They opened up this new Philly cheesesteak place across the street from the theatre, and apparently it's pretty good. Zagat's gave it a 24 food rating, although I don't even want to contemplate what their decor rating — the restaurant has counters but no stools and the floor is paved concrete. I ordered myself up a cheesesteak, and it's pretty good except for the fact that it's drowning in grease and I can feel the coronary thrombosis sneaking up on me as I eat the thing, so I can't really enjoy the meal with Death always in the background.

By the way, at restaurants and the like, when they're taking my order, I am now "Jason." I'm totally sick of having to repeat my absurdly simple name: "Huh? What? Ray? Dave? Dan? Tim? Bob?" I mean, it's not like the folks at the restaurant are going to use my name for anything besides calling me when my food's done, so to them I might as well be "Reginald" or "Percy" or "Intombe" or "Optimus Prime." No, come to think of it, I don't think I'd make a very good "Percy."