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Thursday, August 26, 2010

Southern Hospitality

So people in Cleveland are nice. Really nice. And this is coming from the girl who grew up in the Southeast, where people believe without doubt that they are the friendliest people in the nation.

So far, Cleveland's giving us a run for our money. Today a Trader Joe's employee failed to double bag my beer and wine, and five seconds later, my beer and noodles were all over the floor. I laughed as multiple people rushed in with mops. I got sent home with a Begonia plant for my trouble. Sure, it might have been the closest thing within reach that was below $5, but a sweet gesture nonetheless.

Our aforementioned neighbor bestowed his unwanted chairs upon us for our front porch. He's operating under the assumption that all "broads" like to "sit in front of the television watching those love shows like The Bachelor," but who cares, really - this broad likes the pizza shop he recommended in Little Italy.

I'm consistently surprised that people everywhere want to have cheery conversations: in the bathroom, at the grocery checkout, the gas pump. In Baltimore, we look straight ahead and mind our own business (unless we want a quarter, of course). Maybe I grew up with overt friendliness among strangers, but I had kind of forgotten it existed.

This weather does leave me slightly concerned. Ninety degree heat is my favorite. Give me the beach, a summer dress, and flip-flops any day, every day - any October day! But the Cleveland air is already cool and crisp. It's August 28th, and I'm wearing long sleeves. This does not bode well. I'm still shopping online for the Rocketeer-style backpack space heater that I hope becomes my personal accessory.

Herbie is glad that we've finally settled in one place. The two of us celebrated our one-year anniversary this week; he got a few extra treats, and we looked at old pictures from when I found him at the SPCA. A year of love (and fancy food?) seems to have done wonders for his coat...
then and now

Herb gets very angry when John practices Bartok. After sleeping peacefully by his side for Bach, atonality makes him run from the room screaming. He actually hides in the bedroom, refusing to leave. That's okay, though; I guess it's good to have at least one true Baroque lover in the family.

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