Egghead Dave and the Magazine
Tonight I ate at a joint called Eggspectations. I'm serious. They bill themselves as an all day eggsperience. They look chain-y, so you might have been to one and basked in "Le Cirque des oeufs." I am not making this up. I just found out that you haven't been to one, because they seem to have two locations in the world and they are both near me. The point I'm trying to make is that you don't go to a place called Eggspectations and order the Mango burger. It just isn't done. At least not on the first visit. So, I ignored my desire and went with the "Eggswhat?" Eggs-actly. The problem with every egg dish, save the 12 eggs benedict dishes, was that each dish came with eggs cooked to my liking. I knew I could get the eggs scrambled, but after that I start to get fuzzy on what eggs-actly my egg options might be. (You think this post is bad, you should see the menu.) Then in a fit of panic I have a Runaway Bride moment and become very concerned that not only do I not know my egg options, but that I don't in fact even know how I like my eggs. Such strong movie recall led me to believe that I should not order the scrambled eggs. Choosing sunny side up both because I knew the name and because I admire the optimism, I steadied my inner Julia Roberts. The sun was kind of runny and gross, which is why I prefer scrambled eggs, even if the whites actually went pretty well with the corned beef hash, honeydew melon, and potatoes. It was a strange meal and in the end I think it left me with foul breath, a funny feeling in my stomach and a number of less than eggsistential questions.

Black and white
In non-egg related news, I have a magazine whose cover asks in white type "Are dating services really worth the money?" Directly next to that in black type is "Trace your family tree."