Just a gripe

In no particular order, these are people I try to avoid driving behind:

1. anyone wearing a hat that is not a baseball cap - If you can only see a hat above the back of the car seat and no neck or shoulders, this person is likely as old a automobiles themselves and is on their way to a funeral, bingo game, or to catch the early bird special

2. anyone with more than one stuffed animal in their back windshield- Young, old, or middle age there is no excuse for having enough faded stuffed toys to fill a carnival claw game machine.

3. anyone driving with a small dog on their lap - Really? I'm still baffled by the sight of a woman I saw driving with a cat hanging out of the window doggy-style. (the cat, not the woman)

4. anyone that still has a "Baby on Board" sign in their minivan window- First off, its not 1987. You might as well have a squash Garfield doll up their too.

5. anyone driving a Prius- Sure you're "saving the planet" but, you've got about as much acceleration as a Playskool pedal car ridden by a kid with one leg.

Renaissance Man

My upstairs neighbor is a jack-of-all-trades. He's a handyman, gardener, carpenter, avid recycler, muscle head, and now, as it turns out, he's also a real life Renaissance Man. I've only lived below him and his "lady friend" for 6 months or so but, in that amount of time, I've learned more than I really want to know about him. Iago, as I've named him since I can't for the life of me remember his real name, wakes at 3:30 am everyday to work out. By 7:30, when I'm just becoming aware of the day and my own aging body, he is trudging down the steps to start his day as my apartment complex maintenance man. I know those steps all too well, as do the dogs who no longer waste their barks on him.

This past Saturday morning I stood at my door, eyes still bleary from lack of sleep, and attempted to corral my pups to take them out for their first outing of the day. Still struggling to untangle their leashes, I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. These steps were different than usual. My friend was not wearing his trademark generic black sneakers but, some sort of boot or dress shoe. I peered out the window to make sure he was past my door before I went out and that is when I spied Iago in full Renaissance garb: knee high leather boots with criss-crossed lacing, black tights, white blouson shirt, and black velvet tunic with gold piping. "Oh my," I said to myself.

Just as I was about to open the door to get a better look, I heard the "clip-clop" of his boots heading back my way. I guess he had forgotten something. A sword? Maybe a mace? or perhaps his lute? No. Nothing that exciting. Iago trotted back down the stairs, this time at a faster clip. I guess he was late. He returned carrying a foiled covered casserole dish. I'm no history buff or anything but, I'm pretty sure there were no potlucks during the Renaissance Era. I supposed the day's event was BYOGTL (bring your own giant turkey leg). I could be wrong.

Iago mounted his trusty steed, a mostly grey 1994 Mazda Protege, and was off. I'm sure he was in for a full day of plundering, pillaging, and whatever else goes on at the Renaissance Faire. I can honestly say that I do not know.

"Good morrow and fair thee well my good sir," I mumbled to myself. I was intent on staying in the present and that meant getting my dogs out and then going back to sleep.

Arias BellGrande

I was fortunate enough to be invited to see Andrea Bocelli in concert last night. While a night of Italian arias might sound like more of a curse than a blessing for some people, I was truly excited for this show. All dolled up in a new red dress and heels (which I don't wear very often), I was feeling sexy and sophisticated. I met my date and we strolled into the venue, a good looking couple if I do say so myself. 

We ordered drinks, a white wine for me and gin on the rocks for him, and proceeded to our seats. Our seats were, in what some might call, the Nose Bleed section. This is nearly the same section of the arena where I had seen a hockey game a few years back. We had a decent view of the stage and the jumbotron to see all the opera action up close. 

The lights dimmed and the orchestrated started to play. Between the strings and woodwinds all I could hear was "chomp, chomp, chomp". I looked just past my date to see a guy fully immersed in his tray of chili cheese nachos. Really? Nachos? Here? It was more than distracting. Not only was the continuous crunching interrupting my enjoyment of Verdi but, the smell was overpowering.  It was like pears and brie at a NASCAR race, BBQ ribs at a wake, or Jagermeister shots at a baby shower; out of place.