Just call me Mr. Kotter...

...And welcome me on back.

I wish I could say I had a legitimate reason to have inexplicably quit blogging with nary a warning. Technically, I suppose I could say that and y'all would never know since the Internet is ambiguous like that; however, I'd like to think that I am above lying. Unless it is to children.

The truth is, I was lazy. Well, I am lazy. But now I slightly more motivated. It's a new year. I'm about to get a new hair color. I am unstoppable, or at least slightly-harder-to-stop.

And what is bringing me out of posting slump? A tight-knit community full of idiots, farmland, and (in one particular household) chocolate crunchy bars.

"But, Annie," you begin, after looking in the upper left hand section to remember what my name is, "I thought you lived in West Roxbury? Idiots and chocolate bars abound, but farmland seems an odd description."

And that is when I tell you that I am speaking of someplace fictional. Someplace glorious. Someplace that is not in West Roxbury, Massachusetts, or even this country.

I am writing, of course, about Dibley. "The Vicar of Dibley" is a long-running BBC program helmed by Richard Curtis that you might have seen, might have heard about, or might know nothing about. I recently discovered this gem of a program while flipping through channels, and with one brassy laugh from star Dawn French, I became smitten.

I implore you to Netflix, BPL, or otherwise obtain this series on DVD if at all possible, and give it a thorough viewing. If not within your means--you are in luck. PBS (both WGBH and NHPTV) around here airs it on at least a weekly basis. Tuesday evenings, for example, NHPTV (channel 11, see how easy I am making this for you...) airs it in a lineup of Britcoms. Practically nothing else is on Tuesday evenings, so you have no excuse to skim by it.

This show warms the cockles of my heart (if such a sensation actually exists). It's cold out today, and there's an ice storm coming tomorrow--a little cockle-warming could do you good.

More posts, less TV-centric content to come. I hope.

Momo-mo, how do you like it, how do you like it..

I have been a resident of West Roxbury now for almost six months, and yet I hardly know anything about it. The problem is that I live alone, and all of my close friends live at least forty-five minutes Northwards, rendering my exploration quite solitary.

Last night, however, a very old friend who I have not seen in years came over, and we decided to throw caution into the wind and drive around searching for someplace new and exciting. Which is pretty much anywhere other than West on Centre (which had great food, but was uber-packed when I went a few months ago).

I now have my first West Roxburian restaurant recommendation. The Himalayan Bistro on Centre Street (directly across from West on Centre) was pretty much the cat's meow. Reasonable prices, great location, excellent food, really helpful waiters. It came to approximately $20/per person, and that included appetizer, main dish, and naan--PLENTY of it (the leftovers alone might be enough for two more meals). If I was just going to pick up lunch for one, it could easily be under $10. Try the momo. It's apparently unique to that restaurant, and was a completely delightful appetizer.

I hope to shock my coworkers with my leftovers. "Annie," the will say, "Where is the typical instant oatmeal and English muffin scrounged from the office kitchen?"

I am a free office food junkie. I am okay with that. It is free, after all. Quality is not as important for the noontime meal as is the dough shelled out for it. I do want to pay of my student loans eventually, after all.

Tonight I head to my alma mater to catch their Spring theatre production, "Loves Labours Lost." This is my favorite Shakespeare comedy, and I am thoroughly put out that they should do it the year after I've graduated. Still, I look forward to it, even if the hour plus drive is already stressing me out (my poor Civic is having major issues these days).

Oh, and Happy Home Opener. I'm sure I'll catch the highlights on the morning news. And on the morning train. And morningtime at the office.