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I have to say that there's nothing better for my mood than a quiet dinner at a semi-nice restaurant in a wanna-be upscale area of town. I'll be sitting there in a Fox Racing tee, baggy jeans, and running shoes. My table manners will be textbook-perfect, but the crabby, bobble-headed old men in the turquoise jackets and white pants (Oh so Miami Vice) will glare at me during the entire meal. I can only assume they think I'm lowering the tone. Then, perhaps if I'm lucky, I'll see a large fat woman that repeatedly sends her prime rib back sans the french-fired onions, until the prime rib comes back without more french-fried onions.

I know I shouldn't, but I always feel a little bit better that I have some level of comportment and dignity that other people lack. And while many of you can point to times when my comportment and dignity were off, I'm sure you'll agree that it was usually at a place where such things were okay.

Yesterday was hideous. Everything was going awry, and I had to forcibly remind myself to stay calm. Then, I went to Ruth's Chris for an early dinner, and things were better.