I needed to pick up a few things earlier today, so I figured I drop by a local mall for lunch. So, I pull into the parking lot and slide the first empty spot that I see. I sat in my car for a couple of minutes so I could catch the end of Grand Funk's "American Band". I'm trying to concentrate on hearing about four young chiquitas in Omaha when a minivan pulls into space beside me and nearly rips off my driver's side mirror. Our vehicles didn't actually touch but there was approximately six inches between us. To my surprise, the woman driver hops out and starts walking across the parking lot. Meanwhile, I'm left pinned in my car......
I tried to open the door, but I could only get one arm out. I tried yelling for the woman to come back, but there was no way she could hear me. So, I opened my sun roof and popped my head out. I said, "Excuse me, you've got me pinned in here!"
She turned around and looked at me for a split second, then she disappeared into the mall. Can you believe this bullshit? So, I sat there for a minute. Then I did what any other reasonably intelligent adult would do in this situation: I squirted the side of her van with a pack of Arby's Horsey Sauce. Then I moved my car into another spot.
Once inside the mall, I stopped off in J.C. Penney to pick up a pair of jeans that would accommodate my expanding waistline. My current jeans are so tight in the waist that I feel like a bratwurst most of the day. I pay for my purchases and head out into the mall.
I had a gift certificate for the cigar store, so I figured I might as well stop by and spend it. I start to browse the overpriced cigars and quickly realize that $50 buys you a hell of a lot more online than at the local cigar shop. Before long, this American is discussing Nicaraguan and Ecuadorian wrappers with the Indian shop owner. I guess this would be an example of diversity? As my purchases are being rung up, a grumpy old man is bitching that the Keno machine is jamming up. The shop owner gives him the "I'll be right with you" gesture and attempts to complete my transaction. The whole time, the guy is cursing because "his game is coming up". I felt like smacking his rude ass! I eventually got my five cigars at the bargain basement price of $62. Thank God I had $50 gift card!
As I walk towards the food court, I see two high school girls walking through the mall in their pajama bottoms. Is this a new fashion trend? Or are kids just too lazy to get dressed in the morning?
My intention was to get a salad or something somewhat healthy. But as soon as I saw the Chick-fil-A sign, my will power became severely compromised. I wound up getting a strawberry shake and eight-piece box of chicken nuggets. So much for the hour of cardio that I did this morning!
I sat down on one of the nearby mall benches and opened my box of chicken bites. I popped one into my mouth and quickly discovered that it must have just came out of the deep fryer. I'm not kidding, this thing was as hot as a road flare! Not wanting to spit it out and gross out the rest of the mall rats, I took a hit of the strawberry shake. But instead of getting a blast of sweet instant relief, the straw jammed up with a piece of strawberry! Now, it was time to panic! My tongue felt like it was blistering while I fumbled to get the plastic lid off of the shake. I finally got it off and turned the cup up the way I would chug a beer. The inside of my mouth was extinguished but now I had whipped cream all over my face! Amazingly, no one seemed to notice.
I gathered my things and headed for the exit sign. Making sure that the coast was clear of the van with the Arby's Sauce, I hustled over to my car. As I drove off, I swore that I would avoid the mall in the future and go back to buying things online!
kw
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Irene's Quiet Visit To Maryland
Growing up, I always had a fear of high winds. It was so bad that sometimes even the sound of my sister's hairdryer would send me running down the hall. I was in my mid-twenties before I became comfortable around a leaf blower. So, it should come as no surprise that the mention of a hurricane would tweak my anxiety level.
Earlier this week, when the news reporters started talking about the devastating potential of Hurricane Irene, I felt those childhood fears coming back. When the storm actually started to surface yesterday, I felt like the a crew member of the Andrea Gail preparing to ride into The Perfect Storm.
A moderate rainfall began around 3 pm. According to local weather reports, we should expect to see the "worst" part of the storm between 8pm on Saturday night and 2am on Sunday morning. The winds began to pick up around 10 pm, but they were not much stronger than what I've seen during summer thunderstorms. When the hurricane was downgraded to a Category One, my Florida friends began to ridicule Maryland's sense of urgency. Calling us "wimps" and 'sissies" for getting all up in arms about 30 mph winds. Might I remind the Florida folks that we also experienced a 5.8 magnitude earthquake earlier this week!
Nonetheless, I stayed up until midnight, but I still didn't see any major effects of this "hundred year" storm. I fell asleep wondering if I would wake up to fallen trees and a collection of lawn furniture in the pool. This turned out not to be the case. When I woke up around 6 am, the wind had indeed picked up, but other than one small fallen tree in the neighbor's front yard, there were no visible signs of damage.
My biggest worry was that the power might have went out during the night and I wouldn't have a pot of coffee waiting for me in the kitchen. I was ecstatic to discover that the pot was indeed full of freshly brewed Folgers.
After getting some caffeine flowing through my veins,I flipped on the local news channel. There I found one of Baltimore's legendary weathermen explaining, "The eye of the hurricane has passed us but we are not out the woods by any stretch of the imagination. The winds have reversed direction and the trees and other structures will now be stressed from another angle. I'll tell you folks, this is going to be bad. Trust me when I say that the worst isn't over!"
It was like watching the anti-Christ brag about the pending Armageddon!
I sensed that the storm predictions for central Maryland were overestimated and the news reporters were desperate to keep people tuned in. Let's face it, people don't get as excited when you tell them it's going to be seventy-five degrees and sunny.
The cynical side of me wonders if Irene was over hyped in order to drum up sales for Home Depot and other supply chains. I mean, how else would they ever sell all of those sandbags, plastic wrap and duct tape??
And although I definitely don't question the evacuations of places like Atlantic City and Ocean City, I have to wonder if the lost tourism will outweigh the cost of actual storm damages.
In the end, it looks like the Baltimore area dodged a bullet with Irene. And personally, I couldn't be happier about it. Let's face it, this thing could have been a hell of a lot worse. When a hurricane fails to live up the hype, it's always a good thing!
kw
Earlier this week, when the news reporters started talking about the devastating potential of Hurricane Irene, I felt those childhood fears coming back. When the storm actually started to surface yesterday, I felt like the a crew member of the Andrea Gail preparing to ride into The Perfect Storm.
A moderate rainfall began around 3 pm. According to local weather reports, we should expect to see the "worst" part of the storm between 8pm on Saturday night and 2am on Sunday morning. The winds began to pick up around 10 pm, but they were not much stronger than what I've seen during summer thunderstorms. When the hurricane was downgraded to a Category One, my Florida friends began to ridicule Maryland's sense of urgency. Calling us "wimps" and 'sissies" for getting all up in arms about 30 mph winds. Might I remind the Florida folks that we also experienced a 5.8 magnitude earthquake earlier this week!
Nonetheless, I stayed up until midnight, but I still didn't see any major effects of this "hundred year" storm. I fell asleep wondering if I would wake up to fallen trees and a collection of lawn furniture in the pool. This turned out not to be the case. When I woke up around 6 am, the wind had indeed picked up, but other than one small fallen tree in the neighbor's front yard, there were no visible signs of damage.
My biggest worry was that the power might have went out during the night and I wouldn't have a pot of coffee waiting for me in the kitchen. I was ecstatic to discover that the pot was indeed full of freshly brewed Folgers.
After getting some caffeine flowing through my veins,I flipped on the local news channel. There I found one of Baltimore's legendary weathermen explaining, "The eye of the hurricane has passed us but we are not out the woods by any stretch of the imagination. The winds have reversed direction and the trees and other structures will now be stressed from another angle. I'll tell you folks, this is going to be bad. Trust me when I say that the worst isn't over!"
It was like watching the anti-Christ brag about the pending Armageddon!
I sensed that the storm predictions for central Maryland were overestimated and the news reporters were desperate to keep people tuned in. Let's face it, people don't get as excited when you tell them it's going to be seventy-five degrees and sunny.
The cynical side of me wonders if Irene was over hyped in order to drum up sales for Home Depot and other supply chains. I mean, how else would they ever sell all of those sandbags, plastic wrap and duct tape??
And although I definitely don't question the evacuations of places like Atlantic City and Ocean City, I have to wonder if the lost tourism will outweigh the cost of actual storm damages.
In the end, it looks like the Baltimore area dodged a bullet with Irene. And personally, I couldn't be happier about it. Let's face it, this thing could have been a hell of a lot worse. When a hurricane fails to live up the hype, it's always a good thing!
kw
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
A Day In Amish Country
Having a few well-deserved days off work last week, Tina & I were looking to get out of town for the day. My first thoughts were Philadelphia or Washington DC. They're both within driving distance of Baltimore and there's no shortage of things to do in either city. But just in the nick of time, I caught a news segment regarding some of the recent flash mob incidents. This obviously soured the outlook on my proposed day trip to Philly or DC.
So, Tina suggested that we go up to Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Maybe not quite as exciting as the big city, but at least with the Amish, you don't have to worry about getting flashed or mobbed. So, I pointed the car north and off we went......
As we crossed over into Pennsylvania, I pulled over to get gas. We must have been closer to Lancaster than I realized because the woman at the next pump was Amish. Although she was wearing the familiar black and white dress, I was surprised to see her sporting a pair of New Balance running shoes. Watching her pump gas into her minivan also seemed a bit odd. I would have snapped a photo with my cell phone, but the Amish tend to frown on that type of thing.
We got back on the road and short while later, we wound up in the Amish town of Bird In Hand. I had to wonder who came up with a name like this. They had to know that it would surely open up a bottomless can of colorful comments.
As we traveled down the main road, we stopped off in the next town, which happened to be called Intercourse. There seemed to be a certain pattern with these names! Anyway, Tina & I grabbed lunch at a nice restaurant called The Kling House. We had eaten here a few years ago and, although there was still no beer on the menu, the food remained top notch.
After lunch, we walked around the village and did a little shopping. I quickly learned that in addition to Bird In Hand and Intercourse, there was also a town named Paradise. My immediate thought was, "How appropriate!" I mean, if you've got Bird In Hand and Intercourse, can Paradise really be that far behind?
As I tried to keep my mind out of the gutter, I was constantly confronted with T-shirts and other souvenirs that played on the towns' easily misconstrued names. In case you're wondering, I brought a few things home that boldly proclaimed that "I Love Intercourse".
The last time we were up here, Tina & I took a buggy ride through the back roads. Seeing the Amish men and women working the fields brought a strange sense of guilt. I almost felt like we were intruding on their lives and looking at them as oddities. I guess in a general sense, they are. I mean, can you imagine having all of the modern conveniences readily available and still insisting on doing things the much more laborious, old-fashioned way? These guys were tearing up a lot of land and I didn't see one of them on a John Deere tractor. Not the way I would do it, but there's something to be said of the dedication these people have to their beliefs.
And although there are no video games or computers, the youngsters seem quite happy running around in the fields playing simple games. I had to wonder if the rebellious kids were huddled up with a Playstation in the back of one of the barns. Of course, having no electricity would make it kind of tough to advance to the next level of Grand Theft Auto.
I respect the Amish for their work ethic but I can't, for the life of me, understand the haircuts. All of the guys, including the kids, have these bowl type cuts reminiscent of Moe Howard of The Three Stooges. And if that wasn't enough, the men have beards but no moustaches. I have to wonder how this fashion statement originated. If you took the DNA of Moe Howard and Abe Lincoln and mixed it up in a (non-electrical) blender, you would likely wind up with someone who looks quite Amish.
We finished out day trip by shopping at a few of the Amish food markets. Tina bought various jellys and a Shoe-Fly pie while I scoped out some rather expensive, but very tasty beef jerky. The jerky was gone before we made it back into Maryland.
All kidding aside, if you have never experienced life around Lancaster, you should put it on your bucket list. It's a great way to spend the day!
kw
So, Tina suggested that we go up to Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Maybe not quite as exciting as the big city, but at least with the Amish, you don't have to worry about getting flashed or mobbed. So, I pointed the car north and off we went......
As we crossed over into Pennsylvania, I pulled over to get gas. We must have been closer to Lancaster than I realized because the woman at the next pump was Amish. Although she was wearing the familiar black and white dress, I was surprised to see her sporting a pair of New Balance running shoes. Watching her pump gas into her minivan also seemed a bit odd. I would have snapped a photo with my cell phone, but the Amish tend to frown on that type of thing.
We got back on the road and short while later, we wound up in the Amish town of Bird In Hand. I had to wonder who came up with a name like this. They had to know that it would surely open up a bottomless can of colorful comments.
As we traveled down the main road, we stopped off in the next town, which happened to be called Intercourse. There seemed to be a certain pattern with these names! Anyway, Tina & I grabbed lunch at a nice restaurant called The Kling House. We had eaten here a few years ago and, although there was still no beer on the menu, the food remained top notch.
After lunch, we walked around the village and did a little shopping. I quickly learned that in addition to Bird In Hand and Intercourse, there was also a town named Paradise. My immediate thought was, "How appropriate!" I mean, if you've got Bird In Hand and Intercourse, can Paradise really be that far behind?
As I tried to keep my mind out of the gutter, I was constantly confronted with T-shirts and other souvenirs that played on the towns' easily misconstrued names. In case you're wondering, I brought a few things home that boldly proclaimed that "I Love Intercourse".
The last time we were up here, Tina & I took a buggy ride through the back roads. Seeing the Amish men and women working the fields brought a strange sense of guilt. I almost felt like we were intruding on their lives and looking at them as oddities. I guess in a general sense, they are. I mean, can you imagine having all of the modern conveniences readily available and still insisting on doing things the much more laborious, old-fashioned way? These guys were tearing up a lot of land and I didn't see one of them on a John Deere tractor. Not the way I would do it, but there's something to be said of the dedication these people have to their beliefs.
And although there are no video games or computers, the youngsters seem quite happy running around in the fields playing simple games. I had to wonder if the rebellious kids were huddled up with a Playstation in the back of one of the barns. Of course, having no electricity would make it kind of tough to advance to the next level of Grand Theft Auto.
I respect the Amish for their work ethic but I can't, for the life of me, understand the haircuts. All of the guys, including the kids, have these bowl type cuts reminiscent of Moe Howard of The Three Stooges. And if that wasn't enough, the men have beards but no moustaches. I have to wonder how this fashion statement originated. If you took the DNA of Moe Howard and Abe Lincoln and mixed it up in a (non-electrical) blender, you would likely wind up with someone who looks quite Amish.
We finished out day trip by shopping at a few of the Amish food markets. Tina bought various jellys and a Shoe-Fly pie while I scoped out some rather expensive, but very tasty beef jerky. The jerky was gone before we made it back into Maryland.
All kidding aside, if you have never experienced life around Lancaster, you should put it on your bucket list. It's a great way to spend the day!
kw
Monday, August 22, 2011
Ain't Nothing Like The Real Thing
Have you ever been sitting around the table getting ready to enjoy an ear of silver queen corn and someone passes you a bottle of "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter"? Talk about ruining the mood! I know it seems petty, but this kind of thing drives me nuts. I have no desire for a lame butter substitute.
I guess all of this nonsense started as a result of all the diet crazes. Why have a delicious bowl of real butter pecan when you have the non-fat alternative with half the calories? "You'll never be able to tell the difference" is what they tell me. Trust me, I can indeed tell the difference. I once had a rather portly young lady tell me, "I can eat this whole tub of low-fat Rocky Road and not feel the least bit guilty about it." Is this something that someone really needs to brag about? Maybe it's just me, but unless you're auditioning for an episode of Man vs. Food, I think you should save some of that synthetic Rocky Road for another time.
I was in the beer store the other day looking for a good hearty lager. As I scanned the shelves, I couldn't help but notice all of the flavored beers. There was cherry wheat, blueberry ale, a citrus scotch ale and countless other fruity concoctions. When did beer turn into a fruit drink? And probably worse than the flavored beers are the regular beers that require a slice of fruit. I ordered a Blue Moon draft recently and the bartender dropped two large slices of orange in it. I kept my drink half hidden for fear that one of the guys would think that I was knocking back a daiquiri. And speaking of fruit slices, why is it necessary to shove half a lime into a bottle of Corona? I'll tell you why. It's because it tastes like crap without it! I spoke with a Mexican guy about this several years ago. He told me that Corona is the Pabst Blue Ribbon of Mexico. Enough said.......
One time, I ordered some seafood nachos. According to the menu, aside from the typical high-fat glob of cheesy goodness, it was supposed include shrimp, scallops and crabmeat. Living in Maryland, the blue crab capital of the world, when someone says crabmeat, that's exactly what I expect. But lo and behold, on these particular nachos, they substituted real crab with that red and white imitation crap. Hell, it's not even crab, it's fish! I wound up up picking at the scattered shrimp and scallops while I tried not to look at the fake crab. The good news is that the imitation crab didn't go completely to waste. I wound up tossing it into the nearby water so the real crabs could enjoy it. The funny thing was that the roaming seagulls didn't even want it!
I also had a similar thing happen earlier this year at a well known restaurant in Ocean City, MD. But it wasn't nachos that they defiled this time. In this case, they actually had the audacity to desecrate a bowl of cream of crab soup with lumps of the imitation crabmeat! To me, this was the granddaddy of culinary faux pas! You just don't do this, especially in Maryland!
And don't you love when you buy a product and the label says "made with real cheese" or "made with real chocolate". I'm sorry, but if you're calling something Cheese-Nips, I expect at least one of the main ingredients to be real cheese! And another thing, cheese under no circumstances, should ever be fat free! And that goes for chocolate too!
In my humble opinion, butter will always be better than margarine. Crab will always be better than fish. And a Sam Adams Boston Lager will always be better than a tasteless beer with a lime floating in it!
So, here's to keeping it real and leaving the imitations behind!
kw
I guess all of this nonsense started as a result of all the diet crazes. Why have a delicious bowl of real butter pecan when you have the non-fat alternative with half the calories? "You'll never be able to tell the difference" is what they tell me. Trust me, I can indeed tell the difference. I once had a rather portly young lady tell me, "I can eat this whole tub of low-fat Rocky Road and not feel the least bit guilty about it." Is this something that someone really needs to brag about? Maybe it's just me, but unless you're auditioning for an episode of Man vs. Food, I think you should save some of that synthetic Rocky Road for another time.
I was in the beer store the other day looking for a good hearty lager. As I scanned the shelves, I couldn't help but notice all of the flavored beers. There was cherry wheat, blueberry ale, a citrus scotch ale and countless other fruity concoctions. When did beer turn into a fruit drink? And probably worse than the flavored beers are the regular beers that require a slice of fruit. I ordered a Blue Moon draft recently and the bartender dropped two large slices of orange in it. I kept my drink half hidden for fear that one of the guys would think that I was knocking back a daiquiri. And speaking of fruit slices, why is it necessary to shove half a lime into a bottle of Corona? I'll tell you why. It's because it tastes like crap without it! I spoke with a Mexican guy about this several years ago. He told me that Corona is the Pabst Blue Ribbon of Mexico. Enough said.......
One time, I ordered some seafood nachos. According to the menu, aside from the typical high-fat glob of cheesy goodness, it was supposed include shrimp, scallops and crabmeat. Living in Maryland, the blue crab capital of the world, when someone says crabmeat, that's exactly what I expect. But lo and behold, on these particular nachos, they substituted real crab with that red and white imitation crap. Hell, it's not even crab, it's fish! I wound up up picking at the scattered shrimp and scallops while I tried not to look at the fake crab. The good news is that the imitation crab didn't go completely to waste. I wound up tossing it into the nearby water so the real crabs could enjoy it. The funny thing was that the roaming seagulls didn't even want it!
I also had a similar thing happen earlier this year at a well known restaurant in Ocean City, MD. But it wasn't nachos that they defiled this time. In this case, they actually had the audacity to desecrate a bowl of cream of crab soup with lumps of the imitation crabmeat! To me, this was the granddaddy of culinary faux pas! You just don't do this, especially in Maryland!
And don't you love when you buy a product and the label says "made with real cheese" or "made with real chocolate". I'm sorry, but if you're calling something Cheese-Nips, I expect at least one of the main ingredients to be real cheese! And another thing, cheese under no circumstances, should ever be fat free! And that goes for chocolate too!
In my humble opinion, butter will always be better than margarine. Crab will always be better than fish. And a Sam Adams Boston Lager will always be better than a tasteless beer with a lime floating in it!
So, here's to keeping it real and leaving the imitations behind!
kw
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Let's Break The Tip Jar
Can anyone tell me when the "tip jar" became a part of American business? Nowadays, you can't go anywhere without a big ass tip jar staring you in the face. And personally, I'm sick of it!
Before I go any further, let me say that I generally tip well in normal circumstances. What do I mean by normal? When a waitress/waiter serves me food and and keeps my beer mug filled with Landshark draft, that would be a normal situation. Therefore, my server (providing that my beer mug doesn't stay empty for more than thirty seconds) can expect a generous gratuity.
And although it seems like bartenders do nothing more than pour drinks and hand them over the counter, in most cases, they are working their asses off. I volunteered to work the beer line a couple of times at a Baltimore Ravens game for my son's high school football team. For three hours, I could hardly catch my breath! So, if I order a drink at a bar, I feel like a tip is definitely in order.
However, when Jalib hands me a Bear Claw and a cup of coffee over the Dunkin' Donuts counter, I don't feel obliged to throw a tip in his jar. If he did a decent rendition of The Temptations "My Girl", perhaps I would feel a little differently. Am I wrong for thinking like this?
Recently, I was at a party where the DJ had a tip jar set up. From what I understood, the guy was already getting paid generously for his services. So, the tip jar seemed a little tacky to me. If that wasn't bad enough, towards the end of the evening, someone started walking the jar from table to table pressuring everyone to contribute. I felt like I was sitting at a red light and the "Will Work For Food" guy was coming my way. I'm sorry, but if you got to resort to high pressure solicitation to make a living, you should be selling timeshares instead of spinning CD's.
To fight back, I'm thinking about carrying my own tip jar. Whenever I see a business displaying a tip jar, I will set my own Mrs. Filbert's mayonnaise jar on the counter. I will leave it there until my transaction is over. To show that I'm a reasonable guy, for every dollar that Mrs. Filberts receives, I will match that amount and deposit it in the counter jar. Somehow, I don't think there's going to be many exchanges.
So, unless you're a street performer, it's time to break the tip jar once and for all. It's really nothing more than glamorized panhandling. And although most people probably won't tell you, trust me, it's tacky!
kw
Before I go any further, let me say that I generally tip well in normal circumstances. What do I mean by normal? When a waitress/waiter serves me food and and keeps my beer mug filled with Landshark draft, that would be a normal situation. Therefore, my server (providing that my beer mug doesn't stay empty for more than thirty seconds) can expect a generous gratuity.
And although it seems like bartenders do nothing more than pour drinks and hand them over the counter, in most cases, they are working their asses off. I volunteered to work the beer line a couple of times at a Baltimore Ravens game for my son's high school football team. For three hours, I could hardly catch my breath! So, if I order a drink at a bar, I feel like a tip is definitely in order.
However, when Jalib hands me a Bear Claw and a cup of coffee over the Dunkin' Donuts counter, I don't feel obliged to throw a tip in his jar. If he did a decent rendition of The Temptations "My Girl", perhaps I would feel a little differently. Am I wrong for thinking like this?
Recently, I was at a party where the DJ had a tip jar set up. From what I understood, the guy was already getting paid generously for his services. So, the tip jar seemed a little tacky to me. If that wasn't bad enough, towards the end of the evening, someone started walking the jar from table to table pressuring everyone to contribute. I felt like I was sitting at a red light and the "Will Work For Food" guy was coming my way. I'm sorry, but if you got to resort to high pressure solicitation to make a living, you should be selling timeshares instead of spinning CD's.
To fight back, I'm thinking about carrying my own tip jar. Whenever I see a business displaying a tip jar, I will set my own Mrs. Filbert's mayonnaise jar on the counter. I will leave it there until my transaction is over. To show that I'm a reasonable guy, for every dollar that Mrs. Filberts receives, I will match that amount and deposit it in the counter jar. Somehow, I don't think there's going to be many exchanges.
So, unless you're a street performer, it's time to break the tip jar once and for all. It's really nothing more than glamorized panhandling. And although most people probably won't tell you, trust me, it's tacky!
kw
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
As The Market Burns
Tossing and turning throughout the night, I finally gave in and got out of bed around 5 am. Watching the stock market plunge over the past two days has been weighing heavily on me. Over the years, thinking that it's the smart thing to do, I've invested heavily in my 401k. Even at a modest gain, my retirement was looking like it might be a comfortable one. I'm not so sure anymore......
How far will the market drop? Should I shift all of my investments? Or should I leave things alone and hope that we're only experiencing a temporary setback? After all, when I lost my ass a few years ago, I wound up getting most of it back. Will the same thing happen this time?
As much as I want to be optimistic, it's extremely difficult this time around. With our country's AAA credit rating being downgraded for the first time in history, I think I have a legitimate cause for concern. Some of my biggest worries:
How far will the market drop? Should I shift all of my investments? Or should I leave things alone and hope that we're only experiencing a temporary setback? After all, when I lost my ass a few years ago, I wound up getting most of it back. Will the same thing happen this time?
As much as I want to be optimistic, it's extremely difficult this time around. With our country's AAA credit rating being downgraded for the first time in history, I think I have a legitimate cause for concern. Some of my biggest worries:
- I expect the cost of borrowing to go up in the near future. And this can only cause a trickle down effect across the rest of economy.
- I don't expect the unemployment numbers to get much better anytime soon. Many of my colleagues who have lost their jobs are still looking for work. And the ones who are working, have settled for jobs that pay a much lower wage and reduced benefits.
- Less people working results in less overall spending which ultimately translates into lower tax revenue. And I believe that this will cause the government to seek more taxes from the working class at a time when they can least likely afford it.
- The government is now borrowing forty cents for every dollar it spends. How long can we sustain this kind of fiscal nonsense? Think about it, if you had to borrow $500 to pay your mortgage every month, how long do you think it would take until you were out on the street? This is scary stuff......
- With the "dumbing down" of our education system, we are sending our kids into a world where, instead of becoming contributors and leaders, they are more likely to become dependent on an already bankrupt system.
- We continue to trust the same politicians who got us into this mess to get us out of it. I think most of them are clueless. Sadly, many of the people who could actually help the country refuse to run for office because of today's cesspool of political mudslinging.
Our country is in trouble right now. And it really bothers me to see all of the bickering in Washington. All I hear lately is "It's not my fault!" Who really cares who's fault it is? Hell, they can blame me for all I care! But what we really need is someone who can get us out of this mess!!
kw
Saturday, August 6, 2011
The Lighter Side of Tanning
While taking a dip in my pool the other day, I couldn't help but notice that my tan was just a little incomplete. Not that I'm really that concerned about these things, but nonetheless it was enough to grab my attention. You see, although my legs had an acceptable Coppertone hue, from the ankles down I could have passed for Edgar Winter.
So, now unless I want to look like I'm walking around on two giant Q-tips, I really need to get some sun on my feet. Maybe I'll get one of those big shiny "face-tanning" boards that I see the old people using on the beach. Of course, I'll improvise and use it to roast my dogs.
Aside from my feet, I also have another issue. Since I've gained a few pounds over the years, my midsection doesn't tan completely. My protruding belly now eclipses the area just below my chest. As a result, I walk around with a white stripe across the middle of my torso. I kind of look like one of those multi-colored hyenas that you see on the National Geographic channel. So, in order to get an even tan, I'll have to perform the King Pigeon yoga pose. And that can only mean a trip to the ER after I inevitably dislocate a vertebrae.
I guess if I really wanted to get that perfect tan, I could always use one of those tanning beds at my gym. But there's just something that doesn't seem right about a man getting an artificial tan. Yeah, I know that there are a lot of guys who go this route, but I always figure that they're the same guys who carry man purses. Personally, I don't want to be part of any of this.
I know you're supposed to wear sunscreen before spending extended amounts of time in the sun. But I seldom do. Sunscreens always winds up running into my eyes. It might protect my skin but it sure makes my eyes burn like hell. And once I start sweating, the sunscreen becomes all slimy and makes me feel like a giant eel.
I've never been good with any of this tanning stuff anyway. Many years ago, in an attempt to keep from my skin from getting scorched, I put on what I thought was sunscreen. As it turns out, it was actually accelerator! After about 20 minutes in the direct sun, I smelled something burning. It reminded me of one of those Hatfield ham steaks sizzling in the frying pan. As you probably guessed, I was the one who was frying! I would have probably been better off if I had lathered up with Vaseline. (I guess it doesn't help that I'm usually drinking when I'm hanging out by the pool.)
Maybe I'll just play it safe and wear jeans and a sweater to the pool next time. A good, even tan is just too much effort......
kw
I guess if I really wanted to get that perfect tan, I could always use one of those tanning beds at my gym. But there's just something that doesn't seem right about a man getting an artificial tan. Yeah, I know that there are a lot of guys who go this route, but I always figure that they're the same guys who carry man purses. Personally, I don't want to be part of any of this.
I know you're supposed to wear sunscreen before spending extended amounts of time in the sun. But I seldom do. Sunscreens always winds up running into my eyes. It might protect my skin but it sure makes my eyes burn like hell. And once I start sweating, the sunscreen becomes all slimy and makes me feel like a giant eel.
I've never been good with any of this tanning stuff anyway. Many years ago, in an attempt to keep from my skin from getting scorched, I put on what I thought was sunscreen. As it turns out, it was actually accelerator! After about 20 minutes in the direct sun, I smelled something burning. It reminded me of one of those Hatfield ham steaks sizzling in the frying pan. As you probably guessed, I was the one who was frying! I would have probably been better off if I had lathered up with Vaseline. (I guess it doesn't help that I'm usually drinking when I'm hanging out by the pool.)
Maybe I'll just play it safe and wear jeans and a sweater to the pool next time. A good, even tan is just too much effort......
kw
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Grounding The Turkey Burger
I was just reading an article about a huge recall on ground turkey. Thirty-six million pounds of it, to be exact. It immediately struck a chord with me because I am totally repulsed by ground turkey. If it were up to me, I would recall the whole world's supply and send it to Purina One. I'm serious, I would rather eat pet food than ground up turkey meat.
I think my hatred for ground turkey began several years ago when Tina tried to pass off a grilled turkey burger as a real burger. Why would someone try to do something like this to another human being? Upon the first bite, I knew something wasn't right. With a Clint Eastwood-like facial expression, I said, " I think something's wrong with this meat. It doesn't taste right."
Tina, knowing that she was busted, came clean. She said, "There's nothing wrong with that burger. It's made of ground turkey." Then, she tried to compensate by telling how healthier it was compared to ground beef. I seriously doubted her healthy argument. I mean, just to make it palatable, I have to add a half jar of mayonnaise, four slices of provolone and then chase it down with three bottle of Sam Adams. How healthy can that possibly be? I don't have to add all of these enhancements to an old fashioned cheeseburger! Yes, sometimes I still do, but it's out of preference and not necessity.
Visions of the old lady in the Wendy's commercial are floating through my head..."Where's the beef!"
On a related side note, when Tina talked me into buying a new house several months ago, I made a few demands. One of them was that there would be absolutely no ground turkey permitted in our home. Reluctantly, she agreed. I knew that a new house was the only leverage that I might ever get to win the battle of the flavorless meat.
You see, I think of a turkey burger as a mugger with a ski mask. It hides it's true identity while stealing the great expectation of a delectable, juicy 100% beef burger. The "mugging" takes place after the first bite. Take off the mask and show your true identity, you tasteless bastard!
Before all of the turkey advocates beat me up, let me be clear. I love turkey in general. When I order a a sub, it's usually a toss-up between an Italian cold-cut or turkey breast. And on Thanksgiving, since steamed crabs aren't really an option, I can't think of anything else that I'd want for a main course other than a big ol' roasted turkey. But trying to pass ground turkey off as ground beef is sacrilegious!
I say let's recall all of the ground turkey and let's stop this madness once and for all!
kw
I think my hatred for ground turkey began several years ago when Tina tried to pass off a grilled turkey burger as a real burger. Why would someone try to do something like this to another human being? Upon the first bite, I knew something wasn't right. With a Clint Eastwood-like facial expression, I said, " I think something's wrong with this meat. It doesn't taste right."
Tina, knowing that she was busted, came clean. She said, "There's nothing wrong with that burger. It's made of ground turkey." Then, she tried to compensate by telling how healthier it was compared to ground beef. I seriously doubted her healthy argument. I mean, just to make it palatable, I have to add a half jar of mayonnaise, four slices of provolone and then chase it down with three bottle of Sam Adams. How healthy can that possibly be? I don't have to add all of these enhancements to an old fashioned cheeseburger! Yes, sometimes I still do, but it's out of preference and not necessity.
Visions of the old lady in the Wendy's commercial are floating through my head..."Where's the beef!"
On a related side note, when Tina talked me into buying a new house several months ago, I made a few demands. One of them was that there would be absolutely no ground turkey permitted in our home. Reluctantly, she agreed. I knew that a new house was the only leverage that I might ever get to win the battle of the flavorless meat.
You see, I think of a turkey burger as a mugger with a ski mask. It hides it's true identity while stealing the great expectation of a delectable, juicy 100% beef burger. The "mugging" takes place after the first bite. Take off the mask and show your true identity, you tasteless bastard!
Before all of the turkey advocates beat me up, let me be clear. I love turkey in general. When I order a a sub, it's usually a toss-up between an Italian cold-cut or turkey breast. And on Thanksgiving, since steamed crabs aren't really an option, I can't think of anything else that I'd want for a main course other than a big ol' roasted turkey. But trying to pass ground turkey off as ground beef is sacrilegious!
I say let's recall all of the ground turkey and let's stop this madness once and for all!
kw
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Breathtaking Scents
The other day, as I got into an elevator, I was almost asphyxiated by the overwhelming stench of cheap perfume. Trying to hold my breath, I took a quick glance around to inventory the crowd. Figuring I might pass out at any second, I wanted to be able to provide a description to the police later.
There were two women chatting about a bimbo named Snooki, a UPS guy fumbling with his package (that didn't sound quite right) and a sweaty maintenance guy. I'm going to go out on a limb and say the smothering aroma of Eau de Toilette was coming off one of the Jersey Shore girls. I'm not kidding, my eyes were on fire and my nose was running like I had just ate one of those little maroon peppers in General Tso's chicken. And, most concerning, I thought my throat was going to close up. I started to think that someone may have pumped some mustard gas into the ventilation system. And speaking of gas, I've been in elevators after someone floated an air biscuit, and don't get me wrong, it was bad. But I would take it any day over the suffocating smell of this woman's cheap perfume!
When the doors finally opened, I immediately exited. I was extremely thankful that I didn't pass out. As I flushed out my lungs with some fresh air, things started to return to normal. When I finally got my head together, I realized that I got off on the wrong floor. I decided to not take any more chances, so I walked up three flights of stairs to get to my floor.
Why do people feel the need to bath in perfume? Just because they like it, doesn't mean that everyone else is going to like it. Sometimes it can be downright offensive. I remember reading an article about a woman who was fired because she refused to stop wearing perfume while working in a confined office space. At first I thought it was a bit ridiculous, but now that I think about it, she probably deserved it.
When I was a kid, my buddy (Mark) and I would frequent the local joke shop at the old Jumpers Mall. One of our favorite purchases were these stink bombs. They were little glass vials of what I'm guessing was liquid methane. I'm not kidding you, when you cracked one open, it smelled like a rotten egg on steroids! We would wander into the local video arcade on a Friday night (when it was most crowded) and nonchalantly bust one of these things. We would head to the exit door, knowing that it would take about ten seconds for the full smell to kick in. Once we made it safely outside, we would watch through the glass wall as the pandemonium set in. At first, everyone would look at each other as if to say, "Was that you?" A few seconds later, when the full effect kicked in, it was every man for himself. It was total chaos as people nearly trampled each other to get outside. To make matters worse, the putrid smell would linger for a long time leaving the Pac-Man and Asteroid machines to fend for themselves. I know it wasn't a nice thing to do, but we were kids, and back then it seemed funny as hell. If something like this happened today, they would probably call in the Haz-Mat team and Mark & I would be on the terrorist watch list..
Was our prank offensive? The stampede of nauseous teenagers tells me yes. But is it really that much different than an unprovoked ambush by an overly perfumed woman on an elevator??
kw
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