Lake George

The theskinnyonbenny family spent last week on Lake George, in upstate New York. Or I guess more accurately, we were on a little spit of the lake that dumps into a river. We could boat or drive to the lake, but poor landscaping prevented the picturesque view that we deserved as tourists from far away.

We got to try many of their local restaurants, and one experience motivated me to post a review on Yelp or some similar site. Unfortunately, I don't remember the name of the place,and Mrs. theskinnyonbenny wasn't able to find it for me, so I post most of my review here.

The best thing I can say about this restaurant is that I did not catch hepatitis-B from their filthy silverware. You see, they would have actually had to have brought me silverware in order for that to happen. What I got instead were excuses. Excuses why a small dog couldn't sit quietly next to the table on the patio, excuses why a 40-year-old couldn't be served a White Russian ("My job is on the line!"), excuses why there were no appetizer plates (on 2nd thought, there was no explanation on that one), excuses why silverware was missing, why there were no condiments, why they couldn't accept American Express. Yes, the view is nice, bit there must be other places in town where the niceties don't stop with the view.

I shouldn't start with a complaint. I hate complainers, but I was so happy with my hepatitis-B line, I wanted to get it written before it eeked out of my brain.

We had a great trip. The water was cold and clear, the weather pleasant, and the liquor store was well stocked. We boated, hiked, rafted, ate, and drank until all hours of the night. Crystal and Mrs. theskinnyonbenny were up late enough to see the sun rise. Twice.

There may be nothing better than sitting outside in cool night air, bullshitting with people you like. It happens all the time that I sit and listen to stories and quotes, and I think, "I need to write that down or record it, or I won't remember to post anything about it on theskinny." And I never write it down; I never record it; and the hilarious story is lost forever. (Unless it's a story from Lisa Yarid Ferry, in which case the story is lost until she tells it again the next night.)

One of these nights, Brent was laying out the facts of something or other. Corporate America, I think. One of the things he said was, "Everything what you think you think, is not the way you think."

That, of course, is hilarious on its own. But in order for me to remember and get the quote right, I knew I would have to save it. Recording myself seemed easier than finding somewhere to write it, so I went to my phone, and spoke the quote back into it. Then, my own slurred nonsense reminded me the next day. See for yourself:

The time we spent sitting outside was considerably more pleasurable later in the week. When we got there, you couldn't really see the waterline at all for all the overgrown brush between the house and the lake. But somehow, Brent came across a pair of loppers. I looked out the bedroom window to see brush going down, and as quickly as I could, I grabbed my phone and went out on the deck to document the carnage.

Who does this sort of thing to rental property?

More words, pics, and vids will trickle out over time.