Wringing in the New Year

The Trusty BoulevarDog and I walked on New Year's Day. There was not much to show for the previous night's revelry, save a broken Budweiser bottle and some spent fireworks. From Chez Boulevardier, in the Baywood District, several startlingly loud explosions could be heard around midnight. Apparently these people do not have dogs, or their dogs are deaf.

Your Boulevardier paused to peruse the real estate listings in the window of Grand Lake Realty. It would seem that the Big Apple Bagel Shop is for sale, for two hundred grand. Here's hoping somebody will buy it and take better advantage of the shop -- the curved counter (on the right as you enter) could be used to make the shop much more lively and inviting. Still, it's best not to hold one's breath -- the shop's been on the market since October.

On January Second, Your Boulevardier drove with Madame Boulevardier (or "Simone de Boulevardier," as I like to call her) to west Marin County for a wedding reception. It was wet and cool, but lovely. We drove past George Lucas's sprawling place on the winding road to Nicasio. We arrived early for the festivities (Madame Boulevardier was helping with floral decorations) and I struck up a conversation with a stranded, rain-soaked bicyclist on the porch of Rancho Nicasio. The poor fellow had a flat tire, and his CO2-cartridge-based tire pump had failed. Your Boulevardier, ever the generous soul, offered him a lift to his home in Fairfax, which he accepted. He loaded his bicycle in the back of our again station wagon; undoubtedly the carbon-frame two-wheeler was worth more money than our car, but the wagon had a full complement of working tires. And a heater.

We had a pleasant conversation along the drive. He was a tall, slender, clear-eyed gentleman by the name of Chris; he clearly did a lot of cycling, judging by his physique. He asked to be dropped at a Fairfax bicycle shop, and I complied; we parted there.