It's My Dog's World: I Just Live In It

Adventures in Hoboken and Reasons to Live: A Great Cafe Around the Corner

Oh, Dames Coffee.  Smart barista, sexy art, great coffee.  And a nice cinnamon roll, too.  More kudos here.

Here, too.

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Is The Death Penalty Too Good For Loud Talkers in Outdoor Cafes on a Saturday Morning? Discuss.

Well, it's been an extremely challenging week. But I managed not to kill anyone, and that is pretty darned good.

Not even the guy at the outdoor cafe who was TALKING SO LOUD he was ruining five tables' worth of conversations. 

At 10:30 on a Saturday morning. 

I live in Hoboken, which some magazine or other recently declared superfantastic for single people, or at least single heterosexual people who like to pick each other up in bars, of which we have mucho.  Bars and young straighties, that is. I'm not unrealistic.  I expect loud-talkers on a late night weekend bender, which is just one of the reasons I don't go to bars.  Booze totally ruins your volume control, while it improves your belief that that guy or girl is sexxxxay.

But this guy? He was an upstanding daddy, who was talking so LOUD about a PARTY (he kept flashing the invites) that Jeff and I had to start miming what we wanted to say to each other, and the waitress kept forgetting things, and other eaters at other tables just cringed.  I know you think we all should have moved, but there was no room in the next section, and you know, it was a nice day...we were eating outside because it was pleasant.  And surely the guy would eventually shut up. Hope springs eternal.  But sometimes hope is dumb.

Then when Loud Talker and his party got up to go, they spotted a couple they knew...so the eight of them stood at the entrance of the section, talking LOUD and ...blocking any person's ability to get in or out.  Especially our waitress.   Then  their little girl started petting the dogs at another table.  The dogs took their paws away from their ears...no, now I'm just exaggerating.

But I don't think I'm imagining what I heard when the new couple, who accepted an invitation from Loud Talking Man, sat down.

The woman pointed to the invitation and said, "Well, this way, we'll be able to see them, but we won't have to talk to them."

Sigh.

So Faith and I were walking this morning, and we came upon this.

This isn't an uncommon occurrence, the big big truck parked in the middle of the crosswalk, blocking handicapped access, making it really difficult for the young, the frail, the handicapped, and the overburdened to cross--not to mention, you know, doing something illegal and dangerous. 

If I were charitable, I'd say, well, maybe the driver of this truck had to do an emergency cable/wireless installation.  Maybe the person the truck driver was helping really NEEDED that installation. And after all, this driver is probably aces at assessing emergency situations because he or she...works for a local fire department.

Buy This Jewelry, Or I'll Destroy The Universe!

I try to be a complaint-free zone.  Mostly, I fail miserably, even though I asked for TWO of those purple bracelets that Rev. Will Bowen designed in order to remind us not to complain, to count our blessings, blah, blah, blah.   I'm especially not good at it when I feel like the place where I live is becoming blandified (in addition to having an 11 million buck shortfall in, ahem, last year's budget which just passed).

However, then there is Traders of Babylon, which is, wait for it, our neighborhood jewelry AND comic book store, a glorious pocket of eccentricity in the Mile Square City.  The jewelry is lovely, the comic books lovelier, and sometimes--as in this picture--the twain meets in their display window.

Maybe you, faithful reader, can tell me if this action figure is a good girl or a bad girl--I didn't recognize her. Is it Catwoman?  Sheena of the Jungle? Buffy in a catsuit, warding off a vampire? Let me know what you think.

It's Not Exactly Bowling for Pit Bulls in Pittsburgh...

It's bellydancing for all kinds of rescue beasts in Hoboken!

When I'm not on molasses dial-up, I'll post the picture.

I think this will almost make up for the fact that our sweet little dog beach is no more.  Oh, well. Back to Brooklyn.

By the way, though it's my dog's world, I love cats, too, but my sinuses do not.  If you would like to read about the best memoir ever about cats, sobriety, Brooklyn, and love, go here.

I Survived St. Patrick's Day, and All My Dog Got....

Was about a million pieces of half-eaten pizza.

Seriously. 

There must be something about a certain kind of drunk-itude that makes you want to fling carbohydrates.  They are all over the damned city.   Also, broken glass.

Thanks, St. Patty's Day drunks.  Next time, leave your address beside the pizza and the glass shards so I can send you a nice bag of dog poop for your trouble.

<old lady rant/off>

Happy Drunken Jerk Throws Up on My Sidewalk at 9 o'clock in the Morning and Then Tries to Pet My Dog Too Hard...

Or, as they like to call it in Hoboken, the St. Patrick's Day Parade.

We're All Winners This Week in Hoboken

Sometimes, I love my little town.

The Giants won, with that lovable lunk AND Hobokenite  Eli Manning, little brother of Peyton, with able assists from a man named Plaxico.  And I love this, even though I am generally asportual (unless it is the Steelers, because you can't really take Pittsburgh out of the girl) because they were underdogs. Because a certain coach paid a HALF MILLION DOLLAR fine for cheating and still got named Coach of the Year, and that's just not right. Because New York magazine makes fun of Eli for living in Hoboken. Because it is lovely to see someone escape the clutches of defeat, and throw the ball, and another someone catch it.

And that was just the beginning.  Faith won a contest! Yes:  Cutest Dog of Hoboken, again, like the Giants, by the tiniest of margins, via a contest on Hoboken411, thanks to the magic of the Santa suit.

And while it's great to be a winner, it would also be great if these dogs, which Jeff and I have walked, were adopted.  Especially Caramel.

And finally, although I, cough, didn't get to vote for the person I was supporting, it was still great to see the  polling place PACKED. 

My Favorite E-mail From yesterday

Our local deli, Luca Brasi’s  (yes, from the character in “The Godfather”), sends out a daily e-mail….yesterday they sent this correction:

 

"CORRECTION: THE CORRECT GOD RESPONSIBLE FOR BEER WAS Ninkasi: the goddess of alcohol, also known as the matron the goddess of beer."

I am so glad they cleared that up.

 

Why Hayden Panettiere will never have to pay a $2,000 dog poop fine in Hoboken

Or appear in an embarrassing web site, complete with mug shot.

Because, as we can clearly see in this link, even though she doesn't wear the belly pack of shame, she manages to carry enough poop bags with her for her two dogs, and look adorable doing it.  Hayden's no fool;  in a recent interview in Entertainment Weekly, she admitted that the only actor who had job security on "Heroes" was Mr. Muggles. Her dog.

More poop about poop from the Freakonomics guys here, which includes a shoutout to Lauren Mecka of Hoboken, who thinks the answer is DNA testing.  And more on how our shame muscle appears to be broken (see Ann Coulter), so fooey on the web site from Page Wiser.

I actually have another solution, which would also address a second pesky Hoboken problem:  rotten law-breaking drivers.   I'd be happy to pick up any offending poop I see on the street...as long as I was allowed to fling it at drivers of cars who run red lights, stop signs, double park illegally, or, my favorite--PARK IN THE CROSSWALK SO I CAN'T CROSS THE STREET SAFELY WITH MY DOG.