Dear Cat: I enjoyed your last lovelorn column. I work for a cafeteria chain-not Luby's or Furr's-who revoked my 3rd week vacation a coppola years ago. I recieve 2 weeks now even tho I've worked for my cafeteria chain for 15 years. New recruits-mgrs. from Hardees and Burger King-who sign on get two weeks from the get-go or jump street. ( antiquated urban slang )Do you think I should be pissed and demand my employer reinstate my 3rd week. I am getting tired and burnt out. Signed: Eagerly awaiting your reply to my query.
Dear Query: First of all, you misspelled receive. Helpful hint: i before e except after c. Now addressing your query. An analogy comes to mind. A snowball in hell whole is more likely to occur than you retrieving your vacation. Sorry, it's life in the big city and another example of the demise of the worker's benefits in corporate America. But remember this: Shirley, they care about your well-being and appreciate your loyalty and dedication during these difficult times.
Dear Cat: Lately, I have been working my ass off ( pardon my french ) for my employer. Working long days and nites. Working 6 days a week. Do you think the company is taking advantage of me, or should I suck it up knowing that one day my hard work will pay off. And perhaps I will climb the letter to success. Signed: As tears go by.
Dear Tears: Hard work gets you nowhere these days. I would suggest smooching your boss's derriere whenever he calls or confronts you with a situation. Tell him "you are the best boss I've worked with." "Your presentation at our last mgr.'s meeting inspired me to greater heights." Then smooch his heiney-literally. You will suckceed by using this approach. And I'm nit-picking here, but you misspelled success in your query. Remember it's k after c whenever the word suckcess is engaged in a sentence or spoken via word-of-mouth. P.S. Thanks for the Stones reference. And remember: you can't always get what you want; but if you try sometime you get what you need.
Dear Cat: I need your help. I am one of the lovelorn. My wife wants a divorce. Says I am absorbed in my job. And work too many hours. I missed my son's birthday the other day, and at Thanksgiving I couldn't enjoy the holiday cos I was worn out from making dressing in the bain marie. My G.M. said he hated universal dressing and we'd have to make it from scratch. What should I do? Quit my job and find another? Go to marriage counseling? Or divorce the nag and get on with my life and career. Signed: Lost in space.
Dear space: Tell your wife to stifle herself ( apologies to Archie and Edith Bunker ) and keep working those long hours and missing all of those family endeavors. One day it will pay off. Especially if you work for a savvy progressive company. You may even become a partner. And own a piece of the rock. And remember: there's more than one fish in the sea.
Dear readers: This concludes "Dear Cat" for tonite. Submitted for your perusal and approval,
Farewell and adieu, v.c.
P.S. The nite train is disembarking. Allah bored!
Tuesday, March 01, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
"Ronald Reagan"
One son says that his dad showed signs of Alzheimers during the end of his presidency' Another son refutes the implication. I enjoyed the Reagan presidency, especially after the Carter administration. Our country got back its swagger. With all that said, here's a great quote from the aforementioned ex movie star turned president:
The taxpayer: That's someone who works for the federal government but doesn't have to take the civil service examination. ' - Ronald Reagan
P.S. And who can forget this one from "Back to the Future!"
"Tell me future boy. Who's the president in 1985?"
"Ronald Reagan!"
"Ronald Reagan??? Who's the vice president? Jerry Lewis?"
The taxpayer: That's someone who works for the federal government but doesn't have to take the civil service examination. ' - Ronald Reagan
P.S. And who can forget this one from "Back to the Future!"
"Tell me future boy. Who's the president in 1985?"
"Ronald Reagan!"
"Ronald Reagan??? Who's the vice president? Jerry Lewis?"
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Indiana Eatery Pulls Billboards with Cult References
Because I spent most of my life in the food biz, any food biz newsworthy items interest me. To see the offensive billboard just hit the link!
The billboards included the statement, "We're like a cult with better Kool-Aid," over a glass containing a mixed drink, as well as the phrase "To die for!"
n November 1978, more than 900 members of Jim Jones' People's Temple drank cyanide-laced, grape-flavored punch in a mass murder and suicide in the group's compound in Guyana.
P.S. On another note, the two most popular entries on Golden Pond are at the top of my most current post; ergo, "Phi Zappa Krappa" and "77 Sunset Strip."
The billboards included the statement, "We're like a cult with better Kool-Aid," over a glass containing a mixed drink, as well as the phrase "To die for!"
n November 1978, more than 900 members of Jim Jones' People's Temple drank cyanide-laced, grape-flavored punch in a mass murder and suicide in the group's compound in Guyana.
P.S. On another note, the two most popular entries on Golden Pond are at the top of my most current post; ergo, "Phi Zappa Krappa" and "77 Sunset Strip."
Friday, February 18, 2011
"Stallion Semen!"
New Zealanders will be serving up glasses of horse semen at the famed Hokitika Wildfoods festival next month, a "delicacy" that racehorse owner Lindsay Kerslake says will have extreme foodies "raring to go"....
"Horses are pure testosterone, you know. They have hardly any cholesterol, so the idea is you knock it back and feel like a stallion yourself," said Mr Kerslake, of Christchurch.
"You'll have as much zizz as a stallion for a week afterwards."
The NZ$10 shots won't be for the faint-hearted.
P.S. The keenest will be able to drink it au naturel, but the shots will also be available in cherry, licorice and banoffee pie flavours.
"Horses are pure testosterone, you know. They have hardly any cholesterol, so the idea is you knock it back and feel like a stallion yourself," said Mr Kerslake, of Christchurch.
"You'll have as much zizz as a stallion for a week afterwards."
The NZ$10 shots won't be for the faint-hearted.
P.S. The keenest will be able to drink it au naturel, but the shots will also be available in cherry, licorice and banoffee pie flavours.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
"7th Voyage of Sinbad"
One of my all time favorite movies. Right up there with "Casablanca"-here's looking at you, kid; "Gone With the Wind"-I don't know nothin' bout birthin' babies; "Jaws"-my husband was telling me your into sharks and we need a bigger boat; and "A Few Good Men"-you want the truth?
I'll leave "Citizen Kane" and the Fellini movies to someone else. My Aunt Mad humored me a lot as a kid and would haul me to the Twin Starlight Drive-In, so I could watch this Ray Harryhausen spectacular. Music by Bernard Herrmann.
I'll leave "Citizen Kane" and the Fellini movies to someone else. My Aunt Mad humored me a lot as a kid and would haul me to the Twin Starlight Drive-In, so I could watch this Ray Harryhausen spectacular. Music by Bernard Herrmann.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
"Facebook"
Facebook is something else. I just hooked up with an old friend of mine, who I hadn't talked to in over 30 years. Our last conversation via the telephone went like this.
"Harry, how would you like to be sipping a vodka martini, shaken not stirred, on a deserted island hideaway that you own?"
"Well, uh, yes!" I said. "What do I need to do. Sign me up!" Having a deed to an island seemed like a good deal.
"Would you like to retire, Harry, at an early age and sit around making sand castles without a care in the world?"
"Well, uh, yes. Sign me up. What do I have to do?" I always had a penchant for the ocean-the waves cascading, the seagulls mulling, the nice bikini clad women strolling, and I could always make a mean castle complete with moats sans drawbridge. Pun unintended. "Tell me more!"
"You'll have servants. Preparing your meals, maintaining your tropical island venue, and catering to your every desire(s)."
"Well, uh, yeah." I loved James Bond and could see myself as the next Sean Connery. Playing baccarat in the casino-hope it's close to my island paradise, but then if I'm rich who cares.
"Dix-neuf for zee dealer, moi, vingt for monsieur. You win again."
"So. sign me up. I'm game, old friend. What do I have to do?"
"Amway. Yes, Amway, brother! You sign up. Start selling the product. Get others excited. Have them sign up. Before you know it, it's a domino effect. You'll make thousands, dare I say it, millions. What do you say?"
I said no. And that's the last I heard from my friend, until a coppola weeks ago when I typed in his name on Facebook. A picture of him from the 70's appeared, and I knew I hit paydirt.
"Harry, how would you like to be sipping a vodka martini, shaken not stirred, on a deserted island hideaway that you own?"
"Well, uh, yes!" I said. "What do I need to do. Sign me up!" Having a deed to an island seemed like a good deal.
"Would you like to retire, Harry, at an early age and sit around making sand castles without a care in the world?"
"Well, uh, yes. Sign me up. What do I have to do?" I always had a penchant for the ocean-the waves cascading, the seagulls mulling, the nice bikini clad women strolling, and I could always make a mean castle complete with moats sans drawbridge. Pun unintended. "Tell me more!"
"You'll have servants. Preparing your meals, maintaining your tropical island venue, and catering to your every desire(s)."
"Well, uh, yeah." I loved James Bond and could see myself as the next Sean Connery. Playing baccarat in the casino-hope it's close to my island paradise, but then if I'm rich who cares.
"Dix-neuf for zee dealer, moi, vingt for monsieur. You win again."
"So. sign me up. I'm game, old friend. What do I have to do?"
"Amway. Yes, Amway, brother! You sign up. Start selling the product. Get others excited. Have them sign up. Before you know it, it's a domino effect. You'll make thousands, dare I say it, millions. What do you say?"
I said no. And that's the last I heard from my friend, until a coppola weeks ago when I typed in his name on Facebook. A picture of him from the 70's appeared, and I knew I hit paydirt.
Thursday, January 06, 2011
"The Heatles"
I'm liking Lebron James more and more each day. He's now calling his team, "The Heatles!" Because they sell out every venue they play.
Saturday, January 01, 2011
"This One Bears Repeating?" ( Dear Cat )
Dear Cat: How is your new job? Seems I recall your last emplyer fired your ass. Didn't you work for those forkers a long time? Didn't you introduce a recipe-was it carrot souffle???-to the masses and received zero remuneration for your efforts? What the fork is wrong with that picture? Signed: Makes you want to join the ACLU, eh?
Dear ACLU: A lot of queries so let's begin with numero uno.
1) My new job is great. I love the new work, the new atmosphere, and most of my new team members, who have slowly adjusted to my eccentric sense-of-humour. Well, some of them, anyway. I don't have to taste the food all day like at the old digs. No more slurping turnip greens and blackeye peas every coppola hours while adding #'s to the old cholesterol count. No more concerns on whether Billy put the right amount of flour in the carrot souffle, [ segue, eh? ] or if Excellious weighed the sugar before adding it to the tea. Most of the stuff we use is heat and serve; or open a bag and voila!
2) Yes, I toiled and slaved for more years than I care to remember. I worked at H.W. [ acronym for Hell Whole ] which had a sterling reputation as the baddest of the bad. Rowdy guests out the kazoo who never quit gliding down the [ serving ] line from the moment we opened, til the millivanillisecond we terminated our day's work.
3) Yes, I received nada, zip, nil when it came to the fluffy product who some pronounced as carrot shooflay. [ not intended as a bigot slur as caucasians sometimes used the same vernacular. Also see his'n for more details. ]
4) There's a lot wrong with that picture, but in the long run [ apologies to the "Eagles" ] it was for the best. Thanks for the query, v.c.
Dear Cat: I read your column every chance I get. One of your recent forays-don't you refer to them as "forays into the infantile?"-revealed your boss to be a dickhead. I'm sorry to hear that, but, Shirley, the situation will become a reservoir of material. Have you thought of penning a book entitled "You may be a dickhead if...?" Along the lines of Jeff Foxworthy, eh? Signed: No Penis Envy Here
Dear Penis Envy: The book would write itself. But will change the title to: "You are a dickhead if:"
10) You drive 55 mph or less in the left hand lane of any highway, bi-way, or interstate.
9) You have to scrounge in your purse or pocket for a penny or correct change when purchasing an item(s) while others are waiting patiently behind your dickheadness.
8) You proudly exclaim while in the midst of others: I don't eat pork; I hate 2nd hand smoke; I'm a vegan; or my child is an honor student at Dickhead Elementary!
7) You stop on a dime on a busy, crowded concourse at any metropolitan airport.
6) You work for a company for 30 years or more and are terminated. "I'll be back." Apologies to Arnold!
5) You work for Nextell information, ergo 411, and you can't give me the correct phone number I' calling you for in the first place. Do you get paid by the call? Or what?
4) If you believe I can talk to 3-4 people at one time about 3-4 different subjects.
3) If you ever ordered fries without salt at any fast food joint. Same goes for ordering a burger sans pickle.
2) If you ever told the cafeteria attendant to put more food on your plate. And vice-versa. If you are a food service technician who proudly exclaims: "That's a serving!"
1) If you are yours truly's boss, and you don't treat him with dignity and respect.
Thanks for the query! v.c.
Well, this concludes tonite's edition of "Dear Cat!"
Until next time, v.c.
P.S. There will be no videos tonite. None of the 111 wussiest tunes of all time. Nada, zip, nil.
Dear ACLU: A lot of queries so let's begin with numero uno.
1) My new job is great. I love the new work, the new atmosphere, and most of my new team members, who have slowly adjusted to my eccentric sense-of-humour. Well, some of them, anyway. I don't have to taste the food all day like at the old digs. No more slurping turnip greens and blackeye peas every coppola hours while adding #'s to the old cholesterol count. No more concerns on whether Billy put the right amount of flour in the carrot souffle, [ segue, eh? ] or if Excellious weighed the sugar before adding it to the tea. Most of the stuff we use is heat and serve; or open a bag and voila!
2) Yes, I toiled and slaved for more years than I care to remember. I worked at H.W. [ acronym for Hell Whole ] which had a sterling reputation as the baddest of the bad. Rowdy guests out the kazoo who never quit gliding down the [ serving ] line from the moment we opened, til the millivanillisecond we terminated our day's work.
3) Yes, I received nada, zip, nil when it came to the fluffy product who some pronounced as carrot shooflay. [ not intended as a bigot slur as caucasians sometimes used the same vernacular. Also see his'n for more details. ]
4) There's a lot wrong with that picture, but in the long run [ apologies to the "Eagles" ] it was for the best. Thanks for the query, v.c.
Dear Cat: I read your column every chance I get. One of your recent forays-don't you refer to them as "forays into the infantile?"-revealed your boss to be a dickhead. I'm sorry to hear that, but, Shirley, the situation will become a reservoir of material. Have you thought of penning a book entitled "You may be a dickhead if...?" Along the lines of Jeff Foxworthy, eh? Signed: No Penis Envy Here
Dear Penis Envy: The book would write itself. But will change the title to: "You are a dickhead if:"
10) You drive 55 mph or less in the left hand lane of any highway, bi-way, or interstate.
9) You have to scrounge in your purse or pocket for a penny or correct change when purchasing an item(s) while others are waiting patiently behind your dickheadness.
8) You proudly exclaim while in the midst of others: I don't eat pork; I hate 2nd hand smoke; I'm a vegan; or my child is an honor student at Dickhead Elementary!
7) You stop on a dime on a busy, crowded concourse at any metropolitan airport.
6) You work for a company for 30 years or more and are terminated. "I'll be back." Apologies to Arnold!
5) You work for Nextell information, ergo 411, and you can't give me the correct phone number I' calling you for in the first place. Do you get paid by the call? Or what?
4) If you believe I can talk to 3-4 people at one time about 3-4 different subjects.
3) If you ever ordered fries without salt at any fast food joint. Same goes for ordering a burger sans pickle.
2) If you ever told the cafeteria attendant to put more food on your plate. And vice-versa. If you are a food service technician who proudly exclaims: "That's a serving!"
1) If you are yours truly's boss, and you don't treat him with dignity and respect.
Thanks for the query! v.c.
Well, this concludes tonite's edition of "Dear Cat!"
Until next time, v.c.
P.S. There will be no videos tonite. None of the 111 wussiest tunes of all time. Nada, zip, nil.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
"Merry Christmas"
It's Christmas time again, and it's snowing. The weather zealots nailed it predicting the white stuff a coppola days ago. You've got to hand it to the new technology. Years ago the blizzards would sneak up on the citizenry causing all kinds of havoc.
And this is my first white Christmas. It took a while, but some things are worth waiting for.
Perhaps Bing Crosby, the most popular singer of the Irving Berlin classic, is in a cow pasture somewhere singing "Lotta Doo Doo" and "White Christmas" first heard in the movie, "Holiday Inn."
Merry Christmas
And this is my first white Christmas. It took a while, but some things are worth waiting for.
Perhaps Bing Crosby, the most popular singer of the Irving Berlin classic, is in a cow pasture somewhere singing "Lotta Doo Doo" and "White Christmas" first heard in the movie, "Holiday Inn."
Merry Christmas
Wednesday, December 08, 2010
"The World Misses You, John"
It was 30 years ago today that John Lennon died. I was watching the Monday Night Football game when Howard Cossell broke the news.
I miss him and the music he would have made.
I don't think the Fab 4 would have ever gotten back together.
I miss him and the music he would have made.
I don't think the Fab 4 would have ever gotten back together.
Thursday, December 02, 2010
"Happy Birthday, Keith....and Victor...and Auntie!"
Aunt Charlene was borned ( as they used to say back in my era aka back in the day ) November 25. She now lives in wintry Bulgaria. Belatedly, I sent her a warm happy birthday message. Via email.
Everyone likes to feel special on his/her birthday. My reason-unlike others-is not because I made it another year-whoopie da doo-but because most people are nice to you, more so than on the other 364 1/4 days. ( the one quarter being in observance of leap year ).
My aunt's birthday also made me recall that Keith, my old high school friend, and my cousin, Victor, who is a year and a month older than me, were both borned on November 30. 59 and 60 years old, repectively.
I hadn't talked to Keith in a long time; the last being when he called to inform me that Felton Bruce had passed away. Felton was a long time friend from high school, as well. And gifted because he could get drunk after having only one beer. He didn't have to bother downing a 6 pack to achieve the desired effect-one was a'plenty, and he didn't have to chose between great taste or less filling.
Me and Keith were best friends in high school and through our first two tumultuous years of college. But his dad got sick, and he had to drop out. And then he got married, and we all know how that changes things.
"Don't step on her veil, Harry," were the words Kitty, my future wife-to-be and the bridesmaid, uttered to me as I walked into the church for Keith and Becky's wedding. My gaffe was due to being smitten by Kitty's dark tan,lithe figure and beautiful face. I hadn't seen her in a while, so I was mesmerized. And the fact that I wore size 14 shoes* was the cause for alarm. No one wants a giant's shoe indelibly etched in one's wedding apparel.
Yeah, we were best of buds. Keith introduced me to many things: smoking Winstons; schooling me about cars requiring oil to survive( his Ford Fairline was always in need of a quart or two); drinking beers** and cherry vodka; and going to the Central Theatre in downtown Atlanta, which showed soft porn movies.
We were 16 years old, but patrons were supposed to be 18 or 21 to gain admittance. We were titillated to say the least, as our hormones-they were a'raging. I looked like I was 13-14 at the most. With pimples on my cheeks and forehead, and braces on my teeth, I had that fresh-scrubbed look of a very young teen.
"Can I help you?" asked the Central's cashier.
In my most masculine voice: "Yes, one ticket for 'A Muff in the Rough!'"
"How old are you?" she asked.
"I'm 21! Why, is there a problem?" I said trying to sound like Sean Connery.
It didn't help too that I wore glasses, the nerdy black ones that were fashionable during the mini-skirt and short-pegged trousers days. Wire-rimmed spectacles were on the horizon.
"No problem," she said."'Muff in the Rough' is almost over, but you're just in time for the second feature: 'Buffy and Muffy Get Scruffy.'"
I could never eat the popcorn at the Central-it just seemed too sleazy a place. And I never checked their health score; I was always too busy looking at the coming attraction posters.
Sometimes Bogus Bob, another lifelong friend, would go with me and Keith, but he didn't like the Central much. I always theorized that he was already getting some action up close and personal, the real McCoy. But he would eat the popcorn.
So happy birthday Aunt Charlene-don't eat any yellow snow. And happy birthday my boyhood chum, Keith. And happy birthday, Vic. All of whom were borned in November.
The end
* Size 15 now but age and weight has added an extra size. Oh my!
** Felton required only one beer.
* .
Everyone likes to feel special on his/her birthday. My reason-unlike others-is not because I made it another year-whoopie da doo-but because most people are nice to you, more so than on the other 364 1/4 days. ( the one quarter being in observance of leap year ).
My aunt's birthday also made me recall that Keith, my old high school friend, and my cousin, Victor, who is a year and a month older than me, were both borned on November 30. 59 and 60 years old, repectively.
I hadn't talked to Keith in a long time; the last being when he called to inform me that Felton Bruce had passed away. Felton was a long time friend from high school, as well. And gifted because he could get drunk after having only one beer. He didn't have to bother downing a 6 pack to achieve the desired effect-one was a'plenty, and he didn't have to chose between great taste or less filling.
Me and Keith were best friends in high school and through our first two tumultuous years of college. But his dad got sick, and he had to drop out. And then he got married, and we all know how that changes things.
"Don't step on her veil, Harry," were the words Kitty, my future wife-to-be and the bridesmaid, uttered to me as I walked into the church for Keith and Becky's wedding. My gaffe was due to being smitten by Kitty's dark tan,lithe figure and beautiful face. I hadn't seen her in a while, so I was mesmerized. And the fact that I wore size 14 shoes* was the cause for alarm. No one wants a giant's shoe indelibly etched in one's wedding apparel.
Yeah, we were best of buds. Keith introduced me to many things: smoking Winstons; schooling me about cars requiring oil to survive( his Ford Fairline was always in need of a quart or two); drinking beers** and cherry vodka; and going to the Central Theatre in downtown Atlanta, which showed soft porn movies.
We were 16 years old, but patrons were supposed to be 18 or 21 to gain admittance. We were titillated to say the least, as our hormones-they were a'raging. I looked like I was 13-14 at the most. With pimples on my cheeks and forehead, and braces on my teeth, I had that fresh-scrubbed look of a very young teen.
"Can I help you?" asked the Central's cashier.
In my most masculine voice: "Yes, one ticket for 'A Muff in the Rough!'"
"How old are you?" she asked.
"I'm 21! Why, is there a problem?" I said trying to sound like Sean Connery.
It didn't help too that I wore glasses, the nerdy black ones that were fashionable during the mini-skirt and short-pegged trousers days. Wire-rimmed spectacles were on the horizon.
"No problem," she said."'Muff in the Rough' is almost over, but you're just in time for the second feature: 'Buffy and Muffy Get Scruffy.'"
I could never eat the popcorn at the Central-it just seemed too sleazy a place. And I never checked their health score; I was always too busy looking at the coming attraction posters.
Sometimes Bogus Bob, another lifelong friend, would go with me and Keith, but he didn't like the Central much. I always theorized that he was already getting some action up close and personal, the real McCoy. But he would eat the popcorn.
So happy birthday Aunt Charlene-don't eat any yellow snow. And happy birthday my boyhood chum, Keith. And happy birthday, Vic. All of whom were borned in November.
The end
* Size 15 now but age and weight has added an extra size. Oh my!
** Felton required only one beer.
* .
Monday, November 29, 2010
"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.
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.
Monday, November 22, 2010
"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.
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.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
"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
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
Thursday, November 11, 2010
"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!
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!
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
"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?
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?
Friday, November 05, 2010
"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.
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.
Thursday, October 07, 2010
"Go Braves"
The Braves are in the playoffs-the first time since 2005. We are limping in, but perhaps the 3 day rest will do us some good.
My prediction: Braves will win this playoff series. And move on to the next round.
I would love to go to Game 3 on Sunday. Perhaps I'll see you there.
Other predictions: Texas over Tampa Bay.
Minnesota over New York Yankees-to hell with Mariano Rivera.
And Philadelphia over Cincinnati.
My prediction: Braves will win this playoff series. And move on to the next round.
I would love to go to Game 3 on Sunday. Perhaps I'll see you there.
Other predictions: Texas over Tampa Bay.
Minnesota over New York Yankees-to hell with Mariano Rivera.
And Philadelphia over Cincinnati.
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