Working the Corner

So far, the same intersection has been the inspiration for half of my posts. What I am going to write about after I've made fun of all the businesses within walking distance of my house?

I'll let you know later. For tonight, I bring you news of another local oddity. However, this one may only be witnessed after dark.

At a salon called Intimate Whispers, there is a strobe light in the window. Nothing says intimate and whispers like a continuously flashing light!

Thanks to Brian for complaining about the light so I could play up this paradox.

Democracy Need Not Apply

I did something bad Thursday night.

I watched national broadcast news. I know, I know.

Here's what NBC Chief White House correspondent David Gregory had to say as the conclusion to a story on Hamas winning the Palestinian elections:

"... a reminder that democracy can produce unwelcome results."

Gregory was basically summing up the Bush administration's feeling about the situation.

Double standard alert!

In my opinion, Bush can't go around trumpeting his desire to bring democracy to the world if he can also say its results are unfavorable.

Democracy means the will of the people prevails. If the people want terrorists, that's who they get. Free and fair elections always turn out the way they should. Period.

Dog is My Co-pilot

While waiting to cross the street after lunch today, my friend Matt and I were frightened by a dog.

My being scared by a dog isn't hard to imagine. I'm not really fond of that variety of household pet. But Matt is a sturdy guy (6 feet plus), and his boyfriend manages a veterinary clinic.

We were standing in the part of the street where a car parked next to the curb would be when an red-orange '80s muscle car went by. Neither of us noticed it coming, but we immediately became aware of the huge Hooch-esque dog hanging out of the passenger window that was barking maniacally. The dog was so far out the window he could have nipped my nose had he been more angry.

Must love dogs, indeed.

On a Roll

I've solved last night's mystery. Apparently, it's uniquely, inexplicably Boston.

I canvassed a co-worker who has lived here for 19 years. She's never gotten bread with her Chinese. Glad I'm not the only one in town without a clue.

My Googling also turned up this gem.

Sometimes when callers are broadcast on the radio, it sounds to me as if they're speaking a foreign language.

It's funny 'cause it's true.

White Bread

I had Chinese for dinner tonight. Brian is gone on a business trip, so I decided to do Chinese and eat it for several meals. It was to be somewhat of an adventure as we have yet to try Chinese in our new area. I will always have affection for our last Chinese place. The food wasn't especially good, but the name was priceless: Yours'. That apostrophe is for, um, emphasis?

Tonight's place was free of grammar issues. However, it did have a little something extra. Upon opening my brown paper sack, I found two rolls. I smirked. Who eats bread with Chinese?

Me. It was so good!

I can't believe Brian or someone in his family (they love to dip) never thought of this before. All that good sauce left on the plate just waiting for dippage.

Guess the school cafterias were on to something by serving rolls with everything. I hope it's also a regular feature of my local Dragon Island.

The Teeth of Winter

The Weather Channel predicted an inch of snow today with a Winter Weather Advisory until 7 p.m. because it was going to rain after the snow finished. Not a big deal.

But the wet snow I saw through my window at 6:45 a.m. seemed steady, and there was already a fair amount on the ground. So I wore jeans and pulled out the waterproof winter coat and gear to complement my commuting shoes of choice between November and March: heavy snow boots.

I trudged to the bus stop and watched all the silly drivers creeping toward the nearby major intersection. On days like this, I'll gladly take standing out in the cold and wet over being behind the wheel. Plus, I usually wait three to five minutes for the bus. Even if the bus is running behind or slightly ahead, I can time it just right.

You see the bus has to go past my house on the way to my house. It turns around about two blocks north of our place to begin the inbound trip. When I see the bus go past from my kitchen window, I know I have about 10 minutes before it will be at my stop.

This morning would be different. After 10 minutes of waiting, I wasn't too concerned because of the aformentioned traffic. But the minutes continued to tick by, and morning commuters I had never seen began to appear at "my" stop. A young woman with a Russian accent asked me how long I'd been waiting. I guess she was slightly alarmed by the amount of snow that had accumulated on top of my hood and in my shopping bag. I was carrying an small open shopping bag to transport my work boots. These are usually at the office (Many women here in Winterland wear comfortable shoes/boots for the wet/salty/muddy winter commute and keep nice shoes at work), but I needed them this weekend. Unfortunate.

Thirty minutes after arriving at the bus stop, I was contemplating calling it a day. But then a woman came striding up the sidewalk and addressed the assembled commuters. She proceeded to tell us that the bus was stuck on the turnaround street because it was iced over. It had been trying to turn for 25 minutes or so. She had been on it. She also had lost the front four teeth of her bottom row. But man was she cheerful considering the circumstances. She chattered all the way down the street while we walked to where a different bus route runs. So I guess we all eventually got to work. Thanks, tooth fairy.

Breakfast Down Under

I wouldn't call our neighborhood economically depressed. But let's just say there probably hasn't been anything truly new in years. That's why I was so excited to see someone overhauling a crusty space in the nearby shopping strip. The building got limestone veneers, tile floors and a sweet wrought iron round table and two chairs. Then came the sign in the window: Coming Soon! Love Bagels, Love Bread. Old school computer printing complete with dot matrix hearts.

It's a stupid name; I'm not a fan of the awkward comma. Why not Bread and Bagel? All the alliteration with none of the amorous repetition. Oh well. However, I decided that my lack of enthusiam for the name wasn't going to prevent me from checking out the place once it opens.

I know "soon" is intentionally vague. But it has been six months since the sign and still no grand opening. There has been a major new development, though. My first viewing was at night as I went by on the bus. The backlit plastic building sign is up. It's yellow with red lettering. And the name has changed! There's also quite the intriguing subhead. I cannot wait to visit

Love Bagel, Love Bread, Love Coffee
Traditional Australian Recipes

Australian bagels?

I'll let you know.