Ah, the Penguin

Many of us know of the Penguin. Such a cool little diner on Thomas Street here in town. Someday I am going to have to go there and not get the Boss Hogg sammich that I usually get. Hard to pass up though, grilled onions, ham and mayo. Mmmm, mmmm.

The usual cast of oddballs were there, the tall flabby guy in glasses drinking 24 ounce Budweisers, playing songs on the jukebox, peeing every ten minutes and apologizing to the waitress for the loud Stooges song that came on.

The awesome and friendly wait staff. Former and current goth girls one and all.

The Gwyneth Palotrow look alike having a Corona or two.

The family in the corner booth.

The regular drunks in the front corner hugging each member of their group that came in.

The skinny girl with nice legs, huge honker and sunken eyes drinking booze with the regulars.

The rockabilly lookin' guy with the black t-shirt and black hair.

The three year old boy screaming in delight after figuring out the cd jukebox will flip the cards with the songs on them if he smacked enough buttons. He was unable to discern which button did the flipping so he hit as many of them as he could. Each flip was a delight which he expressed loudly.

The two young girls at the side bar with all the piercings and a wardrobe very carefully assembled at thrift stores except for the shoes. The shoes were new. One had her toenails painted robin-egg's blue.

And Wendell.

Hell no, we won't go.

I am starting to think, no matter how badly our prez wants to kill kill kill and kill some more, that we may actually not attack Iraq. Colin Powell, in an interview I read today, very carefully laid down a most oblique line of opposition. Or was it reserved concern? Either way, it gives me hope.