I am a bread connoisseur. I love all things about bread. Organic milled flour, unique starters, and stone baking ovens to name a few.

My favorite local bakery of all time was Flour Power on Elmwood, where the current location of Spot Coffee and New World Record is now.

The best money I have ever spent is getting a true 5-pound loaf of French sourdough bread here overnight from the bakery. I will be doing this in the near future again.

So in my quest to find a local bakery who could offer up an equal experience for a 5-pound French sourdough Miche bread, I found Panera Bread in Amherst.

Upon entering this fine establishment, I was enthralled at their display. I thought that 'yes, I found a store who can give me true French sourdough'.

Negative. I asked for a 'miche' which means a full 5 pound loaf of bread, and initially I thought I did receive just that. The display 'miche' loaf was truly artisan, and was full size.

However, the weak ass loaf that I received was a half loaf, and not even sourdough.

Panera Bread, I love your store and your facilities, but PLEASE offer up a true sourdough French bread.

My current lease is up in March of 2006, and I really am thinking about moving back into Buffalo proper, maybe in the University Heights district or somewhere on Delaware Avenue.

Don't get me wrong, I love North Tonawanda on many levels. My Great Grandpa came over from the Old Country (Russia) and he landed here in NT and found good paying work in the lumber industry. I wish I could have met him, although he died just after I was born.

Here in NT we have glorious bicycle paths, endless boating access and docks, and pretty much everything that a single man could ask for.

So what inspired me to consider moving into Buffalo proper? Glad you asked, friend!

I met a girl on the Buffalo Craigslist. No, really! Anyway, to make the long story tolerable, we met at The Spot on Elmwood for coffee, and later we adjourned to the adjacent New World Record.

That was the defining moment for me. I asked myself why I was living in North Tonawanda when my heart and interests clearly were lying in Buffalo. And, more importantly, why was I responding to a Craigslist personal ad to begin with?

So this is my current quest. I will be saving up first and last month's rent, along with security deposit, and next January I will be shopping for nice bachelor apartments.

Go me, oh to live on Sugar Mountain, and most importantly peace on earth!

Geoffrey

I am normally very good about keeping my email Inbox free of spam, but for the last couple of days I have had NO incoming email. We are talking zip, zero, nada. The actual equation in the most base mathematical format is as follows:

Total incoming email for me = the derivative of a constant

Normally I am good for a couple of emalis promising to make my manhood larger or introducing me to the newest work at home opportunity that guarantees me a six figure plus income stuffing envelopes, but the current Inbox atmosphere leads me to believe that something else might be amiss.

I checked my email account settings and saw no problems. Tested the network settings and everything came out, in the words of the prophet David Byrne, 'same as it ever was'.

So what's the problem?

I suspect my email Inbox has been hijacked by jack-booted thugs who like to break wind on purpose. Real nasty, foul, and biohazard level wind, at that. You know the type. Those people who slam down four to six pickled eggs before heading home after a long night of drinking Genny Cream Ale Pounders, or worse yet, draft pints! These cowards are not the typical comedic 'pull my finger' types. These scum really want you to become an inhaler of their foul flatus. They break wind as a status symbol, and they have no respect for common decency or any sense of restraint.

These smelly upstarts figger (sic) that if they can pollute one's Inbox with their frequent methaneous anal discharges that they can take over your entire cosmos, which is in fact the opposite of the truth.

Damn you, Inbox farter! Although I do not like spam I do rely at times upon it to keep me company, so please break your disgusting and polluting wind elsewhere.

Kind Regards,

Shakey

Author's Note: This is a very fragmented and confused essay, mixed with selected lyrics from what could possibly be the greatest song ever played on the Dr. Demento show, 'Existential Blues'. My essay begins the paragraph, and the lyric in quotes that follows the paragraph is from the song. Enjoy!

I think that second to Monday, Wednesday is the worst day of the work week. It is really more of a dichotomy when I think about it. When you arrive at the office on a Wednesday morning raring to go, you soon realize that you are not even halfway through the work week, yet this is actually the third day. But when you finish dining on your neatly packed lunch during the noon lunch hour, you gradually begin to realize that you are indeed past the so-called 'hump' day of thw work week, and each hour that ticks down from here on in means you are ever so closer to that glorious time away from your current professional drudgery, which is affectionately known as the weekend. 'Hey man, what are you really into, huh?'

The weekend. From the time the proverbial whistle blows on Friday afternoon, you are granted two full days of pure Libertarian indulgence and indeed hedonism until Monday morning. Is there anything more glorious than that? 'You ask so many questions, what answers should I choose?'

Actually yes there is. Many European countries have a four day work week, and I think this concept would work wonders here. But with GWB babysitting us for the next three plus years, it is doubtful such a schedule would ever be implemented. 'And I'm sinking in the quagmire of illusions and Thoreau.'

To loosely quote Wimpy from the Popeye cartoons of days long past, 'I would gladly work a ten hour day four days a week if you would give me three consecutive days off today.' Imagine that scenario, and having the time off to enjoy yourself or with your family. Sure you would have a more hectic schedule during those four days, but having three consecutive days off each week would really be wonderful to say the least. 'A little short man with a big red nose, Toking a bottle of Yukon Jack'

Poppies....poppies......

Anyway (ahem!) question things. Be weird wherever you can. Because quite frankly you just don't know when you will be pulled from this great game of life, and sent either out to pasture or out to stud. 'Is this really Butte, Montana, or just existential blues?'

I sent those comments in an email to Janet Ostrow at Premier Gourmet back in Sping 2004, and next thing I know they appeared prominently in their Summer 2004 catalog. it was a dream come true to see my humble praise in print!

Those words still ring true for me now, and I have been in love with this great store ever since I discovered this gourmet treasure over 20 years ago. Where else can you shop in Buffalo and see such things as Global knives (my brand!) All-Clad cookware, sushi supplies, Indian clay bakeware, coupled with a friendly, courteous staff that intimately know their product lines and actually let you browse the store without constantly pestering you?

Saturday late mornings/early afternoons is the best time to wander the aisles and browse to your heart's content. Sample the free food tastings, watch Peter roast the coffee beans, and try to figure out which of the mustards is the absolute hottest one. Then you can look down at your watch and suddenly become aware of the fact that you just spent several hours in the store and have not bought a thing! Rush around like a lunatic while you collect the items on your list, and then checkout. On the way out you are faced with a critical decision. Do you turn left and head into Premier Liquor to taste some wine? Or do you turn right and have a bite to eat at the Premier Gourmet Cafe'? So many decisions.......

All in all, if you haven't ever been, you surely need to go. You will not be disappointed.