Nostalgia? Maybe just gas...

Every Thursday afternoon, this guy comes in toting a camera and notepad, and observant lady that I am, I eventually figured out that he was coming into the library to do his "Man on the Street"-type assignment for a local paper.

For you non-newspaper types, that means your editor gives you a completely lame and idiotic fascinating and compelling question to ask randoms on the street. Typically, this is greeted with dismissal, annoyance and one time even blatant rage (story for another time...).

Wistfully, I remembered my days as a reporter, the rush of seeing my bylines, of scooping the competition...and just as suddenly remembered the frustration of difficult sources, the typos I wish I would have caught on the 345th read through, the slave labor modest paychecks, the constant fear of losing my job because of budget cuts....

Today, as I watched him scurry about, being ignored and declined by patrons, I couldn't help but smile with relief.

Gah, I'm glad I'm not in the newsroom any more. Suckers.

How I almost came to hate shopping

If the Hubbs had it his way, he would wander through life in the same pair of pants, held up by the same ratty belt, day in and day out. Unfortunately, he a) exists in the *real world* and thus needs to be dressed appropriately, and b) has lost almost 30 pounds in the past few months.

So, begrudgingly, he agreed to make a trip to a local department store Saturday afternoon.

I have been out shopping on Black Friday every year since I can remember, spending 15 or more hours hitting the shops. My sister and I can spend a whole day just wandering through stores on a given Saturday, and yet, this hour and a half at Kohl's felt like The. Longest. Shopping. Excursion. Ever.

And we only walked out with one freakin' pair of pants.