And though the truth may vary, this ship will carry our bodies safe to shore

derspatchel and I have two anniversaries: in March we celebrate when we became a couple in 2012, in December when we were married in 2013. Dinner was out tonight because he was working the Somerville, so we walked into Inman Square and had lunch at Playska. I realize this comparison will be useful only to a specialized subset of my friendlist, but the best way to describe this sandwich shop is to say that they serve Daniel Pinkwater food—incredibly delicious, impossible to eat neatly, Eastern European in origin, and available at a tiny storefront hole-in-the-wall that nobody seems to know about except for the people who do. I mean, they moved into the space left by Rosie's Bakery, so it's not like they're unfindable. But they have about ten seats and serve nine different kinds of kolache until they run out and the Playska itself, if I read its original name correctly, is an Anglicization of the national fast food of Serbia. It's also what I got for lunch. It is huge. You've got the sweet and slightly spicy ajvar on top, then the thin-sliced cucumber pickles, then the pork-and-beef patty, then some lettuce, then what I thought was sour cream but turned out to be savory cream cheese with bacon, then some sliced raw onions which I would personally have left out, and the whole thing is folded around with lepinje, a bread which resembles a turbo-charged, slightly tart pita with a really good chewy crust. There were some pickled beets on the side and I think they must have been decorative, because you really don't need to eat anything else after you have finished a Playska. Maybe for several days. I ate most of a kolach with apples and golden raisins, but that was optimism. If you have read any Pinkwater, you will now understand that only the fact that none of the sandwiches served by this establishment is actually named the Borgelburger saves it from being fictional and/or patronized by werewolves and avocado freaks. I plan to revisit it in the near future just in case it blasts off and disappears anyway.

Afterward we ran some errands and then fell over for an hour and a half with the cats. I have some vague memory of Rob leaving for work, mostly because it rearranged the cats; I had intended to see Moon of Israel (1924) at the Somerville because it was directed by Michael Curtiz when his name was still Kértesz and I had heard good things about the special effects, but instead I slept another two hours while Autolycus and Hestia changed watches. When I finally woke, it took me an extra half-hour to leave the house because of Autolycus. Being a conscientious cat as well as an adorable one, he would not let me out of the house without first washing my face, which he did with both paws planted on my sternum, starting with my left eyebrow. I made goat's milk cocoa when I got home and rushthatspeaks and I read reviews of bad music and movies to one another, courtesy of Dave Barry and Roger Ebert. The songs stuck in my head are currently alternating between Miike Snow's "Genghis Khan," Of Monsters and Men's "Little Talks," and both the duet and quintet versions of West Side Story's "Tonight" (original Broadway cast).

I consider this a good day.

P.S. If you have not seen the 1961 film of West Side Story since ninth grade, but have spent the last year watching Twin Peaks (1990-91) with one of your partners, it will be only mildly nagging that Tony looks familiar in the same way as several other members of the cast (later identified as George Chakiris, Ned Glass, and an uncredited and more importantly mustache-less John Astin) until you get home and realize that the last time you saw Richard Beymer, he was Ben Horne. You were not this weirded out about Russ Tamblyn.