Dressed for Success

This time of year, traffic mavens often remind us that rains bring oil to the surface of our roadways, making driving less safe. Those of us who walk dogs know that rain has another, even more powerful ability: that of reviving old scents and making them irresistable to our canine friends. The Trusty BoulevarDog demonstrates this fact to me on every post- or intra-rainstorm walk. It seems that every bush, rock, pole, and hydrant on our path demands extra nasal scrutiny.

And when a dog is intent on thoroughly studying a scent, a remarkable phenomenon happens -- one that, I'm sure, cannot be explained by simple physics: that dog can triple, quadruple, or even quintuple his or her body weight. The strongest pull a human can apply to the leash goes unanswered. Indeed, a dog that wants to sniff a shrub cannot be moved, as the expression goes, by wild horses -- unless the horses themselves present an even more fascinating scent than the shrub.

The Trusty BoulevarDog did a great deal of sniffing today, making for a slow walk. However, the weather and our fellow pedestrians were mostly pleasant, so Your Boulevardier took it in stride. So to speak.

We did eventually make our way to the Big Apple Bagel shop in the Village. I clipped the Trusty BoulevarDog's leash to a pole outside and took up a window seat, so we could keep an eye on one another. While tucking into a poppyseed bagel, Your Boulevardier admired the parade of people patronizing the shop. Winter certainly brings out fun clothes, especially on children. Long cloth coats with faux-fur collars, rubber boots, colorful sweaters, and offbeat stocking caps with tassels and ears -- all were on display.

On the walk home, Your Boulevardier encountered a grown-up who had also made an attention-getting wardrobe choice. She was an attractive thirtysomething brunette, dressed in decidedly urban outfit: short skirt, high boots, bare midriff, cropped jacket with epaulets, all topped off by a police cap, all in black leather. She illegally parked her late-model BMW at the corner of The Boulevard and San Miguel, blocking the crosswalk. It would seem that she accepts checks for whatever services she might provide, as she was patronizing the Cash & Go store.

The Wet Look

Those of you who know the Trusty BoulevarDog, either in person (a poor choice of words, I must admit) or virtually through this medium, know that she does not like water. Oh, she'll drink water--often from the most inappropriate vessels, such as rain gutters and stagnant buckets--but she does not like swimming, bathing (alas), or walking in the rain.

Well, the rain-gauge at Chez Boulevardier read nearly one and one-half inches this morning. (This is the accumulated total since Sunday night.) Monday had been a rain day, and the Trusty BoulevarDog did not go out. For that reason, she looked at me with watery eyes and crossed legs this morning; if she could speak, I'm sure she would have begged for a stroll. As we found ourselves in a gap between storms, I obliged.

We walked the East End. Monday's rains, and those of this morning, had generally done good things for The Boulevard -- rain-slicked roads may be more dangerous for vehicles to use, but they're also much more attractive, especially in the diffused morning light. The air, scrubbed by the precipitation, was fresh and cool. This storm provided the season's final nudge to The Boulevard's deciduous trees -- the few leaves that had, on Christmas, clung to the Chinese Pistaches along with their shocking-pink seed-berries, had been knocked to the ground. Fortunately, not too many branches or leaves clogged The Boulevard's gutters.

Your Boulvardier stopped at Rudy's Donut House; the regulars were there, including Rudy himself, but the shop was generally quiet. We did not encounter any other walkers, save one young man with a tightly rolled grey umbrella. From a distance he appeared to be carrying a golf club, which, on a rainy morning, had Your Boulevardier even more confused than is usual.

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like the Day After Christmas

Your Boulevardier and the Trusty BoulevarDog strolled midtown today. The weather was overcast, and a breeze was blowing.

Walking through the neighborhood between our home and the Boulevard, we noticed that some families chose to have their Christmas lights on this grey morning. Perhaps the lights were on some sort of photo-sensor switch that turned them on at dusk and off at dawn, and the nature's clouds had fooled the electronics.

Other homes had pulled the plugs on their decorations; the most obvious manifestation of this were numerous deflated snowmen and Santas, splayed limp and forlorn on lawns and rooves. With a bit of twisted imagination -- not that Your Boulevardier has such -- one could imagine that these flaccid skins were the aftermath of an experiment gone terribly wrong in a low-budget science fiction film. "Professor, your teleportation device transported the subjects' flesh and bones -- BUT LEFT BEHIND THEIR SKIN!"

Forgive the digression.

The Boulevard itself was extremely quiet. Our businesspeople, it seems, do not feel compelled to hold door-busting sales the day after Christmas. For many, of course, that makes sense. Would a dentist offer 40 percent off crowns on December 26? Would any of Castro Valley's approximately thirty-seven thousand real estate agents offer a discount on commissions? Are kung-fu lessons available on after-Christmas sale? It would seem not.

A few fellow Valleyans walked or cycled in the cool dampness, some with dogs in tow. Those encountered by Your Boulevardier seemed to be in a pleasant state; perhaps a bit foggy, like the weather, but eager to stretch the legs and get some exercise after a day of sitting and eating. As we made the final turn to return home, the Trusty BoulevarDog and I felt a slight drizzle. It's perfect weather for the day after Christmas, when many of us will hole up in our burrows with a warm drink and the new books we received as gifts.

Good Things Come In Pairs

Your Boulevardier, accompanied by the Trusty BoulevarDog, walked the West End this morning. The weather was clear, crisp, and cool, and vehicle traffic was light.

Many shops on The Boulevard had hand-lettered signs in their windows: "We will close at 3 pm Christmas Eve," read one. "Closing at 4 p.m. Friday - Merry Xmas!" read another. Some shopkeepers had already decided to take the day off; others, including, inexplicably, the Tune-Up Shop, were open for business. Do people actually have their cars tuned up on Christmas Eve?

Your Boulevardier shared a brief but pleasant encounter with the Boulevard's resident Jehovah's Witness -- the slender, earnest, bespectacled, somewhat awkward gentleman who is always dressed as well as one can be when one shops at secondhand stores. Today his outfit was accented by a trenchcoat and canvas fedora, making him appear to be on his way to an audition for a revival of television's "Dragnet" crime drama. He offered a copy of The Watchtower, which Your Boulevardier gratefully declined. For an evangelist, he seems almost eager to take "No" for an answer.

We stopped at the Starbucks On Stilts (SOS), which now anchors the corner of Lake Chabot Road and The Boulevard. We sat outside in the brisk chill and enjoyed our pastry and coffee. (Alas, the Trusty BoulevarDog is not permitted inside the establishment.) The SOS was fairly busy, causing Your Boulevardier to ponder how a weeks-old establishment could already have a clientele. Perhaps they build Starbucks outlets with a queue of patrons already in place. But then the revelation came: some Valleyans would rather wait five minutes at the SOS than fifteen in The Village. To put it another way: SOS patrons may actually there for coffee, not to see and be seen.

But they were seen by Your Boulevardier. From our elevated perch, a pattern was detected: some features of our town were found to be running in twos.

A pair of black Labrador Retrievers, one young and enthusiastic, the other stiffer in the joints and a bit grey in the muzzle, walked their denim-clad owner.

A pair of brothers, perhaps six and eight years of age, greeted the Trusty BoulevarDog: "Nice dog!" one said. I thanked him on the Trusty BoulevarDog's behalf, she being unable to show gratitude in a way that would be appropriate on a cold winter's morning. "Nice dog!" said the other, not to be left out.

A gentleman in a bright blue windbreaker and short pants -- short pants, on Christmas Eve! -- strode by, exercising his arms with a pair of dumb-bells. Alas, your Trusty BoulevarDog today was forced to complete her walk with just one dumb-bell -- Yours Truly, The Boulevardier.

Your Boulevardier has moved into the Electronic Age

Two days before the Festival of the Nativity, and on the very day of Festivus, Your Boulevardier has made the leap from ink-stained wretch to digirato. (That would be the singular form of "digirati," would it not?) No longer will so-called "hard copy" versions of Your Boulevardier's musings be available; indeed, all physical manifestations of this journalistic enterprise have been destroyed. It was, as we say, for the best.

Your Boulevardier sincerely hopes that you will join him on this journey into the digital realm. The intentions and publication schedule shall remain the same as ever: that is, undetermined and intermittent, respectively. Certainly the medium will affect the message; what turns that will take remain to be seen.