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.

We woke up fairly early on Thursday. I had slept very well, despite being next to a window that was directly under The Williamsburg Bridge. K had given us her room, because she is too good to us, and the hum of the traffic and the trains in the background had put me out like a light, so I was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I made coffee, the b.h. took a shower, and soon we were on our way out. We ate breakfast at a small and beautifully decorated restaurant a couple blocks from K's house.



I had an egg sandwich with capers and cream cheese, and K went for granola, fruit, yogurt, and a giant side of bacon. I think the b.h. had steak and eggs. Everything was great. K was wearing a very cool ring, which I attempted to photograph. The results were iffy, but i think the ring speaks for itself:



Our next stop was Green Wood Cemetery. At the turn of the 19th century, this was apparently a top (if not the top) tourist destination, and after having a walk around I could see why. I think my favorite thing there was the statue of Minerva (whom you may also know as Athena) the Goddess of Wisdom. Her statue is waving,



and when you look out toward the harbor, you can see (look closely, now, just above the second set of windows on that white building)




that she is waving at the Statue of Liberty.





Other highlights of this park, which was the site of one of the first battles of the Revolutionary War, are the monument to the soldiers who fought in the Civil War, and a mausoleum guarded by two bronze dogs:





I like the sentiment on this one:



This one left me feeling quite unsettled:



And considering how this one screams "people who *cough* know people", I don't even want to know what Anna did to get her name filled in on this stone:



I took pictures until my battery died. This place was really cool. Is that weird?

"Don't tell them New York City almost killed us again." - The Hold Steady

We got stuck in some crappy traffic in Connecticut, but even still we got to the city in under five hours. When we pulled up in front of K's apartment, she was outside with her roommate, who was eating Ben and Jerry's ice cream out of a carton without the aid of a utensil. We dropped our bags upstairs and headed directly to the subway. We went into Manhattan and walked over to the Empire State Building.

I hadn't been there in well over a decade, and neither the b.h. nor K had ever been. It is, as you might imagine, quite a popular tourist destination, and even at nearly midnight on a Wednesday, there were lines. None of us cared, though, because we had plenty to talk about and lots of people watching to do. My favorite thing about being in such a touristy place is listening to all of the different languages being spoken. The b.h. likes to play "Wher're they from?", where you try to guess people's nationality by appearance and then listen for what language they're speaking to see if you were right. Turns out that Germans were the easiest to spot. The Dutch mostly look just like people from New York (meaning that they have better fashion sense than we do), and the British looked the most like us. Our favorite people in line - we kept passing the same folks, because the lines wound around and around like they do in airport security (or, if you prefer, as I do, an amusement park) - were a British woman and her daughter. Her daughter was probably around ten years old, and she was obviously smart and very friendly and super happy to be there.

Just before the second set of elevators, we were forced through a line where we had our pictures taken. You could hear the photographer from a long way away:

"Cheese.... Cheese.... cheese...."

"You should totally hire that guy," said the b.h. My stomach turned at the mere thought of eating cheese again, but I laughed through the vomit in the back of my throat anyway.

Very few people actually wanted their picture taken, but we weren't given a choice. We arrived at the photographer to find a fake backdrop of the view we were about to see. The logic escaped me, but I saw that they suckered at least a couple of people into it. The three of us agreed to make stupid faces, since we knew we wouldn't be buying them anyway.

The second elevator ride was even less comfortable than the first, since it was totally full, but I was flanked by our British friends and the b.h., so I closed my eyes and thought of wide open spaces. The view was fantastic. The night was odd and misty, so we couldn't see a great distance, but in Manhattan you don't really need to. I wasn't exactly sorry that I couldn't see Jersey. Because of the weird weather, we would occasionally have gusts of steam, or fog, or clouds or some such. I was half expecting Batman to pop out at any moment, and I wondered if he would be descending to the 86th floor from the higher observation deck (which costs fifteen dollars more), or ascending from street level.

My least favorite thing about being with so many tourists is the creeping germophobia that always seems to come over me. Hand rails, fences, elevator buttons, and viewing machines. Virtually every surface likely touched by several hundred people an hour, if not more, and how often do you think they clean that stuff? Uh huh- that's right. Never. On the elevator ride down, I closed my eyes and thought of a giant bottle of hand sanitizer. I should mention that every person who we encountered working in the Empire State Building was polite and friendly, except for the cameraman, who was completely deadpan. When we got back to his post, he and an assistant were trying, carnival-barker style, to get people to purchase a copy of the photo he had taken earlier. I thought the better of our horrible face-making only when I saw the result - all eight by ten inches of it - plastered to a wall where everyone could see it. Egads.
We left in no particular direction, and soon found ourselves in Korea Town, which was convenient because we were quite hungry and one of K's favorite restaurants is there and open 24 hours.
The place had a grotto motif, two stories with one whole wall designed to look like rough, bare rock slabs. In between floors, a small platform jutted out. Said platform was carpeted in red and featured a white baby grand piano.
"I've never seen anybody play that thing," K lamented. "I guess I need to get here at a more civilized hour."
We sat at the same table K always gets seated in, with a clear view of both the platform and the main floor, which were completely empty. The b.h. got something big and meaty, and K ordered a couple vegetarian things for us to split.
The waiter returned a few minutes later with eight small dishes and three small empty plates.
"Which one is which?" I asked K when he left. I recognized the tofu and the kimchi, but there were several things that were unfamiliar.
"Oh, this isn't our dinner. These are just... snacks, I guess. They always bring this stuff."
We ate. The tofu was excellent, and I enjoyed both of the kimchi dishes, as well as the pickled turnip. I had nearly forgotten about the food we had ordered by the time it arrived. The fried kimchi pancake was the best thing by far. They also brought us a bean ice cream (sweet potato flavored, I think) each for dessert. It was delicious.

I had to visit the ladies' room before we left, and was surprised (and rather grossed out) to find a sign requesting that guests not put any paper in the toilet. Now, I am well aware of the damage that can be done to old, fragile plumbing by giant wads of t.p., or, gods forbid, feminine hygiene products, but I do not recall ever having been asked to put all paper in a wastebasket, and I was glad not to be the poor soul who had to empty said wastebasket. I left the bathroom and emerged into the hallway where I discovered a strange phenomenon: there was a very strong breeze, nearly a wind, coming down the hallway. As I came up the stairs from this hallway and into the main part of the restaurant, my hair was blowing like I was in a car going fifty miles an hour with the window down. But the front door wasn't open. Where was this wind coming from? I never found out. Weird.

We got back on the subway and were at K's apartment in short order. The b.h. and I each got a beer from the restaurant downstairs, and turned in.


Korea town, the baby grand, and the curious windtunnel effect of the restroom hallway.

Vacation, Part 1

We're back. I have eaten my weight in pizza and cookies and baked goods, as well as drunk my weight in beer I can't procure in The Green Mountain State.

When we got to Flint, Michigan I was still wide awake. In fact, even at Lansing I felt fine. I imagine that part of it was the leftover adrenaline from driving in a near whiteout just after London, Ontario for about half an hour. Either way, we had crossed into Canada and back, and 180 miles from Chicago I realized that I could in fact make the entire drive in one day. So I called my parents to ask if they might leave a light on, only to be told that we were half an hour from hitting a wall that we would be stupid to try and drive through. The Lake effect Snow that Northwest Indiana and Southern Michigan are famous for was pouring down just past Kalamazoo, five inches in two hours, and where cars had attempted to get through they were piling up. Good that I called, then.
The b.h. and I stopped at a Mot3l Six, where dogs are welcome. He checked us in while I walked the parking lot with the boys. Our room was warm and set apart from other occupied rooms by our request. I took a quick shower and popped open an Old Rasputin Russian Imperial Stout that I had brought along for just such an occasion. At ten and a half percent alcohol, I have oft referred to it as "Mommy's Night Cap". On the television, which was static-ey and broken, every channel featured a map of the state in the corner with the words "Winter Storm Warning" and large red spots beginning at the border of the next county. All anyone could talk about was the massive amount of snowfall. We turned the TV off and tried to sleep.
There were two beds, and since both dogs were nervous (they don't like hotels because they have no idea where they are and there are weird noises in every direction all night long) I suggested we each sleep in a bed with a dog. The b.h. said he would rather sleep with me, so first he and I got in the Left Bed together. Wyatt jumped up after us, and Kilgore wandered around the room whining nervously until I got in the Right Bed with him. Then Wyatt moved over to the Right Red and soon we were all asleep. At some point they managed to crowd me so much that I was overheated, so I climbed carefully out from under the covers and moved back to the Left Bed with the b.h. The next thing I knew Wyatt was back with me, and I was spooned on either side by him and the b.h. I fell back asleep. I woke up again when Kilgore started crying, but before I could register what was happening he stopped. I awoke again, still in the Left Bed, now with Wyatt and the b.h. was in the Right Bed with Kilgore, who was now quiet. When I finally woke in the morning, Kilgore and Wyatt and I were all in the Left Bed, and the b.h. was by himself in the Right. I have no idea how or when that happened. So, a good night's sleep for everybody then.
Despite all that activity, I felt totally refreshed when I woke up, and we were soon back on the road to Chicago. Though we were moving along very quickly, the roads were still quite messy in places and I was glad we had stopped for the night when I saw how many cars were stranded along the way. We reached my parents' house in just over two hours, and were soon enjoying another cup of coffee and some homemade chili for lunch.
For dinner, we went out to Louisa's pizza. This is a tradition whenever we go home, since for some reason there is nothing resembling Chicago pizza anywhere else in the country and since I was raised on it I miss it all the time. Louisa is 87 years old, and she used to work for the guys at Pizzeria Uno and Due (not sure if I spelled that right but I don't like their pizza much so I'm not worried about giving them proper credit) way back in the day. Her restaurant is run by her and her family, and it is full of over-sized photos of her children and grandchildren, and often features Sinatra blaring loudly from the speakers.
Louisa was in attendance that night, and when my mom told her that the b.h. and I were visiting and that we had had her pizza for Christmas dinner, she brought out a plate of shortbread cookies for the table.
"These were made by my Irish friend, but they're pretty good. I cut my hand so I didn't bake my Italian cookies for Christmas, but I'm making some tomorrow so if you come back later in the week make sure you call ahead and I'll put some aside for you. These here are Irish, but they're very good anyway."
And so we were home.

On Sunday, the b.h. and I packed the dogs in the car and drove to Salem, Massachusetts. It seemed like a good place to see in October. We had looked in a book we have about traveling in New England, and there were maps of walking tours and some others things to do and see. We knew it would be crowded, because I had talked to a regular customer who had been there a couple weeks ago, but we weren't quite prepared for exactly how crowded it was. It took ages to find a place to park, and then we walked quite a ways through a really pretty neighborhood to get down by the waterfront and all of the fun historical stuff. Little did we realize just how many boutiques and candy shoppes and pet bakeries and places to buy goofy witch themed things and Halloween costumes there would be. It was like Mardi Gras down there. People were walking around in costumes for no reason, and everywhere were witch hats. The cop who was directing traffic made sure to point out that "We're open twelve months a year here, not just in October, folks. If you don't like waiting, come on by any other time."
Everybody laughed, except Wyatt, who apparently hates crowds and was trying his best to drag us back toward the car any time we stopped.
In retrospect, we should have left the dogs behind. The problem is that we don't really know a lot of people here and our only dog sitter was out of town. So we weren't able to go into any of the museums or graveyards, but since there were so many people it probably would have been frustrating anyway.
The weather was beautiful, though, and we walked all over town and saw some sights and enjoyed the last gasp of Indian Summer, complete with spectacular fall colors. We also drove all around Cape Ann, which was gorgeous, and stopped so the b.h. could get some seafood. Fried clams for him and mozzarella sticks for me. Vacation is not about healthy eating.
So that was fun. Yesterday we did some running around and then spent the evening on the couch. Now I'm just bracing myself for my first full week of the new schedule. I'm at the Local Restaurant tonight, and then the store for the next several days, then a double on Saturday that starts at 8am and finished up a bit after midnight, then a regular shift at the store on Sunday and next Monday off. So wish me luck. I think I'll be fine until about 8pm on Saturday. Either way I will be spending more time with the b.h., which is great. Also, we now have health insurance, so that's pretty exciting.
I hope to have the time and creativity to dress up for Halloween on Saturday. If anybody has any suggestions, I'm open. If I don't think of anything that's clever and easy to work in, I will probably just go in drag.
Other than that, I have nothing to report.

Sorry about that last post. I wasn't really trying to be dramatic or anything, I just couldn't find words to say anything else. One of my former co-workers had a car wreck last Saturday night, and he was missing until his body was found (still in the car) Monday by another co-worker. He had gone off the road after hitting a puddle in rain and fog on his way home. Not certain exactly how old he was, but not more than 25. The whole thing is awful in so many ways and I haven't really found the energy to post since. I've been here several times, teed up and ready, but nothing would come. No insights or ruminations or remembrances- nothing. Just profound sadness and an odd feeling of disconnection from my friends. So yeah. I guess I'm back.

My parents were here for the week, and we did loads of fun touristy things. I took them to the Shelburne Museum, Neb and Jerry's, the cider mill, and several restaurants. We went to Montreal on Monday, which was very beautiful but the weather wasn't great (neither, apparently, is my father's ability to read a map or my mother's ability to operate a GPS) so we spent a lot of time in the car. There is a huge outdoor market where we got crepes and pastries (I had one made with dates that nearly brought tears to my eyes), and walked around feeling quite foreign. I knew that Montreal was largely French-speaking, but never having been anywhere out of the country (except for a ghastly two hours in Tijuana that I wish never to repeat) so I've never been in the lingual minority before. My podcast language lessons have lapsed, to put it mildly, so the only words I was able to understand were please, thank you, and most of the food words. I'm not sure how comfortable I would feel spending a long period of time this way, but for one day it was really cool. I'll post some pictures in a bit.
My parents departed for the Cape on Friday morning, and I have basically been either at work or asleep since. I'm off this evening, though, and hoping to spend some quality time with the b.h.

I just got back from Savannah. Thought for a minute there I wasn't going to be able to go. Started feeling extra gross at work on Friday night, wound up coming straight home from work instead of going downtown to see the b.h. play. Hot shower, emergen-c packet, and piles of blankets. Slept and watched TV. Woke to pick up the b.h. around two, came home and passed out again, woke up feeling fine. I think the pollen just got to me.
Anyway, we got an early start, went down to Ike and Jane's for breakfast sandwiches and coffee and doughnuts. Drove straight through with only one stop, and went immediately to the club to check in. The band was an hour behind us due to a keys-locked-in-van incident. We headed over to the Sentient Bean for coffee and then to the SCAD shop. I love that place. Student art for sale, and some of it very good. Nothing I could afford that really struck my fancy, though. The band called when they got to the club and we headed back there.
Parking was a bit of a bitch. The club was on River Street, which is the mainest of main drags on the riverfront (thus the name), which was packed with people because of the absolutely lovely weather. Having already made that mistake once, the b.h. and I decided instead to park several blocks away and walk with both of his guitars and his suitcase o' pedals and such. No problem. Then we stood around for an eternity waiting for the other band to load out. We didn't really mind, though, because we were able to buy beer and stand out on the street drinking it. We did because we could, and because of the aforementioned incredible weather. After that was load in and soundcheck, which I managed to avoid most of by walking down the waterfront with R while the b.h. checked and leaving when the other band did.
The b.h. and D and I walked over to the Moon River Brewery and waited at the bar for the other guys. I had a Swamp Fox IPA. It was delicious.
We were seated in the main room, still waiting for the other guys to arrive from sound check. D had his back to the front door. Through the crowd I saw some frat boys and sorostitutes in Full Confederate Regalia, and they were making their way in our direction. When they passed our table, D looked up in disgust and said quite loudly "You guys are hilarious", in a tone indicating that he did not, in fact, find it hilarious.
I find the whole thing quite confusing myself. The fascination with a war that no one ever spoke of outside of history class where I come from. Technically those people were traitors, and since many if not all of those people claim to be patriots, I don't see why they feel the need to celebrate. Also, I can't imagine how the black people who were present (waiters and bartenders in this case) must feel at the sight of these people, but since I am not a real Southerner I more often than not feel like the best bet is to keep my mouth shut. As far as I am concerned, these people might as well be walking around in KKK robes or Nazi uniforms, but generally I am able to simply ignore it. Not so with D. He was obviously pissed (in both senses of the word, I now realized), and made it known. I was worried that we were only three and they appeared to be younger, more fit, and in greater numbers. Not that I am afraid of a broad in a hoopskirt, mind you, but the boys were definitely of the large and cornfed variety. Luckily the rest of the guys showed up just then, and we were distracted by food and fun.
I ordered onion rings and a dip-thingie made from cream cheese, sundried tomatoes, and roasted garlic to share with everybody, and leek and goat cheese cakes for myself. This is what I had last time we were here, and though I prefer to be more adventurous, there were not a lot of veggie options. I was very happy with all of my selections.
AT one point I stepped outside for a smoke break with R, again mostly because it was beautiful out and I could bring my beer along, and the first guy I saw was in a confederate uniform. I asked if I could take my picture with him, and could I please hold his sword? Then I found out that he was the Haunted Savannah Tour Guide.
"Oh, so you're not really a racist, you just get paid to wear that, huh?" I smirked. Holding the sword point to his throat was not near as fun.
Another fratty couple came up in uniform and I got a picture with them. It's one of those "the folks back home are never gonna believe this" things. By back home, of course, I mean Chicago. No one in Athens will have trouble believing.
We returned to the club stuffed to the gills and waited a short time for the bands to start playing. It was a fun show but a long one, and we were all ready to get to sleep when it was over.
Hilariously, River street was now blocked on one side with illegally parked cars, and on the other was a very long, seemingly immobile line of traffic. Two of the guys wound up walking back two blocks to get the van, then we waited while they sat in traffic, then we blocked traffic while all scrambling to get the gear in. The guys in the little SUV immediately behind the van seemed totally relaxed, watching us calmly through the windshield while thumping bass poured from their over-sized speakers. In fact, nobody honked or complained at all, which was odd but a relief. There was simply no other way for us to load out. No one from the club bothered to help us, despite there being at least two young and able-bodied men right next to the door and absolutely no business now that the bands had finished. I doubt they'll be going back there.
We spent all day Sunday walking around. The guys went home early, and the b.h. and I had the whole day to ourselves, knowing that our capable dog-sitter would be staying at least until two. We got breakfast at Clary's which I found mostly disappointing this time, and then coffee at the Sentient Bean (again), and walked through square after square all the way to the river from the far side of Forsyth Park. Then we walked down the river and turned back, this time walking a very different and less populated set of squares. We stopped in a lovely French decor shop, which D had mentioned the day before. I fell in love with a piece of art that was $1400. Of course. Champagne taste and a beer budget, as they say. I bought a greeting card and we continued on. The walk was fantastic, the weather perfect. We decided that were we to move to Savannah, this would be the neighborhood we would live in. I took a ton of pictures. There are so many tiny details on houses and gates there. It's like a treasure hunt in a way. I love (visiting) that place.
After we got back to the car we bought refills and pastries and started home.
The drive was uneventful, and when we returned we found treasure, in the form of school loan documents, waiting in the mailbox. Hoo-fucking-ray.

Savannah, Part Three.

On Monday we ate breakfast at Clary's. I had The Elvis (French toast with peanut butter and bananas) and a fried egg. I barely ate half of the French toast, but the others were more than happy to help out. After we ate we went out to Tybee Island to see Fort Pulaski, still mostly intact despite the Civil War (or the "War of Northern Aggression", depending on where you stand). We stayed for the Musket firing demonstration, in which a young lady in a Union uniform showed off her skills. I asked her afterward if she had pissed somebody off, gesturing to her blue uniform, and was told that they only wear Confederate gray on Sundays. Ah. Anyway, the fort was neat, the weather was nice but windy, and a good time was had by all. Net we dropped my bro-in-law back at the hotel to do more work and went to the Telfair Museum, where I was able to snap just one photo (sans flash, of course) before being politely asked not to continue by the security guard. I apologized profusely and put my camera away. Until he left, and I saw an enormous painting that was just so indescribable in it's scale that I walked all the way across the room and took a picture of the b.h. standing near it so you can see just how fucking huge it is. I did not get caught, and I have no regrets. I am such a rebel.
That night we had dinner at the Moon River Brewery. The beer was fantastic. I tried the Sweet Potato Ale, which was just too sweet for me, so I gave it to my b.i.l. He enjoyed it immensely and ordered another. In the over twenty years that I have known him, this is the most I have ever seen him drink.
I ordered myself a porter, which I ate with some glorious onion rings and goat cheese and leek cakes, which also came with a side of lentils. Yum. I had no room for dessert, but since we went back to Clary's again for breakfast on our way out of town it was no biggie. I had yet another order of French toast, this one with cream cheese and cherries. We drove my sister and b.i.l to the airport, returned to the hotel and went back to bed. The bed was giant and loaded with pillows and covered in 600 thread-count sheets, so we had a difficult time leaving.
On the way out of town, we went back to the Sentient Bean for coffee and swung by a market we had ventured into on the first day for a large bag of pink lady apples. I have no idea where these little jewels have been all my life, but dear god I am glad I found them. They are so brightly colored as to appear almost fake, and impossibly crunchy and sweet/tart, which is exactly what I want in an apple. They were seriously a highlight of the trip.
We took the long cut home and arrived just after the sun went down. As we were pulling into town, the big story on NPR news was the arrest of the Illinois Governor on corruption charges. A perfect end to a perfect trip. I can't wait to go back.

Home for the Holidays, Part Two.

Did I mention the drugs? No, I guess I forgot. I got some herbal drops at the dog store before we left. They have chamomile and valerian and a few other anti-anxiety type things. I felt a bit weird about them at first, but then I reassured myself that they were as much for the boys as they were for me. And they worked like a charm. A few drops on my homemade organic peanut butter biscuits and all was well in doggieland.
Once we had had a few hours' sleep, the b.h. and I spent the rest of Sunday mostly lying around in our pj's and watching t.v. with my folks. They got a new hi def set. I think it's pretty cool, but I don't necessarily feel compelled to run out and buy one or anything.
Went out to my aunt and uncle's house for Christmas Eve. My dad's side. It was low-key and pleasant. Karaoke was in full swing when we ducked out. The dogs were left at home, and there were no fires and no bodily fluid accidents when we got back. Christmas was at my sister's house with the other side of the family. Good fun. Again the boys were good. I think my folks really liked having them around, which is great, because I was hoping against hope for mere tolerance of their presence.

(So I ditched that nasty IPA and now I'm drinking a Wolaver's Brown Ale. Certified Organic and Tasty, to boot, it hails from Vermont. I have been taking a close look at Vermont lately, and quite frankly, if it weren't for that whole Fucking Cold Winter thing, I think I'd already be there.)

The next couple days weren't quite as cold, and walking the dogs several times a day was a lot less painful. And my parents' neighborhood has sidewalks and a park just down the street. The boys loved it, though they found the snow rather confusing.



The rest of the trip was more of the same. We ate pizza, we did some (food) shopping, we hung out with family and friends. We got home in just over thirteen hours on Saturday. Wyatt had so much fun that he was back in the car before we had even finished unpacking it.



Sunday was more purging (got rid of a bunch of VHS tapes and various other shit we no longer need) and a quiet night by the fire watching new DVDs.

Roadtrip Recap.

As you may have noticed from that last post, I'm back. The trip was fun. It started out a little rough, very cold and raining sideways when we left on Saturday night. The first stop for gas was about twenty miles down the road, and as soon as the dogs had relieved themselves they sprinted back to the car and didn't so much as ask to be let out again. Our guys have always liked the car, but we have never driven them more than a few hours at a time, so we weren't sure what to expect. They were fine.
It was a bit of a white knuckle flight up to Chattanooga due to very light rain- not a good downpour that might cause people to slow down and drive responsibly, no. Just enough to wet the pavement and bring all the oil and grime to the surface, making it extra slick while allowing stupid people comfort at high speeds. (Also, this makes timing the windshield wipers a real bitch, and I absolutely abhor the sound they make when they scrape across too-dry glass, so I spent a lot of time flicking them on and off manually.)
We wasted at least an extra forty minutes by stopping a couple times to try to find new wiper blades. Imagine where you might have to go at 11pm two days before Christmas to get those. (I'll give you a hint: It rhymes with Tall Fart. Needless to say we sucked it up and stuck with the old ones.)
When we got out to refill the tank in Tennessee, the rain had stopped but it was colder and very windy. Again the dogs did their business and hopped immediately back into the car without complaint.
By the time we hit Illinois, the wind was blowing at 35 miles per hour, with gusts of up to 50. I was exhausted and therefore stopping quite often to caffeinate. I tried to nap at a couple points but couldn't. The boys were often sleeping through whole stops at this point. Just getting out of the car for a minute was a real jolt, though, so I kept from falling asleep at the wheel.
Finally, after a couple hours of this, they woke up and had to go again. It was about eight in the morning on the 23rd. We happened to be at an exit where there was a shopping mall. The wind was blowing with incredible force across giant piles of snow in the parking lot, making it seem like a small blizzard. Kilgore was crying- he really, really had to go. We finally got through the light, and I punched it into the B3st Buy- there were some trees and a bit of grass, so it seemed logical. Traffic was heavy and loud, and it was fairly close by. The dogs jumped out and immediately looked back at me through the windshield.
"WTF?" their furry faces seemed to say. "Where the hell have you brought us?" Kilgore is very shy. He will not poop in front of anybody unless he can't possibly hold it anymore. He will, however, piss directly into a fifty mile an hour gust. And that he did. He missed the tree completely, but luckily he also missed the b.h.
When we got to my parent's house at around ten-thirty, mom was already pre-heating the oven. Chicago's finest pizza had been purchased on the previous evening, and I couldn't think of a better brunch after a long drive.

Extra Showers, Extra Hours, The End of our Nightmare, Latin Rythyms, Two More Dogs, Traffic, Produce, and How Not to Douche: A Very Long Weekend In GA

After that last post we went back to work. That night blew. I can't imagine why people still feel the need to emulate Dave Matthews and the like, but since dumb young kids keep eating it up I see no end in sight.
Thursday was pretty light, inventory wise. I spent a few hours trying to distract a very energetic toddler. It nearly killed me. Hat tip to parents everywhere. Much respect for your energy.
Thursday night I dropped the b.h. at work and came home. I dropped by L0we's on the way and picked up some more of that nifty plastic wrap that helps insulate windows for the winter (as opposed to the super secret plastic wrap which one might use with duct tape in case of a biological weapons attack by Islamist Extremists). It was unreasonably cold and unusually windy outside, so I covered the French doors in the bedroom and one of the windows in the office. Then I made a fabulous Waldorf salad (celery, Granny Smith apples, mayo, toasted walnuts, and Cr@isins) and a batch of cranberry relish (fresh cranberries, one whole orange -peel and all- and a cinnamon stick). Then I went back and picked up the b.h. from work. We made some food, watched some TV, and showered. When we were headed up to bed, we called the dogs in. Wyatt came running right away, but Kilgore was nowhere to be found. I called for him, I whistled, I walked out to the edge of the woods, and I tried bribing him with treats. No dice. The b.h. suggested we go to bed and set an alarm to try again in a half hour.
I did. He got up ( I had to do it last time, and the b.h. is a very fair-minded man)and went to the front door. I was rapidly losing consciousness when I heard the dog come in, then a lot of swearing followed by orders for the dog to get in the bathroom. I was twenty minutes before I saw them again.
"It looks like a crime scene in there" the b.h. reported.
I winced and braced myself for the follow-up.
"Not blood, just a LOT of muddy red clay, sprayed over everything. I don't know what the hell he got into, but getting him clean was not easy." The dog was grinning. He approached the foot of the bed.
"No! Fuck you, motherfucker. You are not sleeping in that bed tonight."
The dog hung his head and went to the corner to lay on his dog bed. I turned off the light. Two minutes later the b.h. got up and put a blanket on the dog. We slept.

On Friday the b.h. went to work early. He worked a private party at five, then started our regular shift at ten. Saturday was - wait for it- the LAST HOME FOOTBALL GAME OF THE SEASON. (That sound you hear is my soul returning from hiding). The b.h. again signed up for an extra shift, so we went downtown early, right in the middle of post-game traffic. It took twelve minutes to get from our house to the edge of downtown, and it took forty minutes for me to get out of downtown from there. We picked up our friend S and brought him back to work. We ate dinner at the new Italian restaurant on Broad and Jackson. La Dolce Vita. It was pretty damned good, if a bit pricey, and definitely the most authentic Italian I've had in the South.
Saturday night was easy as pie. Live Cuban music, complete with people who really knew how to dance. I always love a change of pace.
We had to stay and do inventory after close, since we're going to be out of town for the next couple days. I didn't remember that until after we had finished and I thought we were about to leave. We stopped at the grocery store on the way home for a frozen pizza. By the time I got home, ate, and showered, it was almost six a.m. I told S I would pick him up at ten-thirty this morning.

I didn't fall asleep until almost eight, but I managed to drag myself out of bed on time and then I went and picked up S and The Girls. You may remember them from S's last trip to the pokey. I brought them back here, my friend J met us here, and we all headed North to bring S to jail in another county. He will serve seven and a half days (if all goes as planned) for a probation violation, and I will pick him up next Sunday night and bring him back home again. Did I mention that drinking and driving is a really bad idea? It is.
Anyway, the drive started out smoothly enough, but there was a bit of confusion due to a combination of vague directions, closed roads, and poorly marked detours. At one point I turned the car around four times in as many minutes. It was quite comical. It was also very early and I was very bleary, so I hate to think what the trip will be like next week when I make it in the dark.
After we dropped S off, J and I headed for Atlanta. The plan was a trip to C0stco and the awesome DeKalb Farmer's Market. Driving was ridiculous. I always forget how much I hate Atlanta drivers until I am surrounded by them. There is no regard for the speed limit or safety anywhere in the Greater Atlanta Area. Ugh.
Costco was really, really overwhelming and totally claustrophobic, but since J and I have the same sensibilities and tolerance we managed to navigate it without incident. I got a lot of great stuff, including but not limited to three varieties of Cabot cheese, a giant jar of pickled green beans, and some organic spinach and feta cheese frozen pizzas. The guy that checked our groceries was clearly on some kind of speed, and he was a little alarming.
The Farmer's Market was similarly crowded but as always totally worth the effort. I bought some huge fennel, a loaf of their pecan sandwich bread, a jar of very promising-looking mango chutney, tangerines, grapefruit, oranges, watercress, organic half and half, fresh flat-leaf parsley, two kinds of persimmons (I have never tried one and welcome any suggestions as to how to prepare them), fresh water chestnuts (also a new thing for me, but since I'm so fond of the canned ones I felt it was a safe bet), a pound of sun chokes (Jerusalem artichokes), a bar of Dagoba organic chocolate (flavored with lime), a couple varieties of local hot peppers, and several other items I can't remember right now. I only spent fifty dollars. Every time I go there I am shocked at how cheap it is, and what fantastic quality and variety they have.
I am struggling to remember the name of the fruit (J? A little help here?) that J mentioned wanting to try. She said that Anthony Bourdain described it as smelling like a corpse and tasting like tiramisu. We eyed said fruit for a moment, but they were huge and expensive and she decided to save it for another day. Less than five minutes later we were walking into the dairy section and, lo and behold, there were free samples of an ice cream-type product made with said Mystery Fruit. We eagerly dug our tiny sample spoons in and popped it into our mouths. I made the mistake of inhaling at the precise moment when I touched the spoon, but my brain did not register the degree of foulness emanating from it until it was too late. I found myself standing at the sample table, choking down the dessert equivalent of a days old cadaver. Tears welled up in my eyes. J proclaimed an immediate love for it. I grabbed for another sample spoon and attempted to cram enough Anything Else flavored ice cream in my mouth to drown out the awful taste. The woman at the sample table spooned me a sorbet sample, looking sympathetic as she handed it to me. I got the idea that I was probably not the only person who had had that reaction today. Ah well, nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?
On the way home we stopped for a sandwich. We got back to the house around seven thirty. I helped J unload, then she helped me unload, and she headed out. I showed off all of our purchases to the b.h. He went for the pickled green beans right away, but couldn't seem to get the jar open. I took it and ran it under hot water and tried it. Then he banged it on the counter and tried again. Finally, I sat down on the kitchen floor, braced the jar between my legs and, using a rubber jar opener, managed to pop the lid. Unfortunately, the jar was not entirely upright at that point, so I poured about half of the vinegar directly into my crotch.