"In truth, I am so very close to the place where Ann’s favorite post-dinner beverage is made."

Good lord, Nina's back in France again. Investigating cognac, apparently. Me, I'm in the U.S.A., in Madison's southern counterpart, Austin. Where I did have a cognac last night. But first:



On the other side of the table:



(My younger son is older than Ezra Klein. Ezra doesn't like me because I'm "superficial and Maureen Dowd-ish" and because I committed the unforgivable sin of mocking a photograph that one time. I like the way, at that linked post, Fenrisulven shows up and gives the anti-Althouse crowd a lesson on the interpretation of my old satirical post and the meaning of sexual harassment before and after Bill Clinton befogged the minds of partisan Democrats. Meanwhile, Ezra compares me to "conservative bloggers" he likes, never picking up the reality that I'm pretty much a liberal, a liberal who attacks the Democratic Party. Or maybe he does get that, and that's what he hates. He should! I'm dangerous. I might say anything, because I really don't care about your party.)

Isn't it funny that Nina's caught the new blog meme: Althouse drinks? And I'm drinking right now. A huge coffee, lovingly made at The Hideout:



I swivel my head 56 degrees. Man, that building seems to exist to tempt me into the graffiti life.