Remember when I raved about Westside Local? It's one of our favorites and not too far for P to get away at lunch. We split two plates, but kept a pint of pale ale to ourselves and I. was. spiced. Batty, right?! Anyway, I ditched my workerbee and skipped on over to the West Bottoms (an old industrial district that hasn't gotten much action since the flood of '51). I wish I had planned a little better and brought a few gal pals that would have shared my thrill in warehouses brim-loaded with antiques, etc. I got my jollies, nonetheless, milling about alone. Oh, and I also got these ostrichy (thrifted) Nocona boots that fit like a glove! ...err, a boot. It was bitter cold, as you can imagine, in these unfurnished old beasts, or I may have stayed longer. There's hope, however, because Punxsutawney Phil did NOT see his shadow this morning. Most likely because he stayed up way too late and didn't rise from his hole. Wait a minute, that was my Kansas City Phil. Anyway, here's to hoping that groundhog is right!