That's My Bix!

I have been creeped out by the Old Navy mannequins for the last year. At first I thought it was the vaguely unnerving plotlines or maybe the strange accents used for the voiceovers, but I realized what was leaving me so unsettled today: it’s not that they don’t move, but rather, they don’t move when you’re looking at them. When the camera cuts away, they have always moved and are again frozen.

They’re the fucking Blink angels. In polar fleece.

Shudder.

***

This weekend was one of those weekends when the clock seemed to slow down, as is practically never the case. Even now, I’m writing this at 6:30 on Sunday and it seems as though today has just lingered on and on. Friday night we did not much of anything: caught up on the Tivo and then watched the first two episodes of “Bored to Death” (verdict: I love it, Esteban isn’t wooed quite yet but is willing to watch it again), during which Esteban remarked that Jason Schwartzman looked weirdly like Nicholas Cage, and I explained that I wasn’t surprised, since they were both Coppolla’s, and then had to explain my unnatural obsession with the Coppolla clan. And then went into the fridge to get a snack and some wine and realized that the only bottle chilling was a bottle of Sofia and then decided that what I really wanted was water. Plain old fucking water.

On Saturday, I woke up unnaturally early, even earlier than I normally set my alarm during the work week, and knew right away that there would be no hope of going back to sleep, so I woke Esteban and told him I was going to the Farmer’s Market and he groaned, swung out of bed, and said he’d join me if I’d wait for him to get out of the shower. We packed up the pup and headed downtown, where the chilly morning and the scattered rain was keeping almost everyone away, including the vendors. Actually, we had an actual and proper frost during the week, including reports of snow far too south than is proper for late September, so I think most of the crops were either lost or sold at the mid-week market (which we also attended, although bought nothing more than goat cheese curds and a pseudo-power bar situation that really was like a peanut butter cookie covered in fudge frosting…mmmm, glorious denial). The sparse market and the fact that it started to rain harder just as we pulled up caused Esteban to opt to hang out in the car with the heated seats while I indulged in my crazy. That’s fine, mister! I get to be more farmer’s market crazy if he’s not there to rein me in anyway. I ended up with two bags of mushrooms (oyster and shitake), a fistful of lemongrass (FOR A DOLLAR), a bag of Royal plums (have been hankering to make a plum tart), a bag of Cortlant apples (ditto on warm applesauce), some of the Crack caramel corn, and some delicious Irish cheddar and untested Manchego from the cheese monger (I didn’t take my weekly wedge of Humboldt Fog, as I still had one untouched in the cheese drawer) and probably something else, but my memory grows dim in my declining years. Something like that.

After that, we hit Sbux, where the barissta asked us if we knew whether the farmer’s market was still going on (apparently we are extremely well known at Sbux, so much so that Esteban tried to be nice and bring me some hot tea on a Work From Home day and the barisstas gave him iced and insisted that it was the right order because I NEVER order hot tea. Which is correct. I never do. But it was 38 degrees outside, so cut the guy some slack.), then we went to what I now think of as “the Good Church Rummage Sale”. It is good because it is amazing. Seriously amazing. When Mopie lived her, she got a bunch of stuff for her apartment there, and it’s also the place that I got my enamelware-top table that’s in my kitchen (that Esteban depises, but I love so very much), as well as an antique camera for a dollar. I love the Good Church Rummage Sale more than is reasonable or just, because apparently all of the old people who go to said Good Church are in the process of decluttering their houses and sending the most amazing stuff to the rummage sale. I could pretty much die, and we were there right when it opened and it was, again, glorious. I believe that I twittered that I would like to come back as a packrat in my next life, because oh my god, the stuff. The STUFF! Esteban had urged me to practice restraint, and believe me I did, to the point that I wasn’t even going to take a completely pristine, never used bar set that would very much be at home in an executive’s bar at Sterling-Cooper. It was six dollars. Still shiny. I doubt it had ever been used. Six DOLLARS. I let it sit there while I made my rounds, scoring a bunch of awesome vintage games for Weetacon (can you say Operation races? Synchronized Twister!?), another tiered chrome stand that complements but does not match my other two (I am broken when it comes to tiered plates, people) and a little vintage Eames-y glass cannister that is narrow enough to fit in our medicine cabinet to hold my eyeshadows (which are annoying even me). I was going to make another round when I spied another antique camera sitting on the table and actually squeaked and then wanted to shove old ladies out of my way to get to it. Esteban found me there, still lingering over the Don Draper bar set, and he agreed that it was amazing. I regretfully admitted that we didn’t have any room for it, not one place in our house that it would be at home, and yet, Esteban said to take it, so I did, even though it defies all of my intents and attempts to declutter the house.

I have a weakness and it is mid-century modern.

Esteban did not come away completely empty-handed, as he had spied a garment steamer, similar to the one he bought me (that has been plagued with persnickety issues) for like four million dollars a few years ago. This one was bigger, had a nicer hose (SNORT!) and was five bucks. I agreed that it was a good gamble to find out if it worked, and if it didn’t, we could pitch it. We left having spent $16.50, and were accosted by someone in the parking lot who had wanted the steamer but apparently they wouldn’t let him hold whatever big item he was trying to put on hold, so he had missed out, but tried to gloat that he got a very cool looking professional shoe shiner. Oooh, we’re all lucky that I hadn’t known what the hell that thing was, because mid-century AND having to do with shoes?! Damn.

We hung out at home for a bit, doing housework and generally flailing our arms about in glee that we had an entire weekend free from plans. Esteban wanted to swing by Titletown, where they were having some kind of German festival to celebrate the tapping of their Octoberfest beer, plus he really wanted to try the new beer. I was happy because mmm… red cabbage. Seriously, I cannot think of a German food that I do not like. Meh, maybe rye bread with carraway.  In fact, all carraway can go to hell as far as I’m concerned.  We got to their “bier garten”, where the polka band was just setting up, and had lunch. Esteban said the beer was surprisingly hoppy, and then got to dork out about brewing with the brewmaster, talking about their various hops growing experiments (our garage has been sacrificed to Esteban’s passion for beermaking, with hops growing up the outer wall) while I chilled out, ate spiesbraten and drank their homemade Sno-Cap rootbeer, which is delicious.

After lunch, we went home to get the pup and then drove to Appleton, which we’ve now decided has the best dog park for small dogs in a 50 mile radius. Yes, we’ve done copious trials and testings. The bonus is that it was the final meeting of the pug lovers association in the area, which meant crazy people who like to dress up their dogs.

Yes, I have become one of them.

I’m sorry, but if you have a pug, I’m pretty sure that it’s in the constitution that you must dress it up. Either that or pugs appeal to people who like to humiliate their animals. I don’t know, but Aveline was a shark and she was very very popular. Esteban said that I had a “dog-gasm” whenever a new pug appeared in costume. But seriously, people: pugs dress up day! Best day ever!

It was a very cool afternoon (mid 50’s) so Ave spent 90 minutes straight running around playing with other grunty friends, with the whole park echoing in raspy, asthmatic grunts. At one point, she had a stick and there were five other pugs chasing her. She’s not used to being the fastest dog in a pack, and she seemed to relish the attention. Bitch is a bit of a diva, what can I say?

We headed homeward, mostly because I had only brought a hoodie and also, didn’t want to pee in a portapotty that probably hadn’t been emptied since it was set up in spring. We kept Ave up, despite the fact that she really really really really wanted to nap, for about an hour because we had plans to leave and wanted her to spend her time in the crate sleeping rather than being irritated. Yes, the dog owns us. If we had to put the cat in a crate, I doubt that we’d ever leave the house.

I had it in my craw that I wanted to go to a drive in movie since last weekend. The local drive in (and by “local” I mean one that is 34 miles from our house) had kind of a lousy selection last week, but this weekend was showing The Time Traveler’s Wife and also Halloween. Esteban didn’t want to see the first movie and abjectly refused the second, so we looked at the other local drive in, which is up the Door about 75 miles away. We both didn’t mind seeing either feature, so I packed up some snacks, a blanket and a pillow and we loaded up the truck (because you can’t snuggle in the Murano… another failing) and headed east.

It was a gorgeous drive. The gloomy day wasn’t allowing for the typical Wisconsin light show with the autumn colors but even in the diffused light, it was amazing. I saw at least eight incidents of deer grazing in the pastures and wooded areas, and more hawks and angles of geese than you would believe. It doesn’t hurt that the Door penninsula is absolutely breaktaking. The air was crisp, red apples were weighing down the branches in the orchards and it was just the kind of night where you want to turn up your collar and breathe deeply the smells of wet leaves and smoke and just the slightest suggestion of snow.

We got to the drive in shortly after the gates opened and I went into the old snack house and ordered a pizza, a bucket of popcorn (with real butter, something you only get at independent theatres), a soda and a box of Dots. Total bill? $17. Plus, we paid what constitutes matinee prices to get in. Insanity! I did bring a few snacks along, things that were not replicating what was available at the snack shack, things like grapes and Humboldt Fog and a bottle of Layer Cake Cabernet Sauvignon, which was totally illegal to have inside the truck and you know what? I don’t care. It went very nice with the pizza and if there are any law enforcement personnel reading this, we drank it outside the vehicle.

I had totally forgotten how much nicer it was to see a movie at a drive in. You see, I kind of hate people. I hate crowds. I don’t like being too close to strangers. It’s not something that affects my daily life, but it does put me on edge a bit in crowded places where you have to be close to other people, places like restaurants, airplanes and movie theatres. And I’ve just come to accept the anxiety and my inability to relax as part of the price of admission, but at a drive in?! Holy hannah, I have none of that because I’m protected by the sanctum of my car! I can just roll up the windows and they are out there and I’m in here and it’s all good. Plus, at the drive in, you don’t have anyone sitting behind you, kicking your seat. Well, no one you couldn’t turn around and punch back, anyway.

We only watched the first movie (Julie and Julia, the former sections being a little unsatisfying but the latter being amazing and well worth the movie ticket) and the second wasn’t so compelling (Inglourious Basterds, or however you misspell that) that we wanted to postpone the 75 mile drive back home. It was the right decision, as Esteban felt a cold coming on within seconds of the first film’s credits and was in full on pitiful mode by the time we were halfway home. Similarly, I held it together until about 10 miles out of town and then could hardly keep my eyes open any longer.  We were both very grateful to do the nightly household closedown rituals (take the dog outside, check the doors, appease Jincy, etc) and then go to bed, with promises of sleeping in on Sunday.

A promise we kept.