Olympic Musings III...aka "The Winter Games"

I am not sure how many people have been keeping up with my blogs...but for the sake of those who haven't -- I love the Olympics.

I always have and I probably always will.

I've been watching these things as far back as I can remember clearly - and that would be the 1968 Olympics (yes, I know I am old). And, as the games are on right now, I'm watching them as I write.

But there's a few things I have to mention regarding them before I go insane:

It's pronounced Biathlon...it's THREE syllables - not FOUR. See? http://www.merriam-webster.com/cgi-bin/audio.pl?biathl02=biathlon There's no second "a" in it to make it Biathalon...even though, I must say, it sounds better that way. But, if you MUST say it, oh, like in a newscast...um Montgomery newscasters...please, for the love of all things sacred AND the English language...at least go look it up first.

And while I pick on Montgomery (as I've heard them say it wrong each time) they're not the only guilty ones, as some commentators AT the Olympics have been saying it wrong as well. But then again, they've hired people like Pat O'Brien, who, even if you don't count his smarmy sex-scandal fiasco, was about as annoying as they come. Sometimes I wonder if the average IQ of their commentators is a 5.8...you know, if you throw out the low score (typically anyone talking during the ice dancing competition) and throw out the high score (Bob Costas).

In fact, if it wasn't for Bob Costas single-handedly saving the show with his immeasurable talent and genial appeal alone, we'd be left to such riveting commentary as:

"Ooooh, that's gonna hurt them." Said anytime anyone falls in any sport. Really? So, "screwing up" isn't yet an Olympic sport??

"You really don't want to do that in an Olympic competition." As if, sub-par performances are totally acceptable during the nationals...or the world championships.

And my personal favourite...

"Well, Jim, he really wants to win it this time." As opposed to NOT wanting to win all the other times he's competed. Ugh.

And, seriously, how much money does Morgan Freeman need? And is Visa really the only card accepted at any Olympic game? So, there are actually Lithuanian and Slovenian Visa cards? I always wondered about this.

Oh, I'll wonder about that later and Google it. But for now I must get back to watching the games and the athletes...which, by the way, is only a two-syllable word. ;)

Planning Your Super Bowl Party

I am a sucker for cookbooks.

I must have...oh a couple hundred; I've never counted them, but I know it has to be over 100...or close to it. I get the majority of them dirt cheap at TJ Maxx, the library here in town, or the Thrift Shop on base. I'd never pay regular price for them - these things are always outrageously priced, and to be honest with you, I use Epicurious.com for 98% of my recipes. I just must be hungry when I buy them I guess.

Take for instance my newest one: "Seriously Simple Holidays". It's a handful of recipes I'd probably never make - I don't have access to a bevy of duck legs and the odds of me getting 8-10 pounds of standing rib roast at like $8-10 a pound...is pretty nil. Plus it's just me and my two kids (if you don't count all the cats).

But, nonetheless I bought it - one recipe must have looked tasty and it was less than $4.00 and it had all these lovely photos, and did I mention I usually am hungry when I go into TJ Maxx?

Now, I've never hosted a Thanksgiving dinner - no one ever comes here and I have no friends within the driving vicinity and, even if I did, they probably have their own family. Anyway, this holiday feast preparation which they suggested seemed a bit excessive if you ask me...and I was likening it to hosting a Super Bowl party (which I've never done either). But my little gears started turning and I thought some side-by-side (or underneath-by-underneath as it were) comparisons might be fun. This is modified and condensed...as they have two pages devoted to proper hunting/gathering etiquette. And, just so there won't be any confusion, all comments in parenthesis for their "Thanksgiving" prep are mine, not theirs:

Thanksgiving: According to this book you should start preparing one MONTH prior - making pate, pie and turkey stock and then popping them all in the freezer.

Super Bowl: One month prior - still paying out bets you lost as your team didn't make it.

Thanksgiving: Two weeks before you should start planning your menu.

Super Bowl: Two weeks before you should start cleaning your house (you should; but you won't).

Thanksgiving: One week before - order turkey, plan your table settings and decorations, make grocery list, and shop for "essential holiday equipment" (whatever that means - I'm figuring a new turkey baster as you threw away the last one as there's no possible way to clean the bulb doohickey that you suck the raw turkey juices up with when you baste.)

Super Bowl: One week before - buy lots of chips and salsa. Last year there wasn't any on the shelf when you waited until the nite before.

Thanksgiving: The Saturday before - make caramel sauce for pie, choose dishes, glassware, tablecloths...blah blah Martha Stewartish crapola. Sharpen carving knife. (Seriously - it says that...heaven forbid you have to do that in front of your guests...big...BIG faux pas.)

Super Bowl: The Saturday before - You are too late to buy anything from Walmart. They already sold out seven days before to the people who knew better from last year. But for the purposes of this blog - we are going to assume the "Saturday before" really means whatever Thursday subtracted from Saturday is.

Thanksgiving: Monday - Complete shopping lists. (Apparently you need to pen in "cranberry sauce" because you forgot to add it to your list you made a few days earlier. Even if you don't like cranberry sauce...add it to your list. It's mandatory. Don't worry - you have a few days left to actually type up or hand-calligraphy your list. Perhaps you need to buy a new calligraphy set? Stupid you...it was right there NEXT to the turkey basters at Williams-Sonoma.) Begin shopping for produce, organize refrigerator - cleaning out to make extra room for turkey. Defrost turkey stock.

Super Bowl: Thursday before - buy more chips and salsa as you ate it all last nite. Eat everything in fridge to make room for beer.

Thanksgiving: Tuesday - Reheat stock, make gravy, cranberry relish (told you that you needed to add it to your list) and put it in glass jars (why? No clue - just do it - the book says so), chop all your vegetables and put them in zip-lock bags (this sentence brought to you by whoever makes zip-lock bags), clean and chop parsley (again - more kickbacks from the zip-lock people) then zip-lock it away. Remove chicken liver pate from freezer and transfer to fridge (you will later feed to cats as no one eats that pompous crap plus it already LOOKS like Fancy Feast cat food).

Super Bowl: Friday - buy lots of beer now that you have all that room in the fridge. Beer tip: Buy Budweiser, Miller Lite and Michelob...no one's going to drink those fancy beers with rabid dogs or old guys on the label (at least not in a room full of other guys)...plus they are expensive. Put stack of coasters on the table to appease your wife.

Thanksgiving Eve: Pick up turkey and then do dumb things like buy flowers, arrange flowers, chill wines and water, put more things in zip-lock bags, set the table already (unless you have cats...trust me on this one), put Post-it notes (yeah...another product placement book deal here) on each platter designating what it will hold (again, I kid you not - this book says this), organize coffee and tea, plan a schedule for the next day (typed or maybe you have time to get them embossed by a professional if you hurry).

Super Bowl Eve: Clean toilet. Pick up underwear from bathroom floor. Put out dainty hand towels no one will use anyway. Gather all the clutter lying all over the house and toss it in the back bedroom; close the door (remind people NOT to go in there). Get your football phone out of the closet ( you know...that you got free with your subscription to "Sports Illustrated" 10 years ago) and hook it up. Look at it fondly as it WILL go back into the closet tomorrow after the game because your wife will make you do it. She does every year. This year will be no exception. Buy chicken wings and hot sauce. Buy the hottest, bad-ass-est one you can find - look for words like "hotter than hell" and "butt burning" on the label. Call dog over...while wife isn't looking, toss coasters at dog, Frisbee-style, ensure dog chews up each one. When wife comes into earshot - reprimand dog loudly. Chuckle silently behind her back.

Thanksgiving Day: Unzip everything you put into zip-lock bags, cook turkey, fill water glasses, defrost pie, put out pate with crudités and water crackers, arrange the bar...yadda yadda...carve turkey with knife you sharpened the other day (thank God they reminded me). Laugh with an air of superiority at the fact you will use the word "crudités" 47 times during the course of the evening...when all they really are...are chopped raw vegetables you took out of zip-lock bags. Practice this sentence, "Help yourselves to some lovely crudités over there on our vintage Louis XVI sideboard we picked up in a quaint little shop on one of our shopping jaunts to Rouen, France."

Super Bowl Day: Put out dip in giant football platter you picked up when you bought salsa and chips. Put chips in plastic team helmet you also wasted $40 bucks on. Throw away burnt wings you forgot about. While you're in the kitchen, phone your house from your cell phone so you can pick up your football phone in front of your friends. Feign conversation, "Uh...you got the wrong number." Hang up, now use it to order pizza. Marvel at the look of awe on their collective faces...as all THEIR football phones are at home in their closets.

Let Them Eat Cake!

This is my second favourite time of the year.

I'm not talking Valentine's Day candies, cards or flowers...heck, I was married for 20some years and I never really got those things then, it's surely not gonna happen now. I'm talking about an absolutely fabulous tri-coloured sweet...official name: "The King Cake".

While this King Cake history goes back further than the New Orleans version, for the purposes of why they are sold in Montgomery, Alabama...I'm going out on a limb here and assuming it is for the New Orleans Mardi Gras festivities. The King Cake is traditionally a ring of twisted bread topped with icing made of melted sugar which hardens nicely then gets further topped with sprinkly sugar in the traditional Mardi Gras hues of gold, purple and green. They also toss in three coins; gold, purple and green...three strings of Mardi Gras beads...you got it: gold, purple and green, and lastly, a baby. Some believe the baby represents Jesus. I think Jesus wouldn't be gold, purple, or green-coloured...but that's my own personal belief. So, whatever the reason the baby is in there - the luck falls on the person who finds the baby (at one time traditionally baked inside...now they just toss him haphazardly on top with all the other trinkets) in their slice of cake. That "luck" just so happens they get the honour bestowed upon them to foot the bill for procuring next year's cake. Yeah...sounds awfully lucky to me, too.

So, off we trod to get one at my favourite store: Fresh Market. And as luck would have it they have them...and I'd actually be able to eat it the next day when my thyroid scan diet ends! Yes...I'm preparing my make-up feast of sorts one day in advance, and this cake is topping the list.

Well, imagine our outright shock when we open our clamshell cake container -- our lovely gold baby was missing an arm. Where's his little arm? Are we going to ingest the arm? What happens if you ingest a hard plastic fake gold-gilded arm? Will it pass all the way through?

Me? I'm thinking more of intestinal perforation...so I'm hoping the arm wasn't on the baby when he was tossed onto our lovely Cinnamon King Cake.

Still distraught that I have a package with a sub-par baby, my son picked up another the following day - one I've always wanted to try...the Sour Cream King Cake.

I throw open this cake container...wanting to get my baby out as I like to line them all up at the very top of my laptop ...their cheruby little multi-coloured shiny butts precariously balancing, faces looking at me while I type, and hands outstretched in their little "I love you THIS much" sentimentality. This always makes me feel happy this time of year.

But...this was worse...my baby had NO ARMS! My baby also had NO LEGS, NO HEAD and NO TORSO. Someone forgot to toss a baby onto my cake. Not only that - but my three shiny coins were missing as well! Well, I'm not feeling that great NOW...no row of shiny babies...which can also be turned so they moon me from the top of my laptop when I want to be in a real zany mood. But this won't happen now, and I just don't feel very happy at all...was it all because I was short changed 'my change and my baby'? Was that all to it??

No...it dawned on me it might be something a little bit more...sinister!

These trinkets...probably fresh off the lead-lined cargo bins on lead-lined boats in China...are probably themselves laden with high enough levels of lead to leach into the yummy warm icing goodness of my cake...and how would I ever know?

Well, I decided to go over to WebMD's site and check out what the symptoms of lead poisoning are...and frankly...I definitely see a connection:

Pain, numbness or tingling of the extremities: In other words, when I slap your hand or kick your shin for going for the last piece - you might feel some slight numbing or tingling sensation.

Muscular weakness: Okay, your shin I kicked MIGHT also cause you to limp for a few days...I'd keep pressure off it if I were you.

Headache: Did you drink all the alcohol BEFORE or AFTER you ate the cake? If it was before...chances are you probably will get a headache, dumbass.

Abdominal pain: How the heck did you manage to get a tummy ache from just one skinny sliver of King Cake?? Umm...what's
this whole other empty box in the trash?? You ate one King Cake ALL BY YOURSELF and didn't save any for me??? No wonder all you could eat was that scrawny slice...and to think I almost fell for that "diet" thing.

Memory loss: Since they are so incredibly tasty...you might go back for seconds and thirds...and in the morning when your significant other wants a piece and all they find is another empty box sitting there on the counter, your "Uh, I forgot" excuse will
probably render you with more pain, numbness and tingling of the extremities.

Mood disorders: You've never seen someone with more mood disorders than someone who is denied their LAST piece of King Cake. Once the piece is gone...they could never truly savour that "Last Piece" euphoric feeling one gets. Without that feeling, mood disorders will probably find ways to rear their ugly heads...and those ugly heads will probably have even uglier words coming out of those flapping lips.

Fatigue: Yeah...polishing off a whole King Cake and a few brewskies will undoubtedly make you loosen up your pants and stretch out on the sofa with the remote. This one might further substantiate the fact you ingested tainted products by someone telling you to get the lead out. Again, this might also be followed by muscular weakness by someone physically kicking your lazy Super Bowl-watching butt OFF the sofa to help clean up in the kitchen. They didn't invent half-time for nothing, you know!

So, yes, I am convinced these little trinkets should be kept separately in a little plastic bag and positioned off to the side of the cake in the container. I don't know about you - but I seriously don't want to clean up the kitchen after I just ate one of these...plus I bet they don't wash them first...ugh...that's a whole other blog waiting to be written right there. But not now...I'm way too fatigued.

(Yes, I know real lead poisoning isn't funny...but I bet these things actually have lead in them...and honestly, I love the cakes, but I'd rather have the trinkets off to the side.)

Being Scanned

I am on a diet.

I know what you're probably thinking, "Oh, little whiney thing...boo hoo...just eat less and exercise, that's all there is to it."

No, it's not that type of diet. I don't even want to do this diet. This one is doctor-ordered.

I go to the doctor the other day and he wants me to get my thyroid checked. In order to get the best results, according to them, I have to be on a diet for three weeks. Three weeks...altho the paper they give me says "TWO". So, I begrudgingly take my sheet of paper and shuffle out the door.

Now I don't know how many of you are on specific diets - I am sure there are Diabetic diets that are no fun...and people without gall bladders and spleens and people without the ability to swallow...and while I don't discount any of these - this diet is pretty darned severe.

First off it states I can't eat iodized salt or sea salt.

I don't typically add much salt to my food, if any, and when I do, it's sea salt. It's tasty and comes in pretty colours like pink, red and black - all the way from far off magical places like France, Australia and Hawaiian volcanoes...which, when added to the food I make, make me think I'm a much better cook than I am. So, no biggie really. I can deal with this.

- No dairy.

Um...okay, you just took away my salt, now you're telling me I can't eat any cereal? How about some lovely oatmeal from Ireland? I make it with water! Nope...contains salt.

Dang.

- No eggs.

So, wait...I can't eat bland horrible Irish oatmeal...now I can't eat an egg? I can make egg salad sandwiches without salt - I can do that! But you've taken away my ability to eat eggs!

Doesn't matter, they also took away my God-given right to eat bread. No bread??? Wait! This is pathetic...but, there's a catch, I can eat WHEAT bread.

Now, I don't know about you - but I recently became very versed in reading the labels on everything in the store. White bread contains salt...wheat bread contains salt. Am I to believe the salt somehow loses its salinity if combined WITH wheat? The ingredients are the same - only the wheat bread also contains WHEAT!

I can't eat seafood, algae or soy. By reading this list so far, it seemed by the process of elimination, the only thing left FOR me to eat was going to be salmon or soymon or a nice dollop of tasteless white rice on a slab of seaweed. But no can do.

Okay...the list goes on and on - let's just cut to the chase and tell me what I CAN eat!

Fresh meat
Poultry
Potatoes or rice
Wheat or rye bread
Fresh or frozen vegetables
Fresh or frozen fruit

Great! I know what I'll do - I'll make a baked potato for dinner. I'm almost as happy as a clam...because I know that I can't be eaten! Ha! Clams ARE seafood. (Yes, starvation apparently effects the brain first.)

Ding! My microwave goes off. I reach for my potato about the same time it dawns on me that: 1) Butter is dairy; 2) Sour cream is dairy; and 3) The only salt I have in my house contains iodine.

Have you ever eaten a baked potato with nothing on it? It's like eating a rice cake...but without the flavour.

Oh...I know all about rice cakes. I bought a package. Then I threw away the rice cakes and ate the package (sorry, old joke - I had to). Seriously, rice cakes rank right up there. Wait, let me rephrase that last sentence: rice cakes are rank.

Can I eat olive oil? I could eat wheat bread if I had it - but would I be able to dip it in some olive oil? What am I going to cook my saltless vegetables in? I can't use butter...can I use oil?? So, I call the doctor's office the next day as it makes no mention whatsoever about oils.

"Hello."
"Uh, I'm on the thyroid diet and there's things that I'd like to eat that aren't on the list, can you tell me if I'm allowed to eat them?"
"Eat the things on the list."
"This isn't ON the list...can I eat it?"
"What does the list say?"
"Uh...it doesn't address it."
"Then I'd stick with what's on the list."

Yes, this is getting nowhere fast. A last ditch effort on my part - I decide to be assertive, I'm starving - the only thing I ate all day (and that was yesterday) was a bland potato...

"Can you possibly let me talk to someone who can tell me if certain things that aren't on the list...are okay to eat?"
"I don't have the list in front of me."
"Can you maybe let me talk to someone who has a list in front of them?"
"Well, call up the people at the thyroid scan place, they'd be able to tell you better than we can."

So, I call them up.

"Hello...um...my thyroid doctor place told me to ask you if I can eat some things for my scan - I don't want to mess my scan up and have to start all over."
"Well, as far as I know, and I've done this for 30 years, the only thing we ask you not to eat are shellfish and iodized salt."
"You mean I can eat an egg?"
"Are you serious, eggs are on that list?"
"And all dairy, and bread...except wheat and rye. And all already prepared food - because they all contain salt."
"I never heard of such a thing."
"Really?"
"We get people all the time from that office and this is the first I heard anyone ask about this stuff."
"Seriously?"
"Yes."

Then I decide to look online.

Depending on which site you go to...I can eat potatoes but I can't eat rice. No mention of rice cakes and I can see why. There's really not much to talk about when it comes to rice cakes...but if you are hungry enough, putting sliced pears and honey on a rice cake...after you take your Ambien...is remotely bearable. Edible? Eh...the verdict is still out on that one.

But, I have to get this test done on the 1st and I want to do everything in my power to not get disqualified; can you imagine starting all over again? So I'm sticking with my bland "sheet of paper" diet...which, I found out, if you are creative enough, you actually can eat tasty things. You just have to use your noodle.

Which, by the way, aren't listed "for" OR "against" on my list...so I'm eating them!

________________

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History - It Is What You Make It: Blogger Idol - Round 4

Damn you, Philip Marder!

Mr. Marder was my eighth grade History teacher...and while I am cursing him right now...he is no way to blame. Let me elucidate...

I loved Mr. Marder. He was this dark-haired guy who always wore a burgundy suit on Friday, and sported mutton-chop sideburns...sideburns invented (or at least made famous) by Ambrose Burnside (don't believe me, look it up)...and thanks to Mr. Marder I remember silly historical trivial tidbits like those. (I'll be doing a lot of "thanking" later on, by the way.)

He'd come up with all sorts of gimmicks which we thought were just plain stupid to get us to remember facts and figures. We'd roll our eyes at such "beauties" as this one...

"Where are we going?"
"Bearing straight."
"Get it 'Bering Strait'?"

Silly perhaps, but I still remember those idiotic mnemonic devices after all these years. And I still remember he had a friend who worked in the Archives and History Department in Washington, DC, who would smuggle out all kinds of films to him in 1974 that any school system nowadays would get sued over watching. They were...in a word...fascinating. Shocking, in your face realism...but it was history and you couldn't deny it...there it was...in black and white archival format...and I sat there mesmerized.

With a flick of the lights and a flip of a film projector switch, he did something no other teacher before him...or after...could manage to do...until The History Channel came along: he made history interesting.

In fact, thanks to him I owe a debt of gratitude...I love documentaries. I eat them up. Give me anything on Egypt, mummies (peat bog or regular), Kennedy conspiracy theories, Tunguska, UFOs, icebergs melting, global warming, the history of distilling (hey, I'm still fond of all things distilled), the Romanovs, Newton, Einstein, Euclid, and Copernicus. The list literally goes on and on.

I am like a deer in headlights. I love them. And for a long time I went without.

Then came things like NOVA and Carl Sagan's Cosmos Series. Oh, how I loved Carl when I was young. Then there was nothing...there was a void...and then came A&E's "Biography"...and I was again hooked. Discovery Channel had pyramids and The History Channel had bi-planes and Hitler. Well, those last two I could do without -- but the first couple years, that's all The History Channel had to offer. Then it graduated to Civil War...which wasn't very civil, by the way...but it somehow it piqued my interest again.

History, I found, could indeed be interesting again.

Mr. Marder you have now met your match!

For years, between episodes of Seinfeld and Frasier, I was enraptured. I could always tune into A&E for a show like "Cold Case Files" (years before CSI, there was Cold Case Files) - and I could watch...until the wee hours of the night...all sorts of things. Jack the Ripper theories abounded. So did Tutankhamen ones. Who killed Kennedy? Who killed Rasputin? Who killed Marilyn?

The field was wide open...and so were my eyes.

Then, just when it started to get really good...

...it ended.

A&E's "Biography" ran out of people it seemed. They started doing biographies about...people I didn't care about. They went from the guy who invented Ford's assembly line...to the guy who invented the straws they put on juice drink packages. What the??

Then it was the Discovery Channel. My channel about diseases and medical things and scientific paraphernalia...was tanking. Slowly I was discovering it was turning into the reality show channel.

"Engineering an Empire"...went more to engineering a gang...when "Gangland" started up...and I still haven't a clue what "The Dog Whisperer" does...nor do I care. And I have no idea how many "Dirty Jobs" they can do...I think they exhausted their supply and are now down to "the guy who picks the straws up off the floor on the juice box assembly line".

"Ice Road Truckers"? Let me guess. Truckers who drive on ice? How many different variations on this theme can we get? Okay...there's a lot of ice...there's a big truck. Episode One: Battery doesn't start. Episode Two: Truck slides off road. Episode Three: Truck falls through ice. Episode Four: Um...truck slides off road AND his battery doesn't start...ad infinitum...ad nauseum.

"Monster Quest"? About as entertaining as when I saw it all before...IN 1979! "Nothing new ever happens here...move along people."

But I had hope. "Mythbusters" still survived...until it went from being the "Jamie and Adam" show to the "Three Other People No One Cares About" show. All I can remember is that one year they went from interesting topics like "Can you really get your tongue stuck on a pole like in "A Christmas Story"? and "Can you get your butt stuck on a toilet at 30,000 feet?" to totally far-fetched, cockamamie ideas like "Can you actually eat just one Lays potato chip?" and "Can thunking a watermelon predict doneness?" Oh yeah...myth busted! I'm sooooo glad I watched Cary Grant and Tory this time around. (Yes, I know it's "Kari, Grant and Tory" - I just always think of Cary Grant when they say that and how livid he would be if he saw one of these episodes.) I'd like to see more episodes where logical myth things are blown up, and less other stupid stuff...oh, wait, I've got something really stupid for them to blow up: Kari, Grant and Tory! Now that's a show I'd watch for sure.

And I don't know if any of you have noticed...but The History Channel now makes up their own history. It's true. That show "Life After People" isn't even ABOUT history. It's just a play-by-play "as we see it" pre-historical fabrication we're hoping no one will be around in 2013 to dispute. Yes...they are obsessed with the 21 December 2012 Mayan Calendar and everyone's eventual death on that day; and you thought Conan had high ratings...tune in on 20 December 2012 for this "final" episode.

You know - it's bad enough I read Nostradamus' quatrains when I was 14 (thank you, Al Stewart)...and (thanks to a library book on paranormal activity) worried unduly about my premature demise by Spontaneous Human Combustion...but to have to be reminded that I'm going to turn into some Pompeiian-ish cinder right before Christmas two years from now...every single day??? That's a bit much...so thank you, Mayan Calendar Apocalyptical shows...I can't wait until the next 24-hour marathon you've got planned. I'll be there with my remote in one hand and a noose in the other.

Sigh...whatever happened to the good old days where the most you'd have to worry about from watching some documentary is some crop circle in your yard and a sore butt from an alien probing the night before?

So, thank you, interesting history and science documentary channels for morphing your line-ups into some asinine reality show pabulum, and, in essence, giving us "Human Death Race 2012".

And thank you, Mr. Marder for getting me interested in all of this in the first place. While most of these channels stink right now...at least they're not extinct; and there's always hope that "History" (and A&E, and Discovery) will repeat itself.


Seriously, I promised when I first started blogging that I would dedicate one to Mr. Philip Marder. This is it. I don't know if he's still around...but he was the 7th/8th grade History teacher at Laurel Hill School in Browns Mills, New Jersey. If you know him...or ARE him...I'd love to thank you personally. You've instilled a love of history in me that I am forever indebted to you for.

If you liked this blog...please vote for it at Knucklehead's Blog site (link in the image above). Please read all the other contenders as well. If you still like mine, great! Thank you for your vote and your time to read it. I hope my blog was, at the very least, entertaining for everyone. Thank you!

A Small Slimmer of Taupe: Blogger Idol - Round 3

This is my parody of a late-nite infomercial my son and I have had the "delightful misfortune" to catch...twice. I could not find the original airing of what I've seen...this is a close proximity of it, although this is the first time I've seen it offered in two colours. My blog does not reflect that (and other things) as I'm making fun of the "original"...and the concept in general. Here is the video clip first in case you are curious (although you do not need to view it in my opinion): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4JfgFXEnvhk

How many times has this happened to you?

You are just drunk enough to possibly get horizontal with that hot guy at the bar when you realize you have a Kymaro Body Shaper on. It took you two friggen hours to wiggle your fat ass into that puppy...and if you remember how great your legs always feel after they're finally released from your pantyhose...well, you're in for a good 10 minutes of making orgasmic noises by self-scratching alone.

So...you have to think this one out carefully, girls.

Now, granted...it just "magically" erased 13 inches off your waist and 20 pounds off your body (where the weight goes is anyone's guess - but the infomercial said it - and they should know, right?) - but, even though it is "flesh" coloured, and by "flesh" we mean a pasty "Pillsbury Doughboy" white; it really doesn't blend in with any skin tone known to mankind unless you're sitting by candlelight with someone who recently underwent double cataract surgery.

But, don't let that detract you...some guys can't see either at 3:00 a.m. Perhaps he's one of them.

Does he just want to get into your pants? Probably. It IS 3:00 a.m. after all...but you'll have to get them OFF first.

How will you explain excusing yourself for 15 minutes while you try to break out of your Kymaro-cocoon in the adjacent room? No one can listen to Barry White for that long without expecting something to happen NOW, and if you put on Ravel's "Bolero" -- he'll figure out how old you really are and run like hell.

So you ask yourself "WWBJD"? What Would Bridget Jones Do? She supposedly had a weight issue - and was played by a woman on the big screen who had neither an actual English accent NOR a weight issue...but that didn't matter. And she had two hot guys fighting over her. Okay, in real life, one did have sex with a skank ho and the other was Hugh Grant (shout out to Craig Ferguson for that)...but, seriously...men ARE pigdogs, right?

Right.

So why bother buying one of our shape-altering body slimmers?

There IS no reason. We prey upon people who have just taken Ambien or who have just realized the highpoint of their life this past month was getting a rutabaga to sprout and selling a gallon of milk to the local dairy via their virtual cows on FarmVille.

Will you buy a taupe body stocking at 3:00 in the morning and expect to look like the hot skinny woman in our infomercial who is a size 2 if she's a day.

Yes.

Do we care if your ass is now where your knees are? And do we care if your bustline can now be counted as one of your chins?

No.

We sold a ton of these and we know you aren't going to return them...

...'cause you "can't take them OFF!"

(Taupe, by the way, was never a Crayola crayon colour...and based on that fact alone...I am extremely suspicious of all things "taupe".)

____________________

Please feel free to vote for this blog at: www.knuckleheadhumor.com - and while I'd love to get your vote...please take time to read all the other blogs as well.

Thank you -

Mariann

Two Guys, a Girl and a Tube Tester: Blogger Idol - Round 2

Back when I was a kid, it would've been pretty standard procedure to have had the television repairman on speed dial...had there been speed dial back then.

Like clockwork, and always right before something great was about to come on one of the three channels that were out there, the television would go on the fritz. No amount of aluminum foil on the antennas or adjusting the horizontal hold was going to fix it.

The repairman would come over and he'd always be some guy my family knew, although for the life of me I don't ever remember my parents having friends over and we never went to anyone's house. How we knew these guys on a first name basis is still a mystery to me and always will be.

But he'd come around lugging a giant suitcase rivaling the size of our television cabinet and pull out tube after tube and systematically "trial and error" them until one magically turned our black and white behemoth on again.

There'd be some exchange of money and we'd all converge back around the set, me on the floor right up close enough to get a good megawatt dose of electronic exposure (I was, after all, the family-designated remote control) but back then we were oblivious to the perils of such things...and such things probably made us much stronger anyway. Yes, Nietzsche probably owned a really big television as a kid.

Then one day the television didn't work and to save a buck...as heaven knows how much it cost for a TV house call back then, my father decided he'd try a new angle. A newfangled machine was at the local "Two Guys" department store...and when I say "local" I mean a good 45-minute drive. All stores in Jersey were a good 45-minute drive away. I swear no one ever lived close to anything there...going to the grocery store was pretty much an all-day event...so when we'd pile into the car to go to "Two Guys", well it was akin to an expedition to the Himalayas...we'd be gone for hours. Hours to a kid is like days to a grown-up...and as usual, no drive would be complete without my sister and I asking the never-ending series of "Are we there yet?"'s.

"Are we there yet?" my sister would eventually ask.

"No." my father would grumble back.

Ever the smartass, I'd quip, "How about NOW?" two minutes later.

In another two minutes, I'd do it again. Antics such as these are why my father invented such "awe-inspiring" games such as "For every Volvo you see I'll give you a nickel. For every red Volvo, you'll get a quarter."

Now, I don't know about you, but back in my childhood, a quarter was a big deal. I never got an allowance so the value of a coin, any silver coin...was astronomical to me. It didn't matter much to me that in 1967 they probably sold 11,000 Volvos in the whole country...and probably only 10 were in the state of New Jersey. There was serious money to be had and all questioning of when we were getting there ceased. 'Hell, take the long way around, Dad. Go on the Turnpike!'

But, we'd end up at our destination in no time after that - and I'd be no richer.

And back in those carefree days of my youth, you were given free reign in the stores. Sure, I'd start out with my mother...but I'd go off and always manage to get lost and found again -- and this time was no exception. Only this time I was going with my father.

He had an assortment of tubes he plucked haphazardly from the back of the television set and standing right smack in the middle of the store -- was an amazing thing. A thing I'd never seen before. A tube tester.

It was wonderful. It had lights and I think it made a slight buzzing sound...and a set of needles would go to and fro when you placed a tube on one of two metal discs that shone like...well, like shiny quarters. The buzzing would raise in pitch and I believe some clicking noises were involved somehow. This indeed was something special - I knew it was. My father let me place a tube on one of the discs. Like magic, the needles flicked. I got to do it again. And again. Some tubes made them flick with lightning speed into the green and some just slightly budged as if in a slow-motion sequence on television itself.

Then it, like the "Volvo game", ended all too soon. We packed all the tubes back up and walked away from it; the buzz getting fainter and fainter with each step.

Oh, it was all too much...the allure of the machine beckoned me to come back to it. As soon as I was left to my own devices, I found my way back over...probably through my astute hearing...honing in on the buzz like a bee back to the hive.

I carried out the motions exactly as my father did: Flip the switch on. Check. Needles spiking left to right and back down again. Check. Tubes? Hmmmm...what can I do?? I have no tubes! Fingers. I have fingers! Left index finger on the left shiny disc...right index finger on the right shiny di...

"Oh, what the HELL!"

I swear to God I was zapped with enough wattage to power up two electric chairs. I was thrown back about 10 feet and if there would've been a weight-bearing pillar in back of me I would have been knocked unconscious for sure. In fact I'm not sure that I WASN'T knocked unconscious. All I know is that my fingers, hand, arm and pretty much the whole side of me was numb and tingling.

I got up and ran off.

"Where were you? We were looking all over the place. What were you doing all this time?" my mother half-chidingly inquired.

"Um...nothing."

Well, it wasn't like I could really tell her I was zapped within an inch of my life and was probably unconscious for the last half hour. I envisioned the loudspeaker lady blurting out, "Clean-up in aisle 7!" Nah...best I keep this little incident all to myself.

And it's nothing that a couple orange-flavoured St. Joseph Baby Aspirins couldn't cure when I got home...ah, the good old-fashioned taste treat from my youth.

It's not like they could kill you or anything like the tube tester...

This is my blog entry for Round 2 of the Blogger Idol competition. Please go HERE (or click the image below) to vote. Voting ends Wednesday, 13 Jan 10 at 8:00 p.m CT...so, please, get your vote in. Thank you!

"Chocolate Milk"ing It For All It's Worth: Blogger Idol Round 1

Not since President Reagan declared ketchup a vegetable in 1981 have school lunches caused such an uproar.

But, it's happening again...only this time the culprit is something that can pack on the pounds...or so Ann Cooper (Boulder Valley, Colorado's school district nutritionist) claims.

If visions of "Super Size Me" are swirling around in your head about now you're probably not alone...but it's not greasy fries or double cheeseburgers at work here, it's milk. Chocolate milk - to be precise. And to hear it from Ms Cooper, it really contributes to the childhood obesity crisis.

But wait, just how much more will "little Johnny" weigh if he pushes back a pint of the chocolatey goodness on a daily basis? Are you sitting down for this? Do you have your congressman's number all dialed up and ready??

Ms Cooper's heart-stopping, earth-moving, staggering caloric figure count is the astronomical sum total of THREE pounds a year! Oh, the humanity! NOW I see why all those kids out there look like Ralphie's brother, Randy, in the snowsuit...only they're not wearing any snowsuits. It's all because of chocolate milk! So I guess you shouldn't buy any more Ovaltine for home consumption, either...decoder rings be damned.

Now before we start killing the fatted calf before it can be milked, let's put this in a little "practical" perspective here: My son was stuck in his lousy car booster seat until he managed to reach the magical weight of 40 lbs. He was also stuck at 36 pounds for, I swear, about three years. Oh, he got taller...but never weighed more. Had I known all I had to do was have him throw back a few chocolate milks at school...well, I would have insisted he drink TWO of those with his lunch. But, alas, he had to make due with the healthier "2% regular white" version...and that's why he stayed in that chair until his head nearly touched the inside roof. We ended up tossing the booster seat before he hit 40...we were afraid he'd be dating and STILL in that damn thing. All for the lack of drinking chocolate milk...what were we thinking? Where was Ms Cooper when I needed her??

And don't even get me started on kids not exercising, recess being banished from every single school system I've run across since my kids have been in school...and the fact that getting ANY calcium into ANY child's body USED to be a good thing.

Back in my day...and that's quite a long time ago (certainly pre-ketchup administration days), school lunches were made with only one thing in mind: Getting kids to eat them. Nobody cared how they got you to...and as long as the 350 pound, 7-foot tall lunch lady put one healthy food on that compartmentalized tray a day...no one complained; no one dared to. And we'd get healthy things alright...things like whole apples, green beans straight from those 55-gallon drum-sized dented cans, peach halves floating in juice so sweet you could feel your molars disintegrating...and the dreaded "stewed tomatoes" that only one kid in any cafeteria would eat (and he was probably the same kid who ate paste). No one ever ate any of these things; sure, we impaled the apples with our forks, spoon-plonked the beans at each other...and jiggled the tomatoes to and fro...but that was about it.

What we went after...were on the other squares of our trays...something guaranteed to get our kid "fix" as it were: spaghetti, beefaroni, tacos, pizza, and, if you were really lucky...an overflowing, messy Sloppy Joe. Things our mothers never made us at home as we were too busy eating "healthy" things.

The "salad"-like substance would usually make its debut on our trays in high school. And it was only doled out in a portion to fit the smallest square...and for good reason: 200 small squares take less time to empty out into the trash can when the bell rings. I don't think anyone ever tasted the salad...it was, in essence, the older kid's version of "stewed tomatoes".

While I can see it's very admirable for school systems to jump on the nutrition bandwagon...common sense dictates having to throw out much more than one lousy square's worth of food isn't doing the environment any good...and certainly isn't doing "little Johnny" any good, either.

You can bet those extra three pounds the kids are putting on...aren't coming from their lunches - I've sat in lunchrooms...I see what the kids eat...and I see what they toss. Someone in the school nutrition division is doing the math...but they aren't doing their homework. The pounds are being put on when the kids get home...famished from not eating those mandatory "healthy" things 98% of people would balk at; they ravenously consume anything and everything in the house before dinner. Then for a lot of these kids, dinner comes in buckets and in microwaveable containers. NOT from cows.

I drive past houses and playgrounds and more developments and even more houses...and not one kid is ever outside riding a bike, throwing a ball, running around the block or jumping rope...and even if they were getting some exercise, more than likely, they'd be inside using their Wii to get it. But even more likely than that...is that they're plopped in front of the television or computer with a bag of Doritos or a package of Oreos and a half liter of Pepsi or Mountain Dew.

Yet, innocent little Vitamin D milk gets slammed...just because of its colour...and that's not fair.

It's time kids nowadays learn a lesson from us old people. Let's bring back the swing sets with the one metal leg that was always enclosed in a chunk of cement that "ka-klumps" out of the ground and "flump-thuds" back into the ground with the back-dislocating jolt when you swung on it. And the monkey bars with absolutely no cushion of six-inch mulch beneath...if you fell off...there was always good strong Mercurochrome which served a dual purpose: it cleaned out your cuts AND worked like a skin Sharpie...you'll remember what boneheaded thing you did for a long time afterwards with that tell-tale orange mark. And last, but not least...the rusted-out geo-shaped dome which most kids managed to get on...but not all could figure out how to get back off again. They'd stay up there...frozen in their contorted "Twister"-like state, afraid to move their foot or hand lest they plummet head-first onto the very hard, very compacted dirt...where once grew thick, lovely grass that cows once probably grazed upon.

And now their ancestor cows stand accused of being indirectly responsible for fattening up kids...ironic really, as we fatten them up first.

But these archaic things called "playgrounds" that we once spent a good 30 minutes of our school days on...are the things which slim your kids down. There's nothing that will make you loose weight faster than good old-fashioned running away from kids who are threatening to beat you up (to take away your lunch money) and that "scared to death to move your arm or leg one centimeter" total body shaking and heavy perspiring you do when you're the one stuck up on the geo-dome. These things worked great for our school system back in Jersey when I grew up...and no one ever died from getting a wedgie on the playground (as far as I know) when they finally did get caught.

Obese kids in my class? I can only remember a couple "chubby" kids in the whole entire school...so you can bet if there had been chocolate milk in our lunches...we still would have maintained an "ideal" weight.

As a side note, I say "enough of the chocolate milk ban" clan...let's focus on people who can't get enough of it...or apparently can: Largest cup of cocoa unveiled

This is also my blog entry which is up against nine others at my friend, Chris', blog site...in his "blog off" competition. Click the link I just provided as voting is now taking place (but only until Wednesday); please take the time to read all the blogs in contention...and vote for the ONE (you can only vote for one) you enjoy the most. If it happens to be mine...I won't complain; if I end up last, you'll probably be forced to read about it in an upcoming blog of mine.

Thank you,

Mariann

It's "Auld Lang Syne" Time!

It's no big news that it's New Year's Eve tonite...and that, since it's also heralding in a whole new decade, sites all over the Internet have been doing their "biggest headlines of the past ten years" stories. I swear one guy wrote this up on his little-read blog a month ago...and all the bigger entities just copied his story, changing a word or two. Internet is after all...the school bully's ultimate wimp he can target. Any blogger or reporter can just go sign on and steal an idea or two...or three...or four...hundred thousand. Ah...the days when someone had to know things and be imaginative and come up with their own words...in the order they put them in. Gone are those days I'm sure...as those "end of decade" lists all have the same things in them...

...so, naturally, I'm going to do something else...

...but...I'm going to copy off a master. ;)

I was lying in bed before I got up at much too late an hour to actually confess to...thinking about a task that has been placed upon me. My friend, Chris, who is an awesome writer (one of the best I've ever read, dammit) - has bestowed upon me a great honour...and a great burden.

He invited me to be one of ten bloggers he thinks very highly of as far as writing goes - to do a "Blog-Off" of sorts. He gives us a list of topics, one per week...each week we do a blog within the specifications of said topic...we post them up...and readers are to vote on which they like the best. This, of course means that each week...a couple will be "voted off the island"...the remainder get to write again another day - until the final winner is announced and they will have major bragging rights and a gift certificate provided by the mastermind behind all this...aka Chris.

But, while I had that dilemma looming in the back of my brain...another one zapped to the forefront: I can't leave 2009 - the whole decade...without putting up a blog about New Year's Eve (whine whine boo hoo...chalk up yet another dateless event for me)...or doing some sort of list - but that's been done too many times and who wants to read what some lonely, depressed cat-lady in an Alabama living room is thinking anyway.

So...I had an idea.

There in my depressed state I likened myself to Capra's protagonist, George Bailey, who also was pretty darned distraught...distraught enough to entertain thoughts of taking a leap to end it all...and to wish he hadn't been born at all. Now, everyone knows George, in the end, finds out that he did indeed have "a wonderful life"...and all was right in the world and Clarence got his wings.

But...how would my ordinary life...clearly not written and rewritten by Hollywood's finest...stack up against George's?

Let's find out, shall we? Just what would it have been like had I never been born?



Other than the obvious...I wouldn't have had my two children...let's take it systematically...main character by main character:

Harry Bailey: I never saved anyone from the frozen pond. I did once drive on the ice going to work...did a 180...and nearly smashed the back-end of my car into a tree...and upon realizing I was now pointed in the direction of my house and not my workplace...I decided to take it as an omen...and went back home that day. Perhaps, by not going into work...I unknowingly saved someone's life. Yes...yes, I did. I saved two people's lives actually. (Hey...I'm writing this "script" - I am allowed to have "writer's embellishment".)

Mr. Gower: We had "Mr. Bowen" as the druggist in the town I grew up in...but I never worked there - and as hard as I'm thinking...I can't see any other similarity here than their name's sounding remotely alike. But...I did once look at my son's pills in his vial when they handed them to me at the drug store...and they weren't his pills. Upon asking - the pharmacy clerk who filled it...put my son's pills in some elderly man's vial and my son ended up with his heart medication. So...there ya go! Another life saved by me! (Sssssh! You aren't supposed to point out the anachronism that my son wouldn't have been born, therefore the man wouldn't have gotten his pills anyway.)

Ma Bailey: My mother never ran a boarding house...altho when she would get frustrated she would remark, "This is NOT a restaurant I'm running here!" Now, granted my mother always said I was her guardian angel...so, I guess in a way...this also takes care of Clarence. I'd figure that my life did indeed make a difference to my mother as she would say I was the one who "kept her young". She was quite old when she had me...and kids have a way of making you run after them...and running is an aerobic activity...so, in a way, I helped my mother in that regard as well.

Violet: Let's see...I never helped a loose woman as far as I know. But when I was working at the school, after school...a woman let her daughter back out of a parking space when she didn't have her license yet...and she hooked up her right front bumper with my left back one...and she begged me not to call the police as this infraction was an automatic "can't get your license until you are 21" kind of thing. So, I ended up jumping up and down on my Volkswagen's bumper while they did the same on their car until we managed to get them loose. (For the purpose of this blog...I'm going to heretofore refer to this girl as "Violet"...I mean, I have no proof that wasn't her name anyway.) She was very appreciative and I changed her life for sure. (Again...ixnay on the anachronismway - if I wouldn't have been born she wouldn't have entangled her car in mine...I KNOW this...ssssh!)

Mary: Oh, I'm sure my husband would have loved me never being born. This is not a good character to look at from any POV...so, I'd have to write him out of the script. But, on a positive note...he would [undoubtedly] have had a wonderful life if not for me.

Okay...enough with the Capra-corn...I just got myself much more depressed and pissed off and I'm feeling like Mr. Potter right now.

But that's not the way I want to feel....so, I think I'll go sign onto Facebook to find out if I have an "Uncle Billy" out there somewhere. We can both get drunk and forget everything we did...and isn't that the way you really want to "remember" New Year's Eve, anyway?

Happy New Year, everyone!


(Chris' blog, btw, is listed as "Knucklehead!" in my sidebar to the right...seriously, he's a fantastic writer - you should check his blog out.)

A Message To All

Merry Christmas!

As you are now [undoubtedly] reading this, I'd also like to take this opportunity to convey a personal "thank you" to you. And to all who have read my blog this past year -- especially those who took the time to comment (good, bad or anonymously)...you have all made me feel special...and you have made my day on more than one occasion.

Lastly, I sincerely hope each and every one of us (and our families) have a wonderful 2010!

Getting "Progressive"ly More Annoying

It's no big secret that I'm perturbed by the fact that I'm not a paid writer in some capacity. I'm not saying that I'm the greatest writer who ever walked the face of the Earth...heaven knows I'm not even in the stratosphere...but I don't think I'd end up in the "bottom 100", either.

And one of the things which always irks me - is the advertising industry. I watch commercials on television...I hear them on the radio...and I sit here in astonishing amazement over the wanton lack of creative ability...over and over and over again.

Surely some advertising firm out there knows these commercials are utter crap...and their ad execs have got to be laughing and laughing...all the way to the bank.

What absolute morons they must think the company heads are...to actually approve the inane pabulum they lay out before them...and gobble up.

And again I sit...knowing full well I can write better ad material, better scripts, better movies, better dialogue, better...well, "stuff" in general. Yes, I'm whining...get used to it...I do it well...and since I'm a year older as of the 15th, I'm entitled to be a bit curmudgeonish...hell, someone pays Andy Rooney to do just that! And, yes, I wish they'd pay me, too.

And, as if it weren't bad enough, the commercials have writing which makes my whole body cringe...they employ the most annoying people to get their message across. Case in point, as was pointed out to me today...the "Progressive Insurance" chick.

Now, I must have voiced my displeasure about this topic before here on my blog or in a comment...as, well, it's another tidbit which I've told to practically everyone: I abhor those commercials. I hate them with every fiber of my being...and I hate this "chick" with every neuron in that fiber.

I dislike her so much...I'm just going to refer to her as "chick"...and, yes, it's with derogatory contempt...unlike saying, "I'm a chick from Jersey"...just so those of you who think I think all "chicks" are thought of in a derisive manner...they aren't. Just this one.

Okay...and a few others...but that's not my point. My point is...she annoys the bejeebies out of me.

"But, Mariann, I like her."

You, good sir or madam, are whack.

Plus, you aren't me - and I'm the one writing this...you can voice your opinion by commenting...and then I will say something like, "Is, too" to your "Is not"...and we will go back and forth in a pointless "for/against Obamaesque" diatribe until finally...one of us ceases to do so.

First off, I know advertising which gets on your last nerve serves a purpose. If something is very irritating you tend to remember it...and what is the main point of advertising: getting your product remembered.

Now, you can get it remembered by having a catchy jingle, "I'd like to buy the world a Coke...and keep it company...", a catchy slogan, "Please don't squeeze the Charmin", a shocking slogan, "Nothing comes between me and my Calvins", a celebrity endorsement, "I'm Tiger Woods for Viagra" (oh, c'mon it COULD happen), or a myriad of other things...ranging from cutesy to bizarre. But the powers that be over at "Progressive Insurance" - decided glaring stark white interiors with an obnoxious raven-haired banshee was the way to go.

The contrast alone between the clinically white surroundings...which, ironically match her skin tone...and her dark hair and that candy-apple red gobhole of hers which never ceases to shut...well, makes me almost want to walk up to the television and adjust the brightness knob. But by the time it would take me to find it in the inner workings of my remote...the commercial is over. The only proof I have that I've seen it - is the reverse image colouration of retinal fatigue when I look on a blank white wall (green...where did green come from?) and the droning on and on of her grating voice piercing deep into my cerebellum or cortex...or wherever something that annoying goes to when it burns into your brain...so you can conjure images of it back up again when you need a trigger for that "fight or flight" reaction one day.

Oh...geez...can you tell that commercial leaves a bad taste in my mouth? And I think that taste is bile.

Furthermore, I think some watchdog site should investigate...because if "Progressive Insurance" is also the same entity that sells "Bumpits"...well, things like this should not be allowed to happen in these United States.

And people thought Billy Mays was annoying...

...but, hey, for the right amount of cash, I'd be more than willing to come up with the next odious script for her to read.

(This blog was specifically written in response to a comment on my last blog at the Montgomery Advertiser...someone asked if I was ever going to get around to do the "Progressive Insurance" blog...so I did.)

Sorry, I've Got a Code

I refuse to eat dinner at 4:00 or 5:00 in the evening -- we didn't do it when I was growing up...I'm not going to start now.

But there's one thing that's been sticking in my craw for ages: Food Codes

Oh, you've seen them - they look like secret war communiqué - some long-forgotten code guy from WWII was surely employed to come up with these things - and some long dead code-breaker is probably sitting, still on his chair in the kitchen; a can of tomato paste clenched tightly in his lifeless hand...even though his skin has long since decayed.

The can? No one is sure if it or the man expired first - face it, "T09538P1 1182" doesn't give you much to go on.

Is the "T" a month? No months start with "T" - hmmmm...is it code for a month? "09" - is that 2009 - or does the "8" at the end of the first set mean "08"? What the heck's that "P" doing in there? What's with the four digits in the second set?? Dammit, when does this expire? I'm hungry and I want to eat!

Oooh...I know what I'll do -- I'l go to their website - surely expiration dates will be addressed somewhere in the FAQ portion..which looks kinda like this:

How do I open my can?
Can you tell me once and for all...is a tomato a fruit or a vegetable?
My boyfriend doesn't like the skinny long spaghetti noodles...can I use your product with penne pasta instead?
I saw an old film the other day and someone made "tomato aspic"...do you know what that is? Do you also sell cans of "aspic" so I can make it?

Oh yeah...that's helpful. Well, I'll show them...I'll just call the company and ask!

"You've reached our office, but it is now closed. Normal business hours are Monday thru Friday, 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. Eastern Time...and Saturdays until noon. Thank you for calling. Good-bye."

Great! Not only am I supposed to eat dinner at 4:00 - but, with the time difference, I'm doomed begin cooking it before 3:00! Don't even get me started with having to start dinner on Saturday before I even get up.

I am under the impression companies do this on purpose...stay with me on this here. Here's my theory:

First off, they can sell things past their expiration dates. When I go to the store and read "G187B716" vs "PQ21883W" I have no idea which one is fresher...so I grab one of them off the shelf and buy it. Then I put it on my shelf at home and it stays there, right next to the other one I didn't think I had already...for, oh, I have no idea...a month...a year...three years? Okay, which one was the newer can I just bought? They both look the same...P comes before R - oh geez...is there a Julian Date here somewhere? Is that 02 in the front - the year or the month...or the factory that made it? So, if I throw them both out to be totally sure...I just go to the store and buy more, putting more money into their coffers and more indecipherable coded cans into my cupboards.

And speaking of Julian Dates...forgeddaboutit -- I Googled...and most companies have their own coding system. I've called up various companies and heard all kinds of cockamamie reasoning behind those cryptic combos.

"The 'P'? It stands for the plant in Akron, Ohio, which manufactured it."
"P?"
"Yes, 'P'."
"Ummm...okay. How about the 'I' in back of it? Is that a lower case L or a 1 or an I?
"Oh, that's the time of day...'1' equals 3:00 p.m."
"So, '2' would be 4:00?"
"No,
'2' is 7:00 a.m."
"Uh...ohhhhkay...the 'T' in the front?
"That's the month...that's April."
"Why a 'T'? April has NO 'T' in it."
"Exactly...but August, September, and October do, so those are 'Q', 'W', and 'I', respectively.

Oh, I give up. All the other months have equally cryptic letters assigned and are equally frustrating.

I swear, sometimes I'm ONLY going to buy things with a bona fide "readable" date on it...but I always cave in when I see a yummy product, like those "California Kitchen" pizzas...and end up buying them anyway.

What exactly is so hard about an actual expiration date? And, nowadays, to top it off, they not only have those...but "use by", "sell by" and "manufactured by" dates as well. Then to make it even more technical and confusing...some products have an added addendum...even though their expiration dates are wayyyyyy in the future: the "after opening, consume by" date.

You know, I don't have the time (nor desire) to read the nutritional label...now I have to search all over the jar for their "if you opened this...all dates printed on here are null and void" literature. So, let me get this straight...I have to make a mental note each and every time I open that and that and THAT?

And THAT'S exactly how they "getcha".

The law of fridge physics states that the further a product is eventually pushed to the back of the shelf is directly proportionate to the "use by" or "opened on" date. Why that is -- I don't know. And if you don't believe me...open up your refrigerator right now -- and peruse the recesses of it.

Perfectly good items mysteriously gravitate to the back of the shelf without you ever putting them there. It's like that "missing sock and the dryer" conspiracy. No one knows why these things happen...they just do. And even if you went thoroughly through your refrigerator just six months ago...and tossed out everything expired...I bet you'd still find something in there that expired two years ago.

Again, it's an enigma; I think there's some inexplicable "wormhole theory" at work here. All dryers and refrigerators are connected somehow...

...and somewhere, some guy in Berlin is wondering how he got an expired bottle of Paul Newman's "Two Thousand Island" dressing and some woman in China...

...well, let's just say I swear I can't remember ever buying...what looks to be...pickled radish?

Huntsville Here I Come!

Me? Getting a job working for NASA?? Smells too good to be true, right?

"No," you're saying..."you silly thing...it's supposed to be 'sounds' to be good to be true".

Oh, but I beg to differ. And I would be right. Let me ramble for a bit, i.e., explain.

I can smell things. Yes, not that great an accomplishment - we were all pretty much born with that ability.

No, but I can REALLY smell things. I smell things before anyone else does...sometimes they don't ever smell them at all. And the things I've smelled have helped others.

Long ago, I smelled a natural gas odor in an open field once across the street from a development. After reporting it to the police, he informed me that area was where the "odor release tubes" were located. If you didn't know, the "natural gas smell" is actually made and added to the odorless product so people can detect it...as without it, you couldn't smell a gas leak...and, well, that could be catastrophic. The pipes out in the field dispersed the odor...and that's what I smelled. He then remarked that I "certainly must have some nose"...as it's really not that discernable.

Well, I do.

I also told a gas meter reader once that there was a "gas smell" in the area where I lived...and sure enough, he checked and it turned out there was indeed a break in the underground line...and they were promptly fixed.

My nose is SO good in fact...that I can "smell" books from across the room. Don't believe me...go smell a book...it has a distinct aroma. I can even detect the faint smell of ink IN an uncapped pen from about 10 or so feet away. Not marker ink, mind you...regular pen ink...just lying there on the table. And I can smell it.

I can locate small dead animals my cats dragged into the house. Sure, I probably look pretty silly down on all fours sniffing about - but I can find EACH and every dead thing here. In fact...I just located a dead bird next to the cat litter box...that hadn't been there for more than a couple hours. Death...has a specific smell...and I'm good at honing in on it...fortunately...or unfortunately.

An aspect of my whole life seems to center around my being able to smell things which most people don't smell...or smell "eventually". But, just as a shark has his olfactory nerve underwater - able to detect a drop of blood in all those gallons...miles away...I am, on a much smaller scale, the equivalent of him on land. Yes, I am the "land shark" of my species.

But what good does possessing an astute nasal appendage, a prodigious proboscis, or a special "scent-sational power" like this really get you in life...except perhaps a heads up notice on when the bread is going bad or if that cream in the fridge is still good beyond its expiration date?

Apart from becoming a "drug sniffing" or "bomb sniffing" dog in the airport - seriously...what smelly job is lurking out there for me?

Well, testers at perfume companies rely on people with great noses...and I am sure the whole "aroma" factor is invaluable in a whole realm of tasting jobs - but, are there any in this area which actually need a "sniffologist" as it were?

So, by the time all those thoughts had gone through my mind, I decided to employ Google to help me find (betcha thought I'd say "sniff out") some "nosy jobs". The one I liked best was "NASA Sniffer"...oh, to be NASA's "Master Sniffer" one day. Boy, if my friends ever caught a whiff of that one -- they'd surely get their collective noses out of joint.

Sure, it's not an astronaut nor a rocket scientist, but, c'mon..."NASA Master Sniffer" isn't exactly a job to turn your nose up about.


(Did anyone else notice that "NASA" is one letter away from "NASAL"? Okay...well, maybe it's just me, then.)

Viagra...vating

Okay, who else is really getting creeped out by the constant barrage of Viagra and Cialis commercials?

You know, back when I was a kid, there was nothing more annoying than the "Hey, Pam...what's in the bright blue box?" "It's Stayfree Maxipads!" And then "Perky Pam", who was bumped into - in the airport by her friend, who coincidentally spills the entire contents of her purse on the floor...who coincidentally is carrying a HUGE box of 40-count of them...who feels compelled to hold them up for everyone to see...proceeds to tout their remarkable absorbability.

They would play that commercial interspersed with the "horseback riding, tennis playing, white pants-wearing" woman who also carried a 40-pack of Tampax in her purse. Then to round it off, it would be "Hey, Mom...do you ever have that "not so fresh feeling?" - and true to form, all girls supposedly confront their moms about feminine hygiene smell-masking products...and all moms carry around a 4-pack of Massengil..."just in case" this confrontation finally happens.

I don't know about you - but growing up as a young teen...realizing that I ultimately will have to carry around a detergent-sized box of feminine products wherever I go...well, I was afraid to leave my house.

Well, for some reason those commercials got replaced by ED ones. You know ED...not unlike "Bob"...who has a new swing on life...ED is Bob's black-sheep brother - who is determined to get all the attention.

"ED", of course, is "Erectile Dysfunction", and apparently every single guy in America who is over the age of 45...will not be able to leave his house because of it.

Oh, wait...that came out wrong. Let me try again...

...these commercials are friggen creepy!

Not only are they creeping ME out - but they creep out my son and my daughter. Hell, I bet they creep my cats out, too.

And where do they find the most smarmy-seeming guys for these ads? Do they march them in...have a woman go "Ewwwwwww, I'd NEVER have sex with that guy...*shudder shudder*" and then the advertising execs say "Yep! You're hired! Because if guys see YOU getting lucky on television...well, they figure THEY'LL have a shot, too."

Don't believe me? Ask any woman if they'd toss out the magazines, TV remote and whatever else she tosses out on the lawn...just to have a "four-hour moment" alone with this guy. The only thing I'd be tossing...would be my cookies.

Then there's the guy who keeps looking at, and talking to, his reflection in the store windows in the Mayberry town he's strolling thru...only to have it say things back to him like "Heading to the doctor? So, are you going to ask him this time? Isn't it time for Viagra? Isn't it time for the dry heaves?"

Sorry, that last one was my comment...not the commercial.

Then the coup de grâce...the "dual claw-footed cast-iron bathtubs at the beach" advert.

You know, whenever *I* get into an amorous mood, there's nothing more appealing to me than heading to the shore with my surfboard and metal tub on top of my woody. Oh wait...that didn't come out right, either...

...you see - a "woody" was a type of car. Seriously, it was...see?

But, if you were over 45 you'd already know this...and you'd also know the "Viva Viagra" song is making Elvis spin in his grave.

Anyway...these 60-second spots (not to be confused with that "four hour" spot)...make me long...

...for those bygone days of my youth.

I'm sure even "Pam" would agree.

Sick Vs Evil

"Oh, he's sick in the head."

No, he's not - he's just plain EVIL.

Frankly, (upcoming pun intended) I am getting pretty sick and tired of hearing the above to "why away" what people do.

The other day, I'm driving down I-85 and I notice a kitten smashed almost beyond recognition in the middle of the four lanes. There's nothing else around it...but above there is an overpass. It dawns on me...I bet some "sick ****" (you can fill in the blanks I'm sure) threw the kitten off the overpass and into the traffic. Did he or she want to see if kittens indeed land on their feet? No. They did it, I'm sure, to see how fast it would get splatted...regardless of which way it landed.

Now, you might argue, "Why, yes, Mariann...that is just plain sick."

Of course I have no proof this is the scenario - but the odds of this kitten making it all the way across the highway in the middle of nowhere, by itself, is pretty damned slim. Most kittens don't go venturing solo. I've had many cats and kittens - if they stray too far, you can bet the mother will pick it up and bring it back.

But let me get back to my original thought...and for the sake of this example, let's say this is how it happened. The person who did this was not sick...they are just plain EVIL.

Chances are they knew the outcome ahead of time - and they knew the odds of the kitten surviving was nil. They made a conscious decision to toss it over the edge anyway. That is pure evil. No doubt about it - nothing sick going on here.

Granted, there are "sick" people who do things - and I don't discount mental illness...and I don't discount there are people in this world who don't have the mental capacity to make sound decisions. This exists.

But evil also exists.

When a person goes on a rampage and kills a bunch of people...and plots it out and otherwise can make it through their daily life and know which side of their bread to butter...well, these people are not sick in my opinion.

I am sure you remember Jeffrey Dahmer. Everyone and their mother was saying "oh...this guy's sick in the head". "NOOOOOOO!" I said. If he's deemed sick in the head - he won't stand trial and be convicted. He'll just go to "get cured" and then be released. This man KNEW what he was doing. He deliberately went about his "mission" to seek out and kill and then dismember and dispose of his victims. This requires some forethought - it requires an amount of intelligence and care to not get caught. Had this person indeed been "sick in the head" - he would have been doing something totally contrary to his actions...and been caught long before. Dahmer DID do sick things...I never said he didn't - but he was evil. There was an evil in him which crept up each and every time. Had he really wanted to stop...he could have. He enjoyed what he did...even if it repulsed him...or so he said. The very first time he killed, he "knew what had to be done in order to get rid of the body". He himself admitted he "knew" what had to be done. Not sick. Evil. End of story. He was proven "sane" and sentenced. Luckily they didn't buy into the "sick" scenario.

So, as I watched the Dahmer trial on "Court TV" all those years ago, I was desensitized by hearing the horrid details. The first time I heard -- I cringed...I flinched...I winced. Absolutely gross. The second day of the trial...same details - less wincing. By the third day...and, mind you, it only took THREE days of testimony...I was desensitized enough not to cringe thereafter. Each time I heard what he did -- even though what he did should have been just as horrific the first time I heard it...or the one-millionth.

I know you've probably heard this one on the news as well...or maybe you, yourself, have uttered a version of it: "A man walked into a building today, injuring eight, but only three died." ONLY??? So, wait, let me get this straight...one, two, or three is okay? How many have to die to make it "unacceptable"? Twenty?

Hearing this type of talk...from the news, from our co-workers, or from passers-by waiting in line in the supermarket...subconsciously creeps into our brains and tweaks them. "Only one dead. Thank goodness ONLY ONE died." What the heck kind of reasoning IS this we are subjecting ourselves to?

I've even heard myself saying it.

We, as a nation, are becoming desensitized. We are becoming complacent. We are becoming convinced...the things some people do...which are horrid and pure evil, are just "sick".

"Sick" seems to discount what they've done..."evil", however, doesn't.

I say it's time we wake up and stop branding people "sick in the head" so easily and nonchalantly - and start calling them what they truly are: just plain evil. Perhaps then there will be stricter penalties and accountability across the board.