Can dachshunds do stairs?

This was a work-filled weekend indeed. I spent Saturday writing about fascism, and Sunday doing the same, after spending Friday, Thursday, and so on reading and taking notes on... the same. The 19th century is a whole lot more uplifting. The cheery moment of the weekend was running into a former classmate and her golden retriever puppy. Golden retriever puppy! The three happiest words in the English language. (No offense intended to my future dachshund, who will be no less adorable). Insert clichéd but true remark here about how there would be no wars if puppies ruled the land.

Another weekend low point, although not on the scale of fascism, was reading an real estate article about how fantastic it is to live in the top floor of a walk-up. As someone who does, I'm not going to claim I don't have fantasies about installing one of those chairs there used to be commercials for, meant for the elderly and infirm, that hook onto the banister and pull you up, flight by flight, at the rate of one flight every ten minutes.

But that's not all. One of the brokers mentioned in the article was the first I met with in my apartment search last year, back when I still saw living within walking distance of school as a possibility. This broker insisted upon speaking to "your mother," aka my mother. Had he met my mother? Did he even know for sure that I do not have two daddies? Clearly not relevant. I feel bad saying this so close to Mothers' Day, but let's face it, a good way to be demeaning is to ask to speak to someone's mother. It's not a question you ask unless your first-grade student failed his math test. I could harumph and say, well he didn't get my business, but then I remember that the whole problem stemmed from the fact that my "business" is so minor. Renting basement closets (not to be confused with Austrian dungeons) out to graduate students is not Manhattan realtors' primary interest. It is at this point that I remember that it could be worse. But (she says, dreaming of social democracy--not to be confused with national socialism) things could also be better.

Puppies, puppies! Better now.