Buffalo, is not full of celebrities. This should not be shocking news. However, a sea of minor celebrities are creeping about in plain cloths all round us in each and every city.

I was upset when I lived in Albany and never met lang. poet extraordinaire [link="http://ronsilliman.blogspot.com/"] Ron Silliman[/link]

A few months after moving to Buffalo my then favorite poet alive, [link="http://epc.buffalo.edu/authors/creeley/"] Robert Creeley[/link], passed away.

Disappointment abounds.

But then the other day I had my first minor celebrity encounter.

While at work a woman needed to order something. When she handed me back the order form the name looked very familiar. A few days later my manager mentioned, while unpacking a delivery, that this particular case of cranberry juice was for Leslie Feinberg, the woman I helped. It was then the name rang a bell. It was [link="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/156341029X/102-3320292-0107335?v=glance&n=283155"] this[/link] Leslie Feinberg. And that was no woman! That she was a hir.

So, while I hitting lower and lower on my list of boyhood fantasy encounters, at least the disappointment is becoming slightly more mild.

have a good weekend kids

oh you!

Ya know, you Buffalonians have some pretty crummy weather. I mean, it isn't all that bad, but it is not exactly warm year round and humidity free.
So, this guy comes into my store and talks about the lovely weather (it was that day with the record high a few days ago) and he starts telling me about how wrong the world is about Buffalo. How we have the best weather in the country.

excuse me?

I know, I know. Winter is coming and we need to keep our spirits up lest we carve up our neighbors like a stranded rugby player. But now, in the maw of winter, is not the time to try to pull one over on me.

All you Buffalonians know I am not a native

All you Buffalonians are trying to get me to stay.

Stay! Stay!

You just want to eat me when we are snowed in! I am on to you. Oh, you may eventually get my meat, but not without a fight. HAVE AT YOU!

Let me preface this by saying I am not a Harry Potter fan. I have nothing against the books now that I am not working in a book store (I once refused to call him by name and referred to him angrily as Henry Porter). There have always been better things to read, places I would rather venture in literature and so forth. Now, let me get on with it.

I just came back from watching the 4th movie in an Imax theater. I noted that my jokes surrounding the universe and the movie were very sexual in nature. Harry and Ron needed to get it on. Hermeine and Harry needed to get it on. Harry and Cedrick needed to get it on. Dumbldoor and everyone needed to get an A, and thus get it on. When I realized this, I began to wonder, why?

Could it be that my bizarre interest in the horrors of fanfiction (never read the stuff, just read the synopsis) informs my sick, latent desire to see perfectly platonic characters do the most out of charecter things to each other?

Or maybe three characters who are going through puberty with perfect skin and stylish, shaggy haircuts must have a torrent of raging sexual energy hiding behind those wands.

Or maybe, we are all pedophiles.

What ever it is that is doing it, Robocop could have used. Just imagine the depraved lust he and the T-1000 could have had!

I have always been a cat person. This is not to say that I will ignore you and lick my own ass hole. For if I could lick my own ass hole, I would surly have no need for human contact and thus ignore you. But, aside from enjoying relieving myself in a box (a bathroom, not an actual box) I find that I get along well with them, and would stand on that side of the great cat/dog - person divide.

Then, I met Jim. Then, we fell in love. Then, he told me he was a dog person. Then we got a dog. then:

I just got back from playing with Ben in the snow. I play with him in a manner that, with a dog, can be called play. With a child, however, it would be called child abuse. He will gab the leash, run really fast, and then I will yank on the leash and begin to spin all 88 pounds of him around. Then, he runs at me, bites my arm, and wrestles me to the ground. All the while, passers by are wondering 'why is that man being attacked by a dog and why is he laughing.'

Through all this, I have discovered that, I am a dog person. I like child abuse (as long as only one human and one very happy dog are involved). Ben, likes the attention. Where as playing with a cat involves one pissed off cat and the question 'does this need stitches or not?'

and besides, dogs ALSO lick their ass holes.

It snowed for the first time of the season (Autumn technically, but the wisdom of the ancients did not account for the weather of the northern Barbarians).

The first snow is somewhat romantic; the possibilities of being snowed in with a bottle of wine and a cleverly used roll of duct tape, or looking at all the meat in your freezer and thinking of a rugby team on the top of the Andie's.

Other times it is like a first grey hair, or getting glasses: you can see the inevitability of growing old, precious youth falling away with each flake; only to be shoveled and cursed at, or turning yellow as someone writes their name in it.

But this was something quite different. Ben, the dog I have with (e:Jim), had his first snow with us (he is only eleven months, so probably his first time playing in it ever). He is a dog of a Canadian breed, so he likes the snow, and presumably Bacon. Watching him frolick around in it with the sort of vigor one normally sees in a less slothfull dog was a treat. Juxtaposed with the maudlin, melancholy earlier description of the coming of winter you would think I would have come to some life-changing conclusion about the cycles of life and the wonder of child-like discover. Instead, all I have learned is that it is easier to see dog poop in the snow.