"Lavender-Ooh La La"

As mentioned in an earlier foray, going to the store for someone else is always a challenge. Especially when it's your mother, and especially if she's "old and decrepit" ( her words not mine ) and 85 years young.

Thanksgiving is this week, so another trip to the grocery store was in order. Mom wanted to make some cranberry sauce and had found the recipe via the Food Network and the Barefoot Contessa. The main ingredients called for fresh cranberries, walnuts, and an orange.

"I want a navel orange, but whatever you do, it can't be from Florida. It must be from California," she said to me as I perused her list, which was laced with very specific instructions according to brand names, sizes, and aisle placements.

"Why is that?" I asked.

"Because Florida navel oranges aren't as juicy and have less zest."

"Sounds reasonable," I said.

The next item on her list was carrots with green bunches emanating from the ends. As opposed to carrots, wilted, with brown stems attached. There was no mention of their geographic location-just that they could be found somewhere in the produce section- which was a good sign.

Next on the list was "Secret" the deodorant; which had to be a clear gel and the "ooh la-la lavender fragrance."

"It has to be ooh la la," I asked?

"Yes, do not get:

'au revoir to you too, chrysanthemum fragrance!';

'it is what it is, chartreuse scented!';

'eww de Toilette, with a hint of aquamarine!'

'you are what you smell, with a dash of boudoir aroma!'

None of those will do! It has to be lavender ooh la la!"

"Gotcha," I said making a mental note.

Continuing along with the list. Walnuts: must be in a can and not in a package. A discerning palate no doubt, buoyed from many years of savoir faire.

7 fresh sweet potatoes. Go to Kroger and not to Publix or Piggly Wiggly, because Kroger has the best and freshest. "There will be rows and rows of them as you walk into the store. Those are the ones I want!" Nothing like crossing all the t's and dotting all the i's.

Continuing: Hellmann's mayonnaise. Hellmann's is the best. Kraft, sorry-no can do. "Please don't get the squeeze bottle ( like you did last time ) because I'm old and decrepit."

6 yogurt. 2 blueberry mountaintop; 2 apricot rainforest; and 2 Caribbean banana plantation. Highlighted and in exclamation were these instructions: "Whatever you do, don't get cherry yogurt. You may like cherry-I don't like cherry." Nuff said-no more cherry.

Then there were the raisins: Sunmaid, of course, but golden and not the black ones.

And, last but not least a 2.6 lb. whole fryer with a + or - factor of 2 ozs.

That was the list. I was prepared. More than prepared. I felt like I could part the Allatoona; bend steel with my bare hands; and catch a fly with chopsticks. Nothing like going to the store for someone else. But it's my pleasure when it's your mom, even if she thinks she's old and decrepit.

"Ambulating Towards the 'No Service Customer Service'"

Lately, I have had these moments of creative spontaneity. Well, maybe it's just gas, but that's a whole 'nother subject.

Today's foray into the infantile concerns my going to the grocery store FOR SOMEONE ELSE! A challenging proposition. Because the person you're buying for has a set agenda and requirements/specifications, and you ain't gonna win, no matter how hard you try. When you shop for yourself it's easy, but when you're shopping for someone else it's caveat emptor time. In this particular case, the person in question is my mother. Legendary, she is, in her quest for the perfect edibles.

So I was armed with my list, er, specs and I'm looking for Colavita olive oil. I see Pompeian, and Bertoli and even Crisco. It's like anything else; there's all different flavors. Just like with Cheerios and Coke. Now there's chocolate, yogurt, apple cinnamon, honey nut, fruity, and berry burst cheerios. Coke now comes in vanilla, cherry, one calorie, with lime, with lemon, zero, raspberry et al.

And olive oil. There's original, garlic-flavored, banana, fruity, ripe fruity, etc.-too many to list. Almost forgot the one endorsed by Mussolini-olive oil vintage World War II which has been aging for over 65 years.

So for $14.00 American money-not sure how many euros or pesos that is-I can buy a quart-sized jar-the Colavita brand. Because it's not for me-no problem. Even tho' the person it's for needs a smaller bottle due to age and arthritis. Problem is I couldn't find but one size, which is easy to handle if you're possessed with vim and vigor, but not so if you're 85 years old. Maybe there was a smaller bottle, but because it was nestled in between the truffle lemon, pepper, garlic, basil & the Benito brands of olive oil, I may have overlooked it.

Next on my shopping excursion was an attempt at finding the cherry peppers. My instructions were to buy the mild-not hot-ones, and that they MIGHT be located on the olives, pickles, condiment aisle. Well, I searched the bottles and, of course, couldn't find them, so I headed to customer service.

The lady in charge was nice and asked me "what could I do her for?" Or something like that.

"M'am, I can't find the cherry peppers. I did find the cherry Cheerios and the cherry Coke, and the cherry olive oil, but I can't find the cherry peppers. Can you help me?"

"Cherry peppers? And they come in a jar. Never heard of 'em!"

Because this is the age of computers and everybody does business this way these days, I asked her if she could look them up on the computer.

"Hold on," she said. And picked up the phone to bring in the calvary.

Now we're getting somewhere, I thought.

Instead of the cherry pepper manager, a young man opened the door to my right-her left-and peeked out and the customer service woman asked: "Do we have cherry peppers in a jar, Benito?"

"Cherry peppers? Never heard of 'em. And they come in a jar? Never heard of 'em."

I tried one last time. "Don't you have a computer where you can look it up?" I said.

"I've worked here a long time and have never seen cherry peppers," he said.

Maybe their computer was off line or perhaps it had been diseased by a virus or maybe they still do business the old fashioned way-they earn it-with a pencil, pad and guesswork, but they were not gonna look up cherry peppers on a computer.

So I did what anyone else would do. I said &^%$# it. And realized that what what we had here was a failure to communicate, and another example of "Customer No Service from the supposed Customer Service."

Undeterred I was now on a mission. One last stroll down the aisle of condiments. And there they were. 3 bottles of cherry peppers. Only one kind-sweet. No mint, kumquat, liquorish, herbal, hot...just sweet.

So I placed them in my grocery basket along with the cheese ( ginger sling with a pineapple tart flavored ), and the elberta peach nuanced savoy truffles. And the rice-au-roni hagen daz cheerios and vanilla bean espresso coke.

I was tempted to ambulate back to the customer service area to show them my discovery, but I was exhausted from finding them. So I said %$^& it and headed to the checkout.

The cashier asked if I found everything okay, and if the cherry peppers were tasty.

I told her, yes, I had a little trouble, and, yes, they were quite good but hard to find.

"Never heard of 'em," she said.

I chose plastic and got out of there with a quickness. To live and fight another day, until next time. Maybe if my condition is indeed gas. perhaps some pomegranate
flavored Gas-X is the ticket.

"Hottest Brands for 2010"

Ford is hot. Conan is hot! Groupon.com is hot. The Miami Heat and puffed-up chips called Popchips are hot.

I will never buy a Ford. Henry Ford was an anti-semite and also received a medal from Adolph Hitler. I saw it on PBS last week. He also published a newspaper railing against the Jewish people for years until he was forced to close the newspaper. Never will I give one cent to his company or ride in one of his automobiles. If any one wants to challenge me on this, go ahead. It is a public record of his views of the Jewish people.

Tue, 16 Nov 2010 23:06:48 GMT | Biff386ie

conan is the worst. Who is putting all the money behins this push. When he repkaced Leno his rating's were poor, what does it take to realize that he stinks, badly

Tue, 16 Nov 2010 23:20:22 GMT | donone

Henry Ford died about 70 years ago! If you black list a brand for it's origin your not gonna be driving anything. Don't even think about a Volkswagon or an Italian or Japanese car for that matter! They were all on the same side during the Holocaust!! Better not buy any gas; you know how them Arabs feel about the Jews! Come on stop being so silly.

Tue, 16 Nov 2010 23:24:13 GMT | derb

For more here's the link. http://www.comcast.net/finance/forwhatitsworth/6494271/thehottestbrandsof2010/

Tue, 16 Nov 2010 23:24:13 GMT | derb

"Prissy"

My foray into the infantile last night smacked of prissy. And, normally, when you think of prissy, you think of women. But when you stop and think about it, there's a lot of guys who are prissy, regardless of their gender leanings.

No, prissy can be an equal opportunity offender. And, last night, the catfish was indeed prissy. Don't overuse the word "I" in writing, which was my argument, but it was me being prissy. And acting as if my ship didn't sink.

We've all heard the phrase "his ship don't sink." Or something to that effect. "I put my pants on one leg at a time just like he does."

Today is Veteran's Day as we change gears here on the Pond. So a shout out to all those men and women who have served in the armed forces. Today most service people are revered and are thanked for their efforts, but that wasn't always the case, especially for those returning from duty in Vietnam.

My dad served in the navy during World War II. And met my mom while he was stationed in Charleston, South Carolina. Or so the story goes. And as a result of that union, Olga and yours truly were born. And life as we know it will never be the same.

So I was being prissy last night. Whatever, eh? And a hearty thanks to all on Veteran's Day!

P.S. Tonight's video which coincidentally goes with tonight's foray is ent5itled "Prissy Miss Lizzy," er, "Dizzy Miss Prissy," er, "Prissy Miss Prissy," er, whatever!

"I, Me, Mine"

Believe it or not, the proprietor of this blog fancies himself as somewhat of a writer, who can get on a roll and churn 'em out faster than a fruit fly laying eggs on a banana or plantain. So when perusing other people's stuff the aforementioned wants to offer some advice ( constructive criticism ) to those who write in the blogosphere: too many I's spoil the broth or too many cooks in the kitchen....ditto. So please refrain from using "I."

An example:

I woke up this morning, and I had a cup of coffee, heavy on the caffeine. I looked out the window, and I noticed the world was still there. I realized that the bacon was a'sizzlin' in the frying pan, and I smelled the distinct odor that was being exuded.

After I exhaled the exuded odor and I munched on said breakfast item, I quickly buttered my toast. I use unsalted butter these days cos I have high blood pressure, and I read somewhere where unsalted butter is better than regular butter, and I'm not sure if margarine is quite up to par.

Because I'm a single mom and/or dad, I had to get l'il Suzy ready for school. I don't know why but I believe all school buses are yellow. So I got her ready-l'il Suzy, that is-and I reminded her to bring her homework with her. "Don't use that 'my dog ate my homework' excuse, cos I will not tolerate it."

Exhibit B: I love myself. I love fried green tomatoes. I like morning runs. I like snow covered mountains. I like Dove soap. I like all types of music-well, maybe I don't like rap. I like to snuggle cos I'm a woman. I like to be by myself cos I'm a man. I like Schlitz and Old Milwaukee. I love champagne and strawberries dipped in chocolate. I love to take pictures, and did I ever tell you, I love myself. Oh, yeah, first sentence in this paragraph.

So when writing if you don't want to turn me off from the git-go, please refrain from the I's. And remember to cross all your t's. And i before e except after c.

So the ayes have it?

"Blue Monday" ( A rehash from yesteryear )

The pinto was in full stride zooming down the countryside ( on my way to work ) when the news blurb mentioned that January 21 is the most depressing day of the year. I swilled a sip of my Folgers coffee, heavy on the caffeine, and attempted to digest this bit of news.

Why Monday, January 21? The 'experts" or whoever it was who had too much time on his hands, decided to wit: 1) number of days since Christmas; 2) credit card bills are pouring in from overspending via the holidays; 3) it's cold as hell unless you live in or subscribe to a land of global warming; 4) failed New Year's resolutions; 5) and just plain old low motivation.

I had another sip of the mountain-grown stuff as visions of Mrs. Olson quickly and thankfully subsided. Because a malaise pervades my inner spirit, the days are all the same to me anyway. But as I sit here peckin' away, I now realize that this was a particularly shitty day. ( pardon my french, s'il vous plait ) Later on towards midnite it got better, but there was no pep in my step for the most part.

New Year's Resolutions? Sorry, I didn't make any and never have. But if I were to dabble in shaping my inevitable future, perhaps my goals and resolutions would/should be:

1) To save the world....from itself.

2) Develop a new fuel source. Luckily, most of youse don't buy petrol known as diesel. Just saw it at the pump for $3.57 purr, er, per gallon. Ouch!

3) Produce a new sequel of "Jaws" the movie. One which would rival the original. "Jaws 2" is curently on the boob tube directed by Jeannot Szwarc. ( sp ) Don't know how that useless fact got lodged in the brain cells, but it's there. For better or for worse. Just like in marriage, eh?

4) Write a novel which sets the N.Y. Times Best Seller list on FIRE. "Great piece of work from this 50ish new author, who had been relegating his dubious talents in the wonderful world of food bizdom. You can give this book to any and all of your friends/family any day of the year ( January 21, notwithstanding ) ," says Bennett Cerf of Random House.

"I am impressed with this erstwhile food bizdom guy. I picked up his new book, 'Forays into the Infantile' and couldn't put it down. I am eagerly a'waiting to ketchup ( food pun....ha ha ) on all his earlier G.P. tales via blogspot," says Rex Reed of the L.A. Times.

5) Eradicate the landscape of all fast food restaurants. Nuff said.

6) Develop a strategy in which customers who stand in line to buy something-anything-must not take precious time away from the poor slobs behind them. Women: no looting in your vast wasteland of a pocketbook to find your last penny. Men: keep your hands outta your pants, unless you need to maneuver a discreet shift. Take the damn change and GO. "I gotta penny....somewhere-hold on"-should be outlawed. And that person should immediately proceed to jail, allah Monopoly. And fine 'em $200.00 for starters.

7) While we're on the subject, never order your food at any fast food joint by saying, "I needa burger, I needa fries; and I needa ketchup." Let's pretend Anita [ INeeda ] quit the job so order by saying, "I would like" or "gimme." Or any facsimile, thereof.

8) Write Slippery, Rockhead, bbq, pictruandtru, to see if they've fallen off the map.

9) Design a game plan for the N.Y. Giants in their quest to win the Super Bowl Thus, ending New England's dream of a perfect season: 19 and 0!

10) And maybe....start working-out; quit smoking; and limit the amount of times my hands are discreetly in me pockets.

Yeah, January 21 was a dreary kind of day. Yes, I was a victim. The good part? It's now January 22nd here on G.P. and I'm feeling much better.

Farewell and adieu time, v.c.