Things are good. Things are very, very good, actually, so much so that I have been loathe to mention it for fear of jinxing myself.

For starters, the b.h. and I went to Portland, Maine last week to see The Pixies. Despite both of us having been fans for what- twenty years? (That seems hard to believe) - neither of us had ever seen them. The show was fantastic. We laughed at ourselves for being crotchety, he complaining that his beer was too cold and me being bored by the opening band to the point of actually yawning and looking at my watch several times per song. But when the time came we made our way to the front of the stage and lost our minds just like in the old days. While everyone was shouting for an encore, I was groped about the ass by a drunken forty-something. It took me a moment to register what was actually happening, but when I did I threw him against the rail and told him I was going to break his fucking hand if he fucking touched me again ("you stupid drunk twat, nice wedding ring, where's your wife you fucking loser, etc etc."). The b.h. was a couple feet in front of me facing the other direction and missed the whole exchange, but the security guy seemed to get a kick out of it. The loser in question was gone within seconds after I finished my tirade, and I didn't see him again.
Portland was okay, but we had a couple of odd retail experiences that left us feeling like it was perhaps getting a bit big for it's proverbial britches. The town has quite a reputation among foodies, and we had a fabulous meal at Fore Street (though the side on his pork chop was not as advertised, and clashed horribly with his $13 glass of wine, which was carefully chosen to accompany what was on the menu and not what came on the plate). The service was impeccable, and we left feeling full but not bursting at the seams.
The next day we went to a cook book store. They had an impressive collection of new and used books, which according to the proprietor (whom we overheard loudly proclaiming his greatness to an equally annoying and self-important customer), is the largest and most diverse in the known universe- or something. They apparently give rare books to museums and the like. Which is all well and good, but the man didn't speak to us and we were the only people in the store aside from this woman, and we were very ready to spend money. They both went on about the injustices of Anthony Bourdain, whose one hour television program somehow ignored all of the important people and places in town.
"We'd been writing them for years asking them to come here," the man lamented. I guess he thinks no one else had.

The two of them went on and on, never suspecting, I guess that either of us would know anybody they were talking about or be offended at what they were saying. Or maybe they didn't care, though I find that a bit odd in this economy.

The same thing happened an hour or so later at a beer store. Three employees, including one who was obviously the owner, and a woman who worked for a distributor. The b.h. was sporting a sweatshirt from the bar where he works, which has giant hops on it. We were looking at expensive bottles of beer and wine, talking excitedly to each other across the aisles. Nobody asked us if we needed help. Nobody asked us anything. They did not acknowledge us at all. It was ridiculous. We had lunch at Duckfat, which is to say the b.h. had lunch and I ate a salad and watched him eat. I swear he would have rolled around in his food if he'd been alone.

When I returned to work on Thursday, I had a visit from one of my distributors. We tasted some outstanding wines wines from Italy, I ordered some things I had tried at his show the prior week, and I casually asked him if the trip he was taking to Austria in the Spring was full yet. It wasn't. He gave me the itinerary and said to get in touch with him as soon as possible if I thought I would be able to go, because space was limited. I have been thinking about this trip as a very remote possibility for a couple of months now, because I could not conceive of how I could possibly afford it. Even though the Austrian government was footing most of the bill, airfare would be several hundred dollars. An hour later I went to my mailbox upstairs, and discovered that along with my paycheck I had gotten a profit sharing check from the LG. It was in the amount of One Plane Ticket To Austria dollars.
So yeah. There's that.