That said, some places I’ve enjoyed eating in the Lexington area:

Bigg Blue Martini: Music, strong drinks.

Natasha’s: Beautiful interior, inventive cuisine.

Lock & Key Cafe: You will love the Hummus Wrap. Special order an Italian Soda with Ale8. You’ll think it the greatest thing ever.

AlfAlfa:I’m ambivalent about. Hit or miss. Pesto turkey sandwich is incredible.

Tachibana Japanese Restaurant in Lexington.

The worst Japanese food I have tasted since …. ever. Painfully unfriendly service. Who the hell passes food across the table and barks for order requests? I ordered shrimp and vegetable tempura — soggy and cold. Huh? 

When I eat out, I buy that which I myself cannot make well. Like Tempura. 

For good Japanese, go to Erlanger’s Miyoshi.

I’ve now given Atomic Cafe in downtown Lexington two visits and I regret both.

Edible food, to be sure, friendly service, alright. But, the flavor is not there. My last visit Friday I ordered the jerk chicken. The driest piece of meat I’ve ever had the displeasure of consuming. Left it unfinished and worked on the uninspired asparagus. One of my dining partners also ran afoul with his pork skewers. The third chap had steak and it was fine. 

Mediocre food is one thing, but paying Atomic Cafe prices for such food is another. 

If I’m lucky, I’ll be free from visiting again.

Definitely wish I spoke Chinese.

Yesterday, in ascending a flight of stairs, I spotted a Red Shirt. Being a boy, I am easily distractible by shiny things — and Red Shirts thusly qualify. On our Red Shirt of discussion were a handful of Chinese characters. Naturally I looked, went up the man wearing the Red Shirt, and proceeded to engage him in conversation about it.

I gave the one-word English equivalents to the ideographs. Something about “Red Under Foot Top Military Organization.”

That makes no more sense now than it did yesterday; then, of course, I was informed it was to translate to “I love the Red Sox.” Providing some poetic license, I passed off the translation.

“Red So(cks)” were written as “Red-Under-Shoe ???.” Were we using Japanese, it would have read “Red-Shoe-Under ???.” I thought it interesting that Chinese and Japanese so conveniently flip their terms characters around in this instance: ?? versus ??. 

But now: having accessed a Chinese-English dictionary, sock is translated as something entirely different. “Short-Cotton ??.”

Let that be a lesson to us to never trust foreign languages impressed on shirts. 

Attended a BBQ yesterday afternoon with colleagues. One woman noticed my sitting posture and, specifically, the placement of my arm on my leg. 

“You’re double-jointed!” 

And so it began. A weird placement of my arm atop my knee that has garnered amazed reactions for years was finally explained. And I just thought double jointed - “hypermobile” - folks had funny thumbs.

I feel special.

Scapula hurts something fierce. Posture was less than stellar yesterday. Polo I wore, once perfectly sized, has shrunk on me — or I’ve grown beyond it. Either way, for much of the day, I had not at all (at all!) been able to rotate my neck to the left. 

Improvement since the morning to be sure. On an ibuprofen regimen. Still made it to the gym upon waking, too; I think that helped. Gingerly stretched as best I could.

The body is amazing. Its failures only prove it.

I will run in a 5K on Saturday, and that ought to help, as well. Jolts the body back into shape. And maybe the forecasted rain will eliminate enough competition so I can be its winner just for having shown up!

There once was a time when I would put away upwards of 30 books a year. Now is no such time. In an well-intentioned attempt to incubate a little part of Kentucky inside me, I bought in February or March what appears to be the seminal work on the state’s history: A History of Kentucky. (Unassumingly titled.)

Between the hours at work, my Herculean (!!) (no, not really) sports efforts, visitors, and selling my soul to the Obama for Kentucky campaign, I scarcely could dedicated even an hour a week to reading it consistently. Today, finally, I sat myself in Georgetown’s painfully cute Lock & Key cafe and wrapped it up.

Ask me anything. I’m a Kentucky master. 

Incidentally, I met some time ago a gentleman who sat in the book’s author’s final class at the University of Kentucky prior to his retirement; and another gentleman who is related through marriage to the professor. He — Thomas Clark — appears to have quite the following in this state amongst the political class. Kentucky’s historian laureate. An intimate knowledge of the Commonwealth. He would pull students aside in class and, by last name and hometown alone, he would posit relationships to movers and shakers from the Past. “Go to this curve on the Interstate….” would lead to detailed discussions of slave or Bourbon running.

Time considerations and ease of access issues have severely limited my NY Times carbon-edition readership since moving to Kentucky. Even the Sunday edition, complete with its magazine, have become crowded out by my lovely, hectic life. And, that it’s only sold at Starbucks is disappointing.

Still, this week was a play week. So, I made it a point. Even earned a spot on my to-do list. Glad I went through. Not only did I meet someone whom I may attempt to develop into a biking partner, I got to enjoy reading this article on my couch with a glass on wine.

I somehow managed to catch Roberts — for a moment. Jacobson then pulled in front of me and told me to stay with him. Sweat streamed down my forehead, and all I could see were random neon dots floating in the corners of my eyes. I was deep in the pain cave. We got to the top of the climb, and I stopped to catch my breath. I was euphoric: I pushed myself that hard?

“Nice effort,” Jacobson said. “And the good news is, you’ll always pass out before you die.”

So, I’m liking this cycling thing. Clocked 48 miles out to Kentucky’s capitol, Frankfort. Had lunch al fresco at a coffee shop. Beautiful day. And I’m beginning to rock a killer tan. 

I’m so vain.

Scott County Democrats here in Kentucky held their delegate nominating caucus today following the May 20th primary. At stake were 3 Obama delegates and 6 Clinton (plus one Clinton alternate). Clinton’s lopsided victory last week gave her the proportional edge today.

Sign that Obama kicks butt?

Even though we lost the primary and had only three spots to send to the State Democratic convention next week, we still outnumbered the Clinton supporters 2:1. 

Those 10 delegates will cast votes for the slate of 52 delegates Kentucky sends to the national Democratic nominating convention in Denver.

Memorial Day conjures up grilling and beer; yet my Proustian reference point is hiyashi chuka — cold ramen noodle salad. (And, please: sesame, not soy flavored.)

Lacking ramen noodles, I made do with soba. It worked well in that it existed. But the nutty flavor conflicted more than I would have liked with the sauce. Will have to pay a visit soon for some Maruchan. 

Summer has indeed begun.