Category Humor

Time Travel with a Chance of Meatballs

Michael Leave a comment

Have you seen this commercial? Some guy wants the newest version of his cell phone so he builds a time machine to go forward in time to when the contract on his current phone expires and he can upgrade. It’s not important what they are selling (well, it probably is to the company that paid for its production and air time but not to me). What is memorable about it is the end of the commercial. The time machine dings, the neighbor dude says “What’s that?” and the time traveler replies, “Just my lunch. Leftovers from tomorrow’s dinner.”

That really stuck with me. I can’t explain it but I like the idea. Imagine if we really did have time travel. What would you do? Where, or when, would you go – to some past historic event, perhaps the defining moment in mankind’s history? Ok, when would that be? Is there really some single event that created the essence of who we are today? Maybe you want to go forward in time to a not yet occurred event. But if it hasn’t yet occurred how do you know you want to go there, or then? Nope, I think regardless of how sophisticated we want to think we are our needs are pretty uncomplicated.  Food, shelter, sex. And the greatest of these is food.

It was just yesterday that I was thinking I needed lunch. Badly. I was hungry and I didn’t have anything to make a light meal with. I could have put a sandwich together but I wasn’t in a sandwich mood. I could have made a wrap but that’s just a sandwich that knows somebody. I could have had yogurt but why. What I really wanted was some spaghetti and meatballs. As luck would have it, that was the plan for today’s dinner and I was well aware of it at the time.

Think of the possibilities. Some big problem with leftovers is storing them (my fridge is always too full and by the time the next day comes around I’ve forgotten most of what’s In there), heating them (microwaves turn everything gummy, ovens take forever, and stovetops create as big a mess to clean up as the first time around), and eating them (face it, except for chili, nothing is better after sitting around for a day). Had I had a time machine I could have zipped from yesterday to today and put together a leftover plate, travelled back to yesterday and had the lunch I wanted. There’d be no storage issue, it would have still been hot so no heating would be necessary, and it would have tasted fresh since it is, was(?), will be(?). A bonus is there would be no waste. Nothing to sit around in the refrigerator, forgotten until the day before garbage pick-up day.

Yep, if I were to get my hands on a time machine I could solve the leftover problems of the world. It’s a great thing that commercial. I have no idea what they were trying to sell but they unintentionally sold me on spending some time inventing practical time travel. Gotta run. Today’s meatballs are calling. I hope I remember them tomorrow.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

Got Grammar

Michael Leave a comment

I was out shopping at a little neighborhood farm store; I picked up some $20.05 worth of meats, cheese, olives, and fish. I had no change so I gave the young lady manning (womanning?) the cash register a twenty dollar bill and a one dollar bill. She took them then stood there looking at me. I looked back at her and in time she said, “My bad. I was expecting a twenty and a five.” I don’t know why she was expecting anything in particular, as long as it added up to at least twenty dollars and five cents. But, I’ve reported on similar issues with money and people trying to figure out amounts due and to be returned without the aid of a computerized cash register. Or fingers and toes. (See “If You Give a Teen a Penny,” April 7, 2014.) But today’s post isn’t about calculating change or expecting bills. It’s a grammar rant.

It had been a while since I heard anybody other than a daytime TV talk show host utter “my bad.” I was hoping that was because it had finally worn its welcome and was relegated to the what-does-that-mean-anyway pile of bizarre phrases. It’s so bad it’s beyond bad. It should have been expected. Ever since “Got Milk” graced America’s roadside billboards, television screens, and magazine back covers we’ve pretty much given up on grammar.

I’m not trying to be the grammar police and I actually thought Got Milk was a pretty nifty advertising slogan. It was just odd enough to be memorable without being irritating. The same can’t be said for some of its spawn. It seemed shortly after the first milk mustachioed model hit the commercials we were “Gotting” everything from “Got Cookies” to “Got Religion.”

I don’t suppose your old fifth grade English teacher will come out of retirement to correct our slips down the ungrammatical slope. Many things we were taught not to do like begin a sentence with a conjunction or end it with a participle aren’t real rules anyway. If you don’t believe me, take a real good look at your Chicago Manual of Style. Ain’t nothing in there about that. And more than likely most of what actually gets published is far from perfect composition, but it is right around the corner of your average vernacular.

Still, some things really need to stop being uttered in public. “My bad” tops that list. In fact, it tops the list of things that shouldn’t be uttered in private. And definitely never uttered in stores by cashiers trying to calculate change without the aid of a calculator.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

Peter, Peter Pumpkin Eater

Michael 1 Comment

If Peter, Peter was dining on that big orange gourd today he’d have a hard time finding a pumpkin shell for the Missus. That’s because they are making everything out of pumpkin these days. There’s so much pumpkin out there they have to be using every bit of it, including the shells!

Just a couple of weeks ago I wondered about the early emergence of pumpkin beer. (See “So They Say,” August 24, 2015.) And a year ago I wondered about the preponderance of pumpkin everythings. (See “It’s the Not So Great Pumpkin,” October 20, 2014.) This week we can combine the two. Just in one supermarket ad flyer that came out so early in September the days were still in single digits there appeared sixteen ways to eat your pumpkin – all on one page. Peter, Peter would have a field day!

There are pumpkin cookies, cakes, and coffee like always. There’s pumpkin yogurt, granola, and gelato for the adventurous. There is pumpkin bisque and pumpkin ravioli for those of questionable stability. And there will be more when we eventually actually enter fall.

One thing we’ll probably not see at all, though, is pumpkin tea. Did you ever notice that coffee drinkers get the odd flavors associated with holidays and seasons? Coffee comes in peppermint, cider, jelly bean, and, of course, pumpkin flavors. Tea is just tea. Oh there are herbal varieties and different tea flavors but those are either all teas or not teas at all. And they don’t change with the weather. A tea drinker can get his or her favorite variety year round.

I didn’t see an ad for pumpkin flavored chewing gum this year. Yet. Last year it was pretty close to Halloween before that item showed up in an ad. I did see an ad for pumpkin flavored tortilla chips. Don’t forget the queso.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

A Close Shave

Michael Leave a comment

I had another thought about shaving while shaving. Actually I guess a thought, not necessarily another thought. I don’t often think about shaving. I just do it though sometimes not as often as I should. And that’s ok since most of the time hair stops growing all by itself. In fact, we even talked about that once in “A Hair Raising Thought.” By that was about cutting hair. This is about shaving and the difference is about as dramatic as the difference between shaving with a single blade or with six of them.

To be dramatic about it, what difference does it make anyway? I’m old enough to remember when razors came with just one sharp edge unless you counted the “double edge” safety razor blades. Those were the ones your grandfathers used when they switched from getting a shave with a straight razor to doing it themselves with that nifty little gadget that opened like a clam shell and hold the blade “safely” in place. The kind you see a certain pawn broker advertise on television if you stay up late enough and watch reruns of shows that were popular when safety razors were. But where was I? Oh right, old enough to remember when.

Do you remember when razors had just one blade? Whether in the venerable safety razor, the gadgety injection razor, or the brightly colored disposable razor, there was one blade to drag across your face, leg, or other hairy body part to transform it into a smooth, hairless body part. It worked just fine. Then someone decided if one is good, two must be better. TV ads were suddenly full of the new trend, the double blade disposable razor. The first blade shaves your beard close and the second shaves it even closer. Closer than close? Holy cow! That’s close! They even had animations of the first blade cleaning slicing off the hair and pulling it ever so carefully above the skin just in time for the second blade to swipe its way through. Yeah right.

The hairy public sought out this newest grooming marvel in droves. Shaver manufacturers hit gold. Then someone got the idea, if two are better, three must be better than better. To make a long story short, today you can wander into the personal grooming section of your local supermarket and pick up a razor with as many as six blades all bending, twisting, turning, and otherwise maneuvering their way around your face, leg, and other hairy body parts with or without lubricant, softeners, and/or moisturizer strips. And all for a whole lot of money, with or without coupons.

Oddly enough you can still buy double edge safety razor blades and injector blades. I have no idea if you can still buy the razors to go with them but if you can you can get a deal since these are usually less than a dollar a blade while the new-fangled multi-blade systems run as much as $6.00 per razor. Something you can’t get readily any more is a barbered straight razor shave. The shave and a haircut is a thing of the past, and where it still exists its way more than just two bits. But as indulgences go, it’s worth way more.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

When Did…

Michael Leave a comment

I seemed to have missed it again. In my youth, when we would cook dinner on the grill outside and eat at the old wood table off paper plates with the wind blowing napkins and cups, it was called a cook-out. Usually it was on a Sunday in the summer and something was put over charcoal but most of the food came from the kitchen like any other Sunday and it was still a cook-out.  I haven’t heard that phrase for years. Those under 30 years old or so may not even recognize it. We don’t have cook-outs today. Today we grill. One day we are having a cook-out, the next we are grilling. I completely missed that transition.

Well, as I started out, I seemed to have missed it again. When did emoticons become emoji? (I’m still not sure if that is a singular as in one emoji, the plural of more than a singular emojum, or both like fish or deer.) To be perfectly honest, I’m not certain that I can even point to when emoticons became emoticons and not just “those little smiley thingies.” And who came up with them? And how? Let’s face it, it’s not natural to be typing along and all of a sudden decide to turn your “page” 90 degrees and plop in a couple of symbols you can only tell what they are if your head is on sideways. Or if you’re that guy on Law and Order who is always checking out the evidence that nobody else has noticed with his head at that weird angle.

I thought it was perfectly clever when somebody decided that one could approximate a smiley face with a colon and a right parenthesis (parentheses?) (One of them is right, err correct, in that it’s only one of them but I don’t know which. If you do, feel free to fix it if it so needs fixed.) From there it was a quick step to frownie faces, kissing faces, grinning faces, hearts, flowers, and any number of things to personalize an otherwise impersonal e-mail or (shudder) instant message. There are even translators available so you can pick the perfect accompaniment to your formerly plain text.

Today, those cute little combinations of all those symbols we rarely use have morphed into miniature signage that rivals international travel iconography. Personally, I miss the old-fashion smiley face, but what would you expect from an old fogey like me.  If you’ll excuse me, I have a cook-out to plan for dinner. I know I have some hot dogs in the fridge somewhere.  🙂

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

The Salad Days of Summer

Michael Leave a comment

Even worse than the dog days of summer are the summer salad days. Those are the days when even a confirmed carnivore welcomes a chilled plate of veggies in place of steak and ‘tators.

I hit the salad days about a week ago. It was a day that started out like no day should ever start with me being hauled away in the back of an ambulance after ripping a gash in my leg on a hunk of cardboard. You know how much a paper cut hurts. Think of cardboard as a bunch of paper all stacked up just waiting to slice through an unsuspecting appendage. It wasn’t so terrible. A couple of hours in the emergency room, a few lab tests, a pair of stitches and one large tetanus shot and home in time for lunch.

But honesty, after a morning like that, that started before I even had breakfast, even though I was hungry as a bear, the last thing I wanted to do was eat. I was quite content sitting with my leg elevated and the noon newscast detailing the horrors other metro residents had been facing that morning. Fortunately my daughter recognized the grumbling noise coming from the living room not coming from me because I couldn’t get comfortable but coming from me because my stomach was quite sure my mouth had been stitched shut.  “How about a salad?”

It seemed innocent enough. Some lettuce, perhaps a tomato, the sort of thing that one burns more calories eating than one expends on chewing. Boy was I wrong. I got an old fashioned “what’s in the fridge that can look a little like a chef’s salad” salad. Green and red peppers, red onions, mushrooms, ham, turkey, provolone, cheddar, and carrots on a bed of butter lettuce with ranch dressing. Fabulous! Filling, tasty, a variety of textures, and still light when compared to my usual lunch of pepperoni and peanut butter on wheat toast.

That started a run of salads from simple leftover rotisserie chicken salad on a bed of lettuce to a full out steak salad. We make ours with hearty greens, bell peppers, sweet onions, radishes, hard boiled eggs, whatever leftover steak might be in the fridge warmed up, and French fries (oven baked if you want the healthy version). That with some fresh melon for dessert and you really can forget about a classic steak and baked potato. And be satisfied.

But the salad days won’t last long. It’s only a matter of time before I’ll want an old fashioned hot dog off the grill smothered with chopped onions and baked beans.  Maybe two of them.  Make that three.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

So They Say

Michael 1 Comment

Some things I think we need to think about.

Driving down the road I came upon a sign that read “Airport 10” alerting me that I was a mere 10 miles from the local airport. About a mile down the road I came upon a sign that read “Airport 10” alerting me that something was wrong here! But what was it that was wrong? Was it the distance to the airport? Was it the selected sign? Was there a flaw in the road? Had I driven through some time/space continuum and will forever be 10 miles from the airport? Or it from me? Or perhaps it was a sign. We probably need a conspiracy theorist for that one.

If that was confusing there are others out there just as confusing. Farther along that same road there is a restaurant. I hesitate to specify the type of restaurant because the sign doesn’t make it very clear. Below the restaurant name is the legend “Japanese Chinese Bistro.” None of those go together! That’s like calling a restaurant a Spanish Danish Deli. I imagine because the cultures were specifically kept separate that it is not a fusion restaurant but one where there is a menu of Japanese offerings, another of Chinese offerings, all presented in a European casual dining atmosphere.

Heading down a different road I was approaching another restaurant in search of its being. This one isn’t looking for an ethnic identity; it’s looking for what it wants to be when it grows up. It wants to be a fine dining establishment but it is more of a slightly overpriced not quite up enough upscale brasserie. At the end of its drive, the owner had a new sign erected, large enough to be seen at 45 miles per hour. And it says, “Try Our New Lite 5 Course Menu.” I think of light (or lite) as a salad and smallish delicate entrée. I suppose if you can successfully lighten up five courses you can charge the world for it. And they do.

And yet farther along the drive I passed a beer distributor. Mind you, unless that earlier drive through the space/time thingy really screwed things up, it is still August. But the big sign in front of the beer shop proclaimed the arrival of this year’s first bottling of pumpkin beer. And I thought the grocery stores with the Halloween candy displays were rushing the season. If we’re dong pumpkin beer before school even starts will we be doing egg nog for Columbus Day? Or perhaps a summer shanty for New Years.

Sometimes things just don’t all add up. Remember that the next time someone says to you, “They say…”

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

That’s a Bargain!

Michael Leave a comment

There’s something very satisfying about finding a great buy. I’ve run into quite a few lately. No, not at the used car dealer, not on a call from a broker, not even at the dollar store – and you know how much I love the dollar store. The bargains I’ve been running across have been at the meat counter.

Really, the meat counter. Everything we’ve heard this summer says meat is the last place where there should be bargains. Droughty conditions are still responsible for less than the traditionally fatted calf not to mention the somewhat older steaks on the hooves. Bird flu is dropping chickens like clay pigeons. Pigs seem to be making a comeback but bacon prices are still playing the yo-yo game. Meat just isn’t on top of the specials lists.

One of the effects of not going to work every day is having lots of time on one’s hands. And I still have to get my exercise in. At this stage of my recovery walking is the best exercise I can take on. But with temperatures in the 80s and 90s a casual walk around the neighborhood could mean a sudden case of heat stroke, or worse. The answer is daily walks around the local mega-mart.  A trip along the perimeter is quite a healthy distance and I get to pass produce, bakery, deli, fish, meat, dairy, and the as-seen-on-TV section. With the exception of the tele-specials it’s almost like shopping at a local farmers market. I can buy just the veggies and salad fixings I’ll be using that day, I can get fresh rolls every morning, the fish monger is laying out his catches of the day just as I’m passing buy, and at the meat market they are marking down all the stuff left from the day before. I’m saving 30 to 40% from the regular price because they want it out of their refrigerators and into someone else’s. Mine will do.

If you figure the regular weekly shoppers are picking up a few days’ worth of meals on one trip, they are ending up with the same day old product at home in a couple of days. I’m buying what I’m going to be cooking in a few hours. And saving a bundle doing it.

Yeah, I know it’s a little over the top for just a couple of dollars but it gives me something to do before the noon news comes on. You have to make a little fun for yourself somehow. What better way than a good hunk of meat, fresh veggies, and a gadget that lets you make a bowel out of several strips of bacon. That’s a bargain.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

Have I Got a Deal for You

Michael 1 Comment

Last weekend my daughter was lamenting the fact that the stores were starting to advertise fall fashions. Fortunately, she reported, they were also beginning summer clearances so it wasn’t all that terrible that the season was being rushed along a bit.

It’s always been that way. Valentine specials show up right after New Year’s; Easter Sales go on sale in February; Memorial Day Specials pop up in early April; Fourth of July Sales are here and gone by Flag Day; Labor Day Back to School Sales get started at the end of July; Halloween candy is displayed around the start of the school year; Black Friday opens around Halloween; Christmas Sales deck the shelves on Columbus Day; and the End of the Year Clearance flyers hit the mailboxes a week before Thanksgiving.  Next year will probably start a week earlier.

It’s not necessarily a bad thing. It really does become a plus when you can buy this season’s fashions at bargain basement prices while still in the season. But then does that mean the demise of bargain basements?

I suppose that bargain basements are already dead. And that’s a shame. They used to be THE place to shop for the folks who couldn’t afford Saks, Lord and Taylor, or Tiffany. And back a generation or two that was almost everybody. The bargain basements were where back to school meant it didn’t have to be hand-me-downs, where grills and patio furniture and outdoor life came to life for middle class America, where Christmas got to overflow from each child’s stocking.  They might have all been the previous year’s fashion but who cared. Jeans were jeans, chairs were chairs, and toys were toys. And all of them hidden away in the department stores’ lowest levels. Even when the big retailers moved to the suburban shopping centers there still was a certain square footage devoted to the bargain basement.

Now the bargains are relegated to a few clearance racks pushed to the back of a department, behind next season’s meticulous displays. They are a few handfuls of what didn’t sell, the few pieces management is willing to part with this season rather than storing in back rooms to be brought out next year or auctioned off to remainder stores.

Those days of the bargain basements were the days when real savings were passed to the public. Today if you want a real savings you have to know where your closest time machine dealer is. Of course, if he’s not running any good specials when you get there, ask for a test drive and go back one holiday. You’ll find your deal there. Or is that then?

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

Can You Keep a Secret?

Michael 1 Comment

There is a weekly feature in one of our city’s newspapers where a local celebrity is interviewed in a basic high school journalism class format. You know – what’s your favorite movie, which is your favorite local sports team, what would you find in your glove compartment, what song always gets you on the dance floor. And even though the questions are pretty kitschy, it can make for some interesting reading on a light news day. Of course nobody ever answers all of the questions. Some almost famous people don’t want you to know that their first concert was Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention, so the “official” answer might be “Oh, I don’t go to concerts.” And many of them also don’t go to the movies, watch TV, dance when or when not anybody is watching, own glove compartments, have a favorite food, or a celebrity crush. But one thing every one of them has is a secret vice.

Now that’s odd. If you were to stop the average Jo and/or JoAnn on the street you’d find that most of us have a TV, go to movies, read books, and even sing in the shower. But asking for a secret vice is like asking if they know any good government secrets. Nobody would dare reveal his or her secret vice. Let me ask you, can you keep a secret? So can I!

That’s the difference between the famous and the ordinary. In a bid to appear just as ordinary, the famous fall over themselves trying to do something that the ordinary would never do. (I know, that’s a weird sentence but I tried writing it 4 or 5 different ways and believe it or not, that’s the best sounding one of the bunch.) See, the famous people want to appear to be just one of the average Joes, or JoAnns. They share their secrets with everybody and then when the tabloids make a big deal out of it they get all huffy.

So to make the famous people feel like one of us non-famous folks I’m going to do something I’d never ordinarily do. I’m going to reveal my secret vice. This will make any famous people reading this feel much better about connecting with ordinary people. My secret vice is…shhhh, keep it to yourself now…my secret vice is rippled potato chips with French onion dip. Always eaten alone. Never shared. One chip after another each dipped in that cool, savory, bitey flavored cream cheese based condiment until every last one out of the one pound bag is gone.

Wow! I feel so much better now. Almost famous even.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?