Do I Smell like Sausage?

Working at the downtown farmers' market for my internship on Saturday brought two things to my attention. One, dogs are really quite repulsive. Two, sausage seems to have a mystical power over people. Apparently a penchant for buying local goes hand in hand with loving dogs. I will never appreciate the latter -- dogs, that is. Maybe I'm the weird one, but I had a hard time watching "Swayze" sniff another dog's butt while the two owners discussed the sniffee's "prance." "Beautiful dog. Is she a show dog? She almost prances when she walks," Swayze's owner says. "Oh, does she prance? I've never noticed," the other owner responds (though I have a feeling she probably practiced the prance before they left that morning). I seemed to be the only one hugely disgusted by the deeply engaged butt sniffing that was going on between Swayze and the prancer. I was almost more disgusted with myself, though, because I caught myself with my hands pulled up in front of me like paws -- unconsciously mimicking the dog's prance for its owner.
I also watched three dogs pee on the tree in front of my booth without their owners even noticing. The only explanation for the owners' complete disregard for the poor tree was that they were hypnotized by the scent of sausage coming from the booth across from me. Siegfried's sausage, to be exact. Bratwurst, weisswurst, polish, wienerschnitzel. I think the smell of sausage must have some sort of magical power over people because virtually every person that walked past that booth couldn't help but order a plate of wienerschnitzel or a bratwurst sandwich. I'm convinced that if I dangled a string of linked sausage in front of people, I could get them to do anything I wanted. Ridiculous, you say? You didn't see the way people stopped dead in their tracks when the scent hit their noses. When I saw the employee pull a 4-foot strand of linked sausage out of a plastic yellow bucket, I half expected a crowd of people to lunge at her -- growling, drooling, and snapping at the links. Or I at least expected a dog to break loose from its owner and run away with the sausages in its teeth -- soon to be chased by every other dog in the park, like I'm sure I've seen in numerous Disney "made for TV" Saturday afternoon movies. Unfortunately, it wasn't that exciting. I just watched one person after another belly up to a sausage sandwich for breakfast (I was gone by 11:00). Some added mustard, others sauerkraut. And I just sat there among stacks of magazines, wondering "am I gonna smell like sausage?"

I'll Have a Rose and a Notebook

Now I've done it. I told myself I would never jump on the blogging bandwagon, and here I am. My main motivation, though, is not to keep the world abreast of my daily comings and goings. I am really just a serious know-it-all with opinions about everything. What better way to fill the world with my extensive insight than the good-ol' Internet?? Also, I have a funny story to start out with: it all started a couple weeks ago with a phone call. I'm a journalism student at the U, so many of my assignments center around reporting. I scheduled an interview with a super nice lady for a class assignment. I agreed to meet her over lunch at one of her favorite eateries: Gourmandise (The Bakery) downtown (which deserves an entire blog of its own, not just a post -- a blog). Upon arriving at the restaurant a few minutes early, I realized I had no idea what she looked like. The entire building was filled with people, and as I started looking around, there seemed to be about a dozen women sitting by themselves at different tables. I felt like I was on a blind date -- a lesbian blind date. I would look at each lone woman and think, "Does she match the voice I heard on the phone?" If they didn't seem to be looking for a mysterious college reporter, I moved on to the next. After waiting at a table with my notebook in my hand, she showed up. Our eyes met. We smiled. "Angie?" she asked. "You must be Roberta," I replied. To the horror of the table of men next to us, we hugged and sat down for lunch. I say horror because by the look on their faces, I am sure they thought they had just witnessed the first impression of a lesbian blind date. It probably didn't help that I said to her, "I should have told you that I would have a rose at the table or something." I tend to assume everyone has my same weird sense of humor, and more often, I am more long-winded than the situation calls for (as is evident in this first rambling post)...