In the past, I’ve sung the praises of one particularly orange vegetable. Recently, I’ve included carrots as part of my regular diet.
My lunch has felt a bit incomplete for a while now. It used to include the nutty flavors of a wholesome granola bar, but that ended shortly after my CostCo membership ran-out. So, for several months, it’s been pretty lonely for my Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich (today’s, by the way, was particularly good), with just a can of Diet Pepsi to share an entire lunch box.
While the link at the top wants all to scream out, "Yes To Carrots(!)," I wasn't too excited. It took some convincing from my wife, but eventually I said, "Yeah" to Carrots. And I'm glad I did. Carrots have made a nice addition, and now I’m eating them by the boatloads. Not only are they good, they’re good for you. In particular, they’re supposed to improve your eyesight. And as I’ve learned recently, my eyesight needs some improving.
Of course, some might argue that my hearing, memory, heart health, muscle mass, joint pain, body fat, and overall personal hygiene needs some improving, but that’s why I eat the Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
With the Good Comes the Bad
Today was one of those days when the planets aligned, God smiled down, and everything seemed to go my way. I left a bit late for work today, but all the lights turned green as I approached. I said all the right things at all the right times. I turned in all of my big projects at work. My questions to the boss were somehow more insightful, my jokes to coworkers were definitely funnier, and my random encounters with the general public were all meaningful and memorable to everyone involved. Yes, in a word today was magical.
When I got home, I discovered my zipper was down.
Upon reflection, I realized that I had not been to the bathroom all day. I had roamed the office with an uncharacteristic confidence, spent some time speaking with my boss and my boss’s boss in her office, chatted casually with the casual chatters whose chatter I usually avoid, and all-in-all had myself a pretty social day… all the while with my zipper down.
I’m not too clear on philosophical debate or mystical beliefs, but I cannot help but wonder if the two are connected somehow. Recently, I have come to think that I have faith in the abundance – you like that confidence? I’m not quite sure what it is supposed to mean, but to me it is simply that there is enough out there for everyone. There is enough good for everyone to be good or enough wealth for everyone to be wealthy… that sort of thing.
But then my zipper was down, and that can’t be good.
When I got home, I discovered my zipper was down.
Upon reflection, I realized that I had not been to the bathroom all day. I had roamed the office with an uncharacteristic confidence, spent some time speaking with my boss and my boss’s boss in her office, chatted casually with the casual chatters whose chatter I usually avoid, and all-in-all had myself a pretty social day… all the while with my zipper down.
I’m not too clear on philosophical debate or mystical beliefs, but I cannot help but wonder if the two are connected somehow. Recently, I have come to think that I have faith in the abundance – you like that confidence? I’m not quite sure what it is supposed to mean, but to me it is simply that there is enough out there for everyone. There is enough good for everyone to be good or enough wealth for everyone to be wealthy… that sort of thing.
But then my zipper was down, and that can’t be good.
Monday, July 19, 2010
I blame Lady Gaga.
Something terrible has happened. This morning I woke up singing a painfully catchy song that I undoubtedly heard on Hot 99.5. I don’t remember which one it was, because after an hour or so of it bouncing through my head, I forced myself to sing something else. The first song I thought of was another painfully catchy song that I heard on Hot 99.5, so after another hour or so, I had to find a new song, and now, after two or three more songs, I have a terrible headache.
I blame Lady Gaga, whose silly songs started my listening to Hot 99.5 a few months ago. Now regrettably, it’s the radio station I listen to most often and with one annoyingly catchy song after another, I can sing most of their playlist. I think it’s supposed to be a Top 40 station, but from what I can tell, 95% of the time they’re playing one of about a dozen or so songs.
Of all the songs, my favorite line, by far, has to be “Baby, you the whole package/Plus you pay your taxes,” which pretty much sums up most of the songs. Actually, that’s one of the better songs.
I’m sure complaints about music haven’t changed too much over the years, but with the songs out today, it makes me wonder if I listened to the same message growing up as folks would today. I don’t know what the answer to that is, but either way I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter, art imitating life and whatnot.
I’m also pretty sure that “I want to be a billionaire so friggin’ bad/I’d buy all of the things I never had.” Of course, once I bought all that stuff, I’m pretty sure I’d just want different stuff, when all I really need is just a new pair of shoes and maybe something for this headache I’ve got. Or maybe all I need is just to turn off the radio for awhile.
I blame Lady Gaga, whose silly songs started my listening to Hot 99.5 a few months ago. Now regrettably, it’s the radio station I listen to most often and with one annoyingly catchy song after another, I can sing most of their playlist. I think it’s supposed to be a Top 40 station, but from what I can tell, 95% of the time they’re playing one of about a dozen or so songs.
Of all the songs, my favorite line, by far, has to be “Baby, you the whole package/Plus you pay your taxes,” which pretty much sums up most of the songs. Actually, that’s one of the better songs.
I’m sure complaints about music haven’t changed too much over the years, but with the songs out today, it makes me wonder if I listened to the same message growing up as folks would today. I don’t know what the answer to that is, but either way I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter, art imitating life and whatnot.
I’m also pretty sure that “I want to be a billionaire so friggin’ bad/I’d buy all of the things I never had.” Of course, once I bought all that stuff, I’m pretty sure I’d just want different stuff, when all I really need is just a new pair of shoes and maybe something for this headache I’ve got. Or maybe all I need is just to turn off the radio for awhile.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Weekend Dinner
I’ve fallen into a downward pattern of not living in the moment. I’ll do something over the weekend and then decide to write about it come Tuesday or Wednesday. I blame my intern Jeff… I’m not asking him to reinvent the wheel here, just find a better layout for the blog.
I have just posted something that I wrote in the moment and set the time stamp closer to that moment, but I’m afraid it might reveal a bit too much about what happens in my head at any given moment. I have quite a few of these posts that I write and write and write and then realize that they make very little sense, so I never post them and then they sit in limbo waiting to be posted. I feel sort of bad for them, but they’re usually the type that you’re right in feeling bad for.
Anyways, starting over based on this weekend, which included realizing that I didn’t want to be in downtown Philadelphia:
I enjoy going out to eat. I do this far too often, but it still feels like such a treat every time. This weekend, however, I got a real treat, a fancy meal at a fancy restaurant.
The place was just a steakhouse, but the $60 meal included steak and seafood, salad and sides, and the option of crème brulee among other stuff for dessert. I don’t even know what crème brulee is! The steak and seafood were absurdly good. The salad, too. My side, a baked potato the size of a football, looked amazing, but I couldn’t eat it as I was stuffed. The desserts, as a table, we graciously declined, so I still don’t know what crème brulee is.
All in all, despite the extreme excess, what a treat! As I’ve said, I enjoy going out to eat, and I always enjoy my cheeseburger or chicken sandwich with fries and a coke. I’ve all but stopped eating fast food nonsense in place of the dining experience. After this weekend, I’m left wondering if I shouldn’t go a step further. Maybe I should hold off on the mediocre outings and save up for really nice meals once or twice a year. I would probably save money in the long run, and it almost certainly would be a healthier decision.
Right now, I’m stuck on the “but what would I do?” argument. Going out to eat is like entertainment! There are probably thousands of answers, but for some reason, my mind just can’t think of any. Maybe I’m just hungry… I think a bite out somewhere may help.
I have just posted something that I wrote in the moment and set the time stamp closer to that moment, but I’m afraid it might reveal a bit too much about what happens in my head at any given moment. I have quite a few of these posts that I write and write and write and then realize that they make very little sense, so I never post them and then they sit in limbo waiting to be posted. I feel sort of bad for them, but they’re usually the type that you’re right in feeling bad for.
Anyways, starting over based on this weekend, which included realizing that I didn’t want to be in downtown Philadelphia:
I enjoy going out to eat. I do this far too often, but it still feels like such a treat every time. This weekend, however, I got a real treat, a fancy meal at a fancy restaurant.
The place was just a steakhouse, but the $60 meal included steak and seafood, salad and sides, and the option of crème brulee among other stuff for dessert. I don’t even know what crème brulee is! The steak and seafood were absurdly good. The salad, too. My side, a baked potato the size of a football, looked amazing, but I couldn’t eat it as I was stuffed. The desserts, as a table, we graciously declined, so I still don’t know what crème brulee is.
All in all, despite the extreme excess, what a treat! As I’ve said, I enjoy going out to eat, and I always enjoy my cheeseburger or chicken sandwich with fries and a coke. I’ve all but stopped eating fast food nonsense in place of the dining experience. After this weekend, I’m left wondering if I shouldn’t go a step further. Maybe I should hold off on the mediocre outings and save up for really nice meals once or twice a year. I would probably save money in the long run, and it almost certainly would be a healthier decision.
Right now, I’m stuck on the “but what would I do?” argument. Going out to eat is like entertainment! There are probably thousands of answers, but for some reason, my mind just can’t think of any. Maybe I’m just hungry… I think a bite out somewhere may help.
Friday, July 09, 2010
Striking It Rich, or Just Striking Out
Today, my fate stared at me in the face, and I stared back.
It all started as I was getting gas. As soon as I opened my car door, there they were, two perfectly shiny pennies staring at me from the cement below, both with the familiar image of Abraham Lincoln winking at me. Both heads-up, and at a gas station no less. One lottery ticket would be in my near future. Make that one 42-million-dollar lottery ticket.
As I started up the gas pump, I realized I didn’t have any dollar bills on me. This is a rare event for me, so I wasn’t sure what to do. I scrounged through the shadows of my car hoping to find a stray dollar bill. I know there was one back there recently, I had used it as a bookmark. But alas, my search came up empty.
Then I saw the pile of change in my center console. Could I? My mind wondered deviously. Should I? I’ve never used coins to buy a lottery ticket and something about it just doesn’t sound right. Lottery tickets should be a passive activity, not a last-ditch, every-last-nickel event. I quickly threw decorum to the wind and counted up my change. A couple quarters, a few dimes, throw in a couple nickels, yep… a full dollar.
I finished up with the gas and left my car to go purchase my fortune. Then disaster struck. A third penny lay on the ground before the door. The light caught it just so that I knew from ten feet away that it showed the stately pillars of tails-up.
Time slowed. My mind raced as I approached the dream-killing penny. I reasoned that I found two good pennies so I’m still up overall, but I knew I was only fooling myself. I tried to doubt the power of the penny but realized that would be a bit hollow as it was a penny that started this. I briefly considered going around the store to the other door, perhaps I would have had I not been so close.
In the end, I bent down and, per my usual routine, flipped the upside down penny over and then picked it up and put it in my pocket. Create your own luck, I always say. But it just didn’t feel right this time.
I knew right away too. I would not be getting a lottery ticket. Not today. While this realization was devastating in and of itself, the timing of the realization now left me with bigger issues as I stood in a tiny convenience with nothing in particular to buy. I looked around and settled on…
The sixteen ounce can of Diet Pepsi.
That’s right… Today, twelve ounces wasn’t going to cut it. I needed each and every one of those extra four ounces and credit them with getting me through the day.
It all started as I was getting gas. As soon as I opened my car door, there they were, two perfectly shiny pennies staring at me from the cement below, both with the familiar image of Abraham Lincoln winking at me. Both heads-up, and at a gas station no less. One lottery ticket would be in my near future. Make that one 42-million-dollar lottery ticket.
As I started up the gas pump, I realized I didn’t have any dollar bills on me. This is a rare event for me, so I wasn’t sure what to do. I scrounged through the shadows of my car hoping to find a stray dollar bill. I know there was one back there recently, I had used it as a bookmark. But alas, my search came up empty.
Then I saw the pile of change in my center console. Could I? My mind wondered deviously. Should I? I’ve never used coins to buy a lottery ticket and something about it just doesn’t sound right. Lottery tickets should be a passive activity, not a last-ditch, every-last-nickel event. I quickly threw decorum to the wind and counted up my change. A couple quarters, a few dimes, throw in a couple nickels, yep… a full dollar.
I finished up with the gas and left my car to go purchase my fortune. Then disaster struck. A third penny lay on the ground before the door. The light caught it just so that I knew from ten feet away that it showed the stately pillars of tails-up.
Time slowed. My mind raced as I approached the dream-killing penny. I reasoned that I found two good pennies so I’m still up overall, but I knew I was only fooling myself. I tried to doubt the power of the penny but realized that would be a bit hollow as it was a penny that started this. I briefly considered going around the store to the other door, perhaps I would have had I not been so close.
In the end, I bent down and, per my usual routine, flipped the upside down penny over and then picked it up and put it in my pocket. Create your own luck, I always say. But it just didn’t feel right this time.
I knew right away too. I would not be getting a lottery ticket. Not today. While this realization was devastating in and of itself, the timing of the realization now left me with bigger issues as I stood in a tiny convenience with nothing in particular to buy. I looked around and settled on…
The sixteen ounce can of Diet Pepsi.
That’s right… Today, twelve ounces wasn’t going to cut it. I needed each and every one of those extra four ounces and credit them with getting me through the day.
Thursday, July 08, 2010
Haircuts
You know that you needed a haircut when afterwards people you normally never talk to comment on your hair. “Yep, got the summer cut!” I told one such person today. To another I quipped, “Oh, you like it? My ears certainly do!” After a few similar comments my response devolved into more of an Eeyore-esque admission, “Well, I suppose it was time.”
It definitely was time. I had so much hair I had started brushing it! I had stopped using the good shampoo simply because I didn’t want to waste the copious amounts needed to get a good lather. The hair-behind-the-ear-tuck had become my fidget of choice. My hair had gotten so long that I now have a tan line from where my hair used to be. It was definitely time.
There’s something strange about haircuts that always gives me something to talk about. Maybe it has to do with the twenty minutes of staring at yourself in the mirror… all the while having a five minute conversation with a stranger stretched out over the full amount of time. As painful as that is, I still prefer it to the newer type places where they have a big screen showing ESPN and they face you to it like you’re some sort of incapacitated drooler - “Look, it’s your favorite show!” – while you’re left to wonder what’s happening on that head of yours. Poor choice of words, perhaps, but you know what I’m talking about.
There are also the places that offer the big reveal at the end. I guess the ESPN places fit into this category too, but here, I mean the places that turn you towards the people waiting. It’s like being put on display, high up on the hair dresser chair. I feel like I should smile and approvingly cast down towards the audience below as if to say, “This! This is what you have to look forward to! Patience has its rewards.”
Then when they’re done they slowly spin you around for the big reveal, "So, what do you think?" I always feel obligated to say it looks great even if I don't think it does. I figure they're the professional not me. I don't want to offend such a skilled artisan by criticizing the fruits of their labor. Plus, it's just hair. Double plus, what would I say? "Oh, this just isn't right at all."
Even if you’ve gotten to watch yourself the whole time, there is still the big Ta-Da moment, I suppose. This is when they hold the mirror up so you can see the back. Recently, I've used this brief moment every couple of months to check up on my bald spot. I'm pretty sure the hairdresser isn't expecting the look of horror on my face as I'm frantically searching the mirror in their hand, but that's what they get.
They usually jump in with "You like it?" before I've actually had a chance to look, so I have to praise them for the unknown. But as I walk out into the fresh summer air, my ears definitely like it and it's then that I first think to myself, "Yeah, I suppose it was time."
It definitely was time. I had so much hair I had started brushing it! I had stopped using the good shampoo simply because I didn’t want to waste the copious amounts needed to get a good lather. The hair-behind-the-ear-tuck had become my fidget of choice. My hair had gotten so long that I now have a tan line from where my hair used to be. It was definitely time.
There’s something strange about haircuts that always gives me something to talk about. Maybe it has to do with the twenty minutes of staring at yourself in the mirror… all the while having a five minute conversation with a stranger stretched out over the full amount of time. As painful as that is, I still prefer it to the newer type places where they have a big screen showing ESPN and they face you to it like you’re some sort of incapacitated drooler - “Look, it’s your favorite show!” – while you’re left to wonder what’s happening on that head of yours. Poor choice of words, perhaps, but you know what I’m talking about.
There are also the places that offer the big reveal at the end. I guess the ESPN places fit into this category too, but here, I mean the places that turn you towards the people waiting. It’s like being put on display, high up on the hair dresser chair. I feel like I should smile and approvingly cast down towards the audience below as if to say, “This! This is what you have to look forward to! Patience has its rewards.”
Then when they’re done they slowly spin you around for the big reveal, "So, what do you think?" I always feel obligated to say it looks great even if I don't think it does. I figure they're the professional not me. I don't want to offend such a skilled artisan by criticizing the fruits of their labor. Plus, it's just hair. Double plus, what would I say? "Oh, this just isn't right at all."
Even if you’ve gotten to watch yourself the whole time, there is still the big Ta-Da moment, I suppose. This is when they hold the mirror up so you can see the back. Recently, I've used this brief moment every couple of months to check up on my bald spot. I'm pretty sure the hairdresser isn't expecting the look of horror on my face as I'm frantically searching the mirror in their hand, but that's what they get.
They usually jump in with "You like it?" before I've actually had a chance to look, so I have to praise them for the unknown. But as I walk out into the fresh summer air, my ears definitely like it and it's then that I first think to myself, "Yeah, I suppose it was time."
Monday, July 05, 2010
The Other Side of the Tracks
This weekend, Tiff and I Independently declared that No Longer would we be Held Under the Tyranny of National Holidays and that Our Freedom should Be Duly Exercised in accordance with our Life, Liberty and particularly this weekend, our Pursuit of Happiness. Yes, this weekend, rather than neighborhood parades and evening sparklers, Tiff and I returned to the Charles Town Racetrack to whist the day away betting on horses.
This weekend in Charles Town, West Virginia, however, the horses were not the main attraction. Neither was the Fourth of July. Or even a rare three-day weekend. This weekend, Charles Town Races and Slots became the Hollywood Casino in Charles Town. Table games galore! Fun? Yes. Good Clean Fun? No.
I’ve been doubting my original claim that Horse Racing is Good Clean Fun pretty much since I wrote it. The atmosphere has everything that I would look for in Good Clean Fun: Old-timey folks doing old-timey things, Leisurely activities that scream of yesteryear, Admiration for outdoorsy-types… yeah, maybe a bit of city-folk-in-the-country feel. However, it does involve gambling, but I think my mixed feelings originally stem from the enormous building attached to it filled with glowing slot machines.
Now, with poker and craps, blackjack and roulette, and all those crazy Asian card games, the Norman Rockwell image of Charles Town, WV has lost its apple pie charm to the temptations of Sin City. Yep, Charles Town has just wandered to the other side of the tracks.
They seem to have gotten off to a poor start too. The poker tables are just below the grandstand, or between the racetrack seats and the bathrooms, so that you have to walk alllll the way around. The poker tables weren't open either, much to the ire of many, many people. "I drove two hours to play poker and only 8 tables are going to open!" There aren't too many table game tables either and the result was, at 3 in the afternoon, the lowest limit was $50 dollars! $50 dollars just to play!!
It didn't drive people away though as they were packed full. One man I saw following an employee kept repeating, "That's it? That's all the tables?" The poor lady just repeated "Yes sir. All the tables are behind you," clearly annoyed by the common question.
All in all, it was extremely disappointing, and it will probably be awhile before I venture back to the racetrack again.
This weekend in Charles Town, West Virginia, however, the horses were not the main attraction. Neither was the Fourth of July. Or even a rare three-day weekend. This weekend, Charles Town Races and Slots became the Hollywood Casino in Charles Town. Table games galore! Fun? Yes. Good Clean Fun? No.
I’ve been doubting my original claim that Horse Racing is Good Clean Fun pretty much since I wrote it. The atmosphere has everything that I would look for in Good Clean Fun: Old-timey folks doing old-timey things, Leisurely activities that scream of yesteryear, Admiration for outdoorsy-types… yeah, maybe a bit of city-folk-in-the-country feel. However, it does involve gambling, but I think my mixed feelings originally stem from the enormous building attached to it filled with glowing slot machines.
Now, with poker and craps, blackjack and roulette, and all those crazy Asian card games, the Norman Rockwell image of Charles Town, WV has lost its apple pie charm to the temptations of Sin City. Yep, Charles Town has just wandered to the other side of the tracks.
They seem to have gotten off to a poor start too. The poker tables are just below the grandstand, or between the racetrack seats and the bathrooms, so that you have to walk alllll the way around. The poker tables weren't open either, much to the ire of many, many people. "I drove two hours to play poker and only 8 tables are going to open!" There aren't too many table game tables either and the result was, at 3 in the afternoon, the lowest limit was $50 dollars! $50 dollars just to play!!
It didn't drive people away though as they were packed full. One man I saw following an employee kept repeating, "That's it? That's all the tables?" The poor lady just repeated "Yes sir. All the tables are behind you," clearly annoyed by the common question.
All in all, it was extremely disappointing, and it will probably be awhile before I venture back to the racetrack again.
Thursday, July 01, 2010
The World Cup and My Wife
The exciting run the US had is sadly over and I’m having a hard time rooting for another team. Oh, if only I had some connection to Paraguay ! For those who care, I’m now behind the Netherlands , who will undoubtedly lose tomorrow. My basis for supporting the Netherlands at this point is because they wear orange. Orange looks nice on a green field.
While the US was ultimately somewhat of a disappointment, their adventure wasn’t without some benefit. Lots of people revealed themselves as being somewhere on the soccer fan ladder, most significantly, my wife. It was amazing… she got it! The final score of their final game was 2-1, and she was just as gripped by the suspense and drama of the event as I was!
Interestingly, once Tiff learned who the players were – names, faces and numbers – everything changed. She was attached to them and could root for the team through the players. Before the end of the first round, she knew the whole team, even the third string goalie! She would even make appropriate comments like, "Dempsey's taking a beating!" "C'mon Carlos!" and "Jozy! Oh, so close!"
I’ve been trying to transfer some of that enthusiasm to DC United, but it hasn’t quite stuck just yet. Tiff’s still caught up with the national team players, so much so that Benny Feilhaber is still the background on our computer.
We'll get 'em next time, Benny 22.
While the US was ultimately somewhat of a disappointment, their adventure wasn’t without some benefit. Lots of people revealed themselves as being somewhere on the soccer fan ladder, most significantly, my wife. It was amazing… she got it! The final score of their final game was 2-1, and she was just as gripped by the suspense and drama of the event as I was!
Interestingly, once Tiff learned who the players were – names, faces and numbers – everything changed. She was attached to them and could root for the team through the players. Before the end of the first round, she knew the whole team, even the third string goalie! She would even make appropriate comments like, "Dempsey's taking a beating!" "C'mon Carlos!" and "Jozy! Oh, so close!"
I’ve been trying to transfer some of that enthusiasm to DC United, but it hasn’t quite stuck just yet. Tiff’s still caught up with the national team players, so much so that Benny Feilhaber is still the background on our computer.
We'll get 'em next time, Benny 22.
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