Lake Week is always a festival of eating.  Too many people who love to cook being in one place at one time means nonstop buffet action.  For most lake-goers, being out on and/or in the water all the time leads to constant appetite.  Last year one of our hostesses lost two pounds despite said nonstop buffet action.  I, on the other hand, not being much of one for swimming, tend to just eat anyway.  By the end of the average lake week, I’m kind of tired of food.  That sounds stupid, yes, and it probably marks me as a bad liberal to be so bourgeois, but whatever, it’s the truth.  Come Sunday morning, we were dividing up the remaining food and somehow The Boyf and I ended up with all the desserts.  There’s a red velvet cake (minus one slice eaten for the noble purpose of verifying it traveled back without incident, of course) in our fridge and, on the shelf above it, a big tub of this absurdly delicious pseudo-eclair stuff Bascha made.  I’m feeling much better now that I’m eating like a normal person again, however.  Ugh.  Looking back on all the delicious food – grilled chicken, pesto ravioli with chicken and mushrooms, homemade salsa, homemade bean salad, eclair stuff, fruit trifle – I am just thrilled to death that my pants still fit.

Also, can I continue using this space to write love letters to Raymond Chandler?  Seriously.  Also Hammett.  The Thin Man may be one of the best books I’ve ever read for sheer entertainment value.  I’m convinced Robert Altman must have read Hammett and said to himself, “One day, I will make movies where everyone talks like this.”  I got more reading done in one week at the lake than I’ve gotten done in the last six months.

To finish out the brief lake roundup, we made it out to The Store Which Cannot Be Named again only to find that Jesusland had gone under.  I got one picture of a t-shirt with a faux logo revamped to evangelize, but that was pretty much it in that department.  I did get a bunch of other pictures, however, and those will go up sometime this week.