To say that the Grill has gone a bit untended recently may be a bit of an understatement. As with everything else in DC, this little piece of work has been a bit neglected during the dog days of summer. I plead vacation and moving, and throw myself on the mercy of you the reader (or perhaps readers if I’m lucky).
There’s been just a bit of interest going on since I last wrote. As this Sunday’s Washington Post pointed out, August has a habit of turning up big events even though the President is off bushwhacking. The Grillmaster could return with a post on Israel getting bogged down in Lebanon, the real pain of the ‘birth pangs of democracy,’ the fall of Ralph Reed, the head butt of Zissou or the salvific appearance of Air McNair in the Ravens’ backfield to call plays and lead us back to Super Bowl glory.
But first, a major announcement from the Grillmaster family. As of about a month ago, the Grillmistress has been promoted to Grill-fiancée. May the coals of our love burn ever bright, or some such over-extended metaphor. In a classic move of misdirection, the Grillmaster’s procrastination in this matter led the artist formerly known as the Grillmistress to give up all hope and despair that the question would never be popped. She was pleasantly surprised to the contrary in
The Official Fiancée of the Grill (still experimenting with names) departed
