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nattering nabob of nada
Thursday, December 1 2011
location: Little High Street, Charlottesville, Virginia
Nathan would have biked to work this morning, but since I was up and on my way home anyway, he rode with me. I don't really know what he does; it involves computer networks and occasional travel to places such as Abu Dhabi. His workplace is headquartered for now in a newish parking-lot-dominated office park on Fontaine Avenue near US 29 (one that was being built while I lived here), but Nathan tells me that soon it will be moving to just up the street from his house, thereby excising a large fraction of his built-in exercise schedule.
Back over at Creekside, I took note of what was in the refrigerator and cabinets so I could make a shopping trip at Martin's. To facilitate this errand, my mother (Hoagie) gave me $90 and her Martins discount card. First, though, I went into downtown Staunton and had my "usual" (sesame seed bagel with hummus and tomato and a cup of coffee) at Mugshots, the other good downtown coffee shop (at the corner of Johnson and New Streets). Since my vegan bagel is never on the menu, I'm always curious how much my "usual" will cost. Today it fell on the high end of its range ($5.25). It can cost as little as $4.50.
Because I'm on vacation, none of my normal self-imposed caffeine rules apply, so when I went to Martin's, I took advantage of a card for a free cup of coffee that Hoagie had given me. Martin's has an overly-folksy coffee drinking area that, at this time of year at least, features an actual gas-fired fireplace.
When I have a bad hangover, as I did today, my thoughts tend to be hypersexualized for some reason. I was sitting there in the coffee area by the fire place drinking my coffee and surfing the incredibly slow Martin's internet on my netbook when an attractive blond woman picked up a chair with one hand and authoritatively set it down in front of the fire only three feet away from me and, after taking a seat, put her feet up on the brickwork. I don't think there are many mental states in which I wouldn't find this at least a little intriguing. So I kept glancing over at her past my screen, noting little sprays of white lace sticking out from under her shirt at her waistline. Depending on her position, sometimes these were visible and sometimes they were not. With a hangover like I had, it doesn't take much to pique my interest. But eventually she left, and the internet was too terrible to justify staying there any longer. So I went shopping.
For dinner tonight I made a rigatoni pasta with red sauce flavored with chunks of tempeh that I had both boiled and sauteed. It was good, but it's easy to please Don and Hoagie. Hoagie, by the way, has refrained from drinking any alcohol since my father died. She's worried that it would quickly become a mental crutch for her depression. That makes sense to me, but it means I have to drink alone; it's impossible to hang out with that nattering nabob of nada without some fortification.
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