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Tonight I discovered that I can snarf half a pound of steak in less than one Billy Joel song. I'm not proud of this. After doing a buttload of holiday shopping (who am I kidding? As culturally pan-dimensional as I like to believe myself to be, it was all Christmas shopping), Mark & I went to Texas Roadhouse. As my steak was set before me, their very loud speakers started playing that Billy Joel cover that made Garth Brooks a squillionaire. My steak was very good, and I happily munched away while Garth made BJ's "I never graduated from high school so I have something to prove" lyrics sound unpretentious enough for the red state crowd. I had just put the last bite in my mouth when our waiter checked in on us. Seeing my empty plate, he yelped, "Your steak got sent back? I'm sorry, I'll go check on that!" I managed to stop him before he could put another half pound of steak in front of me. I tried to blame it on a huge dog that came out of nowhere, made off with my steak, and disappeared, but I don't think he was buying it. I'm told the first step is to admit that I am powerless before sirloin.