#Replacement Flavorizer Bar For Front Avenue

[grillpartszone-blog]

3 PACK STAINLESS STEEL FLAVORIZER BAR FOR FRONT AVENUE 46269806, CHARBROIL 463460712, 463462108 & KENMORE 463420507 GAS GRILL MODELS

Charbroil Models : 461461108, 463420507, 463420508, 463420509, 463420510, 463420511, 463420512, 463420707, 463460708, 463421107, 463421108, 463460710, 466420909, 463422107, 463422507, 463460508, 463460708, 463460710, 463460712, 463462108, 466420908, 466420910, 466471110, Performance Series, 463420708, 463440109, 466471109, 466420911

Front Avenue Model : 46269806

Kenmore Models : 463420507

Compatible Part Numbers: 98741, 80008074, 8000635, 80000273, G433-0016-W1, CBHP5, cbhp5

Material : Stainless Steel

BUY NOW!!

[wineanddinosaur]

Aaron Polsky’s RTD Cocktails Are Bringing Intellectual Property to the Bar

This article is a part of our inaugural Next Wave Awards. For the full list of 2021 winners, check out the whole series here.

It should come as no surprise to hear Aaron Polsky describe his RTD cocktail brand, LiveWire Drinks, using a musical analogy. If you caught Polsky walking out of an L.A. bar in the small hours of the morning — all 6 feet-plus of him, hirsute and decked in band-logo tank top, skinny jeans, and pointed boots — it would be impossible to tell whether he’d just waltzed off stage or clocked out of a bar shift.

But beyond being a good fit for his character, Polsky’s description gives a succinct look at what sets his canned- and bottled-cocktail brand apart, and why his is such a non-traditional approach in the RTD space — if such a nascent category can be thought of as having traditions.

LiveWire Drinks, in Polsky’s telling, is like a record label, with each release representing a different album from the various acts signed to it. In this simile, the artists happen to be the brightest names in American bartending. Where drinkers had previously only been able to appreciate their talent live, now they don’t even need to be in the same city. “LiveWire is the CD or LP of cocktails,” Polsky told VinePair, shortly after the brand’s debut.

Though it wasn’t without its complications, LiveWire’s March 2020 launch seems almost serendipitous in hindsight. This was a moment when the lights went out and the curtains closed for bars; here was a newly launched product offering bartender-developed and bartender-quality cocktails in portable form. Even more importantly, LiveWire Drinks offered the first meaningful and, in theory, scaleable avenue for bartenders to receive a cut of the profits from their intellectual property beyond cash tips.

For each release, Polsky works with a different collaborator to put out a cocktail using a recipe creation process he developed when batching cocktails for service at music festivals. His own release — the grapefruit-and-kumquat-flavored Moscow Mule riff “Heartbreaker” — marked LiveWire’s debut. “I am both an arbiter of talent and the talent — one of many — on the label,” he says.

For now, that pool of bartending stars includes Shannon Mustipher, Joey Bernardo, Yael Vengroff, Chris Patino, and Erin Hayes. Initial releases have seen remixes of drinks like the Old Fashioned, Mojito, and Gin Collins.

To craft those drinks, Polsky steers clear of fresh citrus — proudly so — and isn’t shy about admitting to using natural flavors, albeit of the highest quality. While this would be a faux pas behind the bar, it absolutely works for drinks designed to be packaged.

On that packaging: Bright, striking, and designed by an artist of the cocktail creator’s choosing, it sets a high bar for the liquid inside. But the cocktails overwhelmingly deliver, and that’s among the most important points to note because the only way this, or any business model, can succeed is if the product is up to scratch.

LiveWire’s cocktails straddle the almost unfathomable: big on flavor but sessionable-ish in ABV, and 100 percent shelf stable. The fruity riffs will be familiar and more than pleasing to those who know a Mai Tai from a Margarita. For those who don’t, there’s no intimidatingly complex or esoteric flavor profile to conquer.

With LiveWire Drinks, Polsky has started a brand and provided a blueprint that genuinely serves all parties. Yet there is one flaw in his musical analogy: Where artists have seen album sales run dry in the streaming era, and now rely largely on live shows, LiveWire’s band of bartenders can cash in on both fronts, which makes all the difference. “For the bartenders that so choose, this could replace their primary means of income,” Polsky says.

The article Aaron Polsky’s RTD Cocktails Are Bringing Intellectual Property to the Bar appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/next-wave-aaron-polsky/

[satorisa]

Lift the Veil - Chapter 8

Lift the Veil - Chapter 8: Santa Fé

Rating: T

Summary: After living in Tokyo for the past six years, she decides to head back to Azumano to escape the big city. However, she now has to face everything that she tried to flee from all those years ago. How exactly will she fare when the pages of a long forgotten book start turning once more?

Read On: FanFiction.Net, Archive of Our Own

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Chapter 8 – Santa Fé

Will he take this grand delusion? Add his love to make his own conclusion?

With the morning sunlight filtering in through the blinds, I stirred awake. After a long night of catching up with Riku, we had fallen asleep in the middle of a forgettable conversation, practically pushing through the drowsiness that had settled in the moment we got back just like kids defying their imposed bedtime as an act of false maturity.

Next to me, Riku was fast asleep with her back to me. She had her head nestled between her pillow and the sheets that she had pulled up to almost cover her face. I wondered how she could breathe under the stuffiness of the covers, or even bear the heat for that matter, and decided to poke her to see her reaction. She grumbled, slightly rolling around before disappearing under her sheets, clearly one of those people who could stand, and probably enjoy, the terrible heat of summer while exercising.

Carefully getting out of Riku’s bed, I headed downstairs to grab some water for my parched throat. Still half-awake, I entered the kitchen, wholly oblivious to my surroundings.

“Good morning, Harada-san.”

I let out a startled shriek before turning around to see Hiwatari at the dining table practically covered in paperwork. He sat in front of his laptop, a black island amidst the sea of white, with his attention on the document resting on his keyboard, skimming through it with a pen ready in his hands.

“What are you doing here at—” I peered at the clock on the microwave. “—nine in the morning?”

“Sunday brunch.”

Grabbing a water bottle from the fridge, I took a huge gulp from it before approaching Hiwatari in confusion. “Why?”

“Your sister had invited me over for a meal, and I’m finally taking her up on her offer.”

“I thought she was talking about a home-cooked meal.”

“As did I, but she insisted that I come and that she pay for my meal, especially since I’ve been babysitting you so often.”

I groaned. “Her words or yours?”

“Both.” Frowning, I took another sip of water. “Daisuke’s also accompanying us today, so don’t worry too much.”  

Nodding and, becoming slightly tired from standing up, I took the seat across from Hiwatari, placing my water bottle in my lap. “Why’re you so early though?”

“I had some work to do and wanted a change of scenery. I’m sorry to have startled you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I just…didn’t expect to see you this early in the morning.”

“Hence why you look like you’ve just gotten out of bed.”

“Yeah…”

His words took a while to finally hit me. And when they did, I became painfully aware of the possibly messy state of my hair and the fact that I didn’t have a bra on. He didn’t notice my sudden self-consciousness. And, even if he did, he still had his attention on his work.

“I’ll leave you then…”

I was still kind of tired, so I wanted to head back to my room and relax in bed until I had to get ready. Leaving before this got awkward was just a bonus.

“No need to leave if you’re worried about your appearance,” he spoke up. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

I paused, processing his last statement. Hiwatari’s eyes widened, only then realizing the weight of his words, before turning to me with a distraught expression. “Harada-san, I—”

“—should leave,” I interrupted, finishing his sentence for my own sake. I quickly got up, chair scraping against the tile, and marched upstairs with the half-empty water bottle in tow, more than ready to pass out in my bed.

Dammit, Hiwatari.

After freshening up and changing into a casual dress, I headed downstairs to see everyone gathered around the dining table. Several mugs of steaming coffee and a bowl of honeydew cubes replaced the papers once strewn on its surface.

“Good morning, slowpoke,” Riku greeted from her seat. “You’re still as fashionably last as ever.”

“Better late than never, as they always say.” I plopped a melon cube into my mouth. Yum. “So, where are we headed today?”

“The Bar,” Riku answered. “It’s a high-end restaurant that opened up nearby.”

“Isn’t it considered cheating if you’re eating at a restaurant you don’t work at?”

Riku shot me a look, and I laughed. Everyone quickly tied up their conversations before heading to our destination. On the way there, Riku told us that the chefs at the place she manages recommended that she drop by once, so she decided to bring people along with her. The more, the merrier, she reasoned.

When we arrived, they seated us immediately. I browsed the menu, gasping at the absurd prices for what seemed like a relatively normal American brunch. Even the sides and beverages were expensive. Next to me, my mother and father spoke in hushed tones about what to get, appalled at the numbers printed next to such sparse descriptions.

“So, Risa,” Daisuke started, “I heard that Takeshi invited you for dinner today.”

“How do you know about that?”

“He called me yesterday about it, sounding pretty excited.”

I smiled behind my menu, hoping that no one would notice. Despite abhorring his presence when we were young, Saehara started to grow on me as we worked together and hearing that he was stoked over having me for dinner made me happy. Not that I would admit it though; all I had to do was play it cool, and no one would suspect at thing.

“He doesn’t need to be that happy over it,” I covered. “At least I can finally meet the woman crazy enough to put up with him. But seeing him? I don’t know.”

Riku laughed on my other side, and even Hiwatari looked slightly entertained by my jest. My parents, however, were starting to complain about the absurd menu.

“Didn’t Takeshi invite you too, Satoshi?” Daisuke asked.

“Yeah.”

“Aren’t weekends the time to get away from work?” Riku joked.

“Only Saehara and I are actually coworkers. Hiwatari-san just so happens to be there.”

“Like a statue, right?”

For whatever reason, she found her comment absolutely hilarious. Eventually, she calmed down before excusing herself to the bathroom, allowing me to finally pounce on Daisuke.

“So, when are you popping the question?” I asked, watching the man’s face turn the same shade as his hair. Even my parents silenced themselves to hear his answer.

“On our upcoming trip to Zurich…”

I squealed while my parents clapped, saying something about it finally happening before fussing over the menu once more. Daisuke’s blush only reddened from the sudden attention.

“Was it a wise decision to share that with Harada-san?” Hiwatari asked.

“I’m not that bad at keeping secrets!”

“Can…can we change the topic before she comes back?” Daisuke stammered.

We effortlessly transitioned into talking about what everyone was planning on ordering, and Riku rejoined the conversation without suspecting a thing. She also helped our parents finally choose something, and the waiter conveniently dropped by at that very moment, holding their notepad and pen with a patient smile. They wrote down predictable and fitting orders until they reached the last person in our party: Hiwatari.

“Coffee and the Belgian waffle,” he said, returning the menu to the waiter. Riku and Daisuke wondered if he was okay while my parents pestered him about taking better care of his sugar levels before talking about his overall terrible health in general.

But I could only stare at Hiwatari effortlessly assuring them that he was fine, wondering why he had to order that of all things today.

During my second year in high school on the annual school trip, Hiwatari had taken a couple of days off to vacation with me, Riku, and Daisuke. During the day, he followed his own itinerary since he didn’t want the teachers seeing him. At night, he snuck us out after curfew and watched over us exploring the city.

On the last day of our trip, Riku and Daisuke had a date, leaving me and Hiwatari in the heart of Tokyo, navigating through the hordes of people ready to experience the city’s night life. Not that we were legally able to enjoy it to the fullest, but I appreciated not having to spend time with the couple. And I was alone with Hiwatari on some faux-date of sorts.

“You’re a member of law enforcement, but you’re letting me break my curfew on a school field trip without batting an eyelash,” I teased as he led me through the crowd.

“I’m off the clock, so I’m currently just an innocent bystander caught up in a girl’s impromptu whirlwind.”

Lightly slapping his shoulder in response to his joke, we continued our trek though the unknown until we arrived at the First Avenue Tokyo Station. I bought some souvenirs, along with some snacks for my own personal enjoyment, while Hiwatari binged on kit-kats.

“Is that seriously why we came all the way over here?” I asked, eyeing his bag filled with assorted flavors ranging from the usual milk chocolate to…soy sauce?

“If I wanted to just buy this, I wouldn’t have brought you along.”

“Then why—”

Hiwatari grabbed my wrist, leading us back to the bustling streets and through the crowds until we found ourselves in front of a quaint café that was miraculously still open. I walked in, practically fawning over everything while Hiwatari trailed behind looking uninterested. We sat at a table near a crackling fireplace, and I practically melted from pure bliss in my seat.

A waitress came by, placing some menus on the table before skipping off to another table. After looking through one of them for several minutes, I had to choose between the honey toast and the pancakes, but I knew I had to decide; Hiwatari never allowed me to indulge excessively when he paid on my behalf.

“I’m torn,” I softly cried.

“Well, put yourself back together because you can only choose one.”

I pouted. “Why are you so mean?”

“Risa, this is to ensure that your eating-habits don’t lead me to bankruptcy.”

Groaning, I returned to the menu, deciding on the more expensive option to pettily chip away at Hiwatari’s budget. Wait, what would he get here? The menu was filled with desserts, and his deep appreciation for the saccharine things in life only extended to kit-kats and certain types of wagashi.

“The Belgian waffle with coffee sounds nice.”

“Since when were you a Belgian waffle person?”

“Since forever,” he deadpanned. “Duh.” He paused, letting his joke linger uncomfortably before continuing. “Actually, it sounds good. And it’s one of the simpler items on the menu.”

“Leave it to Satoshi to be the resident bore.”

“If I was that boring, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

I laughed. “True, true.”

The waitress came by, taking our orders before spectacularly grabbing our menus and heading to the kitchen. Hiwatari shifted in his seat, slightly irked by our waitress’ chipper attitude. I, on the other hand, quite liked it; she perfectly complemented the happy atmosphere. Then again, Hiwatari would never visit a place like this of his own accord. And if he was in the mood to eat out, we often found ourselves at cheap places or the shady ones that were surprisingly very good (and cheap.)

Sometimes, he was too nice for his own damn good.

“Hey, Satoshi, thank you for everything.”

“You’re welcome.” He shot me a genuine smile, causing my heart to skip a beat, before asking how I liked the school trip.

At the beginning of my second year in high school, I realized that I had feelings for Hiwatari and I, alone with him in a Ferris wheel pod, accidentally confessed to him. After we both briefly agreed to not let this get in the way of our friendship, he started to tease me, and we continued as if nothing had happened.

Looking back on it now, I was probably desperate. I held onto Hiwatari because of his compassion that conveniently filled Dark’s void. My love for Dark started as mere infatuation for a beautiful man that only grew because of the possibility of something unfamiliar and seemingly unattainable until I started to know him and began to genuinely love him for who he was.

And, after Dark had disappeared, Hiwatari became my pillar of support because he was the only one who really knew. Daisuke and Riku had each other, living the happy ending that they rightfully deserved, leaving me to come to terms with everything by myself. (Sure, I had the support of family and friends back then but they didn’t understand. And no amount of explanation from my end, especially since I had gotten tired of repeating everything over and over again, could help them come close to even remotely understanding.)

Dark had given me the confidence I needed to break out of Riku’s imposing shadow, and yet I found myself in it once more after Kokuyoku was sealed. Hiwatari had, eventually, granted me that same comfort, and I was finally, to some degree, able to finally get through my days alright.

Maybe Hiwatari just pitied me. He saw someone, broken and lost just like himself, and some self-righteous pride told him that he had to do something. Or maybe, just maybe, he was in the same boat as me, clinging to me in desperation for the love and attention denied from him for so long.

“Why Belgian waffles?” I asked him after everyone went their separate ways. Riku left for work while Daisuke accompanied my parents back home, leaving me and Hiwatari to pass the time before dinner.

He shrugged. “They’re light and go well with fruit.” He paused a bit, and I wondered if he just didn’t want to talk anymore or if he was finding something to talk about. “Why didn’t you order French toast? I thought it’s your favorite.”

“It is my favorite, but I wasn’t going to pay that much for it! My fruit salad and orange juice were expensive enough.”

We headed towards a florist to buy some flowers for our weekly visitations. I got a small bouquet filled with colorful flowers while Hiwatari bought a bushel of baby breaths despite my insistence on getting something slightly more extravagant. Sighing, I plucked the white and blue flowers out of my bouquet before arranging them amongst the petite blooms.

“This is excessive, Harada-san,” he said as he started to pull them out.

“No, it’s not,” I retorted, refusing the flowers he tried handing back to me.

He sighed, putting the flowers back amongst the baby breaths and grumbling a thank you; he knew better than trying to engage me when I was being stubborn.

At the cemetery, we both borrowed a tub and ladle each and bought a pack of incense at the small shrine. I followed Hiwatari to Rio Hikari’s grave, silently watching as he cleaned it and offered the flowers. When he started praying, I joined him. And when I finished, I told him I’d head to Grandma Rika’s grave, leaving when I saw him slightly bob his head.

When I arrived, I tidied up her grave before offering a prayer. And when I was done talking to Grandma Rika, I rested by her stone, pulling out a book (Asleep by Banana Yoshimoto) before slowly drifting away from my reality with the words on the page and the faint rolling of the waves in the distance.

It was my second day of being afflicted with the flu. Riku helped me in the morning before leaving me in the hands of our capable staff. I was too tired to read a book, let alone absent-mindedly watch TV, so I weaved through periods of blissful napping and conscious physical discomfort. When Riku returned later that day, she placed the notes and assignments I missed on my desk before keeping me company.

After dinner and Riku’s insistence that I rest despite having done that for the whole day, she turned off the lights and left. Compared to when I had woken up that morning, I had some energy, so I stayed up, staring at the ceiling hoping that my boredom would, eventually, lull me to sleep.

And that was when I heard a knock on my balcony door.

I saw a disheveled Hiwatari holding a box of chocolates and, using what little strength I possessed, I trudged over to let him in. I collapsed on him after opening the door, which he closed behind him before helping me back to my bed.

“How much time do you have to fill an empty box of chocolates with fruit?” I groaned. It was a terrible joke he once played when I was sick, but it had eventually become a tradition of sorts for us to bring each other boxes of chocolate filled with fruit whenever the other was sick.

“Who said that there’re fruits inside?”

“The fact that you brought it means there’re fruits inside.”

“Are you sure?”

“Satoshi, I’m more concerned about you entering my house through my balcony than the identity crisis of that chocolate box.”

“No one answered the door.”

“It’s late! Couldn’t you have waited until tomorrow?”

“I was worried.”

“I’m not going to die from the flu.” I sighed. “Anyways, make yourself at home.”

He went over to the pictures I had strewn across my wall, staring at the smiling faces in the moonlight. Some of them were pictures from school trips taken by Saehara, but most of them were shoddy photos I took during trips with family or while hanging out with friends. He then ambled over to my bookshelves, pulling out random books and flipping through them, probably skimming through my messy and probably rudimentary annotations.

“This room hasn’t changed much.”

“Of course; it’d cost too much to completely renovate it.”

“But we’ve changed, haven’t we?”

Illuminated by the full moon outside, his eyes glowed in the midst of the dim room, awaiting my answer.

“Yes, we have.”

He shot me a polite smile, and my heart melted. With my brain fuzzy, from both Hiwatari’s breath-taking handsomeness and the flu, I called him over, and he sat next to me wondering what I needed.

In my haze, I brought my hand to his face. His eyes widened, both in shock and fear, as he brought his hand up to mine, wondering whether or not to remove it.

“Risa, what—”

“Harada-san.”

My eyes fluttered open to see Hiwatari hovering over me. “I’ve cleaned up the grave for you,” he told me, offering his hand.

Closing the book resting on my lap, I thanked him, getting up without his help. I brushed the dirt off my clothes before following him out of the cemetery.

“Where are you going now?”

“Home,” I answered. “I need to freshen up before heading to Himawari-san’s apartment.”

“You’re welcome to do so at my apartment,” he offered.

“Excuse me?”

“Akane’s apartment is closer to mine. Logistically speaking, it’s more convenient.”

“You’ve been to her apartment before?” I asked, the surprise in my voice more noticeable than I wanted it to be. Him being on a first-name basis with her was one thing, but he’s also visited her in her apartment?

“Yes?” he answered in equal confusion, wondering why I was making a big deal of it. “Whenever we have group dinners, we go to her place since Takeshi lives in a studio. And, on occasion, I help her out if Takeshi is unavailable.”

“Ah.” Acceptable answer. It didn’t explain how the first-name basis thing started, but I suppose it came to happen because of the circumstances.

“I thought you’d pay more attention to my invitation than that.”

“Well, I didn’t think you could be friendly with women.”

“Meaning?”

“I don’t really know? I just didn’t think you’d actually get along decently with your friend’s girlfriend.”

“Aren’t I friendly with Riku though?”

“That’s different!”

“But I became her friend after she’d become Daisuke’s girlfriend.”

“But you knew her before. And…”

He nodded in understanding before we stopped at an intersection. “Well, this is where we head our separate ways if you wish to head home.”

“I’ll go with you,” I said. “I’m kind of curious to see what else I can dig up about you after being away for so long.”

From the corner of my eye, he shot me a discerning look, and I laughed before falling in step with him. I really should’ve just headed home instead, but I had already started digging my own hole. If I was already prying into his personal life, what could visiting his living space possibly do to me? (A lot, but that was a rhetorical question.)

“So, any other ladies you’ve been getting along with?” I asked.

“Not particularly.” He answered. “I went on dates with several people, but they never turned into anything serious. What about you?”

“Same.” Honestly, dating wasn’t something I wanted to do. Even after managing to shake off the phantoms of Azumano, I only went out on dates because my friends had found a guy they were sure was a good match for me or they needed someone else at a mixer or a double (triple, quadruple…) date. “Do you have any interesting stories to tell of your dating escapades?”

“Do you have any respect for some semblance of my privacy?”

“Nope!”

He sighed. “Well, the most interesting one I have is that I once dated Fukuda when she had recently moved back to Azumano after college.”

“You WHAT?!” I shot him a look of disgust and disbelief. Ristuko and Hiwatari? On a date? Together?

“Nothing came from it, so please calm down.”

“I’m sorry, but how the hell do you think I can calm down considering what you’ve just said?”

He shook his head before rolling his eyes. “After the second or third date, she said that it was awkward dating the guy her best friend once had a big crush on, and I found it awkward dating your best friend, so we both decided it would be best to stay platonic.”

“So you’re telling me you’re actually friends with Ritsuko? Like ‘OMG let’s, like, grab some coffee sometime, ‘kay?’ friends?”

From the corner of my eye, he cringed. “I wished you didn’t word it like that, but yes.”

“So, what’s up with the last-name basis?”

“We also found it awkward calling each other by our first names, so we settled on that.”

“Huh.” I stretched my hands behind me before looking up at the skyline. “I didn’t think the two of you would become friends. Then again, I also didn’t think you would ever become friends with Saehara, yet here you are.”

“Well, I don’t know if this is in the same vein, but no one thought you would come back to Azumano again, yet here you are. Anything’s possible is what I’m getting at, I suppose.”

He didn’t say anything else, and I decided to just let this conversation die before listening to the sound of the cars that passed by or the birds that perched on nearby trees: an idyllic Sunday afternoon. We finally arrived at his apartment complex, which so happened to be the one that he lived in before the Niwas took him in after Kei’s disappearance. I followed him up the stairs to apartment 214.

“Is this the same apartment?”

He shook his head. And when he opened the door, it was exactly how I imagined it to be. His living space had the bare basics: a sofa, a table, and a CRT TV. Hiwatari, despite himself, probably didn’t care about having a magazine-worthy interior chocked with unnecessary decorations. The room was also pretty clean, meaning that he probably spent little time there: Hiwatari’s surroundings often reflected his mind’s inner workings, so he often had papers and files strewn everything under his weird system of organization that was, honestly, absolute chaos. How he ever found anything was beyond me.

“Where’s you restroom?” I asked, possessed by a need to wash my face. I could feel some gunk on the side of my eyes, probably from the liner and eyeshadow that smudged during my nap. My face also felt caked from my foundation, and I wanted to redo my makeup for a casual dinner with friends.

“First door on your left in the hallway.”

Glad that I didn’t have to enter his room, I walked into the restroom, greeted by a mess. Well, it wasn’t dirty, but various toiletries were strewn across the relatively clean sink. I tidied up a bit to make space for my purse before staring at my reflection in the mirror, briefly mulling over the past several days before freshening up.

With a new and simple face of makeup, I headed back outside to see Hiwatari napping on his sofa. Feeling slightly hungry, I headed to the kitchen and started digging around for his kit-kat stash. I stumbled upon a cabinet full of liquor (of the high alcohol kind) before finally finding the candies, grabbing a sakura-matcha-flavored one (and a sake-flavored one for the hell of it) before grabbing a water bottle and settling down on the sofa next to him.

He probably had a long morning from working on his cases, so I let him nap away until we had an hour left before heading to Akane’s apartment. I shook him awake until he opened his eyes, blankly staring at me.

“You’ve got an hour.”

He nodded, getting up and ambling towards the bathroom. I returned to my phone, staring at the bright screen covered in Tsum Tsums. I finished up my game before shooting Saehara a message. Hiwatari then came out with his hair slightly tamed and his glasses on straight.

“Thank you tidying up.”

“Mhm.”

He retook his seat next to me, watching me as I toyed with my phone probably because he wasn’t fully awake yet. He finally came to thirty minutes before we “had” to be there, and he headed off into his room. He came out, having changed into a loose-fitting grey sweater from the decent button-up he had on from before.

“You looked fine.” I told him, getting up from the sofa and following him to the door.

“I was uncomfortable.”

We left for Akane’s apartment. Compared to the streets the night before, barely anyone was out. Most people had work or school tomorrow and opted to stay home to prepare for the week ahead.

“How nostalgic,” I whispered.

Hiwatari only nodded next to me. I actually liked the silence; it gave me time to think and reflect. After living in Tokyo, where moments of calm were few and far between, I finally came to cherish these wonderful breathers.

We finally arrived at Akane’s apartment, and I knocked. A muffled pattering of footsteps slightly crescendoed before stopping. The door opened, and I finally came face to face with the fabled Akane.

Holy hell, Saehara scored a cute one.

“Hello, Satoshi! T-kun’s already at the table!”

“Gluttonous pig,” he mumbled, and Akane laughed as Hiwatari walked inside, engaging with Saehara.

“And you must be Harada-san! T-kun’s told me so much about you!”

“Risa is fine,” I told her, trying not to laugh at Saehara’s cute nickname. “And really?”

“Yup!” I brushed past her, and she shut the door behind me. “He’s been talking about you nonstop since you’ve moved back.”

“Huh.”

“Aw, don’t be like that! He really enjoys your company!”

We finally arrived at the dining table to see the guys arguing in their seats, but they stopped when we sat at the table, making surprisingly polite and engaging conversation when we started eating. I was skeptically about Saehara’s claims about Akane’s cooking, but I finally believed him after my first bite of curry. Oddly enough, I didn’t think I would enjoy myself watching Saehara and Hiwatari talk this much; I had only seen the latter this amicable with Daisuke or me back in the day.

After we stuffed ourselves with plenty of leftovers to spare, the two men continued the argument they had earlier before derailing into another heated debate about the stock market. Akane asked if I wanted to help her tidy up, and I willingly retreated into the kitchen with as many dirty dishes as I could carry to escape from those nerds. She giggled while washing the dishes, glad that Takeshi was so animated.

“So, do you and Satoshi get along well?” she started.

Well, that was a terrible way to start a conversation.

“We were good friends in high school, but I wouldn’t say we get along as well now.”

“What happened?”

“I had this whole ‘run away from home’ thing and practically cut myself off from Azumano for six years.” I sheepishly admitted before changing the topic. “I still don’t get why Saehara’s so happy that I’m back though. It’s not exactly like we got along back then.”

“Maybe it’s because you two work in the same industry? And so happen to also work together?” she suggested. “And you can call him Takeshi, you know. It’d make his day.”

“I’ll think about it.”

We continued to wash the dishes, watching the men argue about another meaningless topic. I focused on the warm water running across my hands as I rinsed the soapy plates that Akane handed to me.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why did you leave?”

The answer to that question was simple, so disgustingly simple, that I almost didn’t mind answering her. It was a boy, a dumb and stupid boy, that drove me away from here, and I was a dumb and stupid girl that let him affect me that much. She would get her answer, and I wouldn’t have to hide it anymore. But the specifics? I didn’t know where to start with that.  

I stood there, frozen at the sink, while Akane patiently waited for my answer and, when she realized that I wasn’t responsive, called my name several times before I came back. After all the dishes were drying and the leftovers were packed away, Hiwatari suggested that we head home since we all had work the next day. Saehara tearfully bid us farewell while Akane handed us some of the leftovers while telling us to visit soon.

Back on the streets that surprisingly weren’t dead, I tried to block out the presence of the man accompanying me home. The rhythm of our footsteps kept my mind in check and occupied until we found ourselves stopped at a crosswalk.

“I’m sorry; I overheard your conversation,” Hiwatari confessed. “That…must’ve been a difficult question to answer.”

“It’s not a difficult question; I know the answer.” The light turned, and we started walking once more. “Sharing that answer is the hard part.”

He kept to himself as we passed by closed or closing shops. I watched the workers on the other side of the windows either dutifully working or enjoying the camaraderie amongst their coworkers after a long day of work.

“Do you think you’ll ever be able to talk about it?”

“No. I’d rather take it with me to my grave than let anyone know.”

Glancing at his face to see his reaction to my statement, I saw the slight frown and furrowed eyebrows that formed his concerned expression. I didn’t intrude and decided to leave him with his thoughts as he accompanied me back home.

I leaned in, softly kissing him before pulling away.

Only then did common sense finally return to me. Unable to face him, I averted my attention from his shocked face to the stitching on my covers, bracing myself for his reaction.

“I’m sorry,” I started. “I’m sick, and I really shouldn’t have done that. Well, I shouldn’t be doing that even if I am well! I mean, you don’t even like me that way, and I just did that without your consent and—”

“Risa, please look at me.”

I unwillingly met his eyes, greeted by an unfamiliar expression. How could someone look so serious yet gentle at the same time?

“Yes?” I whispered, terrified of the events to come.

“Risa, I like you.”

“I like you, too?” I responded in confusion. “We wouldn’t be friends if we didn’t like each other, silly.”

“No, Risa, I love you.”

The words hung heavy in the air, and I let out a forced laugh. What the hell was going on? “No, you don’t. You even said so yourself that you don’t like me that way.”

“Then, for both of our sakes, let’s pretend that I do.”

With my mouth ajar and eyes widened, I stared at him. He couldn’t possibly be implying what I think he was implying. And the implications of such a thing…

“For us to have some semblance of happiness and love,” he earnestly said. “This may be the closest we may ever get.”

The words of rejection sat on my tongue, immobilized from what he was saying. Fake happiness and love to perhaps gain the genuine thing? What kind of insane logic was that?

But something deep inside told me that this was it. This was the closest I was ever going to get to have my feelings reciprocated. And even though I should’ve been strong and not given into finally having some part of my dream come true, that logic-defying bastard of my heart won because, my God, I didn’t realize how badly I wanted this to happen.

Nodding my head, he gently cupped my face before leaning in, leaving a chaste kiss at the edge of my lips before trailing his lips along my chin and slowly, ever so slowly, down my neck. We spent the rest of the night cuddling and kissing, until we fell asleep.

When I woke up, he was long gone, leaving a hastily scribbled note on the crumpled sheets he once occupied.

Let’s keep this a secret, and I’ll see you tonight. I love you, Risa.

This was the beginning of the biggest mistake of my life.

[grillpartsgalleryonline-blog]

3 PACK STAINLESS STEEL FLAVORIZER BAR FOR FRONT AVENUE, CHARBROIL 463460712, 463462108 & KENMORE 463420507 GAS GRILL MODELS

Charbroil Models : 461461108, 463420507, 463420508, 463420509, 463420510, 463420511, 463420512, 463420707, 463460708, 463421107, 463421108, 463460710, 466420909, 463422107, 463422507, 463460508, 463460708, 463460710, 463460712, 463462108, 466420908, 466420910, 466471110, Performance Series, 463420708, 463440109, 466471109, 466420911

Front Avenue Model : 46269806

Kenmore Models : 463420507

BUY NOW

[bbqpartsfactory-blog]

3 PACK STAINLESS STEEL FLAVORIZER BAR FOR FRONT AVENUE, CHARBROIL, KENMORE, THERMOS GAS GRILL MODELS

Fits Compatible Front Avenue Models : 46269806 Charbroil Models : 461461108, 463420507, 463420508 Kenmore Models : 463420507

Material : Stainless Steel Dimensions : 14 5/8" x 4 5/16"

SHOP NOW

[whogoesthere-cleveland-blog]

John’s Diner

The Place: John’s Diner Location: Lakewood, Ohio

Susan: John’s Diner - Where even your lowest expectations are already too high.

Shannon: Blessed are those who expect nothing, for they will finally be disappointed.

Overview of John’s Diner

Shannon: There is so much potential here. A great location, ample parking, and historic roots. Unfortunately John’s Diner doesn’t capitalize on any of this. In fact, their overt reluctance to give this joint the facelift it so badly deserves and turn it into that quaint nod to yesteryear should be an obvious indication of their all-around slapdash attitude. They aren’t really concerned with you, the patron, nor are they interested in helping continue to revitalize a city that’s recently been named one of the top ten most exciting suburbs in the nation by real estate blog, Movoto. The owners of John’s Diner are in business to serve, alright, but unfortunately all they seem to serve are their own interests.  Anchored at the corner of Detroit Avenue and Park Row in Lakewood, Ohio, it seems that John’s Diner has become a beacon for the downtrodden. I used to visit this place as a kid and recall many a happy Saturday mornings liberally applying packet after packet of grape jelly to my white toast or pouring stainless steel carafes of warm syrup all over my pancakes - griddle cakes in greasy spoon parlance. I even learned my first lesson in commerce at John’s Diner when I was tasked with a responsibility well beyond my years: ’Go on up to the counter and pay the check’ my mom would instruct as she handed me a well-worn collection of one dollar bills from her embroidered wallet and continued to smoke and jaw-jack with the other adults. But times have changed, and where there once existed home cooking served “piping hot as you like it” there is now only propaganda and neglect.

Susan: I’ve never been here before. My only reference to John’s Diner is when a friend of mine said the cook was smoking a cigarette while preparing food on the grill. Granted, this was back when one could still smoke in restaurants, but still, that had to be a health code violation even in the 90s. I’m supposed to add a description of the interior, but I don’t think mere words could do it justice. Authentic 50s diner front with a perhaps 60s addition. There’s an organ in the foyer that doesn’t work. The interior décor was both confusing and filthy, and if that’s a design aesthetic, they nailed it. Oddly framed prints or articles cut out of the newspaper hung askew on the walls. Some were sports related (but not necessarily Cleveland sports), but others were just random, faded “art”. I don’t know. Half of the ceiling fans were painted bright red and royal blue, though this did not match any color scheme in the restaurant or the other crud colored ceiling fans. The booths were crimson and Duct tape. It was strangely silent in there, except if one sits at the counter, then you can almost hear a radio playing Richard Marx.

After being seated, we both started off with coffee.

Susan: The coffee can best be described as mothball flavored hot water, but with an acrid, bitter aftertaste. I mean, I’m not really a coffee snob. I’ll drink diner coffee with the best of ‘em, but this was just a completely different animal. Like they really went out of their way to make it taste bad in a manner that no other diner coffee is bad. In this area, John’s Diner excelled.

Shannon: My guess is that maybe they were storing the mothballs too close to the industrial sized drum of Folgers crystal flakes - a coffee that may have fooled upscale coke heads at Tavern on the Green in the 80s, but wasn’t fooling us in the here and now. Coffee is a staple in diners across the land. Plus we live in an age where private roasteries are busting out all over and yet John’s Diner somehow manages to turn a blind eye to each and every local purveyor of quality beans, and instead goes with whatever generic blend they’ve been brewing since time immemorial. Coffee could be an easy and inexpensive fix that would immediately boost the dining experience and make patrons a little more forgiving about the rest of the troubling menu.

We both ordered simple meals:

Susan: I got the grilled cheese and fries. Uh, it was of a lower quality Denny’s variety. Very, very generic, however, I felt it was least likely to induce dysentery and therefore, my best choice. I ate it. It was unremarkable. I did not get sick. The bar was set low for John’s Diner. Shannon - I got a pretty generic breakfast. Scrambled eggs and pancakes.  I don’t want to brag, but I can make this stuff at home so I was kind of hoping a place specializing in breakfast might be able to create this dish with a little more elan than what I’m capable of. Not so. The scrambled eggs seemed to be hemorrhaging water, and the pancakes - Susan, you pointed out that they looked like McDonald’s hotcakes - also pretty much tasted like them.  Something I learned pretty quickly was that you need a backup plan for breakfast once you leave John’s Diner. I went to Starbucks immediately after and got the Gouda sandwich. Susan- Your breakfast was deemed “room temperature flavored”. Mmmm….Just like Gramma used to make!

We both worried about the elderly waitstaff:

Shannon: Maybe these waitresses (and let’s face it, they are waitresses; the word server somehow passed this generation by) are just looking for a way to make a little money during retirement or maybe John’s Diner is located in the Twilight Zone; either way, I worried they might be a little too old to be on their feet for that many hours per day; and quite possibly lacked the mental acuity to keep track of the myriad requests from each table. Then again, this job could be a punishment for a crime they committed in a past life and slinging hash at John’s Diner is their own brand of purgatory until they have atoned for their sins. I’m not really sure, I just know I felt uncomfortable being served by someone who already seemed to have outlasted their expiration date - although outlasting an expiration date seems to be a popular theme at John’s Diner. Susan: Yeah, a veteran wait staff, for sure. Ha! Your hypothesis was that these ladies were part of an octogenarian work re-entry program hosted by the Department of Aging. This would make me feel better if this were true. Otherwise, it’s kind of a bummer. But I will say, our waitress was very attentive and pretty nice. We did not want for anything (except for wanting to not be there). I would have felt bad if I had to ask for anything additional. Oh! Maybe that’s why the coffee is so God awful! These Golden Girls aren’t trying to run back and forth for refills all damned day long! OK, now it makes sense.

Who Goes There? Susan: Aging sea captains (primarily Greek), elderly men who live in boarding houses, a few regular people, a few regulars, and those that have lived a life of regret.

Shannon: People who never learn from their mistakes.

What philosophical school of thought would be most comfortable at John’s Diner?

Shannon: Nihilists and the hopeless.

Susan: No frills pragmatists with declining taste buds.

If John’s Diner were a TV show hangout, who would be a regular?

Susan: Maybe Archie Bunker...

Shannon: I could see Ralph Kramden stopping by every morning to shoot the breeze and fill his thermos with some of that signature hot mothball water.

Susan: In other words, curmudgeons with no more fucks to give.

Additional thoughts:

Shannon: I was pleased to see the smoking section had been relocated from the kitchen to a space out back with one plastic lawn chair. The last time I was there - which was easily a decade ago - the cook was standing over the grill with a cigarette hanging from his mouth and six inches of ash ready to drop and get scrambled out of existence. Another thing, it might not hurt to hire a professional cleaning crew. The waitstaff probably can’t really operate heavy water-soaked vintage mops anymore what with all those hip replacements and bad knees, so maybe once a week the owner could spring for a legitimate cleaning crew to swing by with a little bleach just to help ensure that the E. coli has less options for breeding.

Susan: Yeah, speaking of which, when I told a mutual acquaintance we went there she immediately said, “OH! Did you get sick? My friend just went there and she swears it made her sick!” What could I say other than, “Probably”?

Would you go back?

Shannon: Maybe. Like if the car broke down in front of the place right in the middle of a snow blizzard.

Susan: No. Not even then. I really can’t think of any circumstance that would compel me to return to John’s Diner. Oh, maybe on a dare. I would go on a dare if the stakes were high enough.

Is it a good place to bring Neal in a Baby Bjorn? Susan: I think yes, because the cleanliness standards are already so low. Why would they care if you brought a cat in there? What’s going to happen? He’s going to somehow “mess it up”? Bah hahahaha!  That’s absurd. At the very least, he would improve the overall experience for diners.

Shannon: Yes. Somebody has to catch the mice.

Hours of Operation and Payment Options: John’s Diner only accepts cash (and probably sobriety tokens and gold doubloons); and is open Monday through Saturday, 7 am - 8 pm and Sunday, 7 am - 3 pm

[grillpartszone-blog]

3 PACK STAINLESS STEEL FLAVORIZER BAR FOR FRONT AVENUE 46269806 GAS GRILL MODELS

3 PACK STAINLESS STEEL FLAVORIZER BAR FOR FRONT AVENUE 46269806 GAS GRILL MODELS

FLAVORIZER BAR FOR FRONT AVENUE

We at Grillpartszone.com provide affordable Price at Replacement 3 Pack Stainless Steel Flavorizer Bar For Front Avenue 46269806 Gas Grill Models.

This Front Avenue Stainless Steel Flavorizer Bar Also Fits Compatible for below Models :- Front Avenue 46269806 Grill Parts,  Front Avenue 46269806 BBQ Parts,  Replacement Parts for 46269806 Front Avenue ,  Front Avenue 

[ameliekennedynyc-blog]

We’ve Come Along Way Baby... (or have we?!)

Have you noticed that feminism is trending? Beyonce, Emma Watson and Taylor Swift have all declared themselves feminist. In the words of Miley Cyrus...

“I feel like I’m like one of the biggest feminist in the world.”

I’m on the bandwagon. I was there at the Women’s March this past January sporting my (95 dollar) feminist as fuck T-shirt. I bought Beyonce’s visual album Lemonade and somehow felt more empowered in my new found feminist-ity!

It seems that being a feminist is very en vogue right now. I mean, channel had a runway show which featured models in a mock feminist protest!

However, not to be a Debbie downer, but I cant help but notice white women still only earn seventy nine cents for every dollar a man earns. And Senate Republicans have unanimously voted against legislation to close this wage gap. Access to birth control and reproductive health care are still issues and the US lacks a paid leave for employees.

It seems that feminism is everywhere. Which is amazing. It’s about time.  But has it resulted in any tangible change? And what about these companies that seem to be using the platform of feminism to sell us shit. Where is the liberation in that?

The paper towel company Brawny decided to use International Women's Day, to unveil their new ad campaign. They replaced their big burley manly mascot with a obvious less burley female mascot and in order to not waste a good opportunity it came complete with its own hashtag "#StrengthHasNoGender.”

But listen to this! They were selling them exclusively at Wallmart which has a long history of discrimination against its female employees and was the subject of one of the largest class action gender discrimination suit in history!

And what about Allergan’s “Eyepowerment” TV spot which features black and white images of famous women from Rosa Parkes to Grace Kelly to Frida Kahlo accompanied with the song, Betty Davis Eyes. They are marketing drops for chronic dry eye, people!! It had the tone of those awful SPCA commercials with the dogs dying? You know the one. I cry every time! In the arms of the angels, far away from here...

Both of these examples are a completely gender neutral products that have nothing to do with women empowerment. But these companies are using the feminist language as a tool to basically repackage their product and sell it as a way for women to feel good about themselves. Or even worse; that they are doing something to advance the cause of women.

This has been going on for years and years..

In the early part of the twentieth century, in what was deemed as “The Women’s Lib” era, saw a time when woman were allowed to enter into public life. For the first time they could exist in public spaces and even be granted the right to smoke in public. The cigarette industry saw this and took advantage of it for their own purposes. They conducted a PR stunt which was known as the March Down 5th Avenue where woman were paid to hold their Lucky Strike cigarettes in the air and branded them “torches of freedom.”

Cigarette advertising continued in that way, take the Virginia Slims, ad campaign, You’ve Come a Long Way Baby that started in the late 60′s.

Cue the Madmen theme song. Conjure up the image of a distinguished Donald Drapper, always impeccable dressed. The smoke dancing upward from his lit cigarette.  The sound of ice jingling in a tumbler. We pan down and see Don furiously writing on a cocktail napkin.

It used to be lady, you had no rights. No rights to the wage you earned. No property. That was back when you were laced in. Hemmed in. And left with not a whole lot to do. That was back when you had to sneak up to the attic if you wanted a cigarette. Smoke in front of a man. Heaven forbid!

And the theme song joyfully cuts in: “You’ve come a long way baby.”

“Introducing the new Virginia Slims. The slim cigarette for women only. Tailored for the feminine hand. Slimmer than the fat cigarettes men smoke. With the kind flavor women like.”

Celebrity + Feminism

During the second wave of feminism in the late 70′s the Equal Rights Amendment was the hot botton and became extremely popular with celebrities. Mary Tyler Moore, Robbert Redford, Shirley MacLaine and Warren Beaty just to name a few. As well Shirley Chisholm (the first black women elected to the US congress). Duh!

Side Bar:  In case you didn’t know the ERA was a proposed amendment to the constitution written to guarantee equal rights to all citizens regardless of sex. It was first introduced to congress in 1923 but it didn’t pass.  

So... In 1979 the ERA had passed congress but it needed to be ratified by three quarters of state legislature. It But it didn't pass. And to this day the constitution still does not prohibit discrimination on the basis of sex.

In the wake of the second wave feminism, there was a massive backlash. Feminism fell out of favor and became a bad word, loaded with unattractive baggage.

This is probably where the images of hysterical women burnin their bras and rugs under their arms.

Beyonce’s Brand of Feminism

So we are currently in the 3rd wave of feminism brought on by mainstream acceptance that comes in the form of celebrity spokespeople or product endorsements. Those normalize whatever social justice cause we are talking about.  get a high profile that introduces it to a wider audience.

But it’s tricky because feminism is not a brand. It’s a way of thinking, a way of advocating a set of principles and ethics. and most of these political goals are not necessarily the ones that celebrities are excited about. Celebrities tend to gravitate to the easiest and already accepted issues of feminism. Like body images ( Google Ashley Graham ). Or equal pay, or reproductive rights.

Take Emma Watson for example. She took a year off acting to devote herself to the cause of feminism. She started a book club, And had a sort of had her big feminist coming out moment as an ambassador to the UN for a program they started called He for She. Which was interested in getting more men into feminism. And that was in itself somewhat controversial the idea that feminism hasn't done enough to welcome men.

Although her latest movie, Beauty and the Beast is an interesting choice for a feminist because the whole basis for the story is based on the Stolkhom Syndrome ( a prisoner will take on the characteristics and fall in love with their captor)  a fairy tale and domestic violence. Although, Emma argues in press junkets that Belle is an example of a feminist. At least she didn’t decide to play Arielle in the Little Mermaid she would have a much harder time arguing her case.

What about the ways in which in feminism  has so much work to do on a policy level in ways that aren't sexy. That don’t look good on T-shirt.

How this Affected Advertising

Previous female insecurity played a large role in marketing products to women. How did the switch from appealing to insecurity to now empowerment happen so quickly. And what is the next buzz word to get us to buy shit we probably don’t need.

Advertisers and marketers have realized maybe if we don't make women feel like crap they are more likely to buy our product. Maybe we don’t want to tell them that they are fat. Maybe we want to tell them that our product makes them more confident. Makes them stronger. Makes them better women. It’s really a matter of asking the question. Who does this benefit? Does it benefit women? Or does it benefit a company who just wants to sell us stuff? But we live in a time when it is incredibly easy to find out who makes this product? Who owns it? Under what conditions is it made? Who are the workers? Are they treated fairly? Being a conscious consumer is not as hard has it used to be.

When I see a product where 20% of the purchase is going to planned parenthood or ?? I wonder why aren't they just donating money to those organizations? Do they feel that purchasing stuff is the only option they have.

A 2016 national survey by the Washington Post found that 63% of women age 18 to 34 identify as feminist so its no surprise that feminist themes move products. Finally our realities are being reflected back to us. We’re not fat. We’re not ugly. We are perfect just the way we are. It’s a great time to be alive and buy shit! Of course this feminist light, low calorie liberation associated with marketplace feminism. But it wont end the the capitalist system which makes us need feminism in the first place.

So before you throw out your The Future is Female T-shirt let’s agree to not equate activism with shopping.

Activism is tweeting at your senator to end racial profiling as a police tactic.

It’s standing up to someone on the subway.

It’s showing up to a black lives matters event. It’s getting involved in your community or neighborhood.

[householdrepaircenter]

Norman family tradition lives on at Bud’s Corner

LG Refrigerator Repair in Mumbai–Willie Eason is a regular visitor to Bud’s Corner, an oft-overlooked section of North Nashville real estate named for Edward “Bud” Norman, the man who owned this three-block section of the city, putting a firm stamp of family and love on it that continues eight years after his death.

His son, Terry, 63, is the “mayor” of Bud’s Corner, maintaining stability here on Buchanan Street – about a half-block off D.B. Todd ­– even as the neighborhood declined from disuse after many middle-class Nashvillians chased mercantile, educational and residential needs out to the suburbs.LG Refrigerator Repair in Mumbai

Now Bud’s Hardware & Key Shop is not only the neighborhood “go-to” for toilet valves, drain snakes and the like, it is a literal cornerstone of revitalization as gentrification begins its slow but sure takeover of the Buchanan Street Business District and surrounding neighborhood.

What Terry has maintained here in Bud’s Corner is a neighborhood hub of commerce and good conversation that now is seeing even more traffic thanks to the needs of crews working to revive old homes or build skinny new ones for the invaders not only from the other side of the tracks, but from Los Angeles, New York, Joliet or whatever the latest hipster launching pad.

LG Refrigerator Repair in Mumbai – “I come in here because he knows how to do it,” says Willie, nodding toward Terry. He is loyal to Bud’s, except for during Sunday night emergencies. For example, the night before Willie and I huddle in the plumbing section of Bud’s, he was forced to patronize a soul-sucking box store.

“I’m a deacon at King Solomon Missionary Baptist Church,” says Willie, adding he only went to the hardware behemoth because Bud’s was closed. (Terry’s monument of screwdrivers, fertilizer and All-American values is open 7-6 Monday-Saturday, 7-2 Sundays.)

Willie was longtime sous-chef de cuisine at what was an outlaw-era, Vegas-flavored Nashville hot spot: Roger Miller’s King of the Road Motor Inn and “The Roof,” its rocking and rolling top floor restaurant and bar. It was not uncommon to come upon the city’s musical elite – Roger, of course, lived there part-time with his family – while the house band, led by sightless and soulful country hero Ronnie Milsap, played long and hard into the night.

A journalist I know too well spent a lot of time, even a New Year’s Eve or two, at Roger’s joint.

Deacon Willie and I both lament what has become of that glitz-and-rhinestone monument, its long decline serving as a stunning example of Nashville’s decades of urban decay and now ­– and it’s about damn time – rebirth.

The Clarion Hotel Downtown-Stadium (inside the old King of the Road shell) is likely a fine place and I’m sure refurbished nicely for the hordes of tourists who add to the “It City” myth by carrying their offerings to the altar – actually the tip jars and beer bars – at Tootsie’s, Robert’s or any of the joints that make up Nashville’s Lower Broad, honky-tonk Disney World.

LG fridge Repair in Mumbai – I’ve never visited the hotel since Roger left town, and, dang me, I should. But the building is no longer the celebratory HQ of Nashville high life. The damn nice guy and witty genius who sang of trailers for sale or rent and the dangers of roller-skating in a buffalo herd succumbed to cancer in 1992. He was 56.

Before retiring to his beloved North Nashville home, Deacon Willie, 72, spent 39 years as chef at the Federal Reserve Bank of Atlanta’s Nashville Branch.

“Today I’m here with this,” Willie points out, holding up small copper pipe that, when working properly, carries water from beneath his kitchen sink to his home refrigerator’s ice-maker.

“Last night, there was some hissing under the sink,” he says, following up that statement by making the “sssssssssss” sound created by the water leak.

He’s waiting his turn to get Terry to take a look at the faulty connector pipe and help him figure out how to replace it.

“I been coming in here since I’ve been in the neighborhood,” Willie adds. “I remember when Terry was little. Terry’s father was a good, fine gentleman who knew how to treat customers. He knows, too.” He motions his busted pipe part toward Terry.

Indeed, Deacon Willie is just one of a storm of loyal customers keeping Bud’s Hardware not only thriving, but continually busy. At least it was during the three days I spent in those friendly confines where everything from pipe to locks to weed killer and grass seed is easily found.

Terry and his crew also cut glass to order for replacing busted windows.LG fridge Repair in Mumbai

Terry proudly will tell you that pretty much all hardware, landscaping and building needs can be filled here. Heck, there even are fishing rods over on the wall near a rainbow of colors of plastic Weed Eater string.

Bud’s Hardware started its life as an A&W Root Beer stand, but has been Bud’s Hardware since 1965. Terry Norman, who now runs the hardware store, also worked at the drive-in mixing root beer.— Tim Ghianni | The Ledger

Outside, beneath the awning, fishing bait shares space with grass seed. And yes, the American Flag waves proudly above a wall where a 20-foot extension ladder serves as exclamation point.

“Dad started out with Bud’s Curb Market in 1956,” says Terry, after he and long-time employee Gary Floyd find the right parts and try to guide Deacon Willie through the task he faces when working beneath the kitchen sink to reconnect the icemaker.

Gary, who has worked in the hardware store for 25 years, notes that he’s “mostly in sales. … I make sure we’ve got stuff on the shelves. … I also make sure this place is good and clean.” Gary pilots a broom to eliminate dirt that’s invisible to an old, bleary-eyed journalist.

“What’s up, T?” says another man who enters the store in pursuit of some sort of thingamajig. Terry – aka “T” – asks him what he needs and, without a pause, Gary steps in to lead the man to it. I don’t know what it is, as I always try to stay out of the way when I invade someone’s business for a few hours.

But I do see the man smiling broadly as he steps out the front door onto the sidewalk of Bud’s Corner at 16th Avenue North & Buchanan.

He had disappeared into the traffic by the time I made it outside to ask his name. Seemed like a nice guy, though. Happy, too.LG fridge Repair in Mumbai

My time with Terry comes in spurts during my visits, as he’s working hard, along with his son, Jonathon, and with Gary. Got to keep the customers satisfied.

“A lot of people call me ‘Bud,’ and I don’t mind, but that was my dad,” he explains.

“You know what a curb market is?” he asks, motioning through the windows and across Buchanan where he’s now landlord to the folks who’ve been leasing “Bud’s Curb Market” since sometime in the ’80s.LG fridge Repair in Mumbai

“That’s where people drive right up to the curb and you carry their groceries to them,” he explains. “Don’t think there are many around … They don’t do it there anymore, either.”

Amid customers’ testosterone-fueled discussions of “how to fix stuff” and comparisons of their nuts and bolts, Terry tells me that this building once was a teenage haven, an A&W Root Beer establishment that opened around 1960.

Gary Floyd dusts off a display case.at Bud’s Corner Hardware Store.— Tim Ghianni | The Ledger

“You know it was like a Sonic,” Terry recalls. “We took the orders out to people’s cars.”

There also were windows for walk-up service and a few seats inside. “We didn’t do a lot of dining-in here.”

He explains that the A&W was turned into Bud’s Hardware in 1965 or so as a sly businessman’s move by Bud himself.

“My dad had a lot of rental property. Forty-four houses he rented out,” Terry remembers. As a landlord, of course, Bud had to handle upkeep and repair.

He quickly realized that it would be a good move to open a hardware store where he could buy those repair supplies from himself.

Bud’s A&W became just a sweet and frothy memory.

And Bud wasn’t done with his Bud’s Corner business empire.

In 1970, he opened Bud’s Auto Parts just across Buchanan and near the Curb Market. And just across 16th from the hardware store is the former site of Bud’s Auto Repair.LG Refrigerator Repair in Mumbai

“That was good business,” Terry says. Again, it was one of Bud’s businesses – the parts store – supplying another – the repair shop.

Old Bud, a savvy businessman, gave his wife Daphne (aka “Mickey”) and their family the good life out in West Meade while he tended to this then-thriving, now reawakening Buchanan neighborhood.

The auto parts and auto repair businesses have long been shut down, but I’ve been told by a trio of young, Buchanan-based entrepreneurs that they’re planning to turn the repair shop building into a for-rent party space for receptions and the like.

As Terry answers the phone, his own son, Jonathon, 43 – who one day will take over the business completely – grinds the key-making machine for a customer.

“That’s me there,” says Terry, pointing to an old black-and-white photo mounted on one end of the counter composed of separate islands, allowing customers easy access to hand tools and assorted hardware “smalls” hanging on the wall behind the register and glass-cutting station.

In that old photo – displayed near a long line of FOP, Lodge 5, booster decals – is a young boy whose back is turned to the camera, with bold lettering reading “Bud’s A&W” on his shiny varsity jacket.

“I used to make the root beer,” acknowledges Terry, the kid in that jacket. “You had to mix so many gallons of syrup with so many gallons of water with so many pounds of sugar.”

Terry Norman, right, assists Abraham Ghirmai, making sure glass is cut just right for one of Abraham’s properties.— Tim Ghianni | The Ledger

Bud turned over all the A&W-making to his son. “I was good at it, too,” says Terry, smiling at the snapshot of his past.

Customer Kevin Jones, 55, is another local resident who finds his way to Bud’s neighborhood hardware store instead of pursuing anonymous frustration while navigating box stores. When he was a kid, he came here for root beer.

“His Daddy and him would be here when he was just a little bitty boy,” says Kevin, remembering the teenage Terry making the brew destined for so many floats and frosty mugs.

“I know a lot of the families in the neighborhood,” says Terry. Most know him as well.

A tall working man briefly enters our conversation. “I need a No. 3 bit,” he says, with Terry responding by reaching into his rack of drill bits.

“You want this?” he asks, handing it over. “We don’t sell very many threes.”

The satisfied man pays for the bit and ambles out onto Buchanan as another customer comes inside to take his place.

“I got two toilets that are too slow. I need some Liquid Fire,” he tells Terry, who returns with a fairly large bottle.

“When you put it in a toilet, it’s not like when you put it in the drain. You need to put it in and flush one time. Then leave it. That will get it where it’s needed,’’ Terry says.

The credit-card scanner isn’t working, so the man fishes a dozen dollar bills from his hip pocket and hands ’em to Terry, who makes change.

Robert Buggs, 70, says he spends his free time – when he’s not fulfilling his duties as the maintenance contractor at the House of God over at 26th North and Heiman – refurbishing homes for the hipster invasion.

He says he stops in at Bud’s Hardware on a regular basis, gathering the tools and materials he needs to fix up the houses or perhaps make repairs when on a mission from God.

“It’s convenient,” he says, then points at Terry. “I been coming here ever since Terry was like that.”

He lowers his right hand to about belt-level to illustrate his early memories of the man some call “Bud,” if they don’t know any better. “That man (Terry) is nice and friendly and makes you welcome every time you come into his store.”

Jonathon Norman, Terry Norman’s son, represents the future of Bud’s Hardware.— Tim Ghianni | The Ledger

“Abraham!” comes a “Norm”-like chorus of customers and store staffers as a sprightly 73-year-old enters this place where everybody knows his name. “How you doin’?”

Abraham Ghirmai says he too comes here to get tools and stuff to take care of rental property.

Today, as he waits for Terry, and then Gary, to cut some replacement window glass, he sings the praises of this store and the men who occupy it. “I find what I need here and their prices is fair and they are friendly.”

Another regular, a plumber with no need to waste time speaking with a journalist in a Led Zeppelin T-shirt, rushes into the store, heads to what he needs and retrieves it, carrying it to Jonathon at the cash register.

“I’m trying to fix a sink,” the plumber growls, as he speeds out the door. “They (the customers) don’t call me until after they ‘fix’ it themselves.”

During a quiet moment, Terry turns back to me. “I like all the customers and all the relationships.

They come in here, and it’s kind of cool, because they’ve known me since I was a little boy. They treat me like family.”

All romanticizing aside, Terry allows that in addition to the family tradition, he has one major reason for spending up to 10 hours a day here.

“This is what I do to make a living,” he says. “Eating’s a hard habit to break.”

And, he adds, there never was any question he wanted to keep up the successful business begun by Bud: “My dad gave us a pretty good life.”

He reaches back to his desk and picks up a laminated funeral announcement for Regina “Missy” Peoples, who died this spring of heart woes that occurred after she already had beaten leukemia.

“We sure miss her. She was tough …. She knew where everything was.”

Then he smiles. “She wasn’t just an employee, she was a personal friend. All of us here are like family.”

Jonathon is not only “just like family.” He’s the real deal, Terry’s son. He’s also somewhere between a janitor, a bookkeeper and a customer-service rep.

In short, he does anything needed, including running the store when his pop’s gone fishing or perhaps scouting out real estate opportunities.

In fact, Jonathon’s the future of the store. The father of two children, Jonas 15, and Abby 12, says he never really doubted, even when working on his philosophy degree at MTSU, that “I kinda knew I would” spend life at the hardware store and overseeing the future of Bud’s Corner in general.

“The whole reason I’m here is because of my granddad. He was a hero, so it means a lot to me to be a part of this and keep things going,” Jonathon says.

“I spent a lot of time with him, and he passed on a lot of wisdom. Probably the biggest thing was ‘work hard, go to school and you can do whatever you want to do.’

“I’m doing what I want to do.” He smiles while scanning his store filled with implements of destruction and construction.

Grandpa Bud set the mood and manner that continues at this family business. “He was a very charismatic, very caring person.”

Jonathon sees those same qualities in his own father. “My dad has always treated people kindly and with respect,” he notes.

“We have a lot of the same faces who have been coming in for years and years, little old ladies come in and say they remember when it was an A&W and they’d get their root beer here.”

Course the revitalization of Buchanan Street, like so much of Nashville, is dependent on the contractors who need equipment and supplies. This store, Bud’s, is within a few blocks rather than miles of the north-side building boom.LG Refrigerator Repair in Mumbai

But Jonathon is looking beyond his own future and into what he hopes will be an endless existence for Bud’s Hardware.

“I hope it lasts beyond me,” he says. “I’ve got a daughter, and since she was little she said she wanted to run the store, so I hope to see it passed through generations.”

Terry is back at the cash register, checking out yet one more customer he knows by first name and whose father or grandfather probably knew old Bud.

A man steps in from the corner of 16th and Buchanan and asks Terry if he can loan him $5.

“I don’t loan out money anymore,” Terry says.

“You know me. You know I’m good for it,” says the customer. “And I’m working now.”

Terry smiles. “If you are working now, how come you need $5?”

The mayor of Bud’s Corner reaches into his pocket, then hands the man a fiver.

Category: LG Refrigerator Repair in Mumbai, LG fridge Repair in Mumbai, LG Refrigerator Repair Service in Mumbai, Samsung fridge Repair in mumbai, Samsung Refrigerator Repair in mumbai, Panasonic refrigerator repair in Mumbai, Panasonic fridge repair service in Mumbai, Panasonic fridge repair in Mumbai, whirlpool fridge repair service in mumbai, Whirlpool Refrigerator Repair Service in Mumbai .