The daily digest of Twin Cities culture | Secrets of the City

Back in January, I submitted a blog called Sex and the Fat Man that was about my forthcoming novel in which a large hero has a lot of quality sex and fesenjoon -- the dish over which he and the lady with whom he has all that great sex fall in love.

Today is my birthday.

I'm not afraid of coming birthdays, and I don't intend to stop the count-up. Despite all of its challenges (living with teenagers, IRS tax audit, five year old with pneumonia), through the mud and the stars, life on the whole is pretty good.

So today is MY day, the one day a year that I book solidly to do whatever I want (sans Fiji, of course). And because this is the last year I'll have a five year old in tow, I plan to have some silly fun.

During a recent visit to the research and development laboratory at Dairy Queen’s international headquarters, a row of soft-serve ice cream machines stood disconcertingly silent. The waffle irons and the commercial-grade mixers were unplugged, and no syrups or candies were being tested in the refractometer, the colorometer, or the texturometer.