Athens, GA Outside In

2012-02-05T15:24:00.002-05:00

I'll finally be getting to the orthopedist tomorrow. I have no idea what to expect, but am hoping they can tell me something definitive so I can make a plan for my stupid shoulder. It hurts quite a lot by the end of each day now, and I find myself much more tired than I should be, regardless of how much sleep I get. On the bright side, being so exhausted has helped me to sleep more heavily lately.

I got news that I am offered a special rate at the ludicrously luxurious hotel in Vienna for the night of my arrival. My only concern is that it may be a ways from the city and any potential sightseeing. On the other hand, after spending almost a whole day traveling, it seems like a heated pool and a fat drink might be all that I need. Any insight is appreciated, of course. Otherwise I'll wing it.
Things have been very busy at work, and I am trying to get Sven up to speed so he can do my job while I'm off gallivanting. I have been approved for six days of educational pay for the Austrian portion of my trip, which means that with the PTO I have saved, I will only be missing half a day's pay for my whole two and a half week trip. Sweet! In other news, our friend J(male, formerly of casa del J and J, where many a dinner party was had last year) and his wife will be flying from Sweden to meet us in Paris. Have I mentioned that I am really, really looking forward to this trip?

The b.h. and I have been talking a lot lately about "what's next". We have these conversations from time to time, trying to decide where to move and what we want to do. We both think that we'd like to be gone before the start of next winter. The fact that this one has been so cold and wet and miserable has only reinforced that. We have our eyes turned toward Chicago at the moment, though nothing is set in stone. I've been gone so long now that I can't even begin to imagine where we'd live. Still, we've formed an exploratory committee. I'll keep you posted, of course.

2012-02-05T14:56:00.003-05:00

I may have mentioned before that there is a particular customer at the LG who everyone knows and almost everyone shies away from. She is one of our many examples of Vermont Parenting, with a son who is about three that she spoils and refuses to discipline at all. This is the woman who not only brought her child into a wine tasting, but then allowed him to handle every piece of food that was being sampled to my customers, watching disinterestedly while he shoved about half of it into his face before putting the rest back on the platter. The final straw occurred when she offered him the last few drops of wine in her glass.
"Here honey, wanna try it?"
"No!" I virtually shouted across the cafe. "Please don't do that. It's against the law and I could lose my liquor license."
She completely ignored me, so I went to get my manager. By the time we returned, she was gone. She has since come to around ten tastings, each time having to be reminded to stay within the roped off area (We're really quite Puritanical here in the Green Mountain State) and leave her son outside of it.
So the other day when she showed up sans child, hovering around a couple that I was consulting about wine for their wedding. She was making herself part of the conversation, asking questions and making comments about the things I said, so I assumed that she was actually with them until I had answered all of their questions and they had walked away, leaving her crazyship and I alone.
"You're so passionate about what you do. It's really great."
"Thanks. Yeah, well, when you love what you do..."
"Do you ever have tastings?"

2012-01-26T21:03:00.002-05:00

I started my day yesterday with two hours and fifteen minutes in the dentist's chair. I may or may not have mentioned this before, but I have a lot of silver fillings from my childhood, and as they get older the silver is expanding and breaking my teeth. Hence I am replacing all of said fillings slowly, as my insurance and bank account will allow. I am now on the third phase, the upper left quadrant of my mouth, and there is a lot of work being done. Making this third phase more interesting is the fact that while I wait for my gold onlay to be made, the temporary cover that I have been given for my naked teeth seems to be flavored with clove. I don't dislike the flavor of clove, thank the gods, but neither would I prefer to have the taste perpetually in my mouth, in the manner that it has been for the last thirty some odd hours. Wine is undrinkable, and so is the stingingly bitter hoppy beer that I usually enjoy. I am finding solace in Brooklyn Black Chocolate("Blackout")Stout, but the going is not easy.
The problem with my shoulder is still in limbo. I've had the stupid MRI, been to the clinic that i had to see in order to establish whether or not I have a potential workman's comp claim, and I am now waiting, waiting, waiting to hear back from the bloody Orthopedist. i finally got sick of waiting and called on Wednesday. "Hi, I have been waiting two weeks to hear from you. I was referred by Some Stupid Clinic and they said it would take seven days."

"Well, you had an appointment on January sixth and you didn't show up."
"You didn't call to tell me I had an appointment,and if you had I would have told you that I would be in Florida on the sixth and would not be able to make it."
"Well the Clinic should have called. We would only have called to confirm."
"Clearly neither of you did, or I wouldn't be calling you right now wondering what was going on now, would I? You'll excuse my tone, but I am in a lot of pain and I have been trying to get an appointment with you since the first of NOVEMBER, and I really need this dealt with."
She read me the phone number she had for me, which was wrong. "But you know where I work! Why would you not call if you didn't reach me?

"I don't know what happened. Now the problem is getting you in."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, we may not have an appointment for... we have an opening on February 6th. Can you come in then?"
I banged my head silently on my desk. "Yes. I'll be there."
What else can I do? I mean, I'm not going to accomplish anything by yelling at the poor receptionist, right? Curse this fucking town for it's smallness and lack of competition among providers. One more thing to add to the list of Why I Can't Stay in this Fucking Place.
In other WICSITFP news, the b.h. has his company holiday party last Sunday. The place he works is great. Run by benevolent geniuses, successful, warm, and an all-around good situation. For him. He has three bosses and one boss's brother, who is a kind of junior manager guy, who is also incredibly nice. All four of them have wives or significant others, and all of these women are completely shitty to me on a regular basis. I have no idea why or what the deal is, but I've been around for a couple years now, I get on well with all of their guys, and I am so married. Not possibly a threat, right? But only one of them deigns to acknowledge me at all, and only when the others aren't looking. It is bizarre. I thought at first that maybe I was being paranoid, but the b.h. confirmed that they are not easy to know. They have all finally warmed to him after all this time, but he basically told me not to bother and not to worry about it. Ugh. It brings to mind a saying:
"God made the country, Man made the city, and the Devil made small towns." I wish I could remember who said that. Anyway, the countdown to Austria is on, and upon our return I think I will start hatching an escape plan. I believe if I find myself here in a year I will lose my mind.

2012-01-16T18:27:00.002-05:00

The rest of my vacation included a sunset dolphin watching cruise on the ocean; watching the Blackhawks lose in overtime to the Detroit Redwings (which also meant listening to my mom shout a stream of obscenities at their television- I think "dickface" was my favorite); and going on my uncle's boat down the canal at the condo complex into the Caloosahatchee River and then out onto the Gulf of Mexico. We turned around fairly quickly, and ran out of gas on the river on the way back. My uncle called the boater's equivalent of AAA, so we were unstuck in under an hour. We made a brief stop at a loud and horrible sports bar that served decent pizza, went to a nature preserve of Sanibel Island, and swan yet again in the pool. I have never been a big fan of Florida, and by no means would I ever want to live there, but I am glad that my folks have a place there. They love it and they're having a great time, have gotten younger-looking for the time they've spent, and have a great little community of friends. It's a place I look forward to visiting yearly, let's put it that way.
My flights home were unremarkable. I went back through Detroit again, this time with a much shorter layover and a less satisfying beer. My friend Anna was waiting for me at the airport, and I was whisked home in no time.
It has been bitterly cold since I returned, but we've spent a lot of time planning for our trip next month and thoughts of Europe are keeping me very warm and fuzzy. Even work has been relatively pleasant, Oddfellows Local 151 aside.

2012-01-09T01:22:00.002-05:00

Not sure if I mentioned this before, but I am once again composing on my phone, so please bear with the rampant typos.
My first day here was mostly spent eating and drinking and playing with the dog and catching up with my parents. They showed me around their condo and their neighborhood, as well as the beer store, and we chatted and rested. Friday we dropped my dad at the golf course and mom and i went to a local farmer's market, where we bought fruit and veg and bread and fresh mozzarella, as well as cheese and pastries from a French expat. After we took a walk around the park, which was mostly a very large trail around a small body of water that is filled with big crazy birds and, purportedly, alligators. We saw no alligators but several large turtles and a dumb young couple smoking pot out in the open while making half-hearted attempts to rein in their pit bull puppy. Bright future for all involved there, to be sure. After we picked up dad we drove out to Sanibel Island, where we located a nature preserve that none of us had the energy to hike through. Ah well, another day perhaps.
Yesterday we went to Ft Myers Beach, which was gorgeous despite being tacky and touristy. The sand was white and powdery and felt great. There are places there to go parasailing. I am hoping to get back there as well. This trip is getting much too short.
Today I slept in and had a huge and delicious cup of coffee and a smoothie before suiting up and heading down to the pool. My folks had to go to the airport to pick up my sister, so I brought along a book my mom loaned me and my iPod and spent two glorious hours in my own world.

2012-01-05T11:58:00.001-05:00

I am currently in the airport in Detroit, on a layover between my own sparsely populated state and Florida, where I will be visiting my parents. the photos below were taken from a moving walkway between two of the terminals. I have to wonder how many people are injured annually at the endpoint of said walkway, what with the loud music and the flashing lights and all. Conversely, I wonder how many spontaneous dance parties break out here.

For my birthday this week, the b.h. Sent out a request to many of our musician friends, asking them to record one of my favorite songs and then send it to him. He then put them together on a CD, for which he asked yet another friend to write liner notes. He did the artwork, and the result is eleven songs worth of fabulousness. Needless to say I was speechless. I may have even cried. I will try to post the artwork when I return. For now though, I'm off to find some sun.

2012-01-05T11:55:00.001-05:00

The drama with my co-worker escalated when I wrote her back. I felt the need to defend myself, naturally, and I sent her a point by point rebuttal of the message she sent me. I addressed it only to her, since I had already made all of the points to my boss, who was completely on my side and also defended me to his boss, who was also already on my side and had sat the woman in question down to have a chat with her about the impropriety of her ridiculous, crazypants e-mail.
She in turn sent my e-mail on to both of the bosses, as well as her father, which is why I am now certain that it was her daddy issues and not my incompetence that caused this meltdown in the first place.
Sigh.
It was only after she screwed up something she was working on for me *twice* and I responded very patiently and kindly that she finally came and apologized to me. Not that it was much of an apology mind you, but the woman is obviously not well and I just wanted the tension to be gone. So we hugged and it's over and I suppose it will be until her parents make another big wine order.

2012-01-05T11:47:00.001-05:00

2011-12-28T19:57:00.002-05:00

Long way home.
6:30 work departure, followed by sliding twenty feet uphill and then back down, followed by an attempted walk up the hill. After that I decided to wait in the car until the salt truck came by.
Podcast and tortilla chips, followed by Dinner at Culinary School with friends, after which I came outside to find it raining.
In my mind this meant that the snow would be melted and driving once again possible on our street. Not so. This time I got halfway up, slid backward into the guard rail, pressed timidly on the gas while the car turned 45 degrees on the hill, slid into a neighbor's driveway, backed up to try and leave room for them to get out. At which point I slid into a ditch, got out and knocked on their door to let them know it was me and that I would be back after the salt truck came.

Walked in the ditch to the top of the hill, took one and a half steps, looked up to see the b.h. sliding at me, arms outstretched as if he was going to take my hand, and then I fell forward onto my knees.
I was clawing upward across our street, literally dragging my purse and bag of groceries behind me, trying to dig my gloved fingers into the ice enough to get a grip, all the while laughing my ass off. He drifted past me, arms still outstretched, arcing away from me and down the hill, until at last his legs slid out from under him and he sat down, slid still further, and landed where I had started in the ditch.
If we had video, I'm fairly certain we would be in the midst of our fifteen minutes of y0ut00b fame right now.

We finally got in the house, where both of us peeled off our wet clothes and showered, and we were in the middle of "Top Chef" (which the b. h. Refers to as his "stories") when there came a knock at the door.
"You should be able to get your car now," the policeman said non-chalantly. "The salt truck has been by." That was it- no explanation needed, I suppose, and no accusation of drunkenness, recklessness, or any other ness.
I still wish we had video.

2011-12-28T19:49:00.002-05:00

Christmas was lovely and quiet. The b.h. made cranberries, roasted tomato soup, and a gallette with mushrooms, leeks, and gorgonzola cheese. It was delicious. I also got a bottle of sparkling Austrian Zwiegelt, of which we shared the better part. Movies were watched and presents opened, and dogs walked and snuggled. It is still odd to spend the holidays without my family, though. Despite their general goofiness, I don't feel like the holidays are really complete without all of the cousins and aunts and uncles and kids whose names I can't remember. I'm thinking we should probably hat up and head back home in the near future. The prior post is making this feeling even stronger.

New Years promises more quiet. The neighbors have invited us up the hill again, and so long as the street isn't too frozen to go the hundred or so yards to their door, I can't imagine what else we would do. In case we don't talk before then... cheers.

2011-12-28T19:22:00.003-05:00

Heybartender,

I am writing to say that I was surprised and dismayed when I arrived at The
Local Grocery this past Friday morning (December 23rd, 2011) to pick up the remainder
of my parents' large wine order, only to discover that the order was
incomplete - again.

This was your second attempt at filling an order which was originally placed
in late October/early November (the string is saved in my work email
account), for a total of 8 mixed cases of wine. Before the agreed-upon
pick-up date in November, you had assured me that all 8 cases were "ready
for pick-up in the Wine Department." When my parents and I arrived at The
Coop, however, we discovered that that was not the case, and that for some
reason only half of the order was ready for us. My parents and I were
surprised and disappointed. I did not know what to tell them, because I
thought that you, as the Wine Buyer, HAD filled the order as you had told
me. Sven, who helped us when we reached the Wine Department, was
obviously caught off-guard and was put in an uncomfortable position.

(On a positive note, my parents were/are impressed with how professional and
helpful he is, and I was grateful for his help in that unexpected situation.
He exemplifies excellent customer service, and I will be sure to forward
this email to him as well.)

You and I spoke after that incident - you apologized profusely and assured
me that you would have the remaining 4 cases ready for me on December 23rd.
We exchanged several emails about the order over the course of the last
10-14 days, and you stated clearly at the end of last week that the order
was "all ready for pickup." What happened?
There were NOT four complete cases of wine, so not only was I unpleasantly
surprised again, but Sven was (again) put in a very uncomfortable
position. Then, I had to explain to my parents that you had not completed
the order correctly, and that I had no idea why.
They were predictably unhappy.

The whole thing is especially unpleasant for me because the customers who
have now twice received bad customer service are my parents. They have been
loyal Local Grocery customers for many years - in fact, the full 15+ that I have
worked at The Local Grocery. The orders they place are sizable - 4 to 8 cases at a
time. Good customer service ensures that The LG will continue to have
customers like my parents. Bad treatment will obviously make customers go
elsewhere.

Good internal customer service is important too - and in this case it didn't
exist. Sven was put in a difficult position, I was put in a difficult
position for the reasons I have given, and now you and I are in a difficult
position because we have to work together at The LG.
I did not want to have to write this email, but you have given me no choice.
When the first mistake was made, I wrote you an email and you and I spoke in
person. You assured me that it would not happen again.
Because it has, and because it has had an impact on the same LG customers,
I have had to take a different approach.

What do you propose happens next?

Silly Twunt

This, dear readers, is an *actual e-mail* (names have been changed to protect the innocent as well as the mentally unstable) that I received upon arriving to work this morning. Needless to say, I was somewhat "surprised and dismayed" myself, since it was carbon copied to both my boss and the General Manager of the store. My response, after the initial shock and horror, was to seek out this author and ask her what exactly had been the problem with the order. I had been to work on both Friday and Saturday, and Sven did not so much as mention it to me.

"Half a case was missing," she virtually spat at me.

"Wow. I'm really sorry. I have no idea how that could have happened. I swear that I have double and triple checked that order. I will look into it. Can I get a copy of your receipt so I can see what was missing?"

This is an order that was given to me with very little detail via an e-mail last month. When I replied to the initial request for 8 cases, I asked her "Do they still want the wines to average ten dollars a bottle? And do they still want only wines from the Western United States?" That was the order last time. Four cases, all American, average ten bucks a bottle. She answered in the affirmative. Had I not asked, though, I could have filled that order with four cases of white and four cases of red at any price from anywhere, and it would have technically been what she asked for. Instead I made the right choices in the wrong amount, and in-between had sent her a message saying "Your four cases are ready." After the screwup we talked and she admitted that she had missed the fact that I said four, and she accepted my apology.

In the interim, she has screwed up more than once on things that I needed from her as part of her job. Each time, I have gone to her directly and very politely asked for her to fix the errors, never bringing in her boss or anyone else. Also, since I had been asking a lot of her recently (even though what I asked her for was always within the scope of her job description to provide), I bought her a bottle of wine two weeks ago and left her a note, saying that it was similar to the kind that her boyfriend had liked and I hoped they could enjoy it together, and "thanks for your support blah blah blah." Seriously.

The fact that her parents can't come in and pick their own wine, but want it ready and waiting for them when they show up, is enough to tell you what an entitled bunch of cunts they are. I don't have any problem doing this, mind you, but I am not required to. And their parameters are not easy to work within. Also, I would point out that she realized the error while she was checking out, and rather than simply asking Sven (who said that she seemed completely unconcerned at the time she picked up the order) to go and grab her two more bottles (which is what was missing, and which is not half a case)she drove all the way to fucking Maine with three and five-sixths cases of wine to tell her parents that I fucked up their whole holiday.

My response to follow, of course.

2011-12-20T18:18:00.003-05:00

Well, shit. I guess I hadn't realized how I left that last post dangling. Sorry. The shoulder is likely going to require surgery, but I won't know for sure until I see an Orthopedist. I have been referred by my doctor and am awaiting a call. The good thing is that yes, Z, I do have insurance, and since this is a work-related injury (there's something hilarious about "I hurt myself cutting the cheese") I won't have to pay for it. Which is great, because even *with* insurance, I have just received a nearly $800 bill for the MRI. Yikes. So now I wait.
Work has been busy, and although the wine portion of it is mostly fun for me, Oddfellows Local 151 has been driving me crazy. We have lost the only good President we've had since I started (there have been at least four in the last two years, and this one was driven away by the sheer craziness of our most active members). She was replaced by one of said crazy people, who is now driving *me* crazy. I can't go into details, but I will tell you that I tore into this one twice on Saturday and it's nowhere near over. Things are going to get ugly.
Another of my co-workers (I use this term loosely, because in both of these cases I am hard pressed to call what either of them does "work." Mostly they do that cliche' Union Member thing you see where they spend most of their time complaining about one thing or another and somehow manage to make more money than their harder-working counterparts) asked me for help with something. I helped her and now she's bitching about the way in which I went about it. Honestly, there is no pleasing some people. The upside is that I now have an excuse to tell her to fuck off rather than making myself miserable trying to be nice, and I never have to deal with her again, which should make my job and my life a lot better.
The b.h. and I agreed to go easy on Christmas presents to each other this year, what with our impending European Vacation and all, so I got him some kitchen-related goodies and t-shirt from a show in Athens that neither of us was able to attend. It was a tribute to R.E.M.'s album Fables of the Reconstruction, performed by many people we know and love in Athens, and I am very excited because I am absolutely sure it will be a surprise. Also our friend at Athensmusic.net was kind enough to throw in a CD of the show. Now if I can only have the patience to leave it wrapped until Sunday...

2011-12-09T10:36:00.003-05:00

I've started taking a sewing class. My mom bought me a machine a couple years ago for my birthday. We set it up together, and she showed me how to thread it, make a bobbin, and do very basic sewing. After which I took it home to Georgia, left it in a box for a month, took it out once and couldn't get it threaded, and promptly returned it to the box, where it has been glaring at me intimidatingly for some time. My first project was a pillow case. I came to class with my machine, opened the box to find that the pedal was missing (shit!), and then used one of theirs. It was so easy that I was embarrassed at how long I had waited. The next week I had found my pedal. I was only going to class for a short time, because I had to go across the street to the hospital for an MRI (more on that later). I came in, plugged in my recovered pedal, threaded the machine, and then found that the set of bobbins I had were the wrong size for the machine. Shit. But the teacher had an extra of the right size, which she gave to me. She looked at my thread.

"That might be enough. Just don't fill the bobbin."

I didn't. I threaded the bobbin and the machine, and started sewing. There was a lot of oil in the thread, and it was much darker than the material I was using to make my valance. I stopped sewing, grabbed a scrap of cloth, sewed until the thread was clean. Then I put the valance back under and started sewing. The thread broke, but it was a minute or so before I realized that because I was concentrating so hard on keeping the fabric straight. When I did see it, I stopped sewing, put the valance aside, tried to extract the thread from the machine. It was very, very gummed up. The thread was frayed and broken. I couldn't reach it. My teacher came over.

"Oh dear. I have never seen that before. I think the thread is just really cheap."

She said she's find a screwdriver so we could take the back off and get the thread out. I didn't have the time, what with the MRI and all, so I said I'd take care of it at home.

I rushed into the hospital with three minutes to spare. It looked closed, honestly, which was a bizarre experience for me. I have spent all of my life in big, crowded places, and any hospital I've ever been to has been teeming with people and sounds and chaos. Not so here in Vermont. It was several minutes before I could figure out where the non-emergency entrance was. There was no one in reception or at the information desk, so I followed the signs to the imaging department.
I was given a lovely pair of hospital pants, as well as the standard gown and a robe. I kept my knee-length wool socks on. I looked hot. I had brought along my iPh0ne, which was lucky, since the only other music options were radio stations. It's bad enough being claustrophobic in one of these things; I didn't need the some crap pop music and an irritating DJ adding to my discomfort. It wasn't as bad as I had imagined. It was long (35 minutes) and the machine was loud, but between Centro-Matic and Lyle Lovett I managed to get through. Relaxation techniques taught to me by my former yoga instructor and good friend Rob were key.
I got the results back in writing a few days later, and I will be bringing them to my Physical Therapist on Monday for review. Mostly I didn't understand the document (the b.h. swears that half the words are made up), but the words "tear" and "cyst" jumped right out at me. Really, really hoping this is not going to mean surgery. Mostly just trying not to think about it right now.

2011-11-24T12:23:00.002-05:00

"Can I help you find something?"
"Do you have any Local Vineyards Cab Franc in the 2009? I don't think the 2010 is as good."
"Well, Local Vineyards don't really work that way. If they've released the 2010, that means the 2009 is gone. I can call The Winemaker and ask him if he has any 2009, but it's doubtful."
"That would be great. I wouldn't want a whole case of the 2010, but if you can get the 2009, I would buy it."
"I really don't think we're going to find a whole case of 2009, but I'll see what I can do."

I send an e-mail to the LV, and in response I get a message saying that he has one bottle left, that he had intended to drink, but that he would be happy to sell it to my customer instead. But, it being a long drive from the vineyard to the LG, would I be kind enough to order at least a couple cases of wine to make it worth his while? Let me get in touch with the customer and get back to you, I write.

I leave a message for the customer.
He leaves a message for me, saying that he doesn't want a whole case, that he really prefers the 2009 and that he only wants the one bottle. I am not going to make them drive here for that, I think to myself, erasing the message and going on to the next. The very next message, it turns out, is from the same customer. This message came in at five-thirty in the morning, and he says to go ahead and order the whole case. Great. I write the winemaker, asking him to bring me case for the customer, and a case for me of mixed Can Franc and Traminette.

When the wine arrives, I call the customer and leave him a message. Then, at around six in the evening on Tuesday, I am told by a co-worker that the man in question is here to pick up "his bottle of wine."

I retrieve the case and have it brought to him. He looks at it and then at me and says, "I only wanted the one bottle."
"But you called me back. You left me a message at five-thirty in the morning, saying that you would take a whole case."
He stares dumbly at me.
"You don't have to take it. I'll put it on the shelf. But you did order it."
"I just don't... I'll take a couple bottles, but... How much is it, like ten bucks? (It's fifteen). I don't want a whole case." He removes a couple of bottles, and I take the rest of the case away wordlessly. He knows I am not happy. There is no reason to say anything. I walk past my manager, cursing the customer (stupid cocksucking asshole I knew he was going to do this). He asks so I explain.
"And the thing is, I know he's going to get up to checkout and leave those bottles of 2010. There is no way he is going to buy them, even after all this."
My manager sympathizes. We have a brief discussion about the shitty selfish things that customers do, etc. We both make jokes and then part ways. Around the next corner I run into Sven, who has two bottles of the 2010 in his hand. "Do these have a place on the shelf?" he asks, completely unaware.
"Goddamn stupid motherfucking cocksucking motherfucker!" I veritably shout. "Where did you find those?"
"They were stashed in a bin over there," he replies, gesturing toward an area which is now occupied by The Customer.
It turns out that Sven had approached the man with these bottles in his hand and asked if he could help him find anything, and the man had looked in horror at the bottles in Sven's hand, as if they were turds. Sven was confused.
Pffft. People.

2011-11-20T17:05:00.002-05:00

I have some funny things to share, but I can't manage any humor right now because I have been spending too much time watching videos of American Police Officers Pepper Spraying Peaceful Protesters. And I am pissed. And I am depressed. And I can't be funny. This shit is not only fucked up, it's also apparently not unusual.
I have remained mostly silent on the whole OWS thing, because as much as I agree with a lot of what is being said, I don't like the way they are going about it and I think if they want to be taken seriously they should hone the message and stop making this about virtually everything that they see as wrong with our society right now. If you want to talk Animal Rights, in other words, then perhaps you should occupy a different street (possibly a zoo?). Also, I hate drum circles with every fiber of my being.
But this is different. This is crazy. This is a College Campus. These are kids sitting on the ground on their own campus in the middle of the day. This shit is fucked up.

And so I am mostly speechless.

2011-11-20T17:04:00.002-05:00

Hilarious Customer of the week.

"Is there something I can help you find?"

The response (all in one breath, rushing out of her as if she's been waiting for somebody to ask): "A sixty-five year-old man with a lot of money who likes older women who are in good shape and doesn't mind two oversized crazy dogs because I was fostering them and I panicked and adopted them and now my other three are out in the car and they are really pissed-"

"Pretty sure we're out of stock, but if I run across any I'll be sure and let you know."

2011-11-15T09:25:00.002-05:00

This particular Customer of the week may, in another six weeks, end up with the Customer of the Year award.
On my voicemail at work on Thursday morning:
"Hi, this is Marty suchandsuch. I want to order a case if wine. 802-223- xxxx."

That's it. No indication of what kind of wine she wants. So I call her back and leave a message for her, saying that I had gotten her message and if she could please let me know what kind of wine she wanted, I would be happy to order it for her. I do not hear from her again until Tuesday, when I return to work after my weekend.

"I want to order a case of Phillip Lehman Barossa."

This is not a product that I carry. I do have Peter Lehman of Barossa, and there are three different kinds of wine. I leave a message to this effect. Shiraz, Cabernet Sauvignon, or the Blend?

On Thursday, I am paged to the phone.
"Hi, this is heybartender, how can I help you?"
An irritable voice blurts "I've been trying to order a case of wine?!"
To which I respond "Ah yes, you must be Martha. Which wine would you like?"
She repeats the incorrect name. I patiently tell her that I got that message and that there is no such wine, but that I had left her a message and there are three, etc etc. So which one?
"I don't know."
"Okay, well, how about I have a look at the bottles and see if we can figure it out?" I put her on hold, go to the sales floor, and return to the phone and describe the pictures on the label to her. She wants the Cab.

"Great. It should be here on Friday. I'll give you a call when it arrives."

On Friday, I dial her number.

"Hello?" Her tone is accusing.

"Can I speak to Martha?

"You know, I'm painting a bathroom here!!" she screams - literally, screams, and slams the phone down.

I hope silently that she falls in her bathroom and dies of thirst, alone, on the floor.

2011-11-10T09:28:00.004-05:00

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.

2011-11-04T21:22:00.001-05:00

I aided and abetted the swiping of a canine from a fucking idiot today. This girl has a four month old dog and has already abandoned it twice to my knowledge. Today she left him on the concrete in the nearly freezing cold while she shopped at the LG and had coffee with her boyfriend in the cafe. Nearly an hour she was there, even after our manager went up to her and said that he was freezing out there.
"It's okay. My dad will be here soon to get him."
Stupid bitch. So another customer came along and sat with the dog in his lap, waiting. When the girl didn't show, I went out to see if he wanted a jacket.
Then I explained to him that the owner of the dog was young and dumb and didn't deserve him, and that at the rate she was going she was probably going to kill him.
"But you wouldn't necessarily endorse me leaving with him," he said.
I said nothing, and then walked back into the store. Fifteen minutes later, I went back outside. He was still there, dog in lap, shivering.
"do you want a jacket? I have a down jacket at my desk."
" I have a jacket in my truck."
"Oh- well, that's good."
"Yeah, I'm thinking about taking him to my truck."
"That would be good."
"I'll have to figure out what to do from there."
"Good idea."
He gave me his name and number in case.
A short time later, I saw the idiot on her cell phone, heard her describing him.
A while later, I was paged for a phone call. The customer told me he had gone to the police with the dog and filled out a report. I thanked him and told him that I had been hoping he would just take the dog home. He said that the police obviously knew this girl and that they were discussing what to do next. He offered to take the dog to a shelter, but the police said they would handle it.
I had a conversation with a manager, who said she had called the police to tell them what she knew, and that this had not been the first incident. They told her that they had given the idiot the dog back.
Sigh.
I had a talk with the b. h. this evening, telling him that I was not going to let this happen again even if I had to drive to another state to bring him to a shelter. He responded that if he came home to another dog he would be okay with that.
"Do what you have to do," he said. I intend to.

2011-10-30T10:08:00.001-05:00

2011-10-23T09:38:00.008-05:00

Our return trip from D.C. was marginally better, but I still have no intention of using that mode of travel for a journey that long again, unless we can have a sleeper car. All of the ideas anyone has ever given me about the "romance" of train travel was stomped right out of me by the smell of the bathroom and the guy in the seat in front of me who managed to eat two tuna sandwiches (very slowly, of course) within a four-hour period.
I went to work on Friday and Saturday as usual, and then I got up early on Sunday and went to Montreal with my friend J(female). Montreal was lovely. Chilly and wet, but lovely. We were only staying the night, so J booked a swanky(ish) hotel right downtown. We drove in and went immediately to Jean Talon market, as usual. I introduced her to my favorite pastry of all time (date bars as big as your head), we had crepes and coffee drinks, we walked around the spice shop (I bought lemon stuffed olives and some pink Himalayan salt for the b.h.), and then grabbed two loaves of fresh bread and then went to check in.
We decided to ditch the car for the night so we wouldn't have to worry about drinking. J was intent on shopping, so we asked at the desk how to get to the underground mall area.
"It's just down the street," she said, glancing at her watch, "but most of the stores are closing right now. You might find a couple that are open until six."

This threw J into a bit of a panic, and I can't be certain but I thought I saw sparks coming from the heels of her knee high boots as she sped through the carpeted lobby and out onto the street.
The stores were indeed mostly closed. We did manage to find a giant, city block by city block square and seven stories high department store that was still open, though. She was looking for a bathing suit because the hotel had a rooftop pool and she had failed to bring hers.
I meandered around the ladies section for awhile, not really shopping so much as admiring the fact that the place actually had clothes that I would wear. In Vermont, I find malls and department stores terrifying and abhorrent, filled with bad perfumey smells and clothes for slutty teenagers, or women who dress like slutty teenagers. But here there were the kind of clothes that you actually see in magazines and catalogs. Clothes in muted colors and styles that are very traditional, rather than loud and trendy. It was fascinating. When I remarked upon this phenomenon to J, who was heading to the fitting room with a bikini in each hand, she said that it was very European. Having been all over the world, she was speaking from experience. She seemed to think it was all very normal. I was envious.
I tried on a sweater. It fit. It looked good. I looked like me in it. I bought it. It was remarkably easy.
We went back to the hotel to look up restaurant information. I was actually wishing we could just go straight to Brasserie Dieu du Ciel and eat a light dinner over several beers, but I knew she wouldn't want that, so I kept quiet. We ended up at a Bistro near the river in Old Montreal. When we walked in, the hostess asked if we had a reservation. The place was empty, and it was just after seven. We replied that we didn't. She started to show us to a table against a wall with a view of the waitress station.
"Can we sit at one of those," asked J, gesturing to no fewer than six empty tables that had windows looking out onto the street.
"Those are for reservations," answered the hostess/waitress, smiling sweetly.

Okay. We sat down and looked at the menu. There was one vegetarian item, which we were immediately informed that they were out of. There was a salad and a soup that I could eat, though, so we ordered. Four women came in and sat down at the table next to us, which was also not a great table. They were obviously related, and obviously American. The mother was Southern. We ordered wine and dinner. The next people in the door were a young couple.
"Do you have a reservation?"
"Non."
"Well, would you like one of these?" She gestured at the window tables. J looked at me and made a face.
We ate our (mediocre) meals, finished our wine, and skipped seconds on wine as well as dessert and coffee. That waitress probably doesn't know (and might not care) what she missed out on, but her tip was as low as I ever leave. I was not thrilled.

We took a cab to the Brasserie next. Even though it was getting late at this point and it was a rainy, windy, cold Sunday night, the place was packed. We ordered snacks and a round of beers. Our waiter was friendly and fabulous. We got another round, and we each got a t-shirt. We spent double what we did on dinner, and left a nice tip even though he was apologetic for not paying us more attention. It was as if dinner had never happened. J(female) was drunkenly texting J(male)(the text read as follows: "J!!! Call us!!! We're in canafa!!!) while I was looking around for the nearest convenience store. We found one just up the street. J(female) bought a six pack of the beer she had been drinking, which was a coffee stout at 9.2% ABV. I picked up another of the vanilla bean and cocoa stout that I had been drinking, as well as two bottles (also from Brasserie Dieu du Ciel) that are not available in the States for the b.h. We walked outside. There was a cab across the street with no driver in iit. The top was lit up, though, and I don't know exactly what the sign said (still haven't learned French), but I did recognize the word hemlock.
"Is this a poison cab? What the fuck?" This was a lot funnier at the time. You'll have to trust me. I took out my phone to take a picture. The picture looked like shit. I tried again. Just then, a man came over to us, wondering what the fuck we were doing. The cab driver. Fabulous. He drove like all cab drivers everywhere, times ten. He told us he was a refugee from Tunisia, and that he hadn't yet been to Vermont because the day he tried to go was the day Bin Laden was killed and he got stopped at the border and was turned away.
"Are you here for the convention?"
J replied "yes" and I replied "no". In unison. More laughter.
"She's here for the convention. I'm just along for the ride," I said, the last word wooshing out of me all at once as we rounded a corner at forty mph and J rammed into me. More laughter.
We got to the hotel in one piece. We went up to our room and changed into bathing suits, all the while talking about how nice it was going to be to have a quick dip before bed. We walked from the room the long way around to the pool, so we wouldn't have to go through the lobby wrapped in towels.
The pool was closed. We went to the front desk.
J: We can't get into the pool.
Guy at the desk: Yes. It's closed. It closes at ten.
J: It says it's open 'til 2300.
Guy at the desk: It does?
J: Yeah. It says 2300, and it's only ten-thirty now.

The guy says to a woman who is also behind the desk "Hey, the sign by the pool says 2300."

Obviously there is no lifeguard and the pool is closed, so we head back to our rooms. But not before going back (the long way) to see what the sign said. We laughed when we saw that it said 2200, and I even took a picture so i would remember to blog about it.

Perhaps it's best we didn't swim after all.

2011-10-21T13:52:00.000-05:00

Actual Announcement on the PA at the LG:

“Will the customer with the blue car, license plate number XTW782 please return to your vehicle? Your car alarm is going off and the person inside is frightened.”

2011-10-12T23:36:00.002-05:00

I can't sleep. This is not unusual, of course, nor is it surprising, but it is very, very irritating. The alarm will go off at five-thirty, at which time I have to get up, clean up, get dressed, make the bed (or rather, cram the bed back into it's proper space under the couch cushions and replace said cushions), put the bags in the car. We'll be driven to the train station, where we will catch the train, transfer to another, and finally arrive at Union Station, where we will board yet another train, which will take us back to Vermont. I absolutely *hated* the journey here, and I am not looking forward to the return. The one comfort I have is knowing that we will have a virtually unlimited supply of delightful beer.
The last couple days have been very relaxing, for the most part. I have actually slept quite a bit, which might be part of the reason I feel like a vampire on a day pass right now. Too tired to type more, though, so I think I'll have to settle for an audio book. Wish me luck. I'm quite certain you'll be hearing from me again tomorrow.

2011-10-10T17:58:00.001-05:00

The b.h.'s family seems adamantly opposed to fresh air, for some reason. His sister's place is in a hilariously cookie-cutter little suburb of our nation's capitol, about as safe a spot as you're likely to find in this part of the world. And yet, all doors, windows, and even window shades remain shut- all day. And so I find myself, alone, at sunset, with a Bell's Two-Hearted Ale and a lurvely sunset. It seems that I have worked out how to blog from my phone after all, and so I have all of you for company. Cheers, my friends.

2011-09-28T21:48:00.003-05:00

I am still not entirely sure how I feel about my iPhone. I still haven't fixed my voicemail, which is a mixed blessing. The problem is that I need to call from a land line and have my phone with me, and the only land line I have regular access to is at the Local Grocery, which is a veritable bomb shelter and therefore impossible to get a signal in. I don't want to go to somebody's house and use their phone to deal with this, because I have no idea how long it might take and I don't want to be rude. I am hoping that during our train ride to D.C. I might get this thing done by using the b.h.'s cell.
I am a bit of a luddite, and I find myself constantly asking the b.h. for help with this function or that app, so that's annoying. On the plus side, the navigational aspect is fantastic and has saved me a lot of time and frustration while driving in some pretty remote places. Also, the camera takes pretty good pictures and has allowed me to post more regularly to my photo blog. Hopefully I will eventually use it for this one.

2011-09-25T21:04:00.004-05:00

T was here this week. He told us while we were in Chicago that he had some days off coming and he was going to ride his motorcycle up. He arrived late on Tuesday night, and we stayed up late talking and drinking. Wednesday I went to work and T and the b.h. made the rounds in town, eating lunch and walking around, and then I picked them up on my lunch break and we went to get a Maple creemee, because that's what you do when you visit Vermont. I clocked out early, and we went into Burlington for dinner at the Farmhouse. J (female) came along too. It was Oktoberfest, for some reason, and we availed ourselves of the delightful beer choices that accompany that particular holiday, along with a whole lot of local, organic, delicious food.
The Farmhouse is in an old MacDonald's restaurant,(I am thrilled to be living in a place where fast food places actually fail, by the way)but you would never know unless somebody pointed it out to you. They've one to great pains to make sure of that. The bar stands where the old counter was, and in place of the lit-up menu board there is a chalkboard featuring a beer list that will make you weep with joy. The window that once served as a drive-through looks out onto a patio with outside seating and lovely planters with various hops growing in them. The light fixtures are pretty and modern and the lighting dim, the room is spare and feels spacious and comfortable at the same time. It is the opposite of it's former self in every conceivable way, save for the floor tiles, which are just enough of a reminder to make you even happier to be there.
After dinner we walked down by the lake for a bit, and then we came back home and stayed up late drinking again.
Thursday was a bit rough at work. It turns out that staying up late drinking many nights in a row is much more difficult as you get older. Huh.
Thursday evening T and I got a beer at the Three Penny, and then went for a quick bite to eat at the Skinny Pancake. The b.h. finished work just as we finished eating, and we all headed back home for one more night of staying up late drinking beer. T left on Friday morning. I have no idea when we will see him again, since we won't be going to Chicago for the holidays again this year. That thought depresses me.
Friday took forever.

Saturday I worked for a couple of hours and then went to a co-worker's wedding. I am still not sure where the wedding was, because I was told to get off at a particular exit from the interstate and then follow the signs. It was at a huge camp out in the woods somewhere. There was a giant field surrounded by trees where they had the ceremony, and down a path there was a big garden, and further down the path there was a large and lovely shelter made of bare-looking logs with a bar and a dance floor. I knew several people there, and I spent some time socializing, but mostly I hid behind my camera. I got some great pictures, and in case the b.h. and I ever decide to get married again, some great ideas for another wedding.

2011-09-19T10:31:00.002-05:00

My friend J (female) and I went to the fair yesterday in Tunbridge. It was a rather last minute decision, based on gorgeous weather and the fact that both of us have been wanting to go out and take pictures for some time now. We drove the forty minutes down a small highway rather than the interstate. It was the first time I had seen that part of the state since the flood last month, and the damage was still very evident. You could see the high water marks on farm fields, buildings, and underpasses. There were giant trees down and many roads were still being repaired. It was quite sobering.
I haven't been to a fair in over ten years. I can't remember the last time I went on a ride- not a Ferris wheel or a roller coaster, or even a merry-go-round, to my recollection, for as long as the b.h. and I have been together. So after walking around and looking at all the junk food and taking pictures of people and games and livestock and pig races (yes, I said pig races), J and I decided to take the plunge. We went on something they were calling The Orbit. It was one of those things that you sit in and put a lap bar down, and the cars zig and zag back and forth past each other, eventually whipping up into the air and spinning around at a rate much faster than it seems to go when you're watching from the ground. As we started moving, J remarked
"I'm a screamer, just so you know."
I was still formulating a "that's what she said" response when the ride picked up speed and the words were lost, along with my breath.

"Ahhhhhh!" she screamed. I started to giggle.
"Oh god I didn't think it was gonna be this fast! I hope I don't lose anything!" Laughter. "Oh god my hair clip!" -More laughter- "Aw man I've got hair in my mouth!" These utterances all in a high-octave stream. "Oh shit I just drooled all over myself!"
At this point we were both hysterical. I sounded like Betty Rubble on speed, and I couldn't stop. When we disembarked, neither of us could really walk straight.

"I feel drunk," I said, still giggling and trying desperately to catch my breath.
"That's just the sheet metal," she said, gesturing to the platform the ride was on. "It shakes when you walk on it."
We pitched forward down the stairs, clutching the railing, and landed on the grass.
"Nope," I said, lurching back toward the ticket booth, "it's definitely us."
She wiped drool from her hair and clothes and sunglasses while we stumbled back to the car.

We stopped to eat at another "Ye Olde" pub in a nearby town on the way home. I tried not to think about how soon she's leaving.

2011-09-19T10:24:00.006-05:00

Chicago was delightful. We drove to Boston for the flight, landed at O'Hare without incident or turbulence, and rented a car. We drove directly from the airport to Louisa's for a taste of the best pizza the universe has to offer, and then went back to my parents' house, stopping off on the way for some delicious high-gravity beer. The next morning I drove over to the Italian bakery, parents' dog in tow, and got some cannoli.
The On Wednesday we went to visit our friends T and D. T and I have known each other since we were six, and I have known D since I was twelve. I introduced them at some point in high school, and I consider their eventual marriage one of my better accomplishments. Anyway, they have a boy who is almost two and a five-week-old daughter. They are exhausted and their kids are adorable, and we spent some time catching up and snapping pictures and then headed out much too soon so everybody could get baths and get to bed.
Thursday I took a ride on a four-seater plane with my mom. The forecast said seventeen mph winds, which doesn't sound like much, especially for Chicago, unless you are in what essentially amounts to a smart car with wings. It was really fun and totally hilarious. My mom was asking the pilot a lot of personal questions and then not very subtly talking about my sister, who is single and would be going on the flight following ours with my dad.

"You used to be in construction? My daughter is in construction. You'll be meeting her after we're done. She works for..."

I have no idea when my mother became that woman, but I was highly amused, and I think the pilot was too. He was even more amused when, upon turning east and heading toward the skyline, we hit an air pocket, the plane dropped several feet in a split second, and my mom blurted out
"Oh fuck!"

I took a lot of pictures, and there was a lot of swearing and nervous laughter. It was terrific.
As we crossed the runway, walking back to the tiny office. The wind kicked up. We opened the door, smiling at my dad and sister.

"How was it?"

"Beautiful," we said in unison. There was no mention of the turbulence or the white knuckles. We smirked at each other as they walked out into the gale.

Thursday night we went to T's, ordered pizza, drank some delicious Edmund Fitzgerald Porter, and spent several hours catching up.
Friday we had dinner at The Publican with T and R and A, followed by a beer run and some time spent at R and A's place. They are climbing Mount Kilimanjaro next month, which is neither here nor there but something that I find totally amazing and worth mentioning. The last trip they took was to India. R and T and I were roommates back in the proverbial day. Come to think of it, I can't believe none of those stories ever came up here, because they seem to come up every time I see those guys... anyway, we had a great visit. The b.h. and I remain convinced that we will eventually live in Chicago someday.
Saturday was the party celebrating my parents' 50th wedding anniversary. We threw them a party at an event hall near their house, with most of our family and many of their friends who have known them throughout their whole marriage. It was really terrific to see everyone. Many of my cousins I haven't seen in years, and even then it was only at funerals. I may have mentioned this before- for the first five years that the b.h. and I were together, we came home every Christmas and somebody in my family died. Seriously. Five years in a row, a wake and a funeral at Christmas. My mom started joking that the b.h. was going to have to stay in Georgia for the holidays or people were going to start getting resentful.
Anyway, the party was fabulous. My folks look and feel great, and as far as I can tell have never been happier. Everyone remarked about it. It felt good to be home.

2011-09-05T16:14:00.003-05:00

The b.h. and I decided to get out of town for his birthday. We left on Tuesday after I was finished working, and drove straight through to Providence, RI. We stopped at a "Ye Olde English Pub" style bar that was near the campus of Brown University. We found it while searching for craft brew places, and the beer selection was terrific. The food was mediocre, but met our expectations so we didn't care. We went directly to our hotel, which was purchased on Pric3lin3 and therefore much nicer than what we are used to.
We woke up the next morning and headed for breakfast at a place called Nick's, which was recommended by a local chef with whom the b.h. is familiar. The place was in a neighborhood that is obviously gentrifying. It was all red and black and stainless steel, with an open kitchen and a friendly vibe. The coffee was fantastic and the food was local, fresh and organic. We ate a lot. When the bill arrived, the b.h. started laughing. It was around thirty dollars, which is about half what we would have paid for the same meal in our humble little state.
We tried to stop off at an Italian bakery down the street, but like many businesses, they were without power from the hurricane and had not yet reopened. This became a theme on our trip. People talked about what had happened to them during the storm, then found out we were from Vermont and immediately apologized for complaining and asked if we were okay, if we still had a house, etc.
We puttered around in some bookstores and went to a butcher/cheese shop owned by the aforementioned chef for lunch. I wandered into an antique shop where I found boxes and boxes of CDs that looked like they had been taken directly from my own collection circa 1998, which is something I always find fascinating (Do other people really own *both* of those Mysteries of Life records *and* Vic Chesnutt? And Triple Fast Action?! Really?!). I bought a few, including a Neko Case, a Lucinda Williams, and one that features Steve Earle and The Supersuckers. The whole store was filled with exactly the kind of crap that I can't stay away from: Old post cards, dishes, dresses that wouldn't look good on me, and random souvenirs from places I haven't been. I was attracted to some original art that was framed around the shop but could not justify the price, and then, just as I was about to tear myself away, I found some of the same prints that were not framed. I pulled one off the wall and went out to the woman at the counter.
"Are these done by a local artist?"
She raised her hand. "That would be me."

Of course it would. Her husband and she owned the shop together. Her artwork was featured on the cover of the new record from his band, which was available at the counter. I could have spent another hour and several hundred more dollars there, but instead we chatted for a few minutes and I dragged myself away.

"I think I could live here," I told the b.h. It reminded me a lot of Chicago in the mid-nineties: Inexpensive and full of promise.

We tried to visit the cemetery where H.P. Lovecraft's grave resides, but it was also closed in the aftermath of the hurricane.
"Too dangerous," said the cops out front. "There are trees and limbs down everywhere."

We went back to the lot where we had parked our car (free for the first hour with validation from one of the local shops, and seventy-five cents for the second hour). I opened the car doors wide before walking over to hand the attendant our ticket. He was watching me as I unlocked it, and by way of explanation I said to him, as I walked his way
"Gotta air this thing out. It's hot today!"

"I know! Would you believe people try to leave their dogs in the cah (that is spelled as it was pronounced, by the way, as opposed to being a typo) on a day like this? Fucking Assholes!!"

I think I probably laughed out loud, but I can't be sure. There followed an exchange in which he described to me exactly the kind of Fucking Asshole who engages in this sort of behavior, as well as his exchanges with these people. One woman apparently left an infant locked in her car and had to have her window broken by the police. Her response, upon returning to the lot and finding the police with her baby and a broken window?
"People in this neighborhood need to learn to mind their own business."

We drove down the coast a bit to a park that featured walking trails and tide pools. We sat on a blanket and had lunch and then clambered over rocks and took pictures while the sun was setting.

Dinner was back at The Farmstead, where the staff was overwhelmed and our waiter was obviously new. This did not stop us from enjoying our dinner.

The next day we had breakfast at a place called Julian's, a gourmet veg-friendly dive wih a rock and roll theme and Star Wars figures in the bathroom. (For those familiar with Georgia, think of The Earl crossed with The Roadhouse with wait staff from The Grit.) Again it felt like home, again it was much cheaper than we had anticipated, and again we left thinking "Man, we could totally live here."

Next we went to Cape Cod and visited the Edward Gorey House. It was weird and interesting and mostly just what I had hoped it would be. It was much cleaner than when he lived in it of course, but that was simply practical. Photos of the house when he was living in it show stacks of books and various dusty objects stacked on every flat surface that would have been hazardous to visitors. The woman that gave the tour was a neighbor. She said that she hadn't known Gorey, but that she "had always wondered who lived in that house." Since he was famously anti-landscaping (everything was left completely overgrown), and had loads and loads of cats, I imagine he must have been unpopular with his more traditional neighbors when he was alive, and couldn't help but smirk at her characterization. I took too long but restrained myself, buying only a watch and not the five or ten other objects that caught my eye.

We drove to the National Seashore after that. I made an attempt at getting in the water that landed me flat on my belly (not quite my face, but close - that ocean is quite powerful, it turns out), and then scurried back to our blanket to dry off. We left soon thereafter, stopped for some terrible food at a fried seafood place ("As Seen on the Food Network!"), and then made our way home and back to reality.

2011-09-05T15:46:00.002-05:00

So there was this hurricane. The b.h. and I made some preparation, but since we live on high ground there was not a whole lot for us to worry about as far as the potential flooding was concerned. I made sure we had candles at the ready in case we lost power, and I put as much clean water as possible into as many containers as I felt necessary. We had plenty of beer and wine, so I figured the worst case scenario was that we give the dogs the water and we would be fine. Both of our jobs closed early. The city was basically telling everybody to stay home, so he cooked and I read and we ate and watched TV. The Weather Channel said to expect the worst winds between 5 and 7 pm. This what we were most concerned about, since we are high on a hill surrounded by many tall trees. We did lose a limb in the yard, but that was before noon and the rest of the evening was totally uneventful. The winds never seemed to really kick up, and we assumed that Vermont had somehow missed the worst of it. Then I was on f@cebook and I saw some pictures that a friend had posted of downtown. Some of our main streets were flooded. The State expected the river to rise to over twenty feet. When the whole town flooded in May (exactly three months before this one), basements were full and businesses lost thousands of dollars downtown. Huge chunks of trees are still stuck in the undercarriages of some of our bridges from that flood, and some businesses here and in the next town have only just recovered. Suddenly the news was worrying again. The b.h. and I took the dogs and went down the street to see what the river looked like. There was nothing to see. the streets looked normal from where we were, and we weren't about to go walking around where we weren't supposed to be, gawking and getting in the way.

The next morning we woke up and he walked to work. The bar had gotten five feet of water in the basement, but that had already been drained. They were also prepared this time, so all of the food and beer were removed to higher ground and nothing was damaged. The last time the water had filled the basement up to the ceiling, and six thousand dollars worth of bottled beer was lost. Huh. Streets were normal, the water level was high but not unreasonable, and essentially things were getting very rapidly back to normal. It wasn't until I got to work at eight that I realized that things were really bad.

One of my wine salesmen was there when I arrived, restocking water. When I asked how he was , he replied without hesitation:
"Shitty."

He then went on to tell me that he had had much the same reaction that the b.h. and I had to the storm. Things were quiet at his home in Waterbury, and it wasn't until he heard from other people in town that he realized the extent of the damage. He also lives on higher ground, just near the Hen of the Wood restaurant that the b.h. and I had taken the in-laws to a couple weeks ago. But the other part of town, Main Street, was devastated. The Alchemist, our favorite brew pub, was completely destroyed. The whole basement (where the brewing actually happens) was full, and water in the kitchen was waist high. Ditto for all other businesses and homes on Main Street for a stretch of probably a mile or more. I can't even begin to imagine it. And I had had no idea. Vendors for the store have lost businesses. The bread purveyor that supplied our deli was wiped out completely, and they weren't insured for floods so they may not be able to start back up. It was shocking. The store was half-empty of product because so many roads are gone that of those who still had product many couldn't deliver.

When we both got home from work the calls and messages were pouring in. Friends and family from all corners were checking to see if we were okay. The b.h.'s mom sounded hysterical. I could hear her voice through his phone from upstairs. Strange to have moved to Vermont only to have people calling from New Orleans, Georgia, and the Carolinas to see if we were okay after a hurricane. But life is strange, I suppose.

Since it happened I have seen and heard of many selfless acts of kindness. Customers with a lot of money and no water damage have come in covered in filth after spending the day shoveling muck out of somebody else's house or business. Suggestions for how to help and donations have already started pouring in. It's nice to see that people are actually capable of pulling together when the shit really hits the fan.

2011-09-05T15:02:00.004-05:00

So I went to Portland with my friends J (female, of the J & J dinner parties fame) and A- new roommate, she of the soon-to-be-had dinner parties, as she is now J(female)'s roommate, since J(male) went home to Sweden.

Yikes, that was ugly. I am clearly out of practice.

I left on Saturday morning for New Hampshire, where J's parents have a cottage. J and A had gone down on Friday night, but I had to work late so I drank myself to sleep early and then drove by myself the next day. I had the BH's iPhone, because the town is tiny and the cabin in a difficult-to-find place, and I thought the GPS would be helpful. It was, up to the very last part of the drive when I, convinced that I had gone too far and missed a turn, turned around twice and covered the same ten mile patch of two lane highway in utter confusion and out of cell range. I was never worried at being lost, because there were plenty of friendly-looking people and it was a lovely day, but it was an enormous pain in the ass and I knew they were waiting for me so i felt rather stupid. As it turned out, the directions I had gotten from J were from her GPS system, and distances were of the "As the crow flies" type rather than the "Actual mileage read on the odometer" type, so it was slightly confusing.

When I arrived, I immediately changed into my bathing suit and we all drove over to the lake. J's parents had five kayaks strapped to their large pickup truck, and we followed in J's Mini Cooper. I have not been kayaking for years and years. The only time I had gone previously was in college, when some friends and I went down a river somewhere in rural Indiana. Not a lot of work kayaking on a river, except for the whole "steer away from rocks, logs, and the shore" part. Kayaking on a lake was loads of fun, and J's parents are hilarious. I felt comfortable and at home right away. I also decided that if the BH and I are going to stay in Vermont for awhile, I would really like to get a kayak of my own.

We kayaked and swam for a couple of hours, and then we went back to the cottage and cleaned up before heading out to Portland, Maine for dinner. I had no idea that this was part of the plan, but I was happy to oblige and relieved that the BH and I have considerable padding in the bank account.

J found a great looking restaurant online, all farm-to-table and fresh seafood and the things we all like. That's where the pic in the previous post came from. The restaurant was called Fore Street. It was an exquisite meal and a fabulous experience. We got a seat right next to the open kitchen, which might not seem ideal to the average restaurant goer, but it was perfect for us. J and A are both Culinary School grads (actually A is still in class for the moment, but you get the idea), and as a self-proclaimed food nerd, I appreciate that proximity to the kitchen in the same way that I enjoy standing against the stage at a rock show. The picture in the last post was taken from my seat at the table. I took several, and will try to remember to post more when I am through writing, but you never know.

The waitress seemed bemused as we ordered round after round of food and drinks. We were taking from one another's plates and passing wines back and forth to compare pairings. I assume it isn't often that three people put away as much as we did. When we left, we decided that it would be best if we walked around some before driving back. Portland is on the coast, and it was Saturday night and the weather was amazing, so the streets were teeming with people. Stores were still open, bars were overflowing. It was wonderful. I sometimes (often? almost always?) miss that kind of night life. We walked for an hour or two and then finally went back to New Hampshire.

J is a former (and future) military gal, and she knew some of the people that had been in the helicopter that was shot down in Afghanistan the night before. I had hoped when I woke to that news in the morning that she was not going to find out until the weekend was over; hoped that somehow the cottage was remote enough that maybe there would be no computer or cell phone reception, that word would not have reached her yet so she could just have a good time, but that was not the case. We had some sobering discussions about it, the most painful of which occurred when I woke up and found her at the kitchen table reading remembrances on facebook. I was sorry that she had found out, but glad that we were with her when she did. I am going to have a very difficult time when she leaves. There is a very real possibility that she will be flying a helicopter like that by this time next year. Yikes.

We took our time driving back on Sunday, stopping at antique shops and food stands and generally effing off. I got home late and went straight to bed.

If the "W" and "o" were not missing from this sign, I would have to call them liars. This place had bad onion rings. How do you fuck up an onion ring?

Anything with "Hole" in the title cracks me up. Don't ask me why.

These folks are really excited about their bread bowls.

Action!

Yes, I am a vegetarian. That doesn't mean I can't photograph animals on a spit. (Make that former animals).

2011-08-24T23:06:00.001-05:00

This is a photo I took in a restaurant in Portland Maine. In case you are unable to read it, that piece of tape has the words "Pigs Feet In Stock" on it. If I ever get around to writing again, I will tell you all about the trip. For now, I hope you enjoy the photo.

2011-08-21T10:10:00.002-05:00

My in-laws left yesterday morning. I am exhausted to the point of tears, but for some reason I can't seem to slow down. The thing is, autumn is in the air, and as much as I enjoy the season, I am not ready for it. The summer has been lovely and fleeting, and I am just not ready to let go yet. I have been swimming at least three or four times a week, in addition to working 40 hours and walking in the woods and having a life. I just can't get over how lovely the water is here. Lakes dot the landscape, and rivers run everywhere. There are more swimming holes than people I enjoy spending time with in this town.

And that's another thing. Two of my very good friends are leaving. For good. Soon. So I'm running around like mad, trying to soak everything in and will the time to last longer. Is it making me a better writer? No. Is it giving me more to write about? You bet.

The In-Laws arrived at 8pm last Sunday. I spent the entire day cleaning the house (Real cleaning, mind you- not "Oh shit this band needs a place to crash and the bedclothes need washing" cleaning) from top to bottom. I cleaned like I haven't cleaned since my parents came to visit, and that was two years ago. Then, I went to the store and bought fresh cut local flowers, fabulous rosemary lemon bread from Bohemian Bakery, and a large jug of beer from Hill Farmstead (which I was able to acquire without having to encounter the jackass who brews it, which was a huge bonus). I even cleaned the car, which was a good thing, because we spent the bulk of the day in it on Monday.
We started at Pennycluse, which is on my top five all time list of fantastic breakfast places, despite their lack of ability to season things appropriately. I love the atmosphere there, and as long as there's a salt shaker on the table, you're golden. I suggested that we stop and buy two more umbrellas, since we only had two and it was pissing down rain and we were headed to a museum which would require walking from building to building. We ate breakfast and promptly forgot about the umbrellas (or else my suggestion was ignored, but I will never know for certain). The museum was fine. Not terribly exciting for me, since it was my fourth visit, but the ILs seemed to enjoy it well enough.
On Tuesday I went to work, then that evening we took them to Hen of the Wood for dinner. It is one of the best restaurants in Vermont, hands down. We ate until we couldn't move. It was fabulous. Wednesday we stopped at my friend L's house to see the garden, in all of it's fabulous green bean and fuckton of green tomatoes glory, then went up to the Northeast Kingdom. We had pizza at Parker Pie, which is terrific pizza in an impossibly remote location, and then drove down to Lake Willoughby, where they all waded in six inches of water (due to bad planning and inappropriate bathing attire) while I swam around by myself in the delightfully clean, clear, and cold water. We had dinner at the Culinary School that night. Thursday I worked, and came home to find the dogs antsy and the b.h. up to his elbows making dinner. I ran the boys to the woods for an hour and came home just in time to eat.
Friday I worked all day, and then came home just in time to eat a quick meal of leftovers with the ILs before they turned in. Saturday I woke up and dropped them off at the train station before going to work. After work, I came home, changed clothes, and took the dogs first to the woods for a brisk walk and then to the river to cool off. This has become our habit. I am going to miss it. I suppose I will have to find a new one for the cold weather.
Sigh.

2011-07-30T19:41:00.005-05:00

The rest of my Chicago trip was fine. Mostly relaxing, a little bit exhausting.
I love being a tourist sometimes- especially in my own city.
I found out some friends of ours are climbing Mt Kilimanjaro this fall. Well, allright then. It turns out her dad did the climb many years ago when her mom was pregnant, and her mom has never forgiven him for going without her. Now the whole family is going. It would be an understatement to say that this is an outing I would likely see my family making together.
Let’s see… anything else? Not really. Chicago was lovely, I ate a lot, the end.

2011-07-30T19:41:00.003-05:00

I swear I'm gonna catch up.
Seriously.

The weather has just been so gorgeous lately that I can't bring myself to spend much time at the computer.

2011-07-24T10:08:00.002-05:00

Me: Can I help you find something?
Customer: Whenever I find a wine a like, it always disappears.
Me: Okay, can I help you find something?
Her: It's called 750. It's a Chilean Pinot Grigio.
Me: You're the second person who has asked me this. I don't know what you're talking about. What else can you tell me about it?
Her: (Looking exasperated)It has a thing right on the label where it says it's for the 750 Chilean Revolutionaries...
Me: And you bought it here?
Her: (Emphatically)Yes! It was over here, and then it moved over there-
Me: Do you mean St. Rita 120?
Her: No. It was 750. It's a Pinot Grigio, and it's really good. ANd it's not very expensive.
I go get a bottle of the 120. It's a Sauv Blanc.
Me: This?
Her: No.
Me: Are you sure? Because it says here on the lable that it's for the 120 mChilean Revolutionaries who fought-
Her: Oh. Maybe I'm wrong. But it was Pinot Grigio.
Me: I don't think they make a Pinot Grigio. If they do, I have never carried it. What color was the label?
Her: It was orange.
Me: Let me go check the catalog.
I do. They don't. I return to her.
Me: They don't make a Pinot Grigio.
Her: But I know it was. I don't like Sauvignon Blanc. The bottle didn't look like that. I was a different shape.
Me: Was it Chardonnay?
Her: Maybe.
Me: The Chardonnay is in a different bottle and it has orange on the label.
Her: That must be it.
Me: Do you want me to order you some? I can have a bottle here for you tomorrow.
Her: No. I don't want to be that much trouble.

2011-07-24T10:02:00.009-05:00

When we got back to my parent's house, my dad was outside sitting at the table under an umbrella and reading the paper. A pizza was ordered, and my other sister would pick it up on her way home from work. That all went as planned, and I even got to see my very busy nephew (24 years old and two jobs and enough energy to still have a social life, gods bless him). It was lovely.

At half past midnight I got back out of bed and drove to the airport to pick up my friend A. I have known A since I was fourteen, and we haven't seen each other in several years. She lives in San Diego now, but her mom still lives less than a mile from my parent's house. She was on West Coast time, and so immediately suggested that we go out for a drink. Having already been in bed, I was not in any shape, physically or visually, to be in a bar. A shame, really, because if I'd had the energy I'm sure it would have been amusing. We got together the next day instead, did a bit of shopping, had lunch, and then went to a bar- one that neither of us had been in since we were legal to drink.
We went to her nephew's baseball game after that. He is fourteen and timid and sweet. A's sister was there, sitting amongst the other moms, shouting and carrying on. The coach for the opposing team was saying mean and inappropriate things to his players, and had apparently been doing so the whole time. When we walked up, he was yelling to his shortstop:

"If I wanted a paraplegic out there, I would have got one!"

A and I looked at each other in horror. The man was at least twice the weight of a healthy person his height, and he was spilling over a five-gallon bucket in every direction as he sat menacing his players from the first base line. When they came off the field, he grabbed his pitcher, a baby-faced boy who was maybe twenty pounds overweight, roughly by the arm and told him not to be "So lazy."

"Did he just say lazy?" I remarked, perhaps louder than I had intended. "That guy hasn't seen his dick without a mirror in a decade, and he's calling these kids lazy?!"

A and her sister nearly fell off the bleachers laughing, and then her sister proceeded to go down the line of other mothers and repeat what I had said. Things did not get more polite after that. (And I had only had one beer!)All of this is to say that: A)It's probably a good thing that I don't have children; and B) Sports do not necessarily bring out the best in me.

Later that night A and I went into the city to T's place. T has recently broken up with a girlfriend that he had actually moved in with. His old place was small and cramped and bachelor pad-like. It was fine, but the new one is really, really great. We spent the evening having drinks and swapping stories in his living room. They are the last two in our particular circle of friends to remain single, so I really enjoyed their dating horror stories. Mostly I enjoyed their company, and the all too rare comfort that I take in the presence of people I have known for more than half my life. I do miss Chicago.

Friday i went downtown with my sister J and my parents. We visited Navy Pier, which is not exactly the kind of place I would normally go, and certainly not the kind of place I would recommend to a sane person who was visiting our fair city, but occasionally we like to do touristy things. We went on an architectural tour by river. It was fascinating and fun. Afterward we went for a drink at Jimmy Buff3t's M@rgaritaville, which brought to mind a particular Far Side cartoon. I was uncomfortable and hot, the bar smelled like- well, like every shitty dive bar I've ever worked in smells in the middle of the day, which is to say stale beer and piss. Top that with bartenders in Hawaiian shirts and terrible music blasting from multiple large screen televisions, and you have a good idea of why I might not have chosen the place. Anyway, it was amusing, and I exchanged multiple texts with the b.h. and chalked it up to one of those Life Experiences.
After Navy Pier, we drove over to Little Italy and got a tartufo, which is gelatto dipped in dark chocolate. Fabulous. Then we drove back to the South Side, where I changed clothes, swapped cars, and picked up A in just enough time to race out to my other sister's house to meet a bunch of friends for dinner.
We stopped at Tr@der Joe's for snacks and beer, which was a terrible idea because we were both hungry. Then we got to the house and ordered pizza. We stayed up a lot later than I had imagined I could. A and I spent the night (sans my sister and her husband, who were away at his family reunion in Ohio) and drove back to my folks' house the next day. Saturday we barbecued, and Sunday I flew back.

2011-07-11T17:07:00.003-05:00

I flew to Chicago in an aluminum can loaded with screaming babies. This is what happens when you fly in the middle of the day, I suppose. The good news was that thanks to the diligence of the b.h., I was able to sit by myself at a window seat. I shoved me earplugs way down into my head and covered my ears with headphones, and I was asleep before the plane took off.
Chicago was hot and sunny when I arrived. My sister picked me up at the airport and we went immediately to a great little pub in her neighborhood where I enjoyed a veggie burger and a Cane and Abel. I slept like a corpse that night, and woke up to find that my mom was on her way to meet us already.
She arrived with a box in hand containing two cannolis and two eclairs from the Italian bakery around the corner from their house. I immediately pounced on a cannoli. it was all I could do to slow down enough to actually savor it. Real cannoli is a work of art, and it is something sorely missing in my life in Vermont. When we went to the car, I climbed in the back, and my mom opened the front door.

"Oh, shit. Son of a bitch."
"What?"
"There's smeech (one of her favorite words) all over the seat. Shit." I peered over the top of the seat and, indeed, the drivers seat was smeared with what appeared to be chocolate and cookie crumbs. I handed her a handi-wipe thing from the back.
"Thanks. Oh, god dammit! You know this means it's probably all over my pants, too. Here, look. See if it looks like I shit my pants." She turned around. At first I didn't see anything.
"No, I think you're allrigh- oop, no." I burst out laughing, collapsed onto the back seat, and eventually choked out the words
"It definitely looks like you shit yourself."
A series of colorful words and phrases followed. I assured her that it would be fine, that we could just drive directly to a store and get her a new pair of shorts. My sister came out and we regaled her with the details. We all laughed for another five minutes and then finally got on the road. Twelve hours in town and already my stomach hurt from laughing.
Our plan was to visit an arboretum outside the city. We stopped on the way at a T@rget. My mom got new shorts and my sister and I each found a sundress (muumuu) in anticipation of the ridiculously hot week. Mine is black, but since I make every effort to avoid the sun I figured I would be okay. Then we went to the arboretum. It was easy to find, but not to navigate. When we parked, we stopped in the gift shop, then walked about two minutes, then drove to the other side where the fragrance garden was, then decided that it was hotter than hell, so we left. Kind of hilarious but I'm glad we're all old and wise enough now to just know when to cut our losses. If it had been ten degrees cooler, or if it had been less crowded, or if there had been fewer mosquitoes, we might have lasted a bit longer. As it was, I do not regret bailing.
We went back to Oak Park for lunch, and then mom and I headed back to her house.

2011-07-01T23:06:00.004-05:00

We found out about twelve hours before leaving that our friends D and A were joining us on our Boston trip. We had already booked a hotel ($100 on pricel1ne- a steal for that city), and when we got there we were thrilled to find that it was a big 2 room suite, so we all had some privacy. We went straight out to get some dinner at the Cambridge Brewing Company, which was fabulous. We sat outside and the weather was gorgeous and the food and beer were excellent. It was one of those times when everybody just ordered any and everything they wanted, and we were all sharing food and reveling in the whole experience. Outstanding. After dinner we went back to the hotel to park. We decided to take a cab to the Centro-matic show, since none of us was particularly interested in staying sober or trying to navigate Boston at midnight. (If you've never been, suffice to say that where drivers and roads are concerned it makes Atlanta seem like Mayberry.)
The club was small and a bit dingy, which is exactly how I want a rock club to be. The bartenders were surly at first but seemed to warm up as the night wore on, and the beer selection was better than expected.
I can't describe how good it was to see the band again. Big, warm hugs were exchanged, friends were introduced (theirs was a guy who turned out to be a very Big Wig at a very important Restaurant Group, which was an interesting coincidence), and some catching up was achieved. I don't have to tell you how fantastic the show was. It always is. If you haven't seen these guys, make an effort (and check out the video on this site). You'll be glad you did. I also talked to Matt, the drummer, about camera lenses. This conversation saved me five hundred dollars that I would have wasted on the wrong lens.
The next day we all split up and went exploring in the city. The b.h. and I spent out time looking for/at the Freedom Trial and hanging out in the public garden. It was one of those eighty-something and sunny and very breezy days that exemplify the glory of summer. Even a blown tire on the interstate on the way home couldn't spoil the mood, though it did delay us by about two hours.
Barring that, I can't wait to do it all again.

2011-06-27T21:14:00.002-05:00

Our friend J is leaving town. He is one of the b.h.'s classmates, an American who now lives in Sweden with his wife and family. He had not been to Montréal in his two years here, so we decided we would take him before he left town for good.

I went in to work for a bit on Thursday morning, just to tie up some loose ends and check in with all of my wine salesmen. I also briefly attended a meeting of the Oddfellows Local 151 and LG management that was meant to be a negotiating situation for our contract as it relates to wages and healthcare. Contentious, it was, as well as fairly stupid. The woman who serves as our rep is condescending and unprofessional, and I often find myself embarrassed at being represented by her.
Management, on the other hand, is trying for the first time to take strong stance and basically they just look stupid. There are a lot of folded arms and defensive postures, as well as audible scoffing, and just a general lack of respect between the parties. This makes it difficult for those of us who would like to see some middle ground. After an hour in there my head was throbbing, and I felt relieved that I didn't have to stay to work.

I sent a text message to J as I was leaving, I and he was waiting on the porch when I arrived. Next we swung by the house to pick up the BH, and a few minutes later we were on our way. The weather looked foreboding, and it started to rain within 15 minutes. The good news was we had plenty of things to do inside in Montréal, so none of us were really worried.

It stopped raining by the time we got into the city. We drove straight to the Jean Talon Market, and I, as per usual, made my way immediately to the pastry shop. This time I bought *two* date nut pastries (they usually don't get across the border), each of them as big as my face, which I promptly tucked away in my bag while we went for real food. We all had a light snack, I bought a few loaves of bread from the bakery, and we spent a good bit of time admiring the cured meats and cheeses that we were unable to legally carry back across the border. We did get some lemon stuffed olives and various salts from the spice shop, as well as jelly made from Cava and one made from Pedro Ximenez grapes.
I may have mentioned before how difficult it is to drive in Montréal and it was no different this time. Even with the iPhone, finding our way around was rather difficult. The BH had downloaded a map of Montréal from Lonely Planet, which was helpful but imperfect. After a bit of driving, we located Microbrasserie Dieu du Ciel, but passed it in favor of eating first. (Honestly, I can't remember the last time I have shown this much restraint in one day.) We found a vegan restaurant that looked delightful, but with this being J's last hurrah and him being an avid meat lover, I told the boys to go off on their own and eat. I went in alone and seated myself at a counter where at least two other people were also eating alone. The decor was lovely, all bright colored paint and local artwork on the walls, the music was lively without being irritating, and the staff was young, friendly, and very chatty. I ordered a very large salad with grilled tofu, a side of corn bread (I had to know what the Canadian interpretation would be - it was terrific), and an iced coffee. I took my time, figuring that the boys would be well behind me, and after I left I decided to check out some of the boutique shops on the block. Nothing really struck my fancy, and it started to rain again, so I made my way up the street to a small grocery store. There, I picked up a tube of orange flavored toothpaste from The Green Beaver company (how could I resist?), and a Belgian chocolate bar that was made with Earl Grey tea. I found the boys seated in the window of a restaurant a couple doors down from where I had eaten. They were just finishing up, and soon we all made our way back to the brewery.

When we got out of the car, J rolled a cigarette, and the BH and I stood outside under an umbrella and chatted with him while he smoked. Despite the rain, it was a very nice afternoon. We made our way inside and discovered that the whole place was chock-full except for three seats at the end of the bar. We took it as a sign from the gods. The crowd was very young and once again the staff was very friendly. It was nice to have a seat where we could watch all the action. We each ordered a different beer and then immediately swapped tastes with each other. I was pleased to find that they had many options that were low alcohol. As both a micro brew enthusiast and a frequent designated driver, I am often frustrated at my lack of choices. Not a problem on this day. The sun came out a few minutes later and was shining brightly through all of the windows in the bar, but it kept right on raining. This went on for at least an hour. We all ordered a second round, and the bartender was very helpful. I suspect that they probably don't get too many Americans in their neck of the Montréal woods, and once he found out that we were all bartenders he must have known he was set. He even gave us a sandwich that was a misfire from the tiny kitchen. J and the BH each got a third beer, after which we all reluctantly decided it was time to go. When we got outside there was a huge rainbow all the way across the sky.

On Sunday, we had dinner for the last time at the apartment known as J and J's. J(male- see above) is leaving, and our friend A(female) will be moving in with J(female) until she leaves town in November, rejoining the military to become a helicopter pilot (that's another story for another day). Dinner was myself and the BH, as well as J(male), J(female), A(female- the new roommate), and A's friend K(also female), to whom I often refer as Nothing But Trouble. This is said with affection, mind you, but also with the trepidation of a person who can, at times, be coerced into drinking more than they probably should, and who always regrets it for at least a day afterward. K is loud, brash, crass, and hilarious. She treats J(male) like a brother, constantly haranguing him about any and everything he says and does, much to everyone's amusement (including his). This night was no different, except that the BH arrived late due to his work schedule, so J(male) was on his own in a room full of estrogen and wine. Many, many bottles were consumed, and though we left earlyish, I had forgotten that the BH had to be at the doctor at 8:45 am for a blood test, and I had promised to drive him. So, um... ouch. But it was fun.

2011-06-27T20:51:00.002-05:00

We'll be seeing These Guys in two days. Very excited.

2011-06-23T08:13:00.005-05:00

So the b.h. and I went out to the Nature Center a couple days ago to run the dogs. There are very few people at the Nature Center at any given time. This town only has 8,000 people, so it's easy to find your own space, but that place in particular just seems relatively quiet. Another thing to consider, for the purposes of this post, is that there is not a very large African American community here in Vermont. I believe that we ran the numbers and, based on the last census data, there are approximately 80 black people living here.
With that in mind, picture the two of us and our two dogs, making the rounds of various places at which you can enter the river on the trail through the Nature Center. Kilgore loves to swim so much that we basically stop at every possible entry point just so he can take a dip. It makes him enormously happy, and it also makes him tired, which when we have a disc of True Blood waiting at the house, makes us happy, since we know we can get through an entire episode without his constant whining. So we stop at the first spot, and Kilgore jumps in and goes crazy, and I wade in slowly, with Wyatt close by my side. We hang out there for ten minutes or so, and then move on. The second spot is a repeat of that scenario, and we make our way to the third spot, under the foot bridge. Moments after we arrive there, we hear the sound of loud, spirited voices. The language is foreign and as I am trying to decipher it, two men emerge from the brush on the riverbank. They are both tall and very dark and appear to be sculpted from stone. Neither of them is particularly dressed, and upon reaching the water, the guy with the dreadlocks drops his shorts to reveal another pair of (much smaller) shorts. (A banana hammock, if you will.) He slowly submerged himself, and then he began flapping his arms around and singing. I felt like I'd stepped into an episode of Northern Exposure.
Wyatt was having none of it, which was fine because I can only imagine how uncomfortable the b.h. must have been at that point. We smiled and waved and made our way up the bank.
I still don't know what language they were speaking.

2011-06-20T20:06:00.004-05:00

This is a beautiful and fitting tribute. His first album was released in the year that I was born, and Springsteen has been a fixture in my life, but I have never been able to explain why the music affects me the way it does. I think this writer perfectly captures what I felt on hearing Jungleland over and over again as an adolescent, which is great because i don't have a lot of words right now.

Rock and Roll has lost another. Crap.

2011-06-17T23:25:00.004-05:00

My parents have a dog. The dog was a long time coming, my mother having lobbied for over a year to adopt him from my sister's friend while my father continued with a stream of "over my dead body" and "we don't have room/time/patience" arguments. He should have known better. Let me back up.
Before the cat arrived, my father had been very against the idea of a bit. It's not that he doesn't love animals- he really does, and they take to him quite easily. I think he had just been without them for so long (the whole time I was growing up), and having finally retired, he might have been worried that a pet would be too much work. But my sister had started to feed and then taken in a stray. Jade was a very nice cat, but the condo where my sister lived (owned by my parents) did not allow pets, and she has an illness (don't remember what kind) that can be transferred to other cats, and so my sister tried unsuccessfully to get her adopted. My parents got more and more upset with her as time went on, believing (probably correctly) that another tenant in the complex would see it and report them and they would get fined. But they also didn't want the cat thrown out in the cold, or dropped off at a shelter. My mom's solution was that my sister, when leaving town for a weekend, drop the cat off at their house "with a six pack of Beck's. You won't need to come back and collect her after that."
She was right. My dad, who hates to be alone in the house for long periods of time, was soon spoiling the cat, and half of our conversations revolved around her.

Enter Bear. He is nine pounds of curly, soft, black fuzz, with a tiny white soul patch. He doesn't shed, and only barks when somebody is coming into the house. He is everything my mom has always wanted in a dog, and as she is fond of saying, "He only shits as big as your little finger."

The thirty day trial that my dad agreed to was over in about ten minutes. After that it was six months of conversations mostly about the dog. I am actually really happy for them. They go out for walks, and for the first time in over twenty years have met some of the neighbors (until then they have known the neighbors two houses down on each side of their house). Basically, the dog has been a big hit. And even after the buzz has worn off, he is still the source of some hilarious stories.
"You know how J (my nephew, who lives with my parents) has those big furry slippers?" my dad asked me yesterday on the phone.
"The other day, I'm down in the basement doing laundry, and I turn around and I see Bear over by J's bed. So I'm calling and calling to him, and he won't answer, and he won't come to me. I was starting to get kinda pissed. I'm like, crouched down with my hand out, going 'Here boy- come here buddy!', and he's not coming, so then I take on a more authoritative tone- 'Bear. Come here. Now.' And the next thing I know, I hear his little nails, click click clicking down the stairs behind me. And he's looking at me like 'What the hell do you want?' I was calling after the goddamn slipper the whole time!"
And of course my first thought, after I stopped laughing and wiped the tears from my eyes, was Gods I can't wait to blog about this.

2011-06-11T21:51:00.003-05:00

I was paged over the LG intercom to assist a customer. When I got there, Dee rolled her eyes at me from behind the cheese counter and gestured toward a flustered-looking woman in a hot pink t-shirt that looked like she'd slept in it for a week.
"Can I help you find something?"
She was studying a handwritten note in her hand that was more crumpled than her shirt.
"I need three bottles of wine," she said, without looking up. "Pro seck something mare lot. Do you know what that is? I don't know nothing about wine and I don't care to drink it."
I looked at the list. Three words, written on the same line, in nearly illegible writing. I made out "Prosecccho", then there was a bunch of gibberish, then obviously "Merlot". Underneath that line it read "$60".
"Well, I know what Prosecco is. Those are here," I said, gesturing at the ten or so varieties. "And I know what Merlot is, and we have a lot of Merlot, so I can help you pick one, but I have no idea what the middle word is."
"You don't know what it is?" She was incredulous, glancing very obviously at my name tag, on which the words "Wine Buyer" are emblazoned, as if to say Some fucking Wine Buyer you are!
"No, you misunderstand. I cannot read the word as it is written. It's not that I don't know what wine it is."
"You don't know what it is?" Again with the incredulity.
"No. I am saying that I do not recognize these markings as letters, or the collection of markings as a word. If you can tell me what those letters are, I can tell you what the wine is that you are looking for."
"She said it would be about sixty dollars. I don't know wine, so I don't know what she wants."
"Well, okay. I assume she means an average of twenty dollars per bottle. This is the only Prosecco I have at that price..." I reached up and pulled down a bottle of delicious, sustainably-grown, hand-picked and fantastic wine.
"-I don't think that's it."
"Really."
"I have the bottle out in the car. It's that same shape, but I don't think that's it."
Nearly ten minutes had passed, and I was starting to get impatient, so I asked her if she wanted to go get the bottle out of the car.
"I don't know. I guess I could. But I don't know what this other one is. Do you know Mare Lot?
"Yes, I do know Merlot. I have about fifty of them. So if you don't know what kind she wants, I can make my best guess. Would you like me to recommend one that is around twenty dollars?"
"Oh. I didn't know there was more than one kind. I don't know anything about no wine. I don't drink. I guess maybe I'll have to have her come and get it herself."
"Do you have any way of reaching her? Do you want me to call her and ask her exactly what she's looking for?"
"No. I don't think she'll answer. I guess maybe I'll Just have her come back-"
"Yes, I think that might be the best thing." Relieved to be freed, I turned to put the Proseccco back on the shelf.
"I guess I'll get that one."
I handed it to her and walked away, still trying to smile. I ducked behind the cheese counter and mumbled to Dee "Steer clear of that one. She has a list."
She giggled.

Forty minutes later I was paged to come to customer service.

"This is a put back," said the Customer Service woman, handing me the Prosecco.

2011-06-05T18:09:00.005-05:00

I went out for "a" beer on Friday with my friend from work. We met at the Three Penny, had a beer and some tacos, then had another beer, then split another beer, at which point I suggested we go back to the house where I had more beer. I never got to the point of drunkenness, but I sure did dehydrate myself, and so when I woke up at 6am on Saturday I could tell that I was going to have a doozy of a hangover. I went to the bathroom and took a vitamin B Complex and two ibuprofen with a large glass of water and then went back to bed. Based on how shitty I felt when I awoke at 9:30, I was very glad that I had taken those precautions. I felt like I was dying until about two o'clock.
Speaking of hangovers, I should finish my New York story.
We went back to K's house after the show. None of us was ready to sleep, still abuzz from the rock, so we decided to split a beer. We had a bottle of something called Judgment Day from Lost Abbey Brewery that we had gotten in Pennsylvania on the way. Since we had missed the End Times (that never happened) by 24 hours, we decided we needed to drink it.
It was delicious. It was big and full-bodied, strong without being boozy, and tasted like dried fruit and chocolate and defuckingliciousness. We shared it between the three of us, smoking cigarettes and sharing stories and looking out the windows as Park Slope went to sleep. Then we went to sleep. And several hours later, I woke up and remembered something. I remembered that the word "Abbey" in the name probably means Belgian beer, and that me and Belgian yeast are decidedly not friends. I felt terrible. Like I had food poisoning. I got in the shower, which made me feel momentarily better. I went back to bed. I slept through the most incredible noise- there was a hospital across the street and a grocery store downstairs, as well as a school on the block. There were delivery trucks, ambulances, kids, yuppie parents, and every other imaginable loud fucking sound. I only heard them when my stomach woke me and propelled me out of bed. I slept between visits to the bathroom. I repeatedly got in the shower to lower my temperature. I thought I was dying. When the b.h. finally woke up, he seemed to know right away that something was wrong. Perhaps it was the moaning, or the fact that I repeatedly said
"Fuck. I think I am going to die" before rushing off to the bathroom. ANyway, he was very sweet, and when I pointed out the thing about the Abbey name, he also seemed confused at how we might have missed that detail. Then we realized maybe it was the four or five IPAs that we had drunk at the Br00klyn Bowl. In any case, he said, we could wait as long as necessary before leaving. I had to drive, you see, because the b.h. is not a driver. When K finally woke up, she looked at me gravely and said
"You're green."
Well, yes.
We finally left around 10am. I I made sure that I had an empty plastic bag in my lap just in case. The thing is, I knew I was going to feel like shit either way, and at least driving would take my mind off of it and get me home faster. Traffic was crawling all the way through the borough. When we finally crossed the bridge, it was the first time that I didn't feel the terror I normally have of bridges(or at least I didn't notice, because my stomach was already in knots and I felt like I was going to shit myself anyway). I couldn't even drink water for the first hour. I was hungover until well after noon. At least the weather was okay. Hotter than I prefer but at 70 to 80 miles per hour there's not much difference. I downed about 32 ounces of gat0rade, then had an iced coffee drink for lunch. By the time we got home I was feeling spiffy. Still got to bed early, though, because I had to work the next morning.
Now, of course, I can't wait to go back.

2011-06-04T19:12:00.004-05:00

(Co-worker)Rebecca: How are you, heybartender?
Me: Hung.Over. Dying,in fact. I would kill for a giant plate of french fries and a Coca Cola right now.
On hearing this, a LG customer whipped her head around as if I had said I wanted to disembowel her child and drink it's blood. She was, in all seriousness, aghast. And then she started laughing because she thought that surely I was joking. Rebecca looked confused for a minute, then also assumed I was joking and walked off laughing.
For all of their supposed alternative healing knowledge, these hippies know nothing about the healing power of life-giving Coca-Cola and greasy food.

Travelogue, Sunday May 22nd
We made mostly very good time, and arrived in Brooklyn just around the time my friend K was getting off of work. We met her at the restaurant that she runs, then went and ate at the restaurant she used to run, which is a Michelin starred number with incredible decor that you can still walk into wearing a t-shirt (which was lucky for us, since we were). It was not very busy, so we were spoiled. We each had a glass of Lambrusco. I forget what kind it was but it was dry and delicious and I fully intend to order some for our store. We oredered appetizers. The b.h. and K shared a large plate of oysters and I had a salad, and then the kitchen sent out three more appetizers. After that came entrees, followed by two desserts which we all shared. We ate until we all nearly burst, and then went over to our friend R's place, where we were going to spend the night.
R has two roommates, both also former Athens folk, who spend most of their time on the road working for bands. Consequently, R has a spectacular three bedroom place in Williamsburg with a balcony and real adult furniture that he rarely has to share. We popped a couple beers and caught up with him. When the b.h. was ready to turn in, we were shown to one of the roommates' rooms. We'll call him Tom. So Tom is a guy I have met a few times, but nobody I would claim to be friends with. The b.h. has never met him. Anyway, Tom makes the most money of the roommates, and also has the nicest room with his own bathroom. He was supposed to be coming home on Monday, but we knew we would be up early so R didn't think it would be a big deal. The b.h. crawled into bed and I went back out to the living room with R. When we had come in earlier, I locked the door behind me and chained it, hotel-room style, because that's what I do.
This was a fortunate turn of events, because about ten minutes later the door came open, at least part way, before shutting again. This was followed by the voice of Tom saying to no one in particular,
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
R sprang off the couch, babbling something loudly about being out on the balcony and on the way to unlock the door, and I bolted into Tom's room, waking the b.h. and gathering all of our stuff into my arms and dragging the suitcase along behind me into the kitchen.
What followed was an uncomfortable half hour, the b.h. groggy and his pants only half-fastened as he shook hands with Tom on being introduced. R was shaking and hilarious, like his parents had come home while he was sleeping with his girlfriend in their bed. Then Tom went into his room.
"Where did my new camera bag come from?", he asked, emerging a moment later with my camera bag in his hands. R looked stricken.
"Oh, sorry, that was me, "I replied casually, standing up to retrieve it from him.
"I made straight for your bathroom when we came in. I must have left that in there. Spectacular view you've got in there, by the way."
"Yeah. Nice, isn't it?" Tom was easily distracted by talk that revolved around Tom. We talked for another couple of minutes about the Brooklyn Bridge and the skyline, and then he turned in again.
R mouthed the words THANK YOU and then went to the balcony to smoke. When he came back in, he made a quick sweep of B's room (B is actually a friend of both of ours, but his room doesn't have a private bath, which was why we were initially offered Tom's room) and helped move our stuff into it. We were all saying goodnight when the b.h. realized that he had left his jacket in Tom's room.
"Oh shit- he has the same jacket, too" said R. This is a common thing in Athens, because many of us who work(ed)in bars got schwag from the liquor distributors. The Miller Hi Life jacket in question is ubiquitous due to it's sensibility (made by Dickies so it's durable, looks like a gas station attendant jacket so it's blue-collar fashionable, dark blue so it doesn't show stains, and the logo is very small so the wearer won't feel as if they are whoring), and the fact that the company that distributes said product gave out a lot of them.
We decided that we would figure it out in the morning. I was giggling and R was apologizing and we all went to bed. Moments after I crawled in, I got a text message. It was from R:
"I'll just tell him that I thought it was his so I threw it in his room."
"You are the smartest man ever!" was my response. "Very sneaky!"
The b.h. and I woke up early, as we are wont to do, so we took the keys and slipped out for a walk around the neighborhood. I stopped every half block or so to take pictures of graffiti, which I hope to post at some point. We got coffee and a pastry at Oslo, and then walked around Williamsburg for an hour or so. I cannot overstate the convenience of the iPhone, which I refer to as The Hitchhiker's Guide, in keeping us on track. We never for a moment got lost. It was a great comfort and saved us a lot of time.
We went back to the apartment and R and Tom were still sleeping, so we killed some time flipping through magazines and then went back out around the time when the thrift stores I wanted to see were opening.
I scored a pair of hot pink rubber Doc Martens at Deac0n's Cl0set. They were never worn, and they cost $35. A steal. I also found a button-down cowboy shirt with birds embroidered on it. We poked around some junk shops, ate pizza at Anna Maria's (recommended to us and which I will recommend to anyone as long as they don't ask me where it is), and then went back to the apartment. R had gone to work, but B was home from tour, so we spent some time hanging out and talking to him for a bit before going to meet K. We had taken our things with us because we were planning on spending the night at her place. We picked her up from work and went up to Park Slope, where I miraculously got a parking spot right in front of her apartment. We unloaded our things and changed clothes and went out again. We walked about a mile and a half to the area where we were having dinner. There was a deli that the b.h. wanted to see, so we stopped there and then made our way to Miri@m, an Israeli restaurant. We were the first customers of the night. We each ordered a glass of wine, an appetizer, and an entree, in addition to two salads that we split between the three of us. The food was fabulous. We had Turkish coffee and desserts, and then made the trek back to K's house again before going out to the Br00klyn B0wl to see J. Roddy Walston and the Business.
The club had had some sort of issue with the plumbing, so all of the bathrooms ere closed and they had set up a trailer, movie set style, outside. It had four stalls on the ladies side, which was adequate but only because they weren't anywhere near capacity. Inside was very large. There was a full scale bowling alley off to one side, and then the stage and a big area in front from which to watch the band. There were three bars. I loved the decor and the staff was very friendly. We were on the guest list, and R set us up with food and drink tickets, which was generous beyond our expectations. The band was on fire- better than ever, I think. The crowd loved them. It was great to see people (besides us) shouting along to the songs and jumping around like fools. There was some kind of film crew there, purportedly sent by their management company. I do hope the video of that show will be available at some point. I know the guys are playing Bonnar00 and Austin City Limits this year, si hopefully by year's end they will be getting the recognition they deserve. I had a fantastic time- better than I remember having in ages. I didn't want it to end.

2011-05-30T02:39:00.004-05:00

On Saturday we went into Georgetown to shop at Dean & Deluca. Driving in that neighborhood sucked beyond description. It was a beautiful sunny Saturday afternoon, so every hipster yuppie douchebag and his (fraternity) brother was out, and nobody seems to pay any attention to traffic signals there. We finally parked in an underground lot, walked two blocks to the store, where we stumbled around it in excitement bordering on hysteria for an hour or so. We ordered some food and sat down outside to eat. We then walked down to the riverside and back toward the car. Neither of us had any desire to stay in that area any longer, so we paid the ungodly parking rate (I want to say it was twelve bucks for just over two hours) and left as quickly as traffic would allow.
We headed next to Alexandria, Virginia, which is basically on the other side of the city (I think) and a world away. There was some kind of Civil War reenactment celebration or other going on there, which made for good people watching.
We walked by the waterfront, and went through a large restored warehouse that has been converted into a collective of art studios. We ate ice cream and went on a short tour of a tavern where George Washington used to dine. After playing tourist for awhile, we went to meet some friends for dinner in yet another part of town. We ate at an Ethiopian restaurant where all of the women were jaw-droppingly gorgeous and spoke very little English. The food was fine, but nothing to write home about. The most difficult part for me was not really knowing what I was eating, but again- language barrier.
After dinner we went to one friend's apartment, where we drank Bell's Two-Hearted Pale Ale and played bocce ball on a rooftop court (the balls lit up so we could continue to play after the sun went down). We really enjoy the company of these particular friends, and we don't get to see them nearly enough. It was a beautiful night, and the view from this roof was terrific. I could almost see myself living in a place like that, until we made our way back to street level and had to deal with all of the traffic and the people again. Parking was also not easy. I had forgotten about that.
When we got back to the house, the b.h.'s sister's mother-in-law was in, and we sat around and chatted a bit with her before bed. This woman could be cast as the stock character of "Jewish Mother-In-Law on any sitcom you choose. She is utterly hilarious, super opinionated, has great stories to tell, and manages somehow to sound judgmental every time she opens her mouth. She cracks me up. The next morning we all had breakfast and then the b.h.'s parents arrived. We hung out and talked with them for awhile before shoving off to New York.

2011-05-30T02:08:00.002-05:00

Customer: "Is the person in charge of beer here?"
Me: "Um, what do you need help with?"
Customer: "We're doing a German beer tasting, and I was wondering-"
Me: "Let me see if Pete is here. If not, I can help you."

I walk into the back, take approximately five steps, and then completely forget the entire conversation until two hours later, at which point it obviously doesn't matter anymore. Brilliant.

I'm going to blame that on Brooklyn.

Our vacation was loads of fun, revolving (as most of them do), around food, drink, and rock. The drive to D.C. felt like it took forever. We stopped for dinner in Pennsylvania. A friend of the b.h. lives there and we met her at the restaurant where she works. The food was fabulous and the beer list overwhelming. I had gnocchi with locally foraged wild mushrooms and an IPA from Green Flash. Next we stopped at a grocery store and loaded up on beer that is not available in our neck of the woods. We rolled in to the 'burbs at around 11pm, having made an unexpected detour leaving PA. Thank the gods the b.h. has an iPhone (which I have dubbed The Hitchhiker's Guide)or who knows where we might have wound up. His sister and her husband live in a subdivision full of townhouses that all look exactly the same. In fact, the subdivision across the road has exactly the same pond with the same silly looking fountain and a whole bunch of the same houses in it. It was bizarre, and after that many hours on the road, a bit surreal. It took us ten minutes to figure out which was theirs even after we knew we were on the right block, because it had no distinguishing characteristics except for the house number, which we couldn't see in the dark. It was lovely on the inside, of course, though I find the idea of having three floors in such a small house rather ludicrous.
On Friday we went into the city. We saw the National Portrait Gallery and the Botanical Gardens, and stopped off at the National Sculpture Garden so I could have my picture taken with the National Fanny. (This is obviously not the real name, but for fuck's sake look at that thing. I took a lot of pictures but there has been a thunderstorm happening for nearly three straight days now so I'm not going to retrieve them from the other computer. I just know that the minute I plug it in lightning will strike and I will lose every picture I have ever taken.
We went for an early dinner at a place called the Liberty Tavern, where it turns out the chef is an alumni of the b.h.'s Culinary School. It was fabulous. I had an appetizer, salad, entree', and dessert, as well as a beer and a cup of coffee. (Don't judge.)
After we went back to the cookie cutter and watched Big Love until we fell asleep.

2011-05-16T11:50:00.001-05:00

I went to yet another fantastic Wine Show last week. It was much smaller than the others, but it featured only really good wines, and many unusual ones I had never seen or heard of before. My favorite was a rose of Nebbiolo, basically a sparkling Rose of Barolo. It's called Erpacrife, and I liked it so much I ordered one for us. WIll probably save it for the last dinner at J and J's before J (male) heads back to Sweden in June. Very excited.
Also, I got the new WIll Johnson EP in the mail the other day. Perfect timing, since we're going on a massive road trip tomorrow and everybody knows that the best way to really *listen* to a record is in the car at top volume. We're headed down to D.C. to see the b.h.'s little sister and her husband, and then up to Brooklyn to see our friends K and R and the lovely and talented boys of J. Roddy Walston and the Business. I am absolutely bursting. I am so sick of the Oddfellows Local 151 bullshit that my eyes are turning brown. Oh, to be free for Six. Whole. Days. I will be reporting back to you (with photos) on our return. TTFN, darlings.

2011-05-14T11:01:00.001-05:00

Vermont has a very particular fashion sensibility. It is difficult to describe and mostly unremarkable, lots of clogs and flannel like it's the nineties, as well as a healthy dose of muck boots with skirts on the ladies. One thing that I consistently find disturbing/amusing, though, is that people of all shapes and ages and sizes walk around in what I can only describe as leggings. By this I mean very, er, form fitting long pants usually with either a short jacket or a tucked in shirt. It's a winter fashion, and I am not certain if this is a form of ski gear that I am not familiar with or what, but it almost always disturbs me. They are never, ever attractive, even on the forty something regular LG customer who either spends a lot of time at the gym or is secretly related to Selma Hayek. Picture, if you will, these pants on Jack Black. Or Woody Allen. Or how about your grandmother? This is just one more reason I am so looking forward to Spring.

2011-05-05T22:24:00.003-05:00

I have just attended the most extraordinary dinner. I was invited by Roger, the rep from one of my wine distributors. The party was a small group of people like me, from wine shops of restaurants, as well as representatives from these two vineyards:

http://www.storybookwines.com/story.html
http://www.blason.com/

Met all met at The Hen of the Wood, a fabulous local-centric restaurant down in Waterbury. I got to taste and learn about Chablis, which made me think that perhaps I am more of a white wine drinker than I think I am. We had mixed local cheese plates and pickled leeks, and for an entree I had goat's milk gnocchi (the only vegetarian option- I'm not that fond of dairy and carbs). It was stupendous. I was sorry not to have room for dessert.

There was a rose' of Zinfandel as well as a couple standard reds from Storybook, and I was pleased that I was able to pair them well without having to consult a book. My instincts are getting better, it seems. I met some great people and learned a few things about selling upscale wines from a woman who runs a shop in a very touristy and money-driven town not far from here. Obviously not from a wealthy background herself, she reminded me of my family. She was very salt of the earth and happy to share her secrets.

That's all, I guess. I can't really put the rest of it into words. I do hope to have more of these opportunities in the future.

2011-05-05T22:17:00.002-05:00

"Can you tell me where the coffee is?" asked a scrawny gray-haired woman with a lazy eye. Her tone was anxious. Her tone was that of a person with a gaping wound asking the way to the Emergency Room. I started to answer, but before I could utter more than two words she immediately cut me off.
"Oh! You have that Beaujolais Village?! Do you have it in- oh! you have it in the small bottles! How much is it?"
Once again I started to answer, and once again she cut me off.
"Oh, I love that. But I don't want any today. But I was just wondering how much they were." Every statement she made was delivered rapid-fire. Her son (aged around ten, I would guess) looked exhausted and apologetic. I started back in the direction I was already headed. She grasped my arm.
"Can you tell me where the coffee is?!"
I pointed in the general direction and walked off as quickly as I could.

2011-05-04T08:17:00.002-05:00

Last week was yet another where I somehow managed to overbook my limited free time. I went to Burlington on Monday with A and did some shopping. We spent a lot of time outside because it was sunny and very warm. Tuesday I went to work and then over to Sven's to do a photo shoot when I got out. After that I went to Plainfield to do some gardening.
Wednesday was another wine show, so I headed off alone to the Country Club in Burlington. I found a number of wines that I would like to carry. I had a real plan this time, and since I was alone it was easier to navigate. I have learned not to make eye contact with or pause next to the table of a company whose wines I know I will not carry.
After I got out of the show I went into Burlington again, this time to buy a tank top and a belt that I have had my eye on. I went home and picked up the b.h. and then we had dinner at The Alchemist, which was terrific.
Thursday work and go home and watch a movie and fall asleep early, Friday the same, Saturday work until six and then home and them take the b.h. to work at the 3 Penny, where there was a very large beer festival going on. I had missed all of the outdoor special cask activity, for which people had driven from many surrounding states, but A and I found a seat inside and some beer I had not had an opportunity to try before. We chatted with each other and with various people we knew who filtered in and out (inevitable in a town of 8,000), and she left around ten and I went home. Got a text from another friend an hour later and went back to the bar for another round. Caught up with him for an hour or two, then the b.h. got through working and we headed home.

2011-04-24T10:31:00.003-05:00

So I've started this 30 Day Song Challenge on f@cebook, and it seems to be taking any residual energy I have. I am starting to wonder if I should post the results here as well, so I feel like I haven't completely abandoned the blog.
The job is still busy, but still mostly good. I am slowly discovering the extent to which the Wine Distributor Guys (WDGs) have been running our store, or at least, our department. Barbara didn't really have (make?) time to run the department before, so it seems like they were just bringing in whatever they wanted, waving it in her general direction, then she would nod and not really take much notice and they would put it on the shelves. As a consequence, only the most pushy guys got anywhere, soaking up as much of our retail real-estate as possible, while the more polite and professional ones (who, as it so happens, also have much better product) have very little space on the shelves. There is one guy in particular who is having trouble adjusting to the fact that I actually am paying attention, and that I want him to bring in what I want and not to bring in what I don't want, and not to just bring in something I told him twice that I didn't fucking want. Arrgh. So, needless to say there have been some recent glitches. I wrote a politely worded e-mail to all of them, basically saying that contrary to the way it used to be, I want everything to go through me now. If (when?) this doesn't work, I will then bring down the proverbial hammer.
Last night I attended a wine tasting party at the home of a lesbian couple who are regular customers of mine. I adore them, and I adore their incredibly smart and polite children, and most of their friend that I met as well. Some of them were absolutely batshit crazy, of course, which was also amusing. One woman had just returned from a trip to the Finger Lakes region of New York, and she brought back two of the worst wines I have ever tasted.
"It's a nice dry Riesling," she promised, plunking a bottle down on the table. Not having had it before, I immediately opened it and poured myself a couple ounces. It was terrible. Or rather, it was sweet, which I was not prepared for, and therefore it was not pleasing to me. I made an attempt to smile and then darted to the kitchen to grab a chunk of blue cheese.
I was being careful about my consumption, wanting to both maintain my professional composure and be able to pilot my vehicle home at a moment's notice when my social anxiety kicked in.
The next crazy erupted from a squat woman in a too-tight sweater who had asked me three times what my name was and where I worked. I don't know how the conversation started, but when I caught it she was on about how absolutely hot she thought her gynecologist is. She then went on to say that her marriage was basically a sexless friendship, which according to her was just fine. And then she was back to the gynecologist. (These things are totally unrelated, of course.)I won't quote here, because the very thought of it is making me uncomfortable all over again, but suffice to say that her doctor would probably turn her on even if he were hideous, because it's the only apparent action she ever sees. That poor man. Honestly, you would think she'd either get a real relationship or at least invest in some heavy machinery from the internet. While this conversation was happening, the host was smirking in my direction and mouthing an apology, and I was trying to find a way to extract myself from the kitchen without anyone else noticing.
After the party I went back into town to meet the b.h.and our other friends at the 3 Penny. I very judiciously ordered myself a soda water, spent several minutes watching what was obviously a fantastic hockey game (it was in double overtime), then made the rounds chatting up our friends with whom the b.h. had had dinner. It was a pleasant evening overall. Today I will probably do some housework and maybe run a couple of errands, but I am trying to make my day off an actual day off.

2011-04-15T22:50:00.002-05:00

I held a wine tasting at the LG today. Nothing fancy, mind you, just a sip poured into plastic tasting cups. I had a Pinot Gris from the Willamette Valley, a Rose' from Provence, and a Malbec from Cahors. The demo coordinator prepared a roast leg of local lamb that had been delivered this morning, and I chose wines (aside from the white, which was there to round out the selection) that would pair with it. Everything went swimmingly, and we sold a metric shitload of wine (not to be confused with the Fuckton, which is really the goal). There was one woman, though, who really threw us all off our game. And she is today's Customer Of The Day.
First, she was a hundred and eighty years old if she was a day. She came over to us slowly, leaning heavily on her walker. She pulled up the chair which we were using as a barrier (long story short, our department of Liquor C0ntr0l is ridiculous and requires us to rope off and area that is exactly ten feet wide in which to taste the wines. This is not even the most ridiculous regulation. But I digress.) and sat down directly in front of the table where Erika was handing out lamb samples, thereby preventing anyone else from possibly getting a sample. Fortunately at this point there were no other customers. She sat there and asked a series of increasingly irritating hippie questions about the lamb (Local? Organic? Was it happy? Did they pet it every day? What was it's name? Okay, these were not literal questions, but you get the picture.) Next, Erika asked the woman if she wanted to try some wine with the lamb. I am fairly certain that she was trying to get the woman to get out of the chair and move closer to where we were pouring the wine, thus getting the hell out of the way. She asked where it was from, and when she found out that they were French, she said
"Oh, no. Dr. Somethingorother said never, ever drink European wines. Because of Chernobyl. There's radiation and..."
She went on for a minute or two. Then she said she was sorry to break it to us, and that she was glad that there were no other customers around because she didn't want to spoil our event, but well, you know, the truth hurts, etc.
She sat there for another ten minutes, eventually tasting some of the white, but then telling us why that was also probably poisonous. Hilarious. I hope she's a regular customer.
I have another tasting tomorrow, and then a couple weeks off before we get started again. Hoping to make this a regular Friday afternoon thing.
I dropped by the Three Penny for a beer after work. It was taco night, but I was too late for any vegetarian options, so I had two beers instead. Just as filling, anyway. I get to sleep in tomorrow, then we'll head to the farmer's market before dinner at J and J's. Can't wait.

2011-04-13T21:50:00.012-05:00

Had another wine show on Monday last. I got to try a $225.00 (wholesale, so we're really talking around three hundred bucks) bottle of Perrier Jouet Brut Rose Champagne, which was absolutely incredible, as well as a number of other overpriced, pedigreed wines that I would never, ever have been able to taste otherwise. The result? I actually loved the P&J, and if I were fabulously ludicrously wealthy I might even buy it for a special occasion, but I was mostly underwhelmed by the Ch@teau Montelen@, almost disgusted by the C@ymus, and fairly "meh" about the other Napa staples that everybody always fusses over. I did find a few hidden gems, mostly Spanish and South American, that I will likely bring in to the store, and there were several outstanding wines that I will certainly recommend to my wealthier wine customers but that I could not justify buying for the shelf. This was one of my better learning experiences. Now if I could just figure out how to navigate the Department of Liquor Control, my job will be loads easier.
On Sunday the BH and I both had the day off, so we drove out to Bohemian Bread, a small bakery that is well off the beaten path, even for Vermont. We got lost but somehow managed not to get mired in the mud, despite still having snow tires (exactly the opposite of what you want in mud) and a compact car rather than a Sub@ru like the rest of the inhabitants of this state. Robert and his wife were lovely and welcoming, and allowed me to take pictures even though they weren't prepared. We split a lemon tart and a berry danish, and he made us the best cappuccino I have ever had (he imports the beans from Italy because he can't find anything he likes here)anywhere. We bought a loaf of their famous rosemary lemon bread for the road, and promised we'd be back after mud season, which as you will see, is likely our only choice.
This is the bakery:

And this is the road to the bakery;

and here you see their driveway:

This is where the magic happens:

And this is the magic:

On the way home we stopped at a local farmstand and the BH got a fresh duck, as well as some local spinach, while I snapped a couple pictures of the other wares:

In other news, my lemon and lime basils are both sprouting, there is a veritable river running from the woods behind the hose down our driveway, and we have been live trapping mice (several a day) for the last couple days. I have been driving them to work with me and dropping them off outside the office of a dentist that gave us the shaft last year.

Spring would very much like to spring, it seems. Twenty five degrees tomorrow, though, so we're still waiting.

2011-04-13T21:43:00.002-05:00

I was in a meeting of Oddfellows Local 151 the other day when I noticed something. Kerry, our rep from the Regional Office, has the creepiest hands I have ever seen on a woman. She has, I have decided, Supervillain Hands. Which is appropriate since she also has a Supervillain Personality. When I went to Steward Training for the OFL151, I was inoformed that my role as a steward was essentially to rile up the base. Not a problem solver, not a go-between, no. I am here to keep the troops excited. Which explains why she is always demonizing the managers in our LG as if they're the billionaire owners of fucking W@l M@rt or something. Scathing, cynical, the consummate skeptic. These are the personality traits of my own arch-nemesis, Kerry. She even has a raspy smoker's voice and (now, delightfully) the bulbous-fingered deformity to match. Now I just have to think of a good name for her. Anyone?

2011-04-03T17:57:00.006-05:00

I drove out to Plainfield this morning to see my friend Lou. He has a house out there with a fairly sizable acreage, and he has enthusiastically agreed to let me garden with him and his family. His aunt, who lives with them, is a big astrology buff and has recently started studying Biodynamics. Neither Lou nor I feel particularly strong about these things, but at the same time we figured what the hell. Couldn't hurt, anyway, right? So according to her instruction, we planted the leafy stuff today: various lettuces, herbs, and spinach. We were helped by his kids, who are a lot of fun to be around, and their enormous dog, who divided his time between sleeping on a giant snow mound and running after cars and chickens. Next week: I teach Lou the way of the electric dog fence, and we plant more stuff. Stay tuned.

2011-04-03T17:41:00.002-05:00

So, it turns out my blog has a spam filter(Sorry, Loob). And for some reason it decided to filter comments from a person with whom I regularly have exchanges. I have no idea how this technology works, but let's hope I've set it straight.
I went out basically every night last week. One excuse or another led me to a drink (or two, or three) after work, and then yesterday we went to our friends' house for a birthday/taco party. It was great fun, and we stayed later than I thought my body would allow me to. When I awoke this morning, my liver was sitting on the pillow next to me, tapping its foot impatiently.

"Had enough yet?"
"Wha-?"
"Well I have, so get your shit together."
"But I-"
"Seriously. I've had it. Beer AND wine? In the same night? Three nights in one week? What the hell are you thinking?"
"I just-"
"Enough. For real. Take a couple nights off, huh? And then pick one. Beer. Or one wine. And slow the fuck down, or I'm outta here."

I have had multiple glasses of water today, along with one small cup of coffee and a large peppermint tea.

2011-03-30T22:43:00.002-05:00

Just returned from a dinner party at J and J's house. J (male)'s wife is in town from Sweden, and though I have met her before, we had never spent any time together. She was lovely, of course. We had wheat berry somethingorother with mushrooms that she had managed to smuggle through customs by skirting a beagle in baggage claim. There was also quinoa and a salad with tomatoes, and as per usual a cheese course for dessert. We had Van Duzer Pinot Gris, which matched perfectly with my food and the cod that everybody else had. After that we had Velvet Devil Merlot from Washington state and Petite Petit (syrah and verdot). Not having had enough to drink, we went down to the Three Penny Taproom after for a nightcap. Everything was fabulous and I could not be happier.
The week has been mostly good. We took Wyatt to the vet on Monday and found out that he gained ten pounds this winter, which is a gigantic bummer, but since I have already gotten back into the habit of taking them on long walks again on a regular basis, I am trying not to worry.
The weather has been relentlessly cold, which was bad enough without the Nor'easter that we're in for tomorrow. They're saying six to twelve inches, and I just don't know how to face that.
The BH now has two jobs, both of which he is pretty excited about. My job is still going very well. So I get a call from my sister the other day, and she mentions that she and my brother in law are looking at a property in their neighborhood outside of Chicago. As an investment. You know, something that they would say, rent out, to a young and struggling couple who could not possibly afford to buy. It has three bedrooms and a fenced yard.
Yeah.
So I'm trying not to think too hard about that at the moment, because both of us would be much better off sticking here for a year or so in order to put it on our respective resumes.
Other than that, it's pretty much business as usual. I went to Burlington with my friend A the other day, did a whole lot of thrift store shopping and ate at Pennycluse again, which I loved. I have been getting out more often for a beer here and there, and in general tired but happy. Looking forward to some potential travel for rock shows (J. Roddy has residencies in both D.C and NYC next month), and hoping to hit Chicago for the 4th of July. Trying to figure out where Athens can fit in this summer, too. All in all, things are good.

2011-03-19T17:46:00.018-05:00

I had a weird bout of some kind of flu-ish thing. I spent all day Saturday in bed, unable even to take a sip of water because I was too nauseated. Then I felt a bit better and went to pick the BH up from work. Spent an hour on the couch, felt crappy again, went back up to bed. Got up to take some ibuprofen, slugged back two and a glass of water, and the next thing I knew I was staring into his face and he was yelling my name at me.
What the hell is he yelling about? God damn, he is so loud. My head hurts. What the hell is that thing above my head. Oh, that's the towel rack. The one on the bathroom door. Oh shit, I'm on the floor.
All of those things went through my head before I was finally able to focus on his face and grumble.
"Do you need to go to the hospital?"
"I don't know." My voice did not sound like me. I could barely get the words out. "I am going to-"
I gagged and never finished the sentence. He had to drag me up off the floor and help me crawl to the toilet. I threw up. I was sweating a lot, my head was on fire, and I felt completely disconnected from my body. I sat on the floor in the bathroom for several minutes while the BH ran around frantically. I heard him dialing the phone. I was waiting for the sound of an ambulance pulling up outside, my head pounding, dreading the idea of all the noise and the bright lights. He came back upstairs. I pulled a washcloth off of the sink, ran it under cold water, and then started wiping my face and neck. He picked me up off the floor and dragged me to the guest bed. The rest of the night was fairly blurry, but I didn't go to the hospital.He fetched juice and ginger ale from the gas station and jumped awake every time I turned over, making sure I was okay. I was achy and feverish and I felt crappy, but the worst was over. The next day I mostly just slept and watched TV. He said later that when passed out he caught me and set me on the floor and my eyes were wide open but I wasn't responding and he thought I had dropped dead. Poor thing. I am such a drama queen. Who knew? The rest of the week was mostly work and work and sleep and work. He got sick on Friday, stayed home from work on Saturday, and finally felt better on Sunday. This stomach bug has been ravaging the Local Grocery. Every day we have been understaffed.
Other than that things have been great on the work front. I am still constantly busy, but starting to feel comfortable with most of my tasks, and getting things organized so that hopefully one day soon I will know what an average day looks like.
Saturday night was the Super Full Moon. Closer to the earth than it's been in something like twenty years. I talked the BH into joining me for a 10pm run up to Morse Farm to take some pictures. They turned out okay, but not stellar. I still don't quite have the night photography down.

Sunday the BH and I went to Burlington. We ate breakfast at Pennycluse. I had French toast made from oat bread with a tangerine curd topping. He had meat with a side of meat. After that we went down to the lakefront and walked around in the sun for a bit. it was nearly fifty degrees, a virtual heatwave by our recent standards, and not a cloud in the sky. I took a bunch of pictures.

After we went shopping to find a case for the BH's iPh0ne, and I got some new jeans and a couple other much-needed clothing items.
Yesterday we went to a wine show all day in Essex. It started snowing about halfway there, and it looked like it was going to be ugly. We had packed extra clothes and things because the forecast was calling for a largish storm and we thought we might get stranded for awhile. This was the first wine show I have been to where I actually got to choose the wines that will be carried at the LG. It was, as usual, enjoyable but not easy. I must have tasted seventy or eighty wines. By the end my mouth was ravaged and I couldn't wait for dinner. We stopped at the Alchemist, where I for once did not partake of any fabulous house-brewed beer. I just couldn't do it. It started snowing again about halfway through dinner, and by the time we headed home it was really coming down, sleety and gross. We burned quite a few layers from our snow tires getting up the hill.
Today I started by getting blood drawn at the doctor's office first thing, followed by more photography (the snow was a gorgeous blanket on everything and Plainfield is particularly scenic, so as long as I was there I thought I ought to shoot some),

followed by half a day of work and then a trip to the dog park. It started snowing there just as the sun was going down, beautiful, light, movie set flakes that don't seem real. It was like standing in a snow globe. No camera at the time, unfortunately, but it's probably just as well. The boys and i ran around for an hour or so, and they got to play with lots of other dogs. Now we're all a bit knackered and waiting for a call to pick the BH up from work. I hope he calls soon.

2011-03-11T10:08:00.003-05:00

It was perfect: Five shelves, each four feet in length, full of polished wine bottles in perfect lines. I walked away, feeling a sense of accomplishment (also hunger and dire thirst, since it had taken me an entire day to reset this display and I had forgotten to eat or drink). I went in search of A, my friend in IT and the only person who had been available to help me with this project, so that I could finally address the other things I needed to accomplish.
When I found him, he asked brightly "What's up?"
"I was just looking for you."
"That's funny, I was just looking for you! What do you need?"
"I have to print out shelf tags for that st-"
There was a sound. It started with a faint tinkling, and then very quickly crescendoed into a full-fledged, glass shattering crash. We both made our way immediately to what remained of my wine display. It seems that we hadn't quite hooked the third shelf all the way into the wall, and consequently it had warped, collapsing onto the shelf below it and sending over a hundred bottles of wine crashing to the cement floor.
It was magnificent. There was a wave of wine rushing in every direction, and a sea of broken glass. Fortunately about ten of my co-workers rushed to my aid, including the GM and the heads of Marketing and Accounting. It was cleaned up pretty quickly, and everyone made sure to tell me their story about when something similar had happened to them, and assure me that it could have been much worse. All things considered it wasn't actually that bad, but my shame and horror will likely be lasting. I am actually really proud of myself for not bursting into tears.
On that note, it's time to get dressed for work. Fingers crossed for a better day today.

2011-03-07T23:17:00.002-05:00

Shit My Dad Says.

"This hearing aid only works when you put it in a certain place- which is your ass, I think."

2011-03-07T18:24:00.004-05:00

Today was my only day off this week. I had just worked six in a row, which due to the LG's status as a Union Shop means that I actually got paid time and a half for the entire day yesterday. (High five!)
I had a hair appointment at nine-thirty this morning, and it started snowing yesterday at two in the afternoon and has yet to stop. When I woke up at eight, I called the salon and the message on their machine said that they knew that some people would need to reschedule due to weather, and so to leave a message and they would call back. I left a message saying that I was coming, but that I was checking to make sure that my stylist was going to make it. I left my number and, not hearing from them by ten after nine, I walked down there. I arrived to find the owner of the salon at the desk, and she looked down at the appointment book in front of her.
"Hiiiiii. You must be heybartender. Sheila won't be in today."

I can't bear to finish quoting her, because I am still a bit pissed about it. Long story short they had not checked the messages and she had just gotten there a minute before I had. I don't know why the hell she couldn't check her machine by phone, or why they wouldn't have known (since everybody else did) that this was going to be a nearly two foot snowfall. Anyway, I was already downtown, so I went and got coffee and a breakfast sandwich at the only place that was open. It was almost completely without flavor, and the music went from bad (David Gray) to worse (Cat Stevens), and I left very quickly and rather grumpily. The snow was blowing so hard that taking pictures was nearly impossible. The cold wasn't bad, it was the fact that my lens kept getting wet and the snow was stinging the tiny potion of my face that was exposed. So, I stopped off at Rivendell, my local used bookstore, and picked up a copy of Michael Chabon's Maps and Legends: Reading and Writing along the Borderlands.
Eventually the b.h. came to meet me, and we also met up with my friends A and D. This was slightly cheering, and I was convinced to go over to another friend's house to watch and learn while they screenprinted some merch for their band. This was how I spent the rest of the day. I actually wanted to go home, because I was still kind of grumpy and felt like I was being a bit of a stick in the mud, but the weather was just too daunting. In the end I had a good time, and when the weather cleared I met the b.h. at the grocery store and we walked home together. Now I am on the couch with Wyatt's head in my lap and all is right with the world.
The best part? I am not dreading going to work tomorrow. Not at all.

2011-03-02T22:31:00.002-05:00

I got the job, and it has been balls (ovaries?) to the wall ever since. I just finished my last photography class, which was terrific. I now feel like I can use my camera in any situation with at least some degree of competence. Hopefully I will find some time to take more pictures in the near future. Got myself a shiny new tripod now, too.
So the whole job thing was ridiculous until the bitter end, and now the person who was a douche about it is pretending like nothing ever happened. Thankfully, I am pretty much on my own now, so no matter. I have already gotten a free bottle of wine ("sample"). This is good news. I will be sure to share it with some co-workers after I have had a glass. Or two.
What else? Oh yes, it is still snowing more than once a week, and it is still below zero. I guess this is what the landlord meant last year when he said we hadn't really seen a Vermont winter. I don't mind, really, except that I am dying to get out and take some pictures. We learned night photography and I am eager to try it out.
Yep, another boring post. Sorry. I promise to try to be more interesting soon.

2011-02-21T09:05:00.002-05:00

Well, there went another week. I have changed my schedule for the duration of my six-week photography class, and now I am working Mondays at 8 am rather than Wednesdays at one pm. You can see how this might throw a person off.
I took today off because I will not be needed. I will not be needed because we have extra staff. We have extra staff because there has been an offer made on the cheese buyer's job, and the person to whom the job was offered is pussyfooting around about it now. Honestly, it is quite infuriating. I won't go into details, but suffice to say that this person applied for both the wine and the cheese buyer positions, and now has been offered a job and has decided that they want the other. Why apply for a job you don't want? I suppose to insure that you get one of them. But to demand to be given a job in which you have very little background after having been offered an equal position doing something you're actually qualified for is ridiculous. This is a person who did not know that Marlborough was a region, rather than a wine. Common knowledge? No, but if you expect to be handed a position that places you in charge of half a million dollars annual sales, and to grow those sales, you ought to at least have passing familiarity with the product.

Enter Oddfellows Local 151.

This person, the person who is the only other person who can possibly get what is very obviously supposed to be My Job, has worked in the LG for five years. As such, this person has seniority. Seniority is big with the OFL151. But according to the contract, the more senior person is only to be given a position unless the less senior person is more qualified. Ahem. So the person is taking it to the Union. I shall bore you no further, but suffice to say I am through with this person and have no desire to spend six hours standing next to them today doing my old job rather than the job I should rightly have been awarded by now. I have no idea when this will end, but I am taking three days off in hopes that when I return it will all be over. The one thing that would be nice about this person taking what is so obviously supposed to be My Job (are you getting a vibe here?) is that this person would no longer be working with the rest of us in the department, most of whom would rather stick forks in our eyes than be subjected to one more moment of this person's passive aggression or banal observations on the everyday activities of the LG.
But, since I am not talking about it, let's move on, shall we?
I have been reading A Damsel in Distress by Wodehouse, and last night I started Eastward to Tartary by Robert Kaplan. I have been going to sleep to The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes on audiobook, narrated by Derek Jacobi. After that I think I will resort to listening to the new Mark Twain autobiography, since the book is very large and very heavy and therefore going very slowly. I read The Arsonist's Guide to Writer's Homes in New England and was puzzled as to why it got such terrific press. I really disliked the narrator, and only kept reading it because I kept hoping it would get better. It didn't. I finished another Maisie Dobbs novel, and solicited ideas via faceb00k for my next audio adventure. I believe I have settled on Paul Theroux on the recommendation of my good friend A, but as I said, Mark Twain is likely next in line.
I have spend an inordinate amount of time reading about the current revolutions spreading through the Middle East. I can't help but feel that this is world changing stuff and that at some point, many years from now, I am going to look back at this time with total disbelief at how quickly it happened and how disconnected the people around me seemed to be while it was happening. Sometimes I hate the bubble here, though it is conveniently safe.
In other news, I was at the LG on Saturday and there were repeated announcements on the P.A. system asking that "the customer with the Ford somethingorother, license plate blah blah blah, please move your car. You are blocking the handicapped spaces and you will be towed." I remarked to Sven that the person was possibly deaf, because there were so many announcements and no response. It turns out that the police were called, and when they ran the plate they found out that the person who belonged to the vehicle was in fact deaf, and also 81 years old and nowhere to be found. Unfortunately, our crap local paper is now a pay site, so I haven't followed up on the story. I do hope she is okay.
My plan is to spend a couple hours cleaning house and then get outside somewhere with the dogs today. It will not be above fifteen degrees, so that rather limits our options, but there will be hiking. Since I have three days off in a row, the b.h. and I have decided to make a day trip this week, probably to New Hampshire, just to get out of town for a minute. I am still hoping for a phone call and a job offer in the meantime, but I am not holding my breath.

2011-02-14T18:19:00.003-05:00

I guess I'm officially one of those once a week bloggers. Crap.
Hopefully That will be over soon. The Local Grocery has been very busy lately, and I have had various ailments causing me to be extraordinarily lazy.
I have also, however, been spending the bulk of my free time taking pictures and doing photographer-type things. So please bear with me.

2011-02-07T17:11:00.005-05:00

We went to the most lovely dinner party on Saturday night.
My friends J1 and J2 are roommates, and they both have culinary training. He is still at the Culinary Institute, while she graduated in 1996 and then came back to finish a BA last fall, which is how we met. His wife and family are in Sweden, while she is a single lady who is very likely too intimidating for most of the men around here.
He cooked most of the meal, assisted by another friend, A, who I did not know well before that night and now absolutely cannot wait to spend more time with. SHe is hilarious.
Dinner consisted of a venison stew (with venison provided by the last guest, a boy named S on whom J2 has wasted far too much time), kale with mushrooms that J1 smuggled back from Sweden (I made him promise not to tell me where he'd stashed them at customs), a beet and goat cheese salad, a radish salad with sumac, roasted sweet potatoes and celeriac, and mashed potatoes. He also made, special for me (the only vegetarian) a quinoa dish with two kinds of mushrooms.
We started with a Monastrell, followed it with a Chilean Syrah (which was perfect for both mushrooms and venison), and moved on to a Reserva Tempranillo. This doesn't sound as bad when I don't mention the pre-dinner cocktails (the BH and I had beer, but martinis were available) or the fact that we wound up having a very pricey bottle of J2's Cabernet Sauvignon with dessert.
Dessert consisted of a Stilton, Lazy Lady's Lady in Blue cheese, and Green Mountain's Boucher Blue, as well as a soft goat cheese and a soft cow's milk cheese.
J1 also brought out a kumquat marmalade that he had made and a large bowl of nuts.

The weather was atrocious, and honestly, after working all day and a brief shopping stint with my transvestite friend, the last thing I wanted was to leave the house. Bad enough that I had to park the car at the bottom of our hill, but walking to J & J's and then walking home after was not something I was looking forward to. Luckily I am not one to cancel plans, because it would have been our loss had we not braved the journey. (Actually, come to think of it, I need to go find somebody's grandchild so I can tell them without exaggeration how I walked uphill, both ways, in the snow.) The dining room at their place has several windows, which provided a great view of the surprise thunderstorm that happened just after we'd finished eating (I use the term "finished" loosely, of course). It was beautiful and amazing, and I was sorry not to have brought my camera. The next day my friend C told me that he had been working at the Local Restaurant when it happened, and that everyone- customers and staff alike, had gone outside to look at it. We eventually went outside ourselves, standing on the covered porch in our jackets and staring in disbelief.

So I mentioned this S fellow. J2 did not mention to me that he would be attending. Not that it would have kept me home, mind you, but I was surprised because she and I had had many, many conversations about what a complete douche he was after he had repeatedly blown her off when they were dating last year. She met the BH and I at the front door of their building, and just as I was about to go into the apartment she hissed over her shoulder that he was inside, and told me to "be nice." Heh.
So I went inside, and while I was taking off my boots I heard J1 ask S

"What do you do?"

"Federal Law Enforcement," he replied, sticking out his hand (which was attached to the kind of over-developed arm you expect to find on an insecure man who spends most of his time at a gym). I smirked to myself.

Later, J2 asked me to guess what she had done that morning.

"I don't know... went running in the snow? Went to the gym?"

"No, I flew a helicopter over Boston." S looked stricken. This is obviously a man who cannot bear to be outdone by a woman, and he clearly was.

It turns out J2 is going to go back into the army to become a pilot.

"Cool!" was my response.

She loved being in the military, and despite the obvious danger, I would like to see her do something she loves. She went on to tell us about the lesson she had taken, and that she would be taking a test this week in upstate New York to see if the military would take her. S remained quiet the whole time, and I thought of a quote that somebody once told me, which I believe was originally said about Marlene Deitrich: "She's more woman than you'll ever have, and more man than you'll ever be." I know the latter half of that statement to be true, now I only hope that J2 also keeps the former true as well.

2011-02-03T20:31:00.002-05:00

I would like to recommend sparked.com to everyone. It is a site dedicated to micro volunteering. It's very easy to use, and you can use your particular skill set to help people in just a few minutes whenever you have a chance. So far I have already done like, four or five things, and I am SO lazy. Most of them have only taken fifteen minutes or less.

2011-02-03T20:25:00.002-05:00

Customer of the day- and I swear to you that I am not kidding, nor am I in any way exaggerating- was a woman walking through the store wearing a sign around her neck that read
I Love You But
I Don't Want A Hug. Please Don't Touch Me."

In other news, a man came to pick up a special order from the meat department. It was around a hundred dollars' worth of quail, and when N brought it out, the man said, with no irony whatsoever
"Oooh, my cat's going to be so excited."

In related news, I heard on the radio today that they are adding 13 more beds to the nearby Nervous Hospital, along with more staff. I'm thinking they may need a few more than that.

2011-01-31T16:55:00.012-05:00

Just came back from a hike in the woods behind our house with the BH and dogs. I took along my camera, which did rather well despite the -1 degree temperature. These aren't perfect, but I am starting to get the hang of it. Here are a few pictures.

2011-01-30T19:00:00.002-05:00

In case anyone was wondering if the customers were the biggest problem at my job, here is your answer:
Our manager, who is smart and patient and calm and generally a delightful person, has had complaints lodged against him this week by three employees. Two were offended by his use of the term "pow wow" to describe meetings that he is forced to have with the entire kitchen staff (because they are all constantly complaining and do not like the kitchen manager) because it is supposedly racist; while one actually went to the HR guy to complain of his use of signing off correspondence with the word "Cheers." One example of this was a note which he wrote and put in everyone's mailboxes along with a small treat after the very busy holiday season:

Dear (Staff Member's Name),
Thanks for all of your hard work last week. We had record sales and the store looked great. Customer service was fantastic and I really appreciate everything blah blah blah.
Cheers,
(Beleaguered Manager)

Seriously. These people should try working for a fucking living. None of them would last five minutes in a restaurant environment.

2011-01-27T10:48:00.002-05:00

The weekend was busy at the Local Grocery. We also had dinner at P and M's house, where the BH finally met some people that he feels comfortable with. It was a lovely time, and we stayed much later than usual despite his having to be at work at 6am. I also found out that P and I are applying for the same job at the LG. I feel fairly certain that I am the most qualified candidate for the position, and I am not sure why P would even apply, but whatever. I think our friendship will survive regardless. The position is Wine Buyer, and it has more hours and more pay per hour than my current position, so please cross your fingers for me. I enjoy my current job well enough, but I am growing a bit bored of it, honestly.
I went to the dentist again on Monday. The bottom left quadrant is now completed, and I have a temporary wax cover on the lower right problem child tooth. I couldn't get an appointment to actually fix said tooth until the 9th of February, after which it will be an additional two weeks before the permanent cap is molded. I would complain, but it could be much, much worse, so I think I won't.
Photography class is going very well. I feel good about the (borrowed) money I've spent already, having learned something in each of the two classes that has vastly improved both my understanding of my camera and my abilities with it. At some point I will surely post some pictures. This is not that point.
In other news, the b.h. has been cooking up a storm, and being broke has kept us at home most nights eating well and going to bed early. I feel pretty good considering how cold it's been. (Did I mention seventeen below? Yes- Monday morning. Seventeen below. And my fourteen-year-old car started right up.) Now it's eleven degrees and feels perfectly balmy. My parents are dying for us to visit them in Florida, but lack of funds has me betting we won't get there before March. We'll see.

2011-01-20T22:20:00.002-05:00

Another day, another dental incident.
I got a call first thing Wednesday morning from the dentist's office. The receptionist told me she could fit me in at 4:30, but I said I would have to leave town at five (for my new photography class- woo hoo!), and so could we make it four instead? She said she already had somebody booked at four, but then mumbled something about "whoever gets here first." Stupid? Yes. But I showed up at ten til and got right in. The dentist said that he was going to make a new cap thingie, and I told him maybe we should try one more time with the current one. It is, after all, made of gold and cost several hundred dollars. And since I don't have to pay for a new one, he will be taking a loss. So he agreed and put it back on. I have an appointment on Monday to fix the bottom left side anyway, so I figured I'd give it a whirl.

I went to my new photography class with J. It was great. The instructor looks like a guy I miss terribly from Athens. I have already learned a few things. I am thrilled.

So I got home, had a beer, ate some dinner - complete with croutons on my salad thanks to my newly repaired teeth - and hit the couch to watch teevee with the BH. And then, halfway through my ice cream, it happened again. Shit.

2011-01-18T09:41:00.002-05:00

I went to the dentist on Monday last. I am waiting for my next (third in a series of what I hope will only be three) gold partial cap thing to be made, and then next Monday I will go have it put on. I am trying to look at this process not as an enormous expense, but rather as a savings account that I secretly carry around with me. (Gl3nn B3ck tells me that the value of gold is skyrocketing, after all, on his commercials for the gold company as well as on his slobbering, angry "news" show, so it must be true).
So after work the other day, I went over to A and D's to watch a movie. I finally got a tin of toffee that I had been meaning to pick up from her since Christmas. And then on Sunday, I came home from work and, while standing in the doorway taking off my boots, popped a piece of said toffee into my mouth. Some of the toffee had not set properly, and this piece was one of those. It was not hard but not soft- a sticky in-between that called to mind a Sugar-Daddy pop, for those of you old enough and American enough to remember. So I took off my boots, went upstairs, and then, losing the patience that is requires to allow the melting of said toffee, bit into it heartily. When I pried apart my jaws, the two gold partial cap thingies that I had had put on in November stayed with the toffee, leaving me momentarily confused and eventually a bit sore. Luckily, I realized what was happening before I actually swallowed the toffee, as I shudder to think of the options that I would have been presented with otherwise.
I left a message with the dentist and was given an appointment yesterday at 4:15.
Eating was unpleasant but not impossible (I still have a temporary wax cover on the back left side, and the right having a large, temperature-sensitive hole meant that I tried to stick to soft and lukewarm foods until then), and I got through the day without incident.
I waited half an hour or so when I got there, and then there was some trouble with the front cap thingie, but I was home but a quarter to six. And then, at nine-thirty, while eating a sandwich, I lost one of them again.

Sigh.

It's going to be a long day off.

2011-01-15T23:13:00.002-05:00

The Kitchen Manager came up to me at the LG while I was talking to my friend Nate.

"Sthorry to interrupt you guys," he lisped, but I thought you'd want to sthee this."

From his pocket he pulled a plastic bag of the quart-sized Zipl0ck variety. He reached into it and pulled out a wad of kitchen towels. Nate and I looked at each other.

"This came back with our laundry for the kitchen," he said, unrolling the towels to reveal a pair of small men's tighty whitey underwear.

"What the hell- is that guy doing our towels at home or what?!"

"I don't know. I'm going to sthee what they have to sthay about thisth."

Gross, gross, gross. I don't wash my underthings with my kitchen towels at home, and I certainly don't expect that the food service towels I use at work will be washed with such items, either.

In other news, Sven was vexed yet again by an unanswerable customer. I was "fluffing" the wine stacks (which basically means taking bottles out of the boxes on the bottom to fill up the top box, thus creating the illusion of a full display)when he approached me and said exasperatedly

"Did you hear that? One of 'those people' (the rich, mindless liberals, yuppies, egomaniacs, or any combination thereof, which make up the bulk of our customer base at the LG) just came up and I asked her if I could help her find anything, and she said she was looking for Parmesan. I showed her where it was, and she goes That's not from Italy, it's organic!"

"What did you say?"

"What could I say? I just said OKAY, and walked away. These people, they're just- aaargh!"

I think Sven needs a blog.

2011-01-12T14:44:00.004-05:00

It has been snowing steadily all day, possibly since last night. I was due in at the LG at one p.m., but I called at noon to see how busy it was. There was no way for me to drive there, and I wouldn't mind walking if they actually needed me, but I would hate to trudge all the way there and find out that there are no customers and not much work to be done. Which was exactly the case, so I took the day off.
The BH and I trudged down the hill to the other grocery instead. We got a couple bags of supplies and then hunkered down with books and movies. Sometimes bad weather is a good thing.

2011-01-11T18:30:00.010-05:00

The BH has been sick for the past few days. Today he woke up feeling mostly better except for a bad case of cabin fever, so I decided we would drive up to the Northeast Kingdom for a pizza. We have both been very disappointed at not having seen a moose yet, and a co-worker mentioned that the best way to find one was just to drive around up there, so we figured we'd kill two birds with one stone.

The day was sunny and beautiful, which made for a terrific drive. It was too cold to actually get out in it, but we managed to snap a few pictures out of the car windows.

If you look closely, you will see that the farmers on our tractor crossing signs have jaunty little hats.

I can't for the life of me figure out what happened to this tree...

We stopped for lunch at Parker Pie (I will refrain from posting pictures of our pizzas and beer), and then drove around aimlessly and took pictures.

This is the kind of thing I would really like to spend more time doing. Cabin Fever? Cured. Now I'm looking forward to photography class so I can learn how to do this properly.

2011-01-07T19:43:00.001-05:00

Oddfellows Local 151 is experiencing a shakeup.
There has been a Very Big Issue which I have avoided discussing because it's pretty hard to talk about without giving too much away. Suffice to say that an employee has been terminated for stealing, and there are differing views as to said employee's guilt or innocence, and it has caused quite a huge rift between members of the Local Grocery Staff.
I volunteered to be present for the entire arbitration process, serving as a note taker for the Union Rep who was representing the Terminated Employee. As such, I have access to more information than the rest of the members of the Oddfellows Local 151, and as far as I can tell I am not at liberty to share all of the details. Because of this, I have had to sit by and listen to other members of the OL151 blather on incoherently, misrepresenting facts and basically accusing Management and other employee/union members of everything from vindictive lying to outright fascism. So essentially, the Local Grocery has developed it's own Tea Party.
I have tried to remain fairly neutral, and in some cases I have attempted to point out errors and holes in the arguments brought forth by said Tea Partiers, to no avail. I have argued for civility, and for reason, and my arguments are mostly falling on deaf ears. In true TP fashion, they keep shouting louder and never listen to anything anyone else has to say, even people who know more than they do.

It has been ugly.

The holidays were an eternity.

And finally, after the meeting on my birthday, the President of Oddfellows Local 151 stepped down. I have not spoken to this person yet, but I understand that their exit was marked by a tirade against our Representative from the National Union. This is interesting to me because when I spoke to the Former President on many, many occasions previously, arguing for more neutrality and suggesting that our Rep was stoking the fires of discontent unnecessarily, the FP told me in no uncertain terms that I was wrong and that they fully backed both the Rep and the LG Tea Partiers. I have no idea what will happen now. I have been asked by both an officer of OL151 and a Store Manager to run for president. I will do no such thing, of course, having no idea how the union really works and no real sense of the history of relations between Management and the Union beyond the past year.
I will, however, do everything I can to make sure that the next President is not bi-polar.

2011-01-06T11:15:00.005-05:00

Stayed in bed for ages this morning. I was about to get up at nine, feeling very rested and refreshed, when Kilgore thumped back up the stairs and climbed in on the BH's side of the bed. Well, I certainly didn't want to hurt his feelings, so I rolled back over and dozed off.
When I finally did manage to peel myself out of bed (after ten), I came downstairs to find that the BH had made me an apple pancake for my birthday. Fabulous.
We ate and we drank coffee and we lounged about on the couch under many blankets and read books all morning. Then I went to meet A for another cup of coffee and a birthday pastry. After that I stopped by the Local Grocery for a meeting of the Oddfellows Local 151 (more on that later).
This evening A was playing a show at the 3 Bean Cafe in Randolph. The BH and I left early and got there before everyone. I had an eggnog latte (more sugar, which is obviously what I needed) and he had coffee and we read the paper for a bit. Eventually A and D and some other friends showed up and we all ordered dinner and A played a lovely show, solo and acoustic, to a crowd of maybe twenty people (which was actually full capacity). It was a very nice and very low-key birthday.
We went home and had apple cranberry pie (the BH made two pies on Tuesday, but I forgot to mention them. Also forgot to mention the chocolate cake that Pete made for me. I can't believe my pants still fit.) and beer. You'd be surprised how well they go together. Next week I am due for a dental appointment. That seems timely.

2011-01-05T09:59:00.004-05:00

Last night the BH and I went to our friends house to brew beer. When we arrived, most of the ingredients were already in a pot, bubbling away on the stove.
I have always been hesitant about home brewing. For one thing, the BH and I don't have the space. Also, we lack the time and the money. And it seems like an operation that requires some level of sterilization, like you might want to have a hyper-clean and sanitized set of tools, etc.
So we walked in and Pete was at the stove, stirring with a wooden spoon, talking shit and, um, smoking with the other. Meanwhile, our friend Sticks was pouring beer and playing with his daughter and her cabbage patch doll on the floor. He handed Pete a snifter full of something dark. I noticed, among other things, pine needles in the pot. There was also a cloth bag bound with string, similar to a tea bag, if the tea bag were constructed by a blind toddler with only three fingers. Pete sent around each bag of hops before adding it to the pot so that we could smell them. I could tell the difference between them, but they were relatively similar in that they were all citrusy and/or piney types that I very much enjoy. It's good to get to smell them individually because there are some varieties I don't like and being able to identify them would save me shelling out for a bottle that I don't end up liking. (Wow. that was a poorly constructed sentence. But you get the gist, right?) After the yeast and hops were added, Pete brought in a five gallon bucket from the back deck that was mostly full of water that had been outside in the snow all day.
Anyway, by the time it was through cooking, Pete was at least a couple of sheets to the wind. I went into the kitchen to help him strain the mixture from the pot on the stove into the bucket of nearly freezing water. The bucket has a thermometer on the side, and we had to make sure that the mixture stayed below a certain temperature. So Pete puts the World's Smallest Strainer on top of the bucket and starts pouring the pot of hot liquid through it. I am just about to grab hold of the strainer to keep it steady when the giant tea bag comes flying out, plopping directly onto the strainer and overflowing it. Again I reached for the strainer, but Pete, not noticing, kept pouring, and the whole thing fell noisily into the bucket.

"Well, shit," said Pete. He fished the strainer out with his bare hand.

"Should we transfer it back to the bucket and strain it again?"

"Nah, fuck it. We'll strain it at the next stage."

Oh. So, not an exact science then.

2011-01-05T09:37:00.003-05:00

On Monday I went to yoga class out in Plainfield. I was lucky to get there early, because it wound up being quite full. This is, of course, great news for my friends who run the yoga studio. At this time last year I was literally their only Monday night student. For me it just means I will have to remember to always leave early, and try to remember and avoid the people who smell funny. Z wrote a great post the other day about smells. I haven't much to add to it, really, except that the kind of people who attend yoga classes and shop at natural foods stores are very often the kind of people who douse themselves in oils that make me sneeze. I wonder if my avoidance of all things scented (dishwashing soap, laundry soap, dryer sheets, lotion) is making me more sensitive? Hmmm.
It is snowing outside again. On Sunday, a woman came into the Local Grocery who works at a ski resort. She and Sven had a lengthy conversation about the weather (Sven's favorite subject, apparently ever since he saw the Al Gore documentary) which concluded with him saying
"There's no snow in the forecast" in a tone that most people reserve for phrases like
"The diagnosis doesn't look good", or perhaps "He's not breathing."

She, of course, shook her head and walked off feeling like crap, because her job depends on the snow.
I looked at Sven with disbelief.

"Since when is the forecast any indication of what the weather might bring? Come on, man! Just by saying that there is no snow in the forecast, you have just doomed us to certain snow. Probably feet of it."

"You're probably right," he said, glumly.

Gods I hope he snaps out of this soon.

2011-01-03T15:09:00.007-05:00

Some random photography:

This is the road that we took through the Northeast Kingdom on Christmas. I swear we didn't pass more than twenty cars in the whole hour. It was beautiful, if a bit ominous.

This shot was snapped by the BH (the artist formerly known as the b.h., whose new name was given my my voice recognition software. We had a long and heated argument about it, the software and I, but in the end it one) in the middle of the day last week. He was coming out of the neighbor's garage and walked straight over to our house. I'm a bit nervous about it, actually. I thought this was one potential trouble we could forget about for the season.

This picture is a good example of why I need a photography class. Adorable but not very well lit. Two more weeks! I can't wait.

2011-01-02T10:08:00.003-05:00

Kilgore and I are sitting on the couch, coffeeless. Did I mention the b.h. killed the coffee maker? Second one. The auto-drip maker died a few months ago, and we've been using the French press since, partially out of financial necessity and partially out of laziness. Anyway, KG probably doesn't need the caffeine, but I could use the help.

I am sneaking peeks, between reading, of the kitchen, which is a total disaster after the delightful dinner we had last night (bruschetta with form d'ambert blue cheese, port-soaked caramelized onions, and toasted walnuts, followed by crepes with some kind of black-eyed pea concoction), and I should really get off my ass and clean it up. I wish I liked caffeinated tea. Also, the beer bottles are really starting to pile up over in the "dining" room. I actually kind of resent the returnable bottle situation.

If they were actually reusing them, like the soda companies did when I was a kid, then I would be thrilled. As it is they just seem to throw the glass around at the redemption center. I know I have heard them break. I have no idea what they use them for, but I would much rather just leave these things at the curb, and nickel apiece be damned.

Sigh.

So I guess I'll be washing up now, then.

2011-01-01T14:48:00.004-05:00

Well, here I am then. It has been far too long, but finally I'm back. I am posting for the first time using my new Dragon voice recording device. It's a bit awkward at the moment, but I think I will get used to it. At any rate, I'm enjoying not having to type.
On Christmas Eve we visited our friends Pat and Mary and shared a nice meal and some beer. When we returned home, we opened a few of the gifts that had been piling up in our living room. The BH's family was far too generous as usual. I now have plenty of warm socks, as well as more books and CDs and movies than I know what to do with. I'm already halfway through Sex and Bowls and Rock 'n Roll, but the Mark Twain autobiography is so large as to be a bit intimidating.
Christmas turned out very well. In the morning we phoned our families and wished them a happy holiday. Then we opened the rest of our presents together, ate some Christmas cookies, and headed out. We drove to Canada to see my friend Yanick and his family. There were about 20 people, and only five of them spoke English. Not having spent much time in a foreign country*, I found the whole experience really interesting. Everyone was very friendly of course, and those who did speak English went out of their way to speak to us so that we wouldn't feel out of place. Yanick's aunt and uncle spend their winters in Florida and they speak reasonably good English, so we had a long talk with them about the merits of traveling in the South. The food was fantastic, and it was really interesting to sit at the dinner table and just let all of the French words kind of wash over us. A bit overwhelming at times, but a very good experience. I hope we get to visit Yanick and Anick in Québec City before we move.
Last week, work was ridiculous yet again. I spent a lot of my time helping panicked customers choose just the right champagne for their holiday meals. Yesterday's customer of the day was a guy who, when Sven asked me to hand him some Bucheron, remarked that it was amazing that I knew exactly what he meant.
"Yeah," I sniggered to Sven as the man walked away. "And when I asked the carpenter for hammer he knew exactly what I was talking about! Crazy!"
Sven has been in a very sour mood this week and it's making my life really difficult. I have half a mind to call in tomorrow just so I don't have to deal with it. I won't of course, cursed as I am with a work ethic, but the thought is nice. The BH is working in the kitchen tomorrow anyway so it's not like we could do anything fun.
Last night we were invited to the neighbors' house for a New Year's celebration. It was the only chance that we were possibly going to leave the house since we have a strict "No New Year's" rule here. After years of bartending, neither of us is particularly keen on amateur night.
Other than that I don't have a lot of news, honestly. I've signed up for a photography class which will start in three weeks, and with my new toy here I'm hoping to get some more writing done. This post has taken me a lot longer than it would have had I simply typed it, but once I get used to it I'm sure it'll be better.
I will try to get around to posting some pictures soon. Happy new year, everyone.

*You may remember that we spent a very short time in Tiajuana a few years back, but that was interesting for reasons other than the language barrier.

2010-12-23T21:20:00.001-05:00

I don't feel like it's Christmas time at all. I keep telling myself that I have time to take care of the things I want to do before the holidays, but unless The Holidays extends to Fat Tuesday, it appears I am mistaken. Oh well. Maybe next year then.

2010-12-19T21:43:00.003-05:00

The Customer of the Day (this was a tough competition today) was a woman who was browsing wine. I approached her and asked
"Is there anything I can help you find?"
She answered, in a very irritable tone "I really just want to be left alone okay?"

Seriously. The holidays to things to people. I can't fucking wait until this is over. Please keep in mind, everybody, that as much as you hate shopping at this time of year, many of us are there because we have to be.

2010-12-16T09:53:00.002-05:00

I have been suffering from swollen and aching knuckles on my fingers for the last three weeks or so. It started as soon as the weather got very cold, and I was assuming it was a kind of arthritis or some such. When I got to the dermatologist on Tuesday, she informed me that it was a skin condition.
"That's your skin trying to tell you your fingers are chilly. Do you have it on your toes as well?" Affirmative. "Frost bite is your skin telling you it's freezing. This is telling you it's chilly."
She went on about bad circulation, etc. Told me to get another pair of gloves to put under my gloves and to wear while I work, and then told me to be more mindful of my temperature. I spent yesterday at work realizing that my hands are basically always cold and that my job causes it. This means that I either need new hands or a new job. I know which one I'd rather have.
My hands are cold even as I type this. My index fingers look as if I've slammed them in a car door. It's bizarre to me what I am able to simply ignore. Weird. I guess this means it's off to the sporting goods store for glove liners today.

In other news, I helped my transvestite friend shop again the other day. It all happened rather by accident. We were meeting up for another reason completely, which turned into stopping off at the drug store, where I helped him figure out barrettes and makeup remover and then held them in my hands while we checked out (he paid, but it's a small town and you never know who you might run into).
We then stopped at a small boutique store. He is looking for a little black dress. The first store had nothing of the sort, and the second one, which is going out of business, had loads of things. And at 50 to 80% off, they were very nearly reasonably priced. He did not feel comfortable talking out loud there, and certainly not trying anything on, but we talked quite a bit and I got an idea what he was looking for. Next we headed over to TeeJay Max where the prices were much more reasonable. He had never been. I was looking for a bra and he came over and we discussed underpants. It never occurred to me that he might not know the difference between a bikini and a hi-cut. Also, "boy pants" were rather ironic, under the circumstances. I had no idea what to tell him about how they would fit- I mean, they will obviously fit him rather differently, right? So yeah. He took one of each, and we got a couple camisoles and some tights. When we got into sweaters and such, we would hold a sweater up to me to see how the size looked, and when it looked like it fir me we jumped up a size for him. After all this we again went to check out and again acted like it was all for me and he paid. There's something really entertaining about all of the subterfuge. Unnecessary, I think, but amusing nonetheless. And since it isn't my private life, I don't have to feel uncomfortable about it.

2010-12-09T10:22:00.003-05:00

Oh gods just saw a commercial for something called dragon, which allows you to speak to your computer and it will type for you. WANT! I would be such a better blogger if I could just run my mouth rather than having to type.
That is all. More later when I am in the mood to type (see?).

2010-12-07T11:34:00.001-05:00

The rest of our trip to North Carolina was fairly uneventful. The weather was nice enough on Friday that the b.h. and I decided to drive to the beach and watch the sunset. We went through the town of Kittyhawk, but failed to see any of the Wright Brothers monuments and whatnot because we didn't really have the time or inclination. Friday evening we went to the grocery store to get ready for Saturday's Big Day of Cooking.
Saturday I left the b.h. in the kitchen and went out with his mom and sister. We poked around in some antique stores and I took a bunch of pictures. I also bought a colorful set of pint glasses from Italy.
Dinner was fabulous and gone in practically an instant. Everyone was surprised to find that not only was the quinoa stuffing edible, but it was actually delicious- and better than the traditional stuffing that his sister insisted that his mom make. For a bunch of open-minded people, they really are funny about food, and they can't imagine how a vegetarian functions in this world. After eight years with this family, I find it quite perplexing.
On Sunday we rode with the b.h.'s sister and her husband up to D.C. I slept through most of the drive. We had a snack when we got there, and then we all went straight to a nearby Imax theater to see the new Harry P0tter movie. It was perfectly enjoyable, but I am still not convinced that the giant screen was worth paying double the ticket price.
We had dinner reservations at one of Jose Andres' restaurants. I can't remember the name of it at the moment, but it had food from Lebanon, Turkey, and that general vicinity. It was all delicious. I ate every bit of everything, and only just managed to refrain from licking each tapas plate before it left the table. We went to bed quite early after that.
On Monday, we were left to our own devices while the others went to work. We got up fairly early and rode the Metr0 down to the national mall. We walked over to the Washington Monument, The Lincoln Memorial, and the FDR and Jefferson Memorials before catching a train to meet the b.h.'s good friend J for lunch. It was around fifty degrees and sunny outside, so it was a perfect day for walking and sightseeing.
Lunch was delightful. I met J's girlfriend for the first time. The food was great and conversation flowed freely. I have only met J a couple of times, but he and the b.h. are best friends and I feel quite close to him. Also, I got to try a beer from West Virginia that I hadn't had before.
After lunch we got back on the train and went to the National Sculpture Garden (where sculptures ranged from pretty cool to "oh my gods I don't even want to know what they spent on that" and rounded out with what was obviously a representation of female genitalia (in bronze, I believe). After that we went to the National Archives, a dimly lit room filled with founding documents and security guards. Despite how that might sound, it was incredibly interesting. I love seeing some of those things crossed out and corrected.
We left the archives and got a cup of coffee before wandering over to the Capitol Building. My feet and knees were killing me by this point, but I wanted to see everything so I just sort of dealt with it. I was walking like a hundred-year-old, but I was walking.
You have to call in advance and make an appointment to tour the Capitol, so we just walked around outside and took pictures. We also walked past the Supreme Court and Library of Congress, bu by this time it was very late and nothing was open. We took the train back and packed our things, and left soon after for the airport, which was once again virtually empty. The flight back was bumpy but otherwise uneventful.

2010-12-04T18:54:00.002-05:00

We got to the house and unloaded our bags from the car. The b.h.'s mom (I really must come up with a shorter name for her) then took me around the house, showing off the secret cupboards, the creepy elevator, and all of the beautiful small details like keyhole covers and light fixtures and knobs.
The bathroom in the guest room was something I found particularly interesting. The b.h. said that he was sure there was a name for this type, so perhaps one of you can help me: Picture if you will a carton of a dozen eggs. The first two eggs represent the guest loo off of our room, the next four eggs represent the shower, and the other six represent the loo on the other side, which one would enter from the hallway. The shower has sliding doors on both sides and access from either, and if you left it open on both sides you could conceivably say, share the morning paper with the person on the toilet in the other room. Whenever I went to use ours, I would go out into the hallway and shut the room from that side. The one time I forgot to do this I was alarmed at just how much activity I could hear in the rest of the house while I was, uh, doing my business. (Luckily nobody came up the stairs until I was done.)
The tub was very, very deep, the tile was beautiful, and the water pressure and temperature were fantastic. The sink on our side was hilariously small, and I found myself cocking my head sideways in a very awkward way while brushing my teeth or washing my face so as to avoid soaking the whole floor, but it was very convenient to be have a bathroom of our own.

We had a short time to sit and relax before we were expected for dinner across the street, so I perused Momma B.H.'s books. I found one on the history of beer in America and a new Maisie Dobbs and settled into a chair to commence relaxation.

We walked across the street an hour after our original invitation time, because MBH had called over and they reported that the turkey was taking longer than they expected. Paul opened the door to greet us. He is a huge man - apparently he used to play professional football. He greeted us warmly and led us inside, where exactly one other person was seated on a leather couch that could have held every person I know in Vermont. Grace stood and introduced herself, and like Paul she towered over all of us (The b.h. is slightly shorter than me and his parents are even shorter). Martha was n the kitchen and called out to us, promising to come see us as soon as she had things under control.
We made our way around the couch, which took up most of the living room, and spread out along it. I felt like Lilly Tomlin on Sesame Street. Paul asked each of us for a drink order, offering a local white wine (which I knew full well was going to be incredibly sweet but didn't really care)and bringing us each a glass.
Now, a brief explanation of Martha and Paul. They are both retired teachers from Buffalo, New York. They moved to town to get away from the harsh Northern winters and went back to teaching on a government program (don't ask me which one because I can't remember). He is the football coach and she teaches Home Economics. He is black, and she is white, and this is important because in E. City, like many small Southern towns, it is still 1955 and this is not normal. Paul explained that the black folks in town think he had no business marrying a white woman, and that if he was going to do so he should at very least have the decency to live in the black part of town. Paul and Martha chose their house not because of their neighbors but because, as he put it, "It's the kind of house I have always wanted." So they are very happy that the b.h.'s parents, being open-minded, have moved in across the street.
We were treated to a bizarre and often hilarious account of all of the neighbors, including a woman we had seen earlier who apparently lets her dog shit on everyone else's lawn all the time and then called the police when Paul came over to her house to return one such package on the end of a shovel, claiming that there was "a Big Black Man coming at (her) with a shovel."
Grace shared some thoughts about local politics and then said that she was working with a coach "to help her feel more positive and be more positive about myself and where I want my life to go" (so yes- a life coach). Martha eventually came out to get a drink and explain that the turkey was almost ready. Everyone was very nice and talk flowed freely and easily, but I was reminded why I am glad to live in the Big City (population 8000).
Dinner was lovely, but MBH had failed to tell our hosts that I am a vegetarian, so they (mortified) put out a small log of goat cheese and extra bread at my place, apologizing profusely for the meat in every dish. I had expected as much, because I lived in the South for a long time (and I have also known MBH a long time), and assured them that I would be just fine with the potatoes and cranberry sauce and cheese. I ate a lot of cheese and bread and butter and hoped that I still had another granola bar in my bag back at the house.

2010-11-30T20:59:00.002-05:00

The b.h. and I went to visit his parents for Thanksgiving. They recently bought a house (which will serve as their retirement home) in the Outer Banks region of North Carolina. We flew out on Thanksgiving, which was great, because while the day before Thanksgiving is the busiest day of the year in airports across the country, the actual holiday was quite the opposite. We were prepared for the worst, arriving at the tiny airport in Burlington two hours in advance only to find t quiet as a tomb. Security was pleasant, I didn't get the porn camera or get felt up, and everyone was very pleasant overall. We flew to New York on a plane that actually had propellers (pictures later when I am less lazy) with a delightfully cheerful flight attendant. LaGuardia was also quite empty. It would have been an ideal time to film a post-apocalyptic zombie movie. Unfortunately that wasn't happening. Our flight to Norfolk was also uneventful, except for the enraged flight attendant. While entering the plane, I passed him and made the mistake of asking "How'ya doing?", to which he responded "I'm working on Thanksgiving, that's how I'm doing" in his angriest gay Southern man accent. The b.h. snorted with laughter behind me. We were sitting across the aisle from one another in the second row of the plane, from which vantage point we were treated to his tearing every soda angrily from it's six pack holder and then slamming it into the refrigerator, then every cabinet in his tiny compartment. He also complained loudly to each employee that was silly enough to speak to him. I text messaged my friend A in giddy anticipation of an in flight meltdown. Once everyone was seated though, he managed to find his game face.
We landed and called the b.h.'s parents, who were on their way to pick us up. While we waited outside, I watched two men trying in vain to jump start a car that was in the fire lane, standing right in front of the entrance to the airport. I was tempted to go and help them, because what they were actually doing was repeatedly flooding the engine while not waiting long enough for the battery to take a charge, but I refrained, since the last thing a man (and especially a Southern Man) wants is to be told by a woman how to fix his car.
In the car, the b.h.'s mom chatted happily away to us while looking more often at the rear view mirror than the road in front of her. We were to have Thanksgiving Dinner on Saturday, since the b.h.'s sister and her husband wouldn't be down until Friday night. Halfway back to the house, the b.h.'s mom said
"Oh, I forgot to tell you about dinner."
to which his father responded
"You didn't tell them?"
with just enough incredulity in his voice that I became truly worried.
After an incredibly draw-out explanation, we discovered that we would be having Thanksgiving Dinner at the home of their neighbors across the street who had "a bunch of stragglers" coming for the holiday.
This is why I hate holidays.

No, You Don't.

2010-11-30T20:46:00.004-05:00

So one of the pet peeves of the cheese department employees is people who come in and tell us how much cheaper they get certain cheeses at other stores. I don't know if this happens in other departments or not, but our cheeses are marked up in a very standard way. Some of them are probably more expensive than they are at other stores, but I also know for a fact that some of them are a lot less expensive. There are various reasons for this, none of them having anything to do with our trying to screw anybody out of fifty cents.
They are also cut and wrapped (for the most part) in house, and there is virtually always somebody on staff who can let you have a taste, cut any order to size, and help you find exactly what you are looking for. This is not the case at the chain stores. For some reason, people do not seem to recognize this, and not only do they not get it, but they feel the need to tell us about it. One thing that is repeatedly said is "I have to tell you..." followed by what kind of cheese they got for how much and at which other store.

In another stunning display of customer ignorance, when I asked a woman what I could help her find, she responded:
"You guys really need a Trader J0e's here. I can't afford what I want."
That one left me speechless.

2010-11-20T19:48:00.003-05:00

The Customer of the Day today was a woman who I first notices as she threw (and I mean literally THREW) a piece of soft-ripened cheese back into the display case after checking the price. I went over to move it(because in addition to brutalizing it she had put it in the wrong fucking place, of course) and noticed that she was now clawing her way through a pile of brie.

"Let me help you with that," I said very loudly, from just behind her shoulder.She jumped, not having seen me.
"Can I help you find something?"
"No, because you don't have what I'm looking for." She was still at it. I swear she must have touched every single piece.
"And what exactly are you looking for?"
"I need a piece of brie that's four dollars and seventeen cents."
"You're right. We don't have that."

2010-11-19T22:57:00.004-05:00

Betty was a bartender. She can't hear very well, so she and I tend to have very lengthy conversations without much information actually being exchanged. The other day I had just clocked out and picked up a six pack to take home when we had our first real conversation, during which I found out that she really enjoys working in the deli (she is positively ALONE in this feeling), and that she thinks it should be more "fun." Maybe that's why she thinks the deli should be more "fun".

"I don't know why everybody is so afraid of the customers. They just want their stuff and you just have to give it to them. If they have to wait a minute, then tell 'em to wait. It's not a big deal."

She is either insane or a genius. Gods bless her, I hope she makes it work.

There is a manager at work who I am very fond of. She is about four foot eleven, so I will refer to her as The Short manager henceforth. Anyway, TSM and I have an interesting shared history: Waitresses, band managers, vagabonds. She asked me if I wanted to swing by after work the other night for a glass of wine. I did, and we had a great conversation and avoided talking about work as much as possible in order to keep ourselves sane. After a glass each, however, we were both talking about the possibility of leaving, and both talking about not talking about it. Hilarious. It seems we may continue on similar paths.

2010-11-18T21:34:00.005-05:00

On my first assignment for Oddfellows Local 151, I was asked to sit in on a meeting with a member of our grocery department and the Head Grocery Manager. There was another Steward present, not because I hadn't had one of these meetings before but because the grocery employee felt that they needed extra support. It all went fairly smoothly, as far as I could see. The HGM was very calm and neutral and took notes and barely reacted to anything that was told to him. When he seemed slightly defensive I jumped right in and said that I was merely trying to initiate a conversation and that I was not making assumptions, etc, etc. So I was feeling okay about it when the HGM left the room. Except I obviously don't know the history between these two people, and therefore couldn't understand why the employee in question freaked out after he walked out and started accusing him of being "such an asshole" and saying that the whole thing was "total bullshit." I disagreed, and I thought this employee was being a bit dramatic under the circumstances, but didn't say so, choosing rather to tell them that the HGM was supposed to remain neutral and that he said he would take action regarding the complaint. Case closed, one would think. But not. This employee went on a bit of an emotional tangent then, and the facts revealed to me said that the situation was actually caused by something in the employee's past, and then I knew that there was no way for the HGM to fix it because the employee needs help and will otherwise never feel better about the situation. After we spoke for a few minutes, I got up and left, telling the employee to take a moment to relax and then get back to work.
Later I had a short conversation with the other steward, who also had the same reaction to the situation. That steward approached the employee later and had a private conversation offering suggestions on how to deal with the past thing. I also had a quick talk with the HGM and let him know that I was new to the whole situation but that I was not to be viewed as an adversary because I was there to solve problems, not to get him fired. I actually felt pretty good about it. It had taken up about half an hour or forty minutes, but I felt like good headway was made.
Then the next day the Employee approached me again. The issue had not been settled yet, and the employee was very upset, having an emotional meltdown and cussing the HGM behind his back within range of many, many other employees. The employee was also not getting any work done because there was too much drama to be had. I dealt with it as best I could, told the employee to talk to the HGM when he got back the next day, and then got back to my job.
I had two days off, and when I returned I went upstairs to punch in and saw The Employee in a meeting with the HGM, his assistant, and another steward. Then I found out that this employee had included five (!!) other people in an official capacity in this situation. Oy. Later I met with the steward from our original meeting and the steward from that day and told them I was bowing out. This employee was obviously just trying to get as many people as possible on what the employee perceived as their team. Total B.S. What a waste of like, two hours of my time. Ugh. I don't know if I'm cut out for this. It feels rather like high school.

The other major snag, staff/union wise, is the kitchen. I haven't had to deal with that yet, but from what I can tell it's a lot like Israel and Palestine. I believe that makes me Hillary R0dham Clinton.

2010-11-11T20:13:00.003-05:00

The Local Grocery is Unionized. This means decent wages, health insurance, paid time off, and a basic right to be treated like a person. The Union was started at the LG many years ago because there was a General Manager who was a giant pain in the ass - incompetent, unprofessional, and unfair to most of the employees.
So began Oddfellows Local 151, the Local arm of a National Union which is quite powerful in this part of the country. It is required that as a new hire in a non-management position at the LG you join the Union(Managers are not represented, which is one reason why I wouldn't be a manager there if you doubled my wages). Five dollars are taken out of each paycheck in order to pay for the Union's operating expenses.
Recently, OFL151 had an election in which the members chose Stewards. These are people who will represent employees in any "situation" with management. I was one of the people elected to this position, and today was my first official day of OFL151 Steward's Training.
Boy howdy was it exhausting.
There are a lot of rules, a lot of forms, and more information than one could possibly be expected to memorize. Luckily our local Union Rep is very organized and very smart and has been doing this for a long time. We spent the afternoon at a co-worker's house learning our responsibilities and catching up on current Issues that are affecting our membership.
Suffice to say that my brain is full. I am glad to be involved even though I know it will mean more responsibility and more headaches. I'll keep you posted.

2010-11-09T11:00:00.001-05:00

So winter is officially here. The cold isn't anything like it is going to be, but car car has had a thin layer of snow on it for a full 24 hours now, so there's no turning back. Sigh.
In other news, I have been invited to a vegetarian pot luck and craft beer shindig tonight at out beer buyer's house. If I can get my ironing and housework done and get the dogs to the park in time, I will also be going to yoga class for the first time in months. I just discovered, to my delight, that my instructor is a bit Slobberbone fan. Now I just hope I can shut up about that long enough to actually do the yoga.

Speaking of Slobberbone, they're playing a show with the Centro-matic boys (who are currently in Spain, I believe) on New Year's Eve in Dallas. The very thought of it makes me want to go buy a lottery ticket.

2010-11-06T18:01:00.003-05:00

Fair Warning: This is an incredibly boring work rant about something that I am recording because I know I will have to use this guy in the future, when I am writing a TV show about my stupid job(s). Don't waste your time here unless you are very bored, easily amused, or both.*

So there's this guy who used to work at the Local Grocery. He is now a regular customer, and he enjoys talking about wine. The thing is, he talks like he knows everything about it, and then he says things that are completely opposite of what is um, what I believe you might call "common knowledge."
Now, I am not any kind of expert, and I do not claim to be. But if you ask me for a recommendation, and you look at the label and say

"But they don't grow anything there. I used to live there"

I have to wonder how I am supposed to react.

"Apparently they do, because here it is" was my answer. So this guy lived in California maybe twenty or thirty years ago. Okay, whatever.

The next time he comes in we have a conversation about some other kind of wine. Again I give hm several recommendations (at his request, mind you), and again he chooses something else. Fine.

Then another time he tells me how great a particular wine is and I reply that I didn't like it and he looks completely crestfallen. I also am careful to say that Barbara loves it and that it's a Kerm!t Lynch import and therefore I was sure it was a great quality wine, but that it had simply been not my cup of tea. He still seems upset. At that point I swore to Sven that I was never going to talk to Wine Mike about wine again. I have studiously avoided him, ducking into the back or heading for the bathroom when I see him coming. Sven has witnessed every one of these encounters, and he agrees that there s no other solution. He even warns me when he sees Wine Mike coming.
He caught me last weekend when I wasn't paying attention, asked about a particular white Italian wine that was on sale, and I replied vaguely that I had tried it but that it had been a long time, and rattled off a couple of very general details that I remembered (and which he could have read on the big sign that was on the display). He said that these details were "weird" and that they didn't match a regular profile of that type of wine. I didn't really respond to that statement because it was the opposite of what I thought was true (but again, I'm no expert, and what would be the point of arguing that anyway?) but I nodded my head and told him to try it.

"It's really nice. You'll love it."

Today I saw WM long before he saw me, so I made quick eye contact with Sven and motioned that I was disappearing for a minute. I went into the back, checked to see if there was any good cull, chatted briefly with the beer guy, stopped in the kitchen to pick up the cheese cutter, and returned after what I thought was a safe amount of time. It wasn't.

I overheard Sven saying to him

"I don't know, man. I don't drink." (Which is funny, because Sven made me dinner the other night and we shared a lovely bottle of Sauv Blanc.)

I stayed behind the counter, going directly to the sink and trying to look busy in hopes that he would walk away. No such luck. He walked behind the counter, holding the bottle up to me, and started talking about it.
As politely as I could, I said
"Yeah, I remember we talked about that last week."

"You said you hadn't had it." And then he went on to describe the flavor profile exactly as I had said it to him, tropical fruit and blah blah blah, and I said

"I just said that I hadn't had it in awhile and I couldn't remember that much about it."

He looked puzzled.

"But you liked it? That's great."

And then he went off about it again, and again said that the qualities it had were completely atypical to that variety, etc. And again he was wrong. I actually was certain that he was wrong this time, because I looked up the information in a few places and everything I read was consistent with what I said.

Sven was standing behind him, shaking his head.

When Wine Mike finally went away, I was like

"What is the deal here? I mean, what do you think his point is? I cannot for the life of me figure out why he just keeps at it."

"I think he just wants to talk." Sven seemed exasperated as well. "I had to change the subject like three times."

"But why me? We obviously have NOTHING IN COMMON! It's just baffling!"

So that's the end of the story. I am confused and exhausted by this person, and no, he isn't hitting on me. I just think he is one of those socially inept people that seem to gather at the Local Grocery. I sure wish he'd bugger off, though.

*I suppose the same could be said about this entire blog, come to think of it.