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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

(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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

"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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Shit My Dad Says.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.