolate cake that, while not to die for, is worth at least passing out for.

Nice. Very nice place. Everyone is so friendly. Arianna, wearing a hot orange flourescent, skin-tight dress stops by. I'm struck by her real smile and the sparkle of her eyes; even in this dim light, her eyes glitter. Full of life.

And the chocolate cake has got to have a million carbs, after just one bite attacking my already expanding belly.

Question: Is it okay to leave cake on the plate? Do I have to finish it?

A related question: Is it okay to leave a strip club with cash in my pocket? Do I have to tap out. (Years ago, I would never exit a strip club with cash: it was my duty to leave it with the lasses. Thank goodness -- at least for me -- I'm not there anymore.)

Corey is back up on the stage; she dances with a dancer's grace. Half-a-dozen dancers and each has a distinct personality and style. She's fluid and hip-y and sexy and water-like. Damn.

So, I'm here. And I choose to be here. And, yet, I desire a connection. And I look forward to geting home and being with Jane and Miller: connected.