Soul Food

For the three or so hours it took to move our stuff in, we listened to an AM soul station on our clock radio. (The mover: "Y'all like that soul music, huh?") Todd chose it after he grew frustrated by the profusion of country and Christian FM offerings. It was Halloween, so they kept playing the opener to "Thriller": the squeaking door, wind, and echoing foosteps. Ooooh.

Several times, I heard a commercial for an OTC medication (for when "you overdid it last night") that was so good I'd listen to that station again just to hear it. Pun-lovers, get ready: The spot started with a woman singing, heavy R&B-style, words like "nausea...heartburn...indigestion." Then a deep male voice rattled off a few things about the product (I truly regret that I can't remember what it was; it deserves to have its name spread here), followed by the singer again, offering up the vocal ornament known in the singing biz as a 'run':

"DI - A - RHEEE - EEE - EAAA!"

I uh, shit you not.

I don' t know that this ad is in any way Birmingam or South-specific, but I like to think so.

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We took lunch at the Pita Loco , one of our closest dining options, along with a Quizno’s and a Subway and something sketchy called the New York Delicatessen Something-or-Other, which appears to mostly proffer fried shit.

"Do they have Mexican food?” Todd wondered reasonably of the Pita Loco as we chowed on our falafel and gyro. No, they do not. This crazy pita has biscuits and grits and “tahbooli” and falafel that had too much of some spice in it. “It’s no Sultan’s,” I said, but I was hungry, and it sufficed.

“It’s no [insert restaurant/bar/shop].” I think I’ll be saying, or thinking, this a lot.

Pita Loco was so loco that Todd got all distracted and left his treasured leather satchel from Greece there. I’m happy to report that the nice lady behind the counter did find the “briefcase,” and had it waiting for me this morning when I stopped in.

Later, after an unpacking frenzy, we treated ourselves to beers at Speakeasy 1920, the closest bar. It’s no Weegee’s, folks. It’s not even no Black Beetle. But it’s our little neighborhood bar, and it just opened this summer, and I do not want to see it go. So we’ll continue to swill malt beverages there, because you know we like to do that kind of thing. And really, what choice do we have?