The thing about grandmas

This is a cheap shot for a blog entry, but it was too good to pass up.

My grandmother sent me an e-mail responding to my last post (yes, my grandmother is hip, tech saavy and Too Cool For School.) Anyway, she's currently boarding our two dogs at her house while my parents are on vacation. The dogs, Toto and Josie, yes, they're from Kansas, and yes, Toto looks like Toto, seem to be giving Grandma a bit of a hard time. For those of you who have seen or read "Marley and Me," you're on the right track.

Her e-mail included three post scripts. It's best if you read these with a Private Eye/Guy Noir inflection in your voice, particularly for the rubber band line.

"P.S.2 Josie got sick night before last, whimpered a lot, and at 4 a.m. I heard her throwing up. So at zero degrees, all dogs went outside whilst I put all Josie's kennel bedding in the wash and rustled up some more for her. Signs are that she ate a rubber band. Then this morning she had diahrrea in the front hall. I'm sure it wasn't Toto, because Josie disappeared quickly when I discovered it. I really do love having three dogs around!

P.S.3 It's Kansas Day!"

And that, ladies and gentlemen is my genetic lineage.

The thing about Buffalo

Buffalo, it seems is like Cutco knives: A tough sell until you personally see the kitchen shears cut the penny in half. I know this because I'm from Kansas. A state that at best has people assuming you've spent your life in a small farm house in the middle of a field a la "Little House on the Prairie" and at worst compartmentalizes your existence into a tornado of cliches from The Wizard of Oz.

It was with that in mind that when I told friends I was moving to Buffalo, even the Kansans thought I was a little nuts. One Michigan friend summed it up quite succinctly on facebook, "Buffalo? You're kidding...what the (expletive) is in Buffalo?" I didn't think that was very nice, but when the lady at the DMV asked me three times (I couldn't tell if she was kidding or serious) to confirm I really wanted to move to Buffalo, I started wondering the same thing.

I got here just in time to enjoy the end of summer; the summer being a major gloating point for Western New Yorkers. "Yeah, the winter can be a little rough, but the summers are to die for!" This is promising sentiment but since the summer has quickly turned to fall, I guess I'll have to wait for next April for the snow to melt (or is it June?) and bust out the t-shirts once again.

I'm discovering each day is full of kitchen shears-cut-penny-type surprises, however. Those are the good ones, kind of unbelievable and impressive. Grocery stores, for example. Buffalo Grocery stores leave me flustered. I joined the Lexington Co-Op to satisfy my crunchy tendencies even before I found Wegman's, a store with an enormous range of services and goodies that will no doubt become a bi-weekly event. Elmwood Village and Allentown are filled with enough urban hipsters, boutiques and kitch little restaurants like Betty's Place to make any culture snob rethink their opinion on Buffalo.

So I'm trying. Trying not to hate the 19 stoplights within a 2.5 mile stretch of Main Street near my house, trying not to wreck my car while driving up my 6 foot wide driveway squished between two of those fabulous Victorian style Buffalo homes. Trying to make it to the Farmer's Market on Saturdays, to the gym on Mondays and make some new friends in the mean time.

Who knows...maybe even a job if Buffalo is really kind to me...