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.

The Starting Gun.

It went off at seven in the morning, at which point the dogs rolled over and looked at me like I was crazy (I was). I hit the snooze button (twice), then dragged my ass downstairs to make coffee. It was still dark outside, which I found highly upsetting. It was also raining steadily, which the boys found upsetting, because they had to go out in it in order to pee.
I went the lazy route and re-heated Friday's coffee in a pint glass in the micro-wave. I was too tired to care how awful it was. I tried to put my suitcase in the car surreptitiously, after feeding the dogs and putting a bit of half and half on their food to distract them. It didn't work. These are smart animals. First they thought "we" were going somewhere, and they got really happy. Then when they realized that only I was getting in the car, they got upset. I left as quickly as possible.
Despite the rain my drive to the airport was fairly easy. I got there and went to the economy parking lot, where I drove up and down every row in the "A" section before landing a spot at the very back.
As I was getting out of the car and retrieving my suitcase from the back seat, I was passed by a courtesy vehicle - I use that term loosely - which was completely devoid of passengers. I flailed my arm for a moment in hopes that it would stop. It didn't. There were no other people in the whole parking lot. I walked to the terminal in the rain, dragging my bags and my coat and cursing the courtesy vehicle, which I found parked on the near side of the lot, the driver smoking a cigarette and talking on the phone.
There was no line at check-in. I checked a bag ($15) because I was bringing two bottles of wine and a tube of toothpaste that was 4.19 ounces for K.
Security was fairly easy since I had left anything questionable (like potentially deadly shampoo and conditioner) in my checked bag. I was therefore quite surprised when I was pulled from line after walking, shoeless, through the metal detector.
"Is this your bag?" asked the young man behind the screening counter.
"Yes."
"Would you come over here with me?" He led me to one of those small cubicles where they open your bag behind a partition so small that everyone in line can see exactly what you've brought. I was more confused than worried, because, as I said, I had packed most of my stuff in my checked bag and had only cold medicine, kleenex, and reading material in my carry on. He rummaged around for a moment, then smiled sheepishly, flapped the bag shut, and handed it back to me.
"Have a good flight."
"Uh... thanks." I pulled my boots on (not to self: D0c Martens not the most convenient footwear for the airport), grabbed my bag, and sat down in the "now that you've been man-handled here's a chair where you can put your shoes on and try to regain your dignity" area. I peered curiously into my bag, wondering what might have given the man pause, and then discovered that I had grabbed my portable cd player out of the car in case of emergency (like a screaming child). The b.h. has the iP0d and I didn't want to be stranded without music. I'm sure that they don't usually find people flying with antique electronic devices, and it probably looked like a potential hazard.
The plane began boarding as soon as I had finished my bagel and cream cheese. I had chosen the window seat in the last row so that I would board quickly and be able to fall asleep without fear of drooling on a stranger. Unfortunately there was no window in the last row, so my claustrophobia was in full gear by the time we took off. Also, the flight was full and the guy next to me was pretty tall and angular, all elbows and knees reaching into my personal space. Luckily I had taken an antihistamine prior to boarding and promptly passed out, missing the pretzels and soda and waking up only when the turbulence started to get serious, which was a minute or two before touchdown.
My bag popped out at the claim area as soon as I got there, and I wove my way through various rip-off artists trying to get me a "flat fee" ride to Brooklyn (only $55!) to the cab stand.
Seventeen dollars (plus tip) and fifteen minutes later, I pulled up in front of the restaurant where K works.

Looking Forward, But Still Enjoying the Present.

I ran an errand to help out a friend of mine today. For this I was paid one hundred and fifty dollars, which is most of the cost of the plane ticket I will be buying for New York. I am finally going to visit K. Two weeks from tomorrow, in fact, and I am pretty blasted excited about it. I can't stay long, and I haven't even begun to think of what I might like to do- aside form the obvious eating like a pig and drinking some good beer, that is. I've been to Central Park and the Empire State Building, but never to the Statue of Liberty. I'm not above touristy stuff, but I can't imagine standing in line at the statue in January being a pleasant experience, so maybe I'll try to knock a museum off the list instead. I saw something in a book today about a Museum of Moving Pictures in Brooklyn, so that's convenient. I will certainly be visiting the Brooklyn Brewery. That alone may cause my baggage to double on the way home.
Mostly I just can't wait to see K again and talk shit and drink and smoke too much. I'll have to remember to get the name of Shayne's favorite shitty dive bar, and I'm hoping to hook up with an old friend who I haven't seen in at least fifteen years. It's all very exciting. The b.h. will be on tour, so although I will be seeing him on this trip (at both The Mercury Lounge and whatever place they're playing in Brooklyn), I am actually going to be flying solo. Should be interesting. I haven't done it in seven years.
Work was pretty hilarious tonight. We were all pretty busy with pre-inventory nonsense and feeling a bit punchy. At one point a guy I know came in and I was helping him pick out a beer. I asked if he had tried Arrogant Bastard. He had. Double Bastard? No. Me neither. We settled on a Lagunitas Hop Stoopid, because he is as big a hops fan as I am. I walked with him up to the counter and we chatted while Allen rang him out.
"Did you say you've had the Double Bastard?" Alan asked me.
"No, have you?"
"Yeah. Wow."
"Is it good?"
"It needs like another year in the bottle."
"What do you mean? What does it taste like?"
"Like a pissed off panther in your mouth."
"Well, not having blown any angry panthers, I'm not sure what you mean, but I'll take it under advisement."
"Not any angry ones, but the nice ones..." Reed chimed in.
"Yeah, the nice ones I blow all the time."
We all laughed. Reed said goodbye and I turned around to walk back into the wine section. That's when I realized there were other customers in line.

After we closed, the guys broke out a couple bottles of new beer for all of us to taste. The first was a blonde ale, which I immediately thought smelled of lemons. It tasted worse than it smelled. I gave my glass right over to the Hobbit (this is my name for our manager who is small and fuzzy and drunk - not drunk at work, mind you, but he likes his beer). The boys continued to taste, adding descriptors like Lemon Pledge, Pine Sol, bananas, and cat piss.
"Okay, really, we need to figure out how to describe this to people so they'll actually want to buy it. Say something positive."
This was Allen, ever the optimist.
"It doesn't taste like slavery," said Stan.
We all busted up. This went on for several minutes, with none of us able to say anything good that actually meant anything. In the end I decided to take my leave. They cracked open an Amber before walking me out to my car. I wouldn't be surprised if they were still there.
Sometimes I really enjoy my job.

Back to the Grind.

So I hope everyone had a good holiday. I worked something like seventy-five hours in the nine days between Savannah and our annual trek to Chicago for Christmas, so I didn't really have time to blog much.
The week at home was relaxing, mostly, full of food and naps and reading and crosswords. There was a lot of driving, and visits with relatives that I only see once a year, and too little time with the people I really wanted to see. I learned a new term for people like the b.h. and me. DINKWAD: Dual Income No Kids With A Dog. I love it. And come to think of it, many of my best friends are DINKWADs. I will wear it like a badge of honor.
I spent a lot of time picking out beer to bring back for my boss and co-workers, which was fun because I got the satisfaction of shopping with abandon and I didn't have to pay for it. I introduced my dad to the joy of high-gravity beer, which was cool. It's nice to have somebody to split them with because you get to try more varieties.
I am happy to be back, though. And right away I had a blog-worthy customer experience. I wasn't even supposed to work on Monday, but when I stopped by to drop off the beer they were kind of in the weeds so I decided to stay. Just after the wine buyer left, and older woman came in.
"Where's my little girl with the black shoes?" was her response when I asked her if I could help her find anything.
"She's just left for the day, but I'm her assistant. What can I help you with?"
"I want some chardonnay. I usually drink the yellow kind, but I want a better one."
"The yellow kind?"
"Yes. I can't remember what it's called. The big one."

I walked her down the grocery wine aisle and she pointed to the Alic3 Wh1te Chardonnay.

"I usually drink this, but I want something better."
"Okay. Are you interested in a smaller bottle? Something more dry? More oaky? Less oaky? Do you want to try something from a different region?"
"I don't know. I just want it to be better."
"Okay. How much do you want to spend?"
Silence. Confusion.
"Can you give me a rough estimate of your price range? It doesn't matter what it is, I just need a ballpark figure."
More silence.
"Okay- how about this?" I finally venture, heading toward a bottle of La V1elle F3rme, a French Table wine. "It costs a couple dollars more than the Alice, but it's drier. More of a European style."
"Well I don't know."

I can't remember the rest of the mind-numbing exchange. I'm fairly certain that my brain has shoved it in a box in a corner with my various car accidents and other traumatic experiences, but suffice to say that she left with the big bottle of french stuff.
Half an hour later, I was heading to the loo when I saw the woman in the parking lot. She had gotten out of her car, with the bottle in one hand and a corkscrew in the other, and she was talking to another customer who had just left. I heard her mutter something along the lines of "For Pete's sake," or something to that effect. I noticed, after she turned away from the other woman and toward me, that there were several holes in the metal screw top on the bottle.
"You didn't tell me it was a screw top," she blurted accusingly.

Ahhhh...

Just got back from a short vacation to Savannah with the b.h. We met my sister and her husband down there on Saturday. It was lovely. I am relaxed and stuffed, and very nearly fully restored, though I don't expect any of those feelings will last. I took a ton of pictures, which I hope to get around to posting soon. For now I am on the couch with a beer and the laptop and I've no intention of getting up except to go to bed. Tomorrow I will work a double, then Thursday night I work at the Local Liquor Store, Then another double on Friday, then the LLS again on Saturday night. But I don't mind. It was well worth it to get out of town for a minute.
Our room was on the third floor of the Hyatt, overlooking the river on one side and River Street on another. I took a million pictures of the giant cargo ships passing by. I hope some of them turn out.
The b.h. and I both tried to get Saturday off so we could get and early start, but he couldn't, and since he had to go to work I decided I would too. That was perhaps not my best decision. I did get a lot of work done, though, and still had time to get some laundry done and straighten up for J, who was once again dog/house sitting.
So we got a late start, but we made good time, and we got to the hotel around nine pm. I always have a hard time valet parking our car, because it is twelve (almost thirteen now) years old and dented and full of dog hair and has a cracked windshield and it just feels ridiculous, but it is obligatory at the Hy@tt in Savannah, so we sucked it up. We had quite a bit of junk even though we were only staying a couple of days, and the b.h. and I were struggling to carry it all when we got to the revolving door at the front entrance to the hotel. There was a very drunk woman already in the revolving door, going round and round quickly and merrily, oblivious to our struggles. When her husband finally jerked her out of it, the b.h. and I both balked and then both ducked in at the same time. Into the same section. Loaded down with bags. It took a moment, but we somehow managed to get the thing 'round to the lobby side, and we spilled out and stumbled to the front desk to get our room keys.
Once upstairs, we dumped our bags on the various flat surfaces in our room, and I knocked on my sister's door (their room was next to ours). They stepped through the middle door into our room and I poured a Stone Russian Imperial Stout for her and I to share (neither of our men drink). After we finished that and remarked about how cool the view was, we set out to find food. Unfortunately we went straight down River Street, which was full of crappy bars and crappy bar food, but settled on a decent gyro (and free baklava!) before returning to the hotel. We had another beer and went to bed early.
More later. The b.h. just turned on our new copy of Batman (The Dark Knight), which J left for us as a gift for - for letting us watch our dogs(?) Best. Dog-sitter. Ever.

Vermont, Part Four.

Saturday we visited the school in Montpelier.
It was everything we hoped for and more. Average class size? SEVEN. You can do your internship pretty much wherever you want. Many people choose to do their second internship overseas. All internships are real learning experiences, not peeling potatoes in a corner for twelve hours.
Of course they tell you what you want to hear when they want your money, but we got to talk to actual students and see the actual kitchen/classrooms, so it can't be too far off the mark. The only question now is how much we can afford and how soon we can afford it. I'm already selling off belongings in my mind.

After that we stopped in Waterbury for more coffee (are you detecting a recurring theme here?), stopped at our hotel to get the camera, stopped at B3st Buy to get a new camera card, since the old one had somehow gotten completely erased (Booooooooooooooooo), and went into Burlington again. Saturday afternoon we drove up through a small series of islands on Lake Champlain toward Canada. We didn't have a specific plan, but stopped at a small state park and got out and walked a bit. We were hoping for some real hiking trails, but found none and so wound up driving more than walking. It was pretty, but mostly pointless.

Saturday night was Food Porn Night.

After we got back to our hotel we started talking about the school, about where we might want to live, how long we might stay, etc. It turns out that we both had the same idea. At first we thought that the b.h. would go through the certificate program, which is very basic and lasts only a few months. Once we sat through several informational meetings at the school, though, we both thought that perhaps the Associates Degree was the way to go. The program is two years, and it costs considerably more, but we're both pretty excited about it so we're going to look into it. There are a lot of grants and scholarships and loans out there, and hopefully we'll be able to get our hands on some.

Sunday it was overcast and there was rain in the forecast, so we decided on a museum. When we got there we discovered that it wasn't a large building, but rather a series of smaller ones that you walk between. It actually ended up being to our advantage, because the weather kept most people away and we went through entire buildings without seeing other people. My favorite thing was the display of carousel pieces, but it was also fascinating to see a Monet in an actual house. There were a few, actually, and they look even more awesome (in the literal sense, not in the "Dude!!" sense) when they're hanging in a dining room than they do on a giant wall in a carefully planned gallery at say, the Art Institute. It was just starting to rain when we finished up, but by the time we got to the car it was really coming down and we were both soaked. We went for a late lunch at The Skinny Pancake, which is just a block or so up from the lake. We had been meaning to eat there since our first day, and took great delight in calling it "The Crappery." The food there was also fantastic. I only regret not having room for a dessert crepe. I think crepes are the reason Nutella was invented.
Sunday night we went back to the Flatbread Company again, and this time we stayed for dessert (giant chocolate brownie a la mode).

Monday we drove back out to Montpelier to look around more. We originally thought we would be living in Burlington, but if the b.h. does the two year program he will be taking classes at the Montpelier campus, so we wanted to make sure we thought we could live there. We do. We found the local co-op, drove around some neighborhoods, and walked through the capitol building. I took a picture of the b.h. with a giant portrait of Howard Dean in a rowboat. There are at least three independent bookstores in Montpelier, and nary a B0rders or a B@rnes & N0ble in sight. In fact, we saw very few bigger chain businesses at all. It was strange and kind of refreshing.

Getting home was not fun, and I hope to avoid flying at all costs from here on out, but in all it was a great trip and neither of us can wait to get back. I haven't seen a scale since our return, but I'm willing to bet I gained at least five pounds.

Food Porn.

We're on vacation in Burlington, Vermont right now. Last night the b.h. and I consumed the best food we've had in ages from This place. We shared a cheese plate (all local, all fabulous, with figs and carmelized onions and lilac infused local honey), I had the strawberry spinach salad with pecans and local gorgonzola, the b.h. had duck confit, and I had the Moroccan grilled tofu plate, and we shared a (decidedly *not* wafer thin) warm lemon bread pudding. When we finally hoisted ourselves from the table, we waddled back to our rental car and returned immediately to our hotel to fall down.
I will have more to report later, but for now we're off to the local brewery.

Getaway.

Doggie Camping kicked ass. Our cabin was like something straight out of an Ikea catalog- clean and simple, small but very efficient. There was a futon for us and one for the dogs (theirs looked cushier and I was jealous), a table and two chairs, a small fridge, coffee maker, and toaster, and a bathroom (no shower, but just down the road a piece was a block of showers that were private and very, very clean). There was also a nice little deck with a barbecue grill and patio furniture. It was perfect, and very reasonably priced. There were several off-leash areas, hiking trails, and a little pond for swimming. They even had a separate doggie bath house. We all had a great time.

This is a shot of the main office:



And this is Lucy, the hostess at 4Paws:





The town nearest camp was the rather unpronouncable Rutherfordton. It featured one ice cream shoppe and the creepiest house ever.





I can't put my finger on what it was exactly, but even on an incredibly beautiful, bright sunny day, it had Grisly Murder written all over it. I thought the single dead tree in the yard was a nice touch. If anybody needs a location for a horror movie, I'd give this place a shot.

After we checked out on Tuesday, we went to Chimney Rock State Park. We hiked on the mountain for a good bit, eager to get to the waterfall at the end of the trail. When we got there, we saw that we were preceded by about thirty kids from some day camp or other. It was a nightmare. Wyatt hated it almost as much as I did. We couldn't even get near the water, and we had hiked a mile and weren't carrying any. It was hot.
Kilgore didn't seem phased at all.



We trotted back to the car in a hurry, watered ourselves and the boys, and headed back home. We were all pretty tired, but very glad that we had gone.