Sometimes you just want pizza

There has been a lot going on since I last wrote a blog post.

The Olympics and the craptastic coverage NBC has provided, especially here on the West Coast.  A CEO of a chicken restaurant started a family values revolution, boycott, and counter-boycott.  A number of my chums ran and PR'ed the San Francisco Marathon.  All of these things are things I would often write about and try to find some real useful, perhaps even insightful, thing to say about them.

But sometimes you just want pizza and that is the only thing you can think about.

I love pizza.  Crappy pizza from chains, delivered by kids in crappy cars to fine pizza from the best wood or coal burning ovens in Little Italys in cities around the country.  I just love pizza.

Recently the wife and I have been being healthy, which while good for us in the long term, has curtailed my pizza consumption.  Sure, we have the low cal versions of frozen pizza from Trader Joe's, which do in a pinch, but they aren't a slice from Italian Village at 3 am.

Yes. That is ALWAYS good.

And since I am on the subject, there are no good pizza places in San Francisco. Sure there are a number of places that make a very credible pizza, but there are not good Italian Village-esq locals.

After living in New York at the height of my being out until 3 am stage of my life, I have grown accustom to a piece of hot, good pizza at that time. Or any time.

But really, I was used to the ritual.

We got a coffee maker in my office here in San Fransisco.  But my boss still goes down to the Starbucks because of the break and the ritual.  I don't understand spending $5 a cup when you can get it for free, but I totally respect the ritual.

This is all a long way of saying the wife and I are going on vacation in New York this month and we are very excited.  We will see friends and meet a baby (!), I will run in my Park, and of course, I will get some pizza.