I had been wondering what happened to Tim, a guy that works at the LG. I used to see him every Saturday morning first thing, and since we weren't friends or anything it took me a few weeks to figure out he wasn't around anymore. What happened? I'm so glad you asked! It seems that Tim had been in an accident. He was apparently driving a stolen car in the wrong direction in the middle of the night on the Interstate without headlights on when he struck an oncoming car. Remarkable, nobody was hurt. Tim then leapt from the car and ran barefoot into the woods. Seriously.
I guess I should have known from his 9/11 Conspiracy Theories that he wasn't right, huh?

The Wedding was on Saturday. We went by D & S's house (they were getting married in the backyard) early in the day to help set up. The yard looked amazing- everything was in bloom, and the tables had vases full of flowers that had come from their yard, as well as several donated from neighbors. Also, rather than using paper plates and plastic cups and forks, or having to rent dishes, D & S had a huge collection of dishes from thrift stores. And in keeping with a tradition that D and his daughter have had for years, a friend of their s had made them a very large scarecrow. Guess were asked to write a wish on a piece of paper and tie it to the scarecrow, which would then be burned after sundown. There will eventually be photos of this, but let's face it: I'm way behind on this blog, and I'm downstairs and the photos are on the computer upstairs, so it's probably not going to happen tonight.
So the wedding was beautiful and amazing, and everyone had a lovely time. Afterward, the b.h. and I went down to Little Kings to see some friends play. We didn't plan to be there for the Athens Americana Festival, but I'm sure glad we were. Bo Bedingfield and whatever the band is calling itself now were fantastic. I had forgotten how good a guitar player that Marcus Thompson was, too. Damn. Good times.
We eventually met up with A, and followed her back to her house at the end of the night to sleep.
Sunday we slept in, and then kicked around with A for a bit, and eventually headed over to the In Laws. Pa In Law was ill, so we took Ma In Law out to El Sol. (Yes, I ate Mexican food four times in a week. But I hadn't had any since January, so if you measure it out that way... yeah, I am aware that makes no sense.)
Monday was actually pretty easy. We didn't have to get up at the crack of dawn, the drive to the airport was so easy that we actually stopped and ate at The Earl in ATlanta for lunch (a treat we did not expect to have time for), and returning our car and getting to our gate was remarkably easy.
The flight was quick, mostly because I slept through all but twenty minutes of it, and when we landed in Boston we decided to seek out Oleana, a restaurant that the b.h. had been interested in for some time. He bought the cookbook awhile back and has been making some incredible meals from it.
We had no reservations, which we stupidly didn't realize would be a problem, since it was Monday night, but as it turned out we got the last available table.
Dinner was excellent, the coffee was strong, and we left feeling fat and sassy.

On Wednesday, I went to Ike & Jane for a biscuit and a doughnut. I picked up an extra cup of coffee for the b.h. and headed over to pick him up at the In-Laws.
We went downtown to poke around a bit, had lunch at Senor Sol with Jared, and then went shopping for a tie for the b.h. and some shoes to match my dress for the wedding on Saturday.
We had dinner with M and L and their daughter at Big City Bread. My good friend A was finally back in town, so she met up with us as well. I wish I could say I remembered what I ate, but it's been so long now that I have only a vague memory of mac and cheese and a waiter that would not shut up. He was very nice, but he was trying so hard that it was actually painful. Anyway.
We went back to A's house and dropped our suitcases and whatnot, then we all went out for a drink or two. We stayed at A's that night, woke up after she'd gone to work, and once again had Ike and Jane for breakfast.
Thursday night we had drinks at The Manhattan with Mr. Dave, which is always a pleasure. We were met by a few friends, has a great time, swapped stories, etc. It felt like home.
Friday I did some shopping at the local Thrift Store, where I found a ridiculous number of great things that fit me for very little money. Fabulous. Also hit the T@rget with Shayne. After that we went downtown to Cutters, where I finally got to see JB and Bo and JT. Had a quick beer and then went to pick up the b.h. at D & S's house.
We had some dinner and then went down to meet my good friends J and B at Flicker. Drinks were had, memories shared, other people I miss came by. Lovely. The night ended with a set from Dave Marr at Little Kings. I was standing there, outside, New Belgium's Ranger IPA in hand, wearing a t-shirt and a light cardigan sweater while it snowed on our dogsitter back in Vermont.
That is the Athens I miss. Sigh.

Tuesday started bright and somewhat early. The b.h. and I went to Ike & Jane for some egg and cheese biscuits and donuts. We met our friends M & L and their daughter, who was hilarious. The b.h. got an Elvis donut- peanut butter, banana,and bacon. The weather was perfect.
After breakfast we went to see the b.h.'s parents. We hung out for a bit with his dad, then went out to run some errands. We stopped by at the accountant, which as you may recall, is always an adventure. Next up was lunch at The Grit. Golden Bowls all around, then a quick stop at the Local Liquor Store to say hello to my old friends and co-workers. Sam came in a few minutes after we did. He was all in a rush, as usual, but hilarious as ever and it was nice to see him.
Next we picked up more coffee and headed back to the in-laws. We stayed there for dinner and some bad teevee, then headed downtown to see some more friends. Spent most of our time at Flicker, where I discovered the new IPA from New Belgium. Delicious, it was. Ran into a coupe people who had returned to town after we left. That was fun. At the end of the night, I drove the b.h. back to the in-laws, then I drove to S & T's house to sleep. (The In-Laws have four cats, and I am highly allergic, so it seemed like a bad idea to try and sleep there). S & T were asleep when I got there, and they were gone before I got up in the morning.

Will Johnson and Anders Parker played a show at a house here in Montpeculiar the night before we left for Athens. The house was gorgeous and the people were very nice. I was wearing a shirt from someplace in Athens, and as per usual somebody came up to me and asked if I was from there. Yes. "Do you know so and so and his wife? They own whats-it-called." I don't, but a lot of my friends work there. Neat.
The show was beautiful and hilarious. I love a quiet, intimate setting for quiet intimate music. The guys were both obviously comfortable and told great stories between songs, and the crowd was respectful but fun. Lovely. I wish we could do that more often.
We decided to fly out of Boston. This required a three hour drive to the airport, but it saved us about five hundred dollars on the plane tickets and made for direct flights in both directions, which is a luxury I will gladly pay for.
The morning was mostly uneventful, as was the drive. We were fueled by pastries and coffee and neither of us had had anywhere near enough sleep. Fortunately we make an excellent team and were able to find our way into the airport without incident and with plenty of time to spare.
The flight was mostly uneventful, as was the car rental and the drive into Athens. We went immediately to Sr. Sol, our favorite Mexican restaurant, where we were met by our old friend Adam. Adam was going out of town for the week to work, so this was our last opportunity to see him until the weekend.
The food was fantastic and it was great catching up with Adam, and afterward we bade him farewell and went to Todd and Shayne's where we would be spending the night. We stopped on the way to buy beer, and then proceeded to crash their otherwise quiet Monday night, riling up the dogs and generally making a big loud mess while we came in and dumped our bags. Shayne had just returned from a weekend on an island off the coast of Georgia, where she was doing hair for a music video shoot. Her stories had me laughing until I was sick. After we had polished off a couple of beers, we headed into the guest room, finally decompressed enough to get some sleep. As I leaned over to turn out the light, I looked at the b.h. and said "Goddammit this is Just Like Home." He grinned and agreed and we both went to sleep.

Sunday I had a paid day off. Some holiday or other. Anyway, I took the dogs out for a walk in the woods behind the house. It was great fun and when we got in far enough I decided to take Kilgore's leash off so he could run around. He immediately left the trail, sniffing furiously and heading over the edge of a fairly steep decline. I started after him, shouting for him to come back. When I crested the ridge, he was at the base of a tree, nosing through an enormous pile of what looked like bird feathers. I ran up to him, re-attaching his leash and realizing with horror that the pile was actually fur. A lot of it. I dragged Kilgore back to the trail, trying hard not to see what was under it. We turned back toward the house after that. After putting a load of laundry in the washer, we headed back out, this time to the park. The river was too cold even for Kilgore to swim, but we had a great time running the trails and I took a few pictures.
On Monday, the b.h. and I went into Burlington. It was warm and lovely and we got some lunch and then headed over to the lake to walk around. D and A were meeting us later for The Hold Steady, but we had lots of time to kill. We had dinner at the Daily Planet and bought some beer at Healthy Living, and were so efficient that we were finished with everything we needed to do well before show time. We headed to the club early and hung out in the back, hilariously tired considering that in Athens we would never have even been out yet.
The show was great, even though they've lost some of their umph without Franz. I somehow managed to fix the crick in my neck by bobbing my head and bouncing up and down. I guess I could save the money I spend on the chiropractor by just getting out more.

"Smell this." It was not a request, but an order, and one that came at me from the side while I was engaged with another customer.
"Excuse me?"
"I want you to smell this and tell me if you think it's okay." She extended a small plastic tub, the kind we use for bulk cheeses. I looked without reaching for it.
"Is that the Bulgarian feta?"
"Yes."
"Then I don't have to smell it. We sell twenty pounds a week. It's fine."
"It smells strong," she sniffed, raising a used kleenex to her raw, red nose.
"It's a strong cheese," chimed in DeeDee. She gets defensive with customers sometimes. (I think if I stay there for five years I might get a tad short-tempered as well.)
"I know it is. I buy it all the time. But it smells different." She set the tub down and reached into her bag for another kleenex, blowing her nose audibly enough that heads turned in the deli. I picked it up and sniffed it, just to make her happy.
"You don't have to buy it, but I'm telling you it's fine." I was smiling (on the outside), but DeeDee was apoplectic. I stepped between her and the customer, ostensibly to reach for something, but it was really because I was afraid she was going to say something else.
The woman turned and walked away, still not satisfied, but with cheese in hand.
"It's always something with that one," Dee muttered. "Last time she was telling me that the Willoughby smelled off."
This left me wondering how in the hell one would know if Willoughby was "off". It smells like a corpse when it's at it's best. I kept quiet since Dee seemed to be on to something else.

I'm on the couch right now with a glass of Dona Paula Reserve Malbec and Lucinda Williams Radio on my LastFm. (If you haven't yet, do look into lastfm.com. It beats pandora by a mile). For dinner, I had two tofu hotdogs (a lovely pairing with the malbec, I assure you) and some rosemary lemon bread with the first fresh local goat cheese of the season. I am experiencing something near to nirvana at the moment. Spring is in the air. Everything has that fresh dirt smell that makes me itch to get in a garden. Mostly though, I think I'm just happy to be alone and away from work.

Honestly, people were going crazy today. We're between two holidays, which means we're particularly busy, but also it means that people are having to deal with their families and (I assume) the added pressure that comes with family gatherings. Which leads to exchanges like this one:
"Can I help you find anything?"
"No. I want Parmesan but all of these have too much rind on them and I have to cut so much of it off that-"
"Okay."
I said "okay" in a pleasant enough voice, and I was wearing a smile at the time, but I ceased to listen at that point and turned and fled into the kitchen. The thing is, the Parmesan is not more rindy than any real Parm anywhere else. What we have is true blue Parm, organic and imported. It's a DOC cheese, and you pay for the quality. If people aren't interested, they can go to another grocery store and buy the fake stuff. But rind is part of the deal, and most people can put it to good use. So anyway, yeah. I have learned an important lesson from Sven: Do not respond. Do not defend. Do not attempt to answer an unanswerable question. And it's working. She had nowhere to go after she said no, so I just walked off.

Did I mention how fucking delicious this wine is? Honestly. I don't know where it's been all my life.

In other news, I got my review at the Local Restaurant, and Harried Manager had nothing but great things to say. I made a few goals for myself which mostly include learning more about the wine and beer lists and teaching what I know to the staff. He put me in charge of picking the wines by the glass for the restaurant, which is glorious. I went to a huge wine tasting up in Stow3 last week, found a bunch of new things I like, and am moving to get some of them into both the LR and the LG. The wine salesmen seem quite happy to have me on board, which is great. Had another tasting at the restaurant before my shift started on Tuesday (that's where tonight's Malbec came from), too. Difficult to feel like working after tasting fifteen wines. I managed. I get a paid day off on Sunday, but the b.h. has a long and arduous day in store. Since it's supposed to be in the upper 70's, I'll likely take the dogs and go somewhere on a long hike. Monday is the Hold Steady show in Burlington. Woot! Now all I have to do is survive the next two days...

"In nature, the momma bird and the daddy bird never leave the nest at the same time. One of them goes out to hunt while the other one stays in the nest with the baby bird."

This remark from Sven follows the crashing to the cement floor of a third bottle of wine. The hapless father looks up at us as if to say

"Who knew that if I let my toddler roam around by itself in a giant stack of glass that something might break?"

We both put our heads down and continue cutting cheese while a couple other people scramble to clean up the mess.

"I just don't understand why they both have to shop."

This sentence is nearly drowned out by the sudden shrieking meltdown of yet another small child, this time at the coffee bar. there is a distinct doppler effect as it's mother drags it back and forth through produce and the deli department. Co-workers scatter like cockroaches in the light, everyone making for the kitchen and stocking areas out back. Ahhh... the joys of retail.

This just in via text from the Local Liquor Store back in Athens:

"Life on the Westside: If your 750ml of vermouth and your olives cost more than your 1.75L of vodka, you may want to rethink your martini."

Man, I miss those guys. Fortunately I will be seeing them in two weeks. Two weeks!!! Oh my gods.

The b.h. and I went to see our Senator and the Danish ambassador the other night at our local Unitarian Univers@list church. This is exactly the sort of thing we had hoped to do more of, what with living in the state capitol and all.
Bernie Sanders is a man who was obviously made for politics. He's kind of loud and brash and funny, and he managed to cut in at the appropriate moments so the Danish Ambassador didn't have to do all of the talking and so that as many audience members as possible were allowed to ask questions.
This was basically a talk about how the Danish health care system and Danish society in general function. It was interesting. Very interesting, especially in light of our current situation. I think they have the right idea over there, but I am also not naive enough to think that their system could, would, or even should be adopted in this country. Of course, you'll never convince the left wing nutjobs of this, but nutjobs from either side prefer to live in an echo chamber, so I don't think anyone is bothering to try to convince them of anything. Anyway, it was interesting and informative, and my boss Barbara and her husband Tom met us there, and he was audibly sighing through many of the dumbest questions from the audience. I think he and the b.h. are really going to get along well.

"...Local Grocery is obviously trying to kill all of the Jews in town," said the Grocery Manager, hanging up the phone at his desk and looking completely exasperated.
Annie was doubled over at her desk, laughing.
"You did what now?" I asked, barging straight into the conversation because, well, how could I not?
"This woman just called, and because I couldn't find the ingredients list on the Vermontzah (this is a locally made matzah bread- in The Green Mountain State we are very into "local" products) she said the the Local Grocery is obviously trying to kill all the Jews. Mind you, the ingredients are listed, but I couldn't find them fast enough."
Oh, how I love crazy people when they're not talking to me.

The other night I had dinner at Barb and Tom's. Barb is my boss. She's just about my mom's age, but she and her husband Bob were into the sixties in a way that my parents never were. They are a hoot, to say the least. We ate in their garden, and Barb and I shared a gorgeous bottle of French rose'. We had to go in as soon as the sun went down, because it got cold right away.
Looking forward to a lot more of that. In the meantime, rather than wishing it would stay warm I'm trying to think about how much better it is for the maple farmers that it's getting cold again. The thing about sugar season is, as soon as the trees bud, it's over. So there's that.

"Can I help you find anything?" asked Sven, briefly interrupting our discussion of Peter Sellers.
"No. Every time I buy cheese here it's bad. I always buy imports and they've gone (she flailed her hands wildly)...off."
"Uh-huh" Sven replied, his brain shutting down.
"The cheese here is always bad."
"Yep."
"Can you tell me why that is?"
Neither of us answered. Sven turned on his heel, leaving a stack of brie and a couple of wheels uncut, and disappeared through the door leading into the kitchen. I paused momentarily, not making eye contact but not wanting her to corner Barbara, my boss, who was helping another customer. I flipped through the folder that has our price list, pretending to look hard at it, while silently praying that the woman would go away before Barbara was free from the other customer. The woman continued to look through the cheeses for several minutes before eventually wandering off to produce, presumably to look through all the of the fruit and veg that she hates and finds completely substandard.

On Friday night I went with my friends D and A to St. Johnsbury to see Neko Case. I had been so busy in the runup that I hadn't really had much time to actually look forward to it at all, so I didn't get really excited about it until we got there.
Having been nominated for two Gr@mmy awards this year, you might wonder just why a woman would play a smallish school auditorium in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Turns out that this is Neko's home turf, and she has returned as a resident to the Green Mountain State. This show was a benefit for the local arts community.

The room was lovely, but you could tell they weren't used to hosting quite so many people. First, the merch table was set up basically right in front of the entrance, making it near impossible to get in or out of the building. Of course my first thought was about how the hell we'd get out if there were a fire. Also, it felt like the place already was on fire, because they had the heat set somewhere near a thousand degrees. Since everyone was dressed for the weather, we were all basically schvitzing from the moment we took our seats. I was thankful that I had layered in such a way that I could get down to a t-shirt, and jealous that A had worn a tank top. I seriously can't imagine what they were thinking. On top of the heat, there were absolutely no refreshments to be had. And again, I'm thinking to myself "Who the hell planned this?" Surely they could have sold a thousand bottles of water at a few dollars a pop in that temperature. No such luck. I found out that there was a water fountain, and during the intermission (I won't go into detail about the opening act since I didn't really like it) A and I made our way down a narrow flight of stairs to the long line that eventually would lead to the ladies' room. The ladies room had two stalls, of course, and the water fountain was inside. The men also had two stalls, but being men their line was moving a lot faster. Also, their water fountain was outside the actual bathroom. After standing too long in a virtually unmoving line, I finally decided to take matters into my own hands. I had seen another woman follow her boyfriend into the men's room, so I waited for him to come out and followed her lead. I was careful to put the seat back up when I was done, and the men that were in line when I came out didn't seem too upset. I got a drink at their water fountain and was back in my seat before Neko came on. The same could not be said for the ten women in front of me in line at the ladies'.
I was surprised and incredibly pleased to find that the lovely and talented (and hilarious) Kelly Hogan was along on this tour. And if only I could remember his name I would also credit the very talented Canadian guitar player they had in tow. There was a very casual vibe, with lots of talking between songs. Kelly Hogan could easily have a career in standup if she ever decided to quit singing. I sometimes forget how much I miss people with my sense of humor. In any case, the show was brilliant, and I didn't pass out. When everybody stood up to applaud for an encore, I looked rather desperately over and said loudly to no one in particular
"Somebody open that fucking window!"
And lo and behold, somebody did. Thank you, bearded stranger, for saving if not my life, then surely my dignity. I seriously felt like I was going to pass out. I would also note that nobody complained, even though it was very cold outside and there were at least three or four songs in the encore.
I have known for a long time that I would like Neko Case, and for whatever reason I haven't gotten around to listening, but now I'm definitely going to fix that.

Too Loud Trixie is no longer a member of the Local Restaurant Team. It was a long, long time coming, but after countless stern warnings and a lot of hand-wringing, she was unceremoniously fired two weeks ago. It wasn't because she talks loud and graphically about her sex life in front of customers. Nor was it because she can't speak two consecutive sentences without using an expletive (cough cough- yeah, but I don't do that in front of customers). Somehow she even managed to escape with her job and her neck after discussing the purchase of illegal drugs in front of our manager's fifteen-year-old daughter. That was a real shock, because that incident was just days after she embarrassed herself and the entire staff during a meeting with upper management, and the manager in question looked like she was going to climb over the table and choke the life out of Trixie (Silently, we were all wishing it so).
No, in the end, it was the fact that she gave somebody a beer and didn't charge them for it. This was especially ridiculous because things like that happen on occasion, and I'm pretty sure every one of us has done it unintentionally in the middle of a rush or in a moment of cranial flatulence brought on by utter boredom. Do I think she did it on purpose? Honestly, I don't care. She denied having even served a beer that day, even though there was a beer clearly sitting on the bar that a manager and several other people saw. That was stupid. If she had simply admitted that she had done it, called it a mistake, and offered to pay for it, Harried Manager would have been guilted, even after all of the pain that she caused everyone, into letting her stay. So in the end I think we were all lucky that she was such a hard-headed crazy redneck.
The bad news is that now she has taken to coming in for a few beers on one of my shifts. Honestly, I can't imagine having that kind of gall. Also, I want her the hell out. I am taking suggestions.

West Coast Karen got her review.
"The way they do these is just- is just- ...archaic" she fumed when she returned from the meeting. "I just don't agree with it."
"What do you mean?" I asked, stupidly inviting her to continue the discussion.
"It's just so corporate. I mean, I don't want to write my own evaluation. Like, dude, if you need me to do something differently, then you need to tell me."
At this point she finally donned a glove and resumed helping me cut cheese.
"What did he say?" I blundered on, wishing like hell I would just shut up. And then I stopped to give her direction on the cheese she was cutting. "Wait. Okay, so cut this organic cheddar down the middle, and then I'll wrap one half wand you can cut the other half into smaller pieces."
She was nodding the whole time, but I could tell she wasn't listening, so I said
"Got it?"
"Yes. Wait. No. What?" she answered, her rage momentarily losing steam.
"Finish the one you're doing. Then this one" - I picked up the chunk of organic aged cheddar, and drew a line with my gloved hand - "you should cut down the middle here. I will wrap one half and you can cut the other half into small pieces."
She repeated my directions back to me, and we resumed while she continued her rant.

"So I got all good scores on everything, but then in the part that says 'areas that need improvement' (she made bunny ears with her gloved hand) it says that I need to focus and that my personal life sometimes interferes with my work. I swear to god I feel like I work at W@l-Mart or something. I have had customers tell me that the only reason why they shop at the Local Grocery is because of the service I give. It's because I talk to them and make them feel important and I know them like friends. And I'm like dud, I know what the job is, okay? And I do my job. If you have a problem with the job that I do, then I need you to be more specific."
"Did you just cut that whole block of cheddar into small pieces?"
"Yes I did."

Amazing.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qybUFnY7Y8w

I know I have posted this before, but I was reminded of it again today by a link on one of my favorite blogs.
Here's the link: http://www.moreintelligentlife.com/story/david-foster-wallace-in-his-own-words

Money Quote, posted by Andrew Sullivan:

"Because here's something else that's weird but true: in the day-to-day trenches of adult life, there is actually no such thing as atheism. There is no such thing as not worshipping. Everybody worships. The only choice we get is what to worship.

And the compelling reason for maybe choosing some sort of god or spiritual-type thing to worship--be it JC or Allah, be it YHWH or the Wiccan Mother Goddess, or the Four Noble Truths, or some inviolable set of ethical principles--is that pretty much anything else you worship will eat you alive.

If you worship money and things, if they are where you tap real meaning in life, then you will never have enough, never feel you have enough. It's the truth. Worship your body and beauty and sexual allure and you will always feel ugly. And when time and age start showing, you will die a million deaths before they finally grieve you. On one level, we all know this stuff already. It's been codified as myths, proverbs, clichés, epigrams, parables; the skeleton of every great story. The whole trick is keeping the truth up front in daily consciousness.

Worship power, you will end up feeling weak and afraid, and you will need ever more power over others to numb you to your own fear. Worship your intellect, being seen as smart, you will end up feeling stupid, a fraud, always on the verge of being found out. But the insidious thing about these forms of worship is not that they're evil or sinful, it's that they're unconscious. They are default settings.

They're the kind of worship you just gradually slip into, day after day, getting more and more selective about what you see and how you measure value without ever being fully aware that that's what you're doing.

And the so-called real world will not discourage you from operating on your default settings, because the so-called real world of men and money and power hums merrily along in a pool of fear and anger and frustration and craving and worship of self. Our own present culture has harnessed these forces in ways that have yielded extraordinary wealth and comfort and personal freedom. The freedom all to be lords of our tiny skull-sized kingdoms, alone at the centre of all creation. This kind of freedom has much to recommend it.

But of course there are all different kinds of freedom, and the kind that is most precious you will not hear much talk about much in the great outside world of wanting and achieving.... The really important kind of freedom involves attention and awareness and discipline, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them over and over in myriad petty, unsexy ways every day," - David Foster Wallace.


I just found out that yet another brilliant artist has taken his own life. I often wonder if having the kind of genius that David Foster Wallace and Mark Linkous had makes it harder to live with the rest of us, or if difficulty in dealing with the rest of us makes people like them the creative geniuses that they are/were. Whatever the case, I am grateful for what these people have left us.
R.I.P., Mark.

I stand corrected. This is, apparently, not winter anymore, but officially known as "mud season."

"Howya doin'?" I said to the man who was staring as he approached me. I figured he thought I was somebody he knew.

"Sorry, but that looked really cool," he said, by way of explanation. The man was approaching from down the street a ways, when I had stepped outside the Local Beer Joint and lit a cigarette. He looked momentarily awestruck.

"The way you were backlit just then, it looked like an old photograph from Paris or something."

"Yeah. It's beautiful out here tonight." It was, too. I was wearing my jacket, but no hat or mittens or anything, and I was perfectly comfortable. There was a brief exchange about the weather, wherein the man mentioned in a sideways fashion that he was visiting town.

"Where are you visiting from?" I said, internally wincing at my grammar.

"Chicago," he replied, and I immediately felt better, since that's where I learned to end a sentence in a preposition.

"No shit. Me too. Whereabouts do you live?"

He replied with an intersection which is two blocks from one of my old apartments. We chatted a bit. I talked about the tattoo parlour/hair salon that I used to frequent, a former nightclub.

"I saw The Clash at that club."

This prompted the usual 5 minute diatribe from me about how fantastic was The Clash and how I wish I could travel back in time to see them. It turned out that this guy was the uncle of a guy I had just met last week, who is a friend of one of my co-workers.
Once again, the world demonstrates its smallness.

The other day, Sven and I were talking about unfortunate business names. He mentioned Longwind Farms and Woodcock Farms, while I cited Adcock Furniture and the place back home on the Southside that's a beauty parlor/funeral home.(I can't remember the name, but beauty parlor/funeral home is right there on the sign, and I think that qualifies).

"I mean, what were they thinking, you know?"

Just now I was coming home to walk the dogs on my break from the local Grocery and I saw a truck from Hooker's Furniture.
And a hobby is born.