After scooping up, the twelve-pound cat nestles quiet, quiescent, in the crook of my left arm. After twenty minutes of fussing, complaining, plaintive mewing, and other guerrilla tactics that amount to nothing more than human harassment, he has finally gotten what he wanted.

I can't reach the keyboard, but from the pillow of my shoulder, the two red-gold eyes flutter closed. The paws lying limp at the base of my neck shift and begin to gently knead my chest. His eyes and tail droop in unison, until he is a limp, nearly-sleeping cat being cuddled with his belly and back feet pointing toward the ceiling. His paw pads are pink, silken. The fine, soft individual tufts of white fur between them flow and bend in the gentle currents of air.

Part 1: Springsteen

Marriage is comprised of one-third rational decision-making and two-thirds nodding, agreeing, and doing your own thing anyway. (In my world, at least.) Chris reminds me of a particular example of the latter for Jeff and I: the music of Bruce Springsteen. It's not a simple case of either getting it or not getting it; Jeff just really isn't bowled over by Springsteen's singing style, and that negative opinion makes Springsteen's music uninteresting to Jeff.

Or, as I said to Chris a moment or two later:

Welcome to Huntsville, your location for prime, newsworthy weather activity! In order to get the most out of your time in Huntsville, you should consider making or purchasing what we in the unofficial tourism board call an Experience Huntsville! kit.

Experience Huntsville! kits have been available for some time at local retailers, but due to popular demand, are probably currently sold out†. Chances are good, though, that you - the average Huntsville visitor - probably have most of the individual components of an Experience Huntsville! kit already in your garage or attic:

Silly us; we were too tired to check the weather when we stumbled into Casa Richardson last night. We awoke to discover that weather was being wreaked all around us today. That plan I had of getting up fairly early and driving home from Atlanta?

The road to hell is paved with hair-care products. I'm sure of it.

I tiptoed out in the howling mass of humidity that is pre-thunderstorm northern Alabama on a shamefully-girly errand: hair trimming. My photographic adventures at the Vienna Teng show had shown me that my left braid was a little longer than my right, and that if I wanted to avoid looking like an asymmetrical Pippi Longstocking, that it might be best to venture into...

…the hall of girlyness.
…the den of female iniquity.

The hair salon.

Or, that's what Jody calls it; I can't say that I've had the pleasure of tasting this particular recipe yet. When I mentioned that I had been a little lacking on writing material lately, I found an email from Jody waiting on me the next morning with the following statement:

"I am sending you my all-time favorite recipe. My family routinely goes through 4 bowls of this stuff at gatherings. It so rules."

So, in my ongoing effort to diversify things a bit around here, I present yet another famed recipe from Jodyland.

"Best Damned Cobb Salad In History" part 1: the greens

• ½ head chopped Napa cabbage (bok choy in a pinch...but find Napa if you can)
• ½ head chopped romaine lettuce (pick off the outside big leaves)
• ½ head chopped cored iceberg lettuce (don't use the inner rings ... they are kind of bitter)
• 3 large green onions, chopped