'H&M and Fake Fires are the Cheese'

• I shopped for the first time by myself in two years, at none other than H&M. It's actually a Swedish based gig. Not Norwegian, but I'll take it. However, shop till you drop took on quite a different meaning this go-around: While I was perusing, I was listening to a little Third Eye Blind in honor of my good friend Andrew Dearden. Midway between trying some new pants on (Third Eye Blind still playing...heh...) I heard a siren-like sound outside. I took my headphones off, thinking that it was some newfangled rap song that I hadn't heard before. But it kept going. I peaked my head out the door, half dressed, you know, and it turns out it wasn't a drill. A lady rushed over to me, and using frightened English accent tones (hard to reproduce), she yelled at me to get out. I decided I'd ere on the side of burning down before I went out half dressed, so I popped my pants on and jaunted out with her. As we walked out, even more sirens. My pants and shirt were apparently still electro-tagged. Shoot. It all died down shortly after...but what a 30 minute clothes try-on!

• Ventured to a local grocery chain named Waitrose. Since it's not me paying the bills, I snuck to the pompous cheese counter and gave it a go. After speaking with a supposed Lithuanian cheese connoisseur, I ended up buying 100g 'Cropwell Bishop' marbled cheese (politically correct for odd black streaks and blotches of black stuff embedded in white stuff called cheese) and 200g of 'Mull of Kintyre', sharp as a tack. The Cropwell Bishop variety tasted like a horse pasture smells. However, I found my mouth enjoying it after each go. You know, you have to let your pallet mature. I assumed the Mull of Kintyre must be good, because the Beatles sing about it. Color me impressed on that one, too.