The Vermont Cheesemakers Festival was last Sunday. The b.h. had the day off, and I got paid for the full day (it's educational, you know) to go eat cheese and play outside (mostly- we did volunteer to help with breakdown afterward) for the day at Shelburne Farms. I have been to the museum, but this was my first visit to the farm. I don't know who these Shelburnes were (are?) but they must have been pretty bloody wealthy, because this is their idea of a barn:





It looks like a set from The Lord of the Rings, doesn't it? Like Rohan?

They also had what appeared to be a two-headed cow, which obviously must have cost a fortune (or else the b.h. is especially talented at photography, but one never knows):



As we drove in, we were struck by the size of the place (enormous) and its proximity to the lake (adjacent). All I could think about is what it must have been like to grow up on the land. What is now an inn of considerable size was once a family home. Mind blowing. And this is a small portion of the back yard:





Then of course, there was the food. I only took a few pictures, and I'll save the best for last, but suffice to say that it was a fantastically decadent day, I learned a lot, I met a lot of cheese makers, and I am glad they don't do this more often or I would probably die. My arteries are still trying to get over it.

Bob is a talker. He's a really smart kid, at least in the book sense, and he is very nice and he tries very hard, but socially he is a bit awkward.
"Yeah," I heard him saying, so loudly that he was nearly shouting, while slicing prosciutto, "pretty soon they'll have no use for me at all, you'll just come here and there'll be a big mechanical arm getting your order." I had no idea what he was talking about, but the customer obviously found it amusing, because I could hear him laughing as Bob went on and on for several minutes at the same volume. It was only when the customer picked up his order and left that I noticed his arm. He only had one, and it was- well, mechanical.

"You know it makes me horny when you talk like that," said my Clueless Ginger Co-worker to his obviously angry girlfriend's back as she stormed away from him.

"Actually, she said don't be such a cunt," I said quietly and with as much sympathy as I could muster.

His face fell first, followed by his shoulders, and all hope disappeared.

"It's okay, man," I offered. "Just give her some time."

For some reason, we have had a flood of newborn babies through the Local Grocery in the past week. Babies that look to small to be real. Babies that, even when they're screaming (and in the LG they usually are), barely make a sound. Babies that would probably be better off at home. In an unusual twist, I haven't really said anything out loud about it. I think my sense of humor is starting to wear on Barbara. For some reason, she seems to be getting defensive when I respond to the sound of a shrieking toddler or a whiny six-year-old with
"Can't somebody put a plastic bag over that thing?", or the ever-charming "If that thing doesn't shut up I'm going to throw it in the river."
I wouldn't do this, of course. And no matter how tempted I might be to say something to their clueless parents, I need my job, so I usually just mumble something snide or go hide in the kitchen until the noise passes. But lately I've noticed Barbara getting a little testy, so I have made an effort to quietly ignore all but the worst offenders. (I'm not perfect, after all). So the newborns were something that I noted, but chose not to mention. After the third one on Saturday, though, Sven had had it. He leaned over, and putting on his Green Mountain Goober voice (imagine Bill Murray talking to himself about blowing up the gopher in Caddyshack, and add a Kennedy-esque twist to the vowels) said quietly but with a definite note of exasperation
"Uh, gee honey, I know you just gave birth like, two hours ago and all, but do you think you could run down to the Local Grocery?"
I've gotten a lot of mileage out of that mark with each repetition. I just have to make sure Barbara is out of earshot.

So I am at the Local Dive Bar with the b.h. We have come to see our friend D's band play. I do not frequent the LDB. In fact, I have really only gone there to see D play, or when I haven't finished drinking for the night and everything else closes. There is a reason for this.
The b.h. and I approach the bar at an open space between two filthy biker types in leather and a scary toothless old man. The b.h. pulls money from his wallet and turns to me to give me some.
"In case you need one later without me."
I thank him and give him an order for Switchback, which is the only beer in the LDB that is even close to palatable for me. The b.h. turns back to face the bartender, and as he places the order, the Leatherclad Biker Guy nearest me turns and looks me up and down from his bar stool, leaning back and nearly falling off of it.
"Hi," he slurred in what I assume was his sexiest pick-up tone.

"Hi" I deadpanned, not turning to face him.

"I'm Randy," he slurred, thrusting his hand toward me.

"Hi Randy" I deadpanned again. I looked down at his filthy, outstretched hand, wondering how many times he had used the bathroom since he had last washed it.

"Forgive me if I don't shake hands."

I was so proud of myself for finally remembering to use that line. Tombstone, aka the Best Movie Ever (aside from Brazil, The Accountant, The Future is Unwritten, and all of my other favorite movies) was released seventeen years ago. That line was delivered by Val Kilmer in the role of Doc Holliday, then watched (and re-watched, and re-watched ad nauseum), and then it waited in the back of my brain for seventeen years before finally being served up at an appropriate moment. I was nearly giddy.
"That's okay!" he slurred, louder and more animatedly now. "What's your name?"
"Denise," I answered without pause. (This is not my name.)
The b.h., in the meantime, collected our beers, tipped the bartender, and turned to give me my beer without acknowledging any of this conversation. One of the reasons why I love him is that he knows when I can handle a situation and generally lets me, rather than bothering to get involved and winding up in an unnecessary argument with an obvious idiot. We walked away together without another word.
"Nice meeting you Denise!" the guy said cheerily at my back. I wondered briefly exactly what the point was and then forgot about it completely until just now.

It reminded me of a time back in Athens. I was working at yet another dive bar, with my good friend Jared. His girlfriend at the time was A, who has since become a very good friend. On this particular night, A was sitting at the bar by herself having a drink while Jared and I slung drinks to filthy hippies and pool hustlers and the few frat kids who were daring enough to come in. We would each spend some time talking to A when we could, but for a while we were pretty busy and she was left to her own devices (and defenses). It was during this rush that a guy came up and asked if he could sit next to her. There were no other seats at the bar, and A isn't a bitch, so of course she said he could. He ordered a beer from Jared, sat quietly until it was delivered, and then started talking to A.
"You want a drink?"
"No, thanks. I've got one." She gestured at her beer which was three quarters full.

"You wanna dance?"

"No, thanks. I don't dance."

"You wanna play pool?"

"Um, no. I'm really just hanging out."

He paused for a minute or two, looking slowly around the room, and then turned back to her as if another thought had just occurred to him.

"You wanna go to the lake?"

"."

Somebody keeps leaving comments on my blog that are written in a different language. How can I decide whether or not to post them if I have no idea what they say? What if they're lewd comments? Or it's Nazi propoganda? (And why does Blogger insist that the word "Nazi" get capitalized? I'm not really for paying them even the tiniest respect.) I guess the other question is how did this person find me, and how could they possibly enjoy the blog if they don't speak English? Has anyone else had this experience?

This is fantastic. I can't wait to read the autobiography.

The b.h. went to visit his folks in North Carolina last week. He left bright and early on Thursday, and I had several long and difficult days at work, after which I mostly moped around the house eating bread and cheese and bemoaning his absence to no one in particular. When I wasn't at work I was dragging the dogs off to the woods or the river (on some days we did both). I knew they were going to be hysterical during the fireworks on the 4th, so after about two and a half minutes of nervous barking and whining and running around the house, I threw them in the car and drove around town looking for a place to park so we could watch them. The problem with being in the house is that they can't see the fireworks, so they have no idea what is happening and why the house is shaking. In the car, they're used to all kinds of noises and lights and whatnot, so they were completely calm. We sat on an empty road about half a mile from the house, windows and music both up, and everyone was totally happy. I can't believe it only took me eight years to figure this out.
After the fireworks were over, we went back to the house, I gave them each a treat, and then I headed out to meet my friend C for a drink. When I arrived at The Black Door, C was with his brother and a group of people I didn't know, as well as another friend, M. We all sat around and shot the shit and had a few beers, A and D stopped by a bit later, and we were pretty much the only ones there. We sat out on the patio, the weather was amazing, and eventually the bartender came out and sat with us for a bit. Good times were had by all.
When they closed, C and M and I went down the the venerable Charlie O.'s, the sort of dive-ey hell hole that you only enter because your friend's band is playing or every other bar in town is closed. There we ran into Harried Manager from the Local Restaurant, who was completely obliterated and invited us to his house for an after hours party. Moments later the door guy started shouting for everyone to leave, so we followed M and HM back to HM's place, which was about half a block away. I should mention that C and M both had a shot of tequila at Charlie O.'s, which I was smart enough to decline.
Anyway, we got to HM's and opened a couple beers, walked around admiring his decorating style (which was the thing that finally convinced me of his heterosexuality, by the way), put on some music, and found ourselves a chair.
Soon half of the town was pouring in the door, and C and I found ourselves rather pressed into a corner. There was a big weird guy kind of hovering over me, and C and I were both looking for a polite way to escape when we realized that the big goofy bastard was bleeding. Not from like, a gunshot wound or anything, but there was blood dripping all over his arm, which he was flailing around in our general direction. This realization caused us both to scramble clumsily out of our seats and to the other side of the kitchen. I even left my beer behind.
We watched from the corner as the Bleeding Guy and some woman took our seats.
"Probably just a ploy," I muttered to C from inside the refrigerator door. "I think they just wanted that table."
When we finally got back to the table a short while later, my beer was gone. The glass was there, but somebody (some drunk, bleeding scumbag, no doubt) had killed off my Guinness. Bastard.
The night finally ended when C and I were too tired to talk anymore and we realized that we were two of only five people left in Harried Manager's apartment. As we made for the door, I was accosted by HM's sister, who started to drunkenly embrace me before I was rescued by C and pulled out the door. Note to self: Never, never stay out until 4am in this town. Never again.

And now for something completely adorable:

Finally, I am absolutely certain that Wyatt doesn't speak English. There are times when I am unsure, when I am on the couch watching TV, he stands there staring at me very intently, like there is something extremely important on his mind.
"Pork chop," I expect him to say. "Get me a goddamned pork chop immediately. This dry shit you've been feeding us is not cutting it, and I'm here to register the official complaint. Now go get me some meat or I'll pee on your shoes. Again."
"Seriously?" will be my response. "You peed on my shoes on purpose? Why didn't you just ask me? I would have changed up the food situation ages ago!"

But he never speaks. And after today, I am very certain that he actually doesn't speak English, because if he did, he'd have said something like

"Get me out of here you stupid fucking bitch. What the fuck is wrong with you? This river is too deep and too fast for my big, wide ass, and since it's been raining for a couple days, you probably should have known that. What the hell were you thinking? You stupid bitch. Now go get the car."

As it was, he followed along next to me without a word, against his will, his tiny legs doing their best to propel him in the opposite direction than the one I was heading in. I was sure we would come to a spot that was shallow enough for us all to stand on, since on regular days when it hasn't been pouring rain this particular part of the river is quite shallow. I also knew that slightly up ahead there was another trail head on the bank, where we could climb up and walk back through the rest of the nature center to the car. What I hadn't counted on, and could not possibly have foreseen, was the giant dog that was standing at that trail head, without a human anywhere nearby, growling at Kilgore when he tried to make his way to the shore. It was huge, well over a hundred pounds, and looked like it might have been part wolf. I won't bore you with the details, but suffice to say that the current was far too strong for Wyatt to walk against, much less swim. The water was much deeper than I imagined, and though I was never in any danger (it only came up to my stomach at the deepest point), I did have a hard time keeping my bag dry and propelling Wyatt along in the right direction. We stood there uncertainly for about five minutes, during which time Kilgore drifted about a hundred yards further downstream, swam to the bank, doubled back, deftly avoiding the giant wolf dog, and jumped back in to meet us. The other thing I hadn't foreseen was the weather, and when it suddenly blew in the wind whipped up and it started to rain. I dragged Wyatt (whose legs were still pumping even though they weren't getting him anywhere, but which were slashing my legs brutally) across to the other side of the river, climbed the embankment, and ran through the brush until we all came out in somebody's back yard. We picked our way through their garden very carefully, walked around to the front of the house, let ourselves out the front gate, and then ran the quarter mile down the road back to where the car was parked. We passed several other people who were just as surprised by the weather as we were, which made me feel marginally less stupid. The ride back to the house was quiet.

Monday I went back to the Nature Center with the dogs. My friend A and her dog were along as well, which made it all the more entertaining. A's dog is a miniature poodle named Sushi and when she runs it looks like she's been shot out of a cannon. Kilgore and Sushi ran ahead of us all along the path, with Wyatt bringing up the rear in lumpy, Hasselhoffian style (his life jacket is safety yellow and makes him look quite official). I had to kind of push Wyatt along at first, holding onto him and wading into the deeper water at his side, but once he realized he wasn't going to sink he actually started to swim on his own. Sushi, despite being black and therefore much warmer in the sun than the rest of us, was having none of it. At least now I know what to get A for her birthday.
Tuesday I ran all of the errands I had failed to run on Monday. I went to the bookstore, exchanging three books I had finished reading(Hemingway's Movable Feast, which I read out of obligation as it was given to me as a gift, another book I have forgotten the name of that was left behind by my dad on his last visit, and a book by Ian Rankin which I thoroughly enjoyed but have since forgotten the name of) for two that I hadn't (Delta Wedding by Eudora Welty and A Month of Sundays by John Updike), and owing less than a dollar in the end. Oh how I love used books. I also stopped at the post office, donated some clothes and household items to the Salvation Army, picked up some shoes that I can wear in the river, and bought some hair dye. Then I took the dogs on a very long hike in the woods.
Having accomplished all of that, I felt I deserved a reward, so i met A for a couple beers and some tapas at the Local Restaurant. It was a beautiful night, everyone was in a good mood, and the restaurant wasn't very busy, so they all kept stopping by our table to chat. It was loads of fun and the beer (Hill Farmstead IPA) was absolutely fantastic. I think we may just have to make this a regular thing. Three dollar pints are hard to beat.
Wednesday was pretty much business as usual at work, and after I came home and cooked for a few hours while I waited for the b.h. to return from work. I sauteed some kale, roasted tomatoes and zucchini, and made whole wheat penne pasta, threw them all together in a big pot and added goat cheese. It was pretty damned good. I think I'm getting the hang of this.

Long but productive day at the LG today, after which I was full of cabin fever. I came home and the b.h. was just returning from walking the dogs in the woods behind our house, which as you may recall is pretty strenuous. He decided to accompany me to the Nature Center anyway, because he is very good to me. The Nature Center is just a few miles away, and basically consists of a very large field bordered by trees and a large swath of the river. The field is left to grow wild all year, and at the end of the fall they mow it all down and start over. It's a great place for birds (there are bird houses all through the place) and a nice way to see what wildflowers are currently in bloom. There are paths that are grassy and cut short winding all about. It is a favorite place of ours. Kilgore loves to swim, but Wyatt, being built (as I have probably mentioned) rather like a barrel with four tiny pegs sticking out, is not exactly aquadynamic. He has attempted to swim on occasion, but without my direct intervention he will list helplessly sideways, and so he usually stays in the shallow water and stalks Kilgore, running at him when he comes out after a long swim. Yesterday he seemed particularly frustrated and anxious to swim, so today I brought along his fancy new life jacket. He didn't leap right in, but the progress was promising, and he seemed perfectly comfortable in it. Looking forward to tomorrow. Pictures to follow.
Also, as promised and by request, The Shirt:

Got two more compliments by two more gay men on it last night.

A really cool thing happened to me at the LG the other day. A regular customer, an older guy who doesn't say much but usually cracks wise when he does, came in looking for some cheese. This is a man who never, ever needs my help, but whom I ask, every time I see him, how he is doing and whether I can help him find anything. So on this day, I ask, and he smiles, and he says no, but then he realizes he can't find the Rochetta. I point it out to him, and he picks up a wheel, looking as if he is trying to make a decision.
"Do you want me to cut it for you?", I asked him. It isn't a large wheel, but it is a very rich (and delicious, and decadent) cheese.
He paused for a moment.
"Could you? I usually buy the whole thing, but I-"
"Of course I can. No trouble at all. Surely some one", I said, referring to myself, "will want the other half."
"Are you sure? I mean, you don't have to-"
I ripped the wrapper off, smiling, and told him that it was really no big deal, and that I would be taking home the other half, and that it would not go to waste. I wrapped it up, thanking him for helping me to justify my inner glutton, and he took it and went away.
A few minutes later, he appeared again on the other side of the counter.
"Do you mind if I switch halves with you?"
"Not at all," I said, not thinking about why or caring much. They were virtually identical. I took the half from him and handed him the other. Then I turned around to put it back in the cooler and realized that it had a PAID sticker on it. I looked back at him, starting to protest, but he winked, waved, and walked off.

I know I have been home from New York for quite some time now, but I am not nearly through talking about that trip yet. Or rather, I don't have a lot to say, but there are still a number of pictures i think you might enjoy. So here are a few more:

These are, obviously, taken in Grand Central. The one of the ceiling is difficult to see, but there are celestial images painted on it, which apparently were only (fairly) recently discovered during a cleaning. There are two very small spots where the ceiling was left as it was before the cleaning, I assume to demonstrate just how bad the staining was from decades of tobacco smoke. No photo of that spot, I'm afraid. My camera wasn't up to the job.








And, the outside:






This is a picture of the best cup of coffee I had the whole trip. Why? Because I can.




The rest of these are just random architecture and street art. There was an indescribable amount of this stuff. I loved it.

So, unsurprisingly, there is an Athens contingent in New York City. What was surprising is that I ran into two of them without planning it at all.
The second day there I woke up early and had to move my car. After circling a couple blocks trying to find a legal spot, I jumped out and found myself standing at a red light waiting to cross the street behind a guy who used to work at Agora. I couldn't remember his name to save my life, and it was a million degrees outside and I had just woken up, so I didn't say anything to him.
Then on Friday, we all went into Manhattan to take pictures and look at lobbies of great buildings and stop at Grand Central Station to buy rape whistles (K likes to give them as gifts. They're small and floral and fit on your key chain), and we were standing on the sidewalk taking pictures. The b.h. was wearing his 40 Watt t-shirt, and out of nowhere a very loud, very New York voice boomed
"Is that The Forty Watt in Athens, Georgia? I used to work there thirty years ago!"
The voice came from a uniformed man outside of one of the spectacular buildings whose facades I was attempting to photograph. We ended up chatting with him for a few minutes, and of course we knew many of the same people. He showed us the inside of the building where he was working, which was stunning, but I was too shy to take pictures. I did take his, though.


Honestly, the world is just so small.

We stopped at a Buffalo Exchange on the way back to K's. I bought a pair of jeans and K got two skirts and a shirt, which she ended up giving to me (Again with the she's too kind). We also stopped at a thrift store, which was not quite as thrifty as a regular thrift store, but pretty damned thrifty for Brooklyn. I was tempted by a lot of things, but purchased only a small vintage commemorative glass from Soth of the Border.
We got back to K's and made more coffee. I painted my toenails, charged my camera battery, and took some pictures from her balcony:






After hanging out there for an hour or so, we were ready to get our night started. K had a gallery opening to attend, so we all got on the subway together and went to Union Square, where she met up with her friend J. We parted ways with a plan to get in touch after the show, and the b.h. and I headed in search of food. We made a quick stop at the Walgreens, where I was told by the man checking us out that my blouse was "lovely". (Wardrobe compliments from gay men = Score!). We found several places that looked interesting, but none seemed suitable for his meat habit, my vegetarian needs, and our schedule, which was slightly tighter than was ideal. We weren't exactly sure about getting to the boat where the rock show was going to happen, and we wanted to get there in plenty of time. We wound up eating at a vegetarian place since getting too full on a big heavy meal before boarding a boat for a rock show seemed like a bad idea. Angelica Kitchen is in the East Village, and it has been doing Vermont for longer than Vermont has. By this I mean the focus is on seasonal, local, organic food. The day's specials were Steve McQueen themed (I wish I could remember the names - one was a play on The Great Escape, and the other was called Steve's somethingorother), a sure sign that these were, at least to some degree, our people. While I w, I was chatting as waiting in line for the rest room (I had to wash my hands, you see, because we had ridden the subway, and well, ew), a waiter who looked remarkably like a gay twenty-something version of Brent Best told me that he liked my blouse and that it really suited me. That's two compliments from two unrelated gay men in less than an hour. Totally keeping that shirt. Anyway, the food was excellent, the service was quick, and we got out of there in plenty of time. We started walking in the general direction of the dock, stopped for a cannoli (yay! cannoli!) on the way, and eventually grabbed a cab the rest of the way. We saw the band at their van right when we pulled up, so we went over to say hi and met the new bass player.
If I haven't properly indoctrinated you yet, then let me pause here to tell you how much you need to hear and see and love J. Roddy Walston and the Business. This band may actually save rock and roll. And they just released an e.p. this week, so you should go get one. It's on iTunes and it's under three dollars. That way you can say you had it first when they blow up, which by the looks of things they are just about to do.
Getting on the boat was easy and uneventful. The show was pretty crowded, and there were a number of record industry douchebag types, as well as several people with cameras that were too professional for tourists. I assume that they were press folk, though it hadn't occurred to me until just this moment to do a search and see if the show got written up anywhere. We talked to the boys a bit, and I took a lot of pictures.






None of the shots of the Statue of Liberty turned out, which is rather a bummer. Oh well. Here are a few of the band:

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



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



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



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




that she is waving at the Statue of Liberty.





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





I like the sentiment on this one:



This one left me feeling quite unsettled:



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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

I worked early on Tuesday, and we were pretty busy because the store had been closed on Monday. The day went by very quickly, and before I knew it I was at home packing. I slept very little, as is often the case when we are about to leave town, due to needless worrying coupled with giddy enthusiasm.

I woke up very early, packed the car, and went to work to meet up with my co-workers before heading South to White River Junction for a day of cheese class. The class was offered by our state's Cheese Council, in cooperation with a local University. It was lead by a woman from Spain, whose accent, I gathered, was difficult for the other seven people from my store, and nearly impossible for the cheesemakers who made up the rest of our class to decipher.
We were given a plate with two samples on it and a small slice of apple. We were shown notes on an overhead projector. We took almost two hours discussing these things. (This was the first time that this class had been offered outside the University, where it is taught over a six week period.) We took a break at this point, and I assumed that there were going to be two or possibly four more samples after lunch.
There wasn't any lunch, nor was there time for one. We broke for ten minutes, during which I mostly waited in line for the bathroom and then attempted to meet a couple of the cheese makers. I overheard a couple of them complaining about the smell of the first two samples (a French Camembert and an Epoisses, which bore little resemblance to the cheddars and mild cheeses that most of these people grew up on and produce). This was clearly not what anyone expected.
Two more samples were handed around when class resumed, as well as small paper cups half-full of water. Again there were notes. Feeling my carpel tunnel start to kick in, I wondered why on earth they hadn't thought to print these things out in advance. We tasted, we discussed, and we disagreed. The cheesemaker at our table couldn't believe that anybody would eat any of this stuff on purpose. We finished the fourth sample and I was imagining what I might do while I waited for the b.h. to arrive (he was taking a bus down to meet me). And then the rest of the samples came out. They kept coming. We were handed sheets on which we were to make notes. The rest of the cheeses were made locally by the people in the class. We were not told what the cheeses were, but each one was given a number and we were expected to make notes about them, based on what we had learned in class, which would then be given to the person who made the cheese. When this portion of the class started, we had already eaten two ounces each of FOUR cheeses. It was not pretty.
"Well, at least we won't have to make any bathroom stops on the way home," joked my boss, Barbara.
Basically we suffered through as much as we could of the rest of the cheeses, but most people stopped even pretending that they cared. The class ran an hour longer than it was scheduled to, and I ran out the door at the end to pick up the b.h., who had by then spent an hour at the bus station. I learned a lot in that class, but the most important lesson I learned while driving to New York City feeling like I might throw up at any moment, and it is this: Never, under any circumstances, eat more than half a pound of cheese in one sitting.

My sister and her husband were here for the weekend. They came in on Friday and tooled around Burlington while the b.h. and I were at work, and then we all went for dinner at the Local Restaurant. It was a fabulous meal, made more fabulous by my recently quitting working there. They say familiarity breeds contempt, and not having been in that building for a week and a half, I will agree. It felt a lot more comfortable knowing I didn't have to come back again until I wanted to. We stuffed ourselves silly and went home to bed.
Saturday we both went to work again while my sister and her husband went to yoga, the bookstore, and the farmer's market. I envied them from behind the counter at the Local Grocery, but my day was fairly easy and ended early.
We went to dinner that night at a nearby barbecue restaurant, then came home and took the dogs for a hike in the woods. After that we watched the hockey game, which the Blackhawks won, and then turned in. On Sunday the b.h. went off with some friends from the CS, while me sister and her husband and I took the dogs and went hiking. We went up to Owl's Head, from which I took this picture:



The view was lovely, but the hiking rather sucked. We made a couple different stops only to find nearly impassable trails and lots of mud. Ah well, the quarter mile up to the lookout point was plenty of exercise for all of us- especially Wyatt.

The b.h. made dinner on Sunday night, while the rest of us sat around reading and napping. A lovely time all around.

My sister and her husband left on Monday morning, and the b.h. and I took the dogs to yet another lovely Green Mountain State Park. I took quite some time cleaning out the car and packing water and snacks and long sleeves, etc. We had no real plan, but went off on a highway where we thought we had remembered there being a park. The sky was very hazy due to some wildfires up in Quebec, and we hoped that driving further South would make for clearer views. No such luck, it turned out, and also we were wrong about the park. After it became clear that we were mistaken, the b.h. pulled out our atlas and found a way to get to a different park nearby. The road was long and winding and bumpy, and the dogs were starting to get antsy by the time we finally got there. We were thrilled to see that there were no other cars or people anywhere as we drove in. (Even the park staff had been given the day off for the holiday, apparently.)
The sun was shining and there was a nice breeze as I leapt from the car and opened the back door to let the dogs out. And then, reaching into the back seat I realized, with great horror, that we had forgotten their leashes.
We let them out anyway, since there were no other people or cars, and eventually fashioned a leash for Kilgore from some bungee cords in our emergency roadside kit. Wyatt is no worry to us, but Kilgore is both quick and agile, and neither of us had any desire to lose him on a trail that marked a Bear's Den as one of the points of interest.
You might be surprised at how long three quarters of a mile can be. Having lived here for just over a year, I am only surprised that I continue to be surprised. Anyway, we all made it in one piece, and the drive home was quiet.

I never did get the tires swapped out on Tuesday, but luckily I got up very early and did that today. Tuesday I went to yet another spot on the river with A and her dog (Sushi) and Wyatt and KG. Wyatt was having none of it. I don't know if it was the number of children present or the muddy, squishy bank, but he simply was not enjoying himself. I ran him home and went back with KG. KG and I did a lot of swimming. It was around ninety degrees outside, so rather than just wading I actually went in all the way, paddling around next to the dog. I think it freaked him out at first, but since he isn't very good at bringing back the sticks I throw for him, I went after him and took them back myself. It was really fun, though I realized that I might need to invest in actual swimwear this year since I had a lot of trouble keeping my shorts up.
Today I dropped the car off at the tire place and walked the boys down to a frontage road by the river. There were a couple other people there with dogs, so it was more fun than usual. I got back and ran the lawnmower over the spot out back in front of the shed. It had grown fairly tall, but I was loathe to cut it since there are a lot of wild strawberries out there, but it had gotten to a point where it looked really crappy, and my sister and her husband are coming in this week, so I broke down and did it.
So yeah, my sister and her husband are coming tomorrow. They are insane enough to fly on a holiday weekend, and I have both Sunday and Monday off, so there you go. The forecast looks fantastic right now, but having lived in this state almost exactly a year now, I have come to realize that forecasts mean nothing. As such, I am making a kind of rough list of things we could do, from which we will choose according to our moods and the weather. Mostly I think there will be eating, drinking, and hiking.
I will work tomorrow and Saturday, then again on Tuesday, and then Wednesday I have a class all day (for which I am being paid) in cheese tasting. Seriously. Not only is my job paying for the class, but I get paid a full day for going. I am thrilled. It's about an hour away, and the b.h. is going to take the bus down and meet me when I am done because - brace yourself - we are going to New York City to see our friends (J. Roddy Walston and the Business) play a rock show on a boat. I could not be more excited. The boat leaves from 22nd and FDR, and then goes under the Brooklyn and Manhattan bridges (plus another that I can't remember), rounds the Statue of Liberty, and returns to dock around 11pm. I am seriously giddy. Also, my friend K's birthday is on Thursday, so we are going to spend the day in the city with her. I can't wait. Can't wait!

I am having a very difficult time keeping up with writing. It's funny how quitting a job doesn't give me any extra time. I mean, I now have more time, but "extra"? Nah. The weather has been incredible. Last week I spent Monday with my friend A. We took the dogs to a groomer that's about forty five minutes away, then went into the nearest town and had pastries and coffee. When we picked the dogs up we brought them to a little lake on the way home. I was wearing sunscreen, of course, but I still managed to grow more freckles. On Tuesday I did some housework and then took my boys to the nature center so they could swim in the river. The rest of the week was pretty exhausting, but again with perfect weather and going to the woods or the river every free moment.
On Saturday the b.h. and I went out to Wakefield after I finished work. We had dinner and saw Iron Man. That town is beautiful, as are most parts of this state. The drive was gorgeous.
Yesterday I wrapped up the rest of our winter clothes and broke out the summer ones, and went out and bought herbs and a couple of tomato plants, which I brought home and promptly planted. I bought a tomato that is already large and starting to bloom. Cheating? Well, yes, but I live in a state with one of the shortest growing seasons, so I don't really feel bad about it. I will be a cheater with fresh tomatoes in my salad by next week.
I am stalling right now. I have Springsteen Storytellers on the DVD, and I really need to go swap out the tires on my car. Still using snow tires, which have, I think, finally gone out of season. I just do not feel like being responsible.
Ah well, off I go.

This is great. Not exactly what I have come to expect from the Ted site, but hilarious.