Too tight for pants or pretentious pizza

Last night the family and I ventured out to California Pizza Kitchen. My daughter likes the Jamaican Jerk pizza and my wife and I enjoy the lettuce wrap appetizer. Overall though, this joint is not my favorite restaurant chain, as the food is pricey and well, I’m really CHEAP. In fact all the time I lived in ‘pretentious’ California, I never ate at these restaurants. Now I am more likely to visit one at some random harried airport in some random state OTHER than California.

I never quite relax at CPK. The place always wants to be far more than a pizza shop and it feels that way. I get the same feeling when looking at little glass miniatures in the mall. Everything is to be admired and longed for but NEVER touched. Personally I don’t think when you are paying upwards of $12 for a small pizza, you should be afraid to eat it.

Now for all you fans of CPK, don’t get me wrong the food is high quality and well prepared. I even am fortunate enough to know a couple of lacrosse ladies that work there so everyone treats us great. It is just that a long time ago I finally decided to separate the arts from eating food. I appreciate the beautiful pictures in recipe books and a chef’s artistry in preparation, but overall I really just want SOMETHING TO EAT without taking a loan out at our bank.

At California Pizza Kitchen I am served a small pizza with sliced peppers fanned around a center of three bean salsa, cilantro, tomatoes and chicken cubes, which is then drizzled with milky green chipotle sauce. This may be a beautiful pizza, but it clearly is for somebody else. Whatever happened to just pounding out a ball of dough, schmearing on a spoonful of tomato sauce, a handful of cheese and a pepperoni or two, and then toasting the thing? If I want peppers, I’ll ask for some jalepenos and cut them up myself. No it is not artful, or particularly unique – but it is SIMPLE, CHEAP, AND TASTES GREAT!

Also at CPK, the dinner plate sized pizza is fine for supper, but it just does not provide enough ‘extra’ to take home for the fridge. Cold pizza for breakfast is a luxury all unto itself around here. I guess I am just too antiquated and UPTIGHT to appreciate the finer things in life that’s all? No, actually I think that ‘squeaky’ tightness sound is mysteriously coming from behind my back and uncomfortably close to my posterior? WHEW – I was worried for a minute . . . that was just my WALLET!

Unfinished Vision - NEVERMORE!

Remember that cliché “a picture is worth a thousand words” . . . well, what do you make of this digital snap of a broken mechanical raven that I recently bought. To me, it is a PERFECT illustration of my ‘personal best’, when it comes to procrastinating and never finishing things that I start.

Don’t worry, I haven’t warmed up the noose yet, nor am I suffering a flashback Poe incarnation binging on alcohol, self pity, and despair. No, fear not, I am still fully engaged, as much as these old loose gears can be of course. I just happen to recognize that my principle failing in life, is not the things that elude my expertise, but actually the things that I CAN do well, but fail to follow through on and complete.

Call it laziness, boredom, disinterest, or a combo of all three – it doesn’t matter. The point is in life, if you want to REALLY succeed, you need to see your vision through and fairly quickly. You can have all the great ideas and a trunk-load of unmatched skills and abilities. But like speaking or writing, if you never finish your sentences, then only a precious few outsiders will ever understand what you are trying to say.

That does not mean that your vision must be small or quickly achieved simply to benefit others. On the contrary, the most satisfying of ultimate goals may take a lifetime of personal growth and experimentation to fully blossom. However it is developmentally critical that you have built in ‘markers’ or stages within your vision to track your personal progress. Don’t fall prey to having grandiose ideas and far-reaching goals without a plan of where you have been, and how far is yet to go before reaching that next evaluation marker.

So what’s the story with that dumb dead raven? Well he only cost a buck at a garage sale, so honestly as a metal sculpture alone, I was satisfied that I had met my first value marker. Next I’d like to rig up a new stepper motor and see if I can get the wings and mouth to flap again. There should be enough time between now and Halloween. Yep, ‘once upon a midnight dreary’ given my track record, this cold crow should warm up and ‘caw’ again somewhere around late 2025!

Military Intelligence

Far from a buffoon like me to judge the military and tell them what to do when it comes to public relations, buying planes, and high technology gizmos. After all I’m the guy whose ’P.R.’ skills produce a blog with only a dozen or so loyal followers. It’s also widely known that I have a hard time deciding between both guns or butter, and I’m still a little foggy over the whole ‘Spork’ thing. Is it REALLY more fork than spoon or vice versa?

Still when I see a few curious tidbits show up on my desk . . . oh sorry the hamster must be loose again – uh, lets regroup. When I HEAR an interesting news flash about the military or see some high-tech happenings brewing, I try to compile it and pass it along. You can then judge for yourself if the stories have merit, or need (much like these hamster treats) round filing.

This first piece of video is of an Israeli military unit on patrol apparently breaking the tension with a little synchronized dance number. The brass hats were none to amused but apparently the rest of the world is, because the vid went viral. In general, I prefer military units to ALWAYS remain professional when out in public. But let’s face it, there are flesh and blood humans under all that 70 pounds of battle-ready gear. ‘Professional’ does not mean lifeless, and if it ever does, don’t expect those automated robots to provide treats to lost puppies, or a comforting embrace to an innocent child caught in the crossfire.

For this next news item, I had to really break out the Stolichnaya so I could practice my Russian slurs. Because apparently the ‘Ruski’ aerospace conglomerate ‘United Aircraft’ wants a piece of the action of the $40 billion U.S. refueling tanker contract. No doubt the combined effort of Russia’s biggest names in planes can make a fine aircraft, and you might even find a few Air Force jockeys who MIGHT fly them. But the real question in my mind is ‘ARE YOU NUTS’? The air fueling wing is a major component of the global strategic defense plan for the United States. It is hard enough to let France’s EADS and NATO play in America’s proprietary sandbox, much less those ‘Siberian Laikas’ with their Cheshire cat smiles.

Finally let’s end on a high-tech happy note. Since our soldiers never know what risks they’ll ultimately face, I am whole-hog ‘gung-ho’ on TenCate’s new fire retardant Haute Couture for the U.S. Army’s Combat Uniform (ACU). Yes, these new camo-duds may not look new and improved, but take a gander at the vid here at about 30 seconds in on the company’s website. I can honestly say, if I was at the wrong end of a S’more fork, I know which uniform I would prefer to catch on ‘FIRE’ – fashionably speaking of course!

Cannibal Jam

Like the preference of millions of kids, I am a grape jelly fan. I know the choice is fairly benign as flavored toppings for toast go, but it is still my favorite. As a rule, I don’t like any kind of chunks floating around in my food. So preserves are a big ‘No No’, unless you are trying to corral untruthful and lazy wild animals like the aptly named ‘lions’.

Yes, keep that orange peel jam along with pulpy orange juice, and chunky fruit yogurt away from me. I want my jelly jolly pure, and everything else free of hidden texture and special surprises. So imagine my chagrin when yesterday reports from the U.K. surfaced of a jar of jam made from hair derived from the late Princess of Wales, Diana.

Can you believe they have already sold some 500 jars of this ‘hair-brained’ gunk for $7.60? Are anyone but cannibals and hairdressers dabbing this royal paste on their pancakes.? I’ve had a ‘Full Monty’ English breakfast in London, but I always thought THAT hair in my jam was by accident. If I had known tresses were so precious, I wouldn’t keep hacking off my mane, or my secondary hair for that matter.

If this Princess Diana ‘hair gel’ is such a good idea, why do they have to infuse the follicle with gin and a bunch of milk and sugar? Doesn’t anything with enough milk and sugar just end up tasting like ice cream mix? I’m sure the only thing that was REALLY infused with gin was the jam-packed liver of the guy who invented this ‘Do-Goo’. Who knows, if this fleecing trend keeps up, maybe Smuckers will open a bunch of salons to harvest other celebrity locks for jugs of jam. We already know that 'Hollyweird' seems to magically PRESERVE their looks and JELLY their brains!

Greasy Gift Cards

The one thing that my jury is still definitely OUT on is gift cards. I do like the convenience of being able to give an almost universally usable gift that ships flat and CHEAP. I also like that those skinny little cards can snuggle in behind other things in my wallet, and every now and again I find a surprise ‘bonus’ which MIGHT be enough to buy me a Slurpee.

But to be honest as a thoughtful remembrance, gift cards are probably my LAST choice as a caring gift. I know the recipient is thankful no matter what I give. But even if I choose a ‘lame’ gift, it is probably better than giving a card which the giftee will ultimately buy everyday stuff like Alka Seltzer or ear wax lube.

Like everyone, I am also really slow to use my gift cards. Instead of one or two credit cards, I have to load my wallet up with every store-specific gift card ‘just in case’ I stop to shop. Guy’s wallets now are like sitting on bricks. In fact we have to rotate our wallet between back pockets weekly, or like the food bank, we’ll be stuck with DENTED cans.

I also hate when a gift card has $1.03 or some odd tiny amount of remaining cash left on it. I still have to carry the thing around – you can’t throw it away. That would be dumb, just like tossing a fistful of change out on to a busy street. Who would do that, unless like me, your mission was to reduce enrollment at an overcrowded preschool and make some room for your kid? See I told you the jury is still out . . . I think the judge will let me off with a warning if I grease the wheels of justice – as long as he accepts GIFT CARDS of course!

Adult Diapers – Duty Calls

Can we talk privately for a minute? What would you do if you HAD to wear an adult diaper? No don’t worry, that LAST piece of my Missouri dignity still seems to be intact, unless of course I eat too much roadkill stew. It’s just that today I had to take leave of my ‘blog-droppings’ to RETURN some super DOOper, Depends adult ‘diapies’ to a Target store, and it got me thinking.

I know I know, it is a bad idea when I start to think, but believe me when you have to stand in front of a cash register lady and sheepishly hand over not one, but TWO packs of ‘panty hampers’ you’ll be trying to think, OF ANYTHING ELSE too! Couldn’t the stupid things be colorless white like normal underwear, rather than powder blue and pale pink WITH FLOWERS. I’m telling you, anytime I have been around diapers in the past, I may have been thinking I was in a field, but it was definitely NOT filled with fragrant flowers.

This whole thing started because of my wife’s air race adventure a couple of weeks ago. You might recall that originally she was scheduled to fly a very slow aircraft more than 2400 statute miles across the country. As a precaution, the crew decided to carry these ‘load-bearing bloomers’ rather than risk a mid-air explosion.

As luck would have it (for the pilots) the slow plane was replaced at the last minute with a very fast aircraft. I guess that karma caught up with me too, since inexplicably my duty became to dump the empty undies back at the store. Yes, I’ve been promoted from the race team’s dedicated ‘blogmaster’, to the adult diaper delivery boy, all in one day. Oh goody, the BOTTOM must be getting really close now!

The Spirit of Independence Day!

Happy Independence Day! Yes I gripe a lot about the Gov. and its multitude of problems and practices. But July 4th magically always draws me back in and encourages pause for reflection on the good ol’ U.S. of A. From my earliest days as a tot to now as a graying geezer, this day has always been one of my favorite holidays to stand in awe of not only America as a nation, but my incredible individual good fortune as an AMERICAN as well.

Even if you are not a fan of all the fireworks, fanfare, and hoopla associated with the holiday, I think you might change your mind a bit if all that stuff were missing. What better way to add an exclamation point to the ideals of personal FREEDOM, than with endless volleys of pyrotechnic mortars or a long sweaty parade?

But this day is more than fireworks, BBQ’s, and park outings, it is truly about the ever-present yet intangible SPIRIT that silently propels this nation forward through thick, thin, and the impossible. Regardless of political persuasion or personal identity, even when things get tough, Americans have proven time and time again – we have the will, and literally the 'constitution' to carry-on and make a difference.

Yeah, I’m sure our forefathers would have preferred the fun of shooting off a week’s salary worth of Chinese made fireworks, rather than capturing the true essence of the American spirit. They chose wisely, though, at incredible personal risk, to dog it out and translate that founding philosophy onto a little hunk of parchment called, the Constitution. How we got so lucky, I will never know. All I know is that I am proud, in awe, and incredibly hungry for a grilled burger, chips, and double helping of gratitude!

Missouri Mosquitoes take a toll

You know I have been a pretty good transplanted Missourian. I have tried to fit in and live a pretty unremarkable and decent life. I have gone out of my way to NOT feed the hillbillies or pick the state flower off trees (White Hawthorne Blossom). I do not complain about the weather, despite my undisputed legitimate right , when the temperature drops 50 degrees in a single day. So why must I endure the indignity of endless blood sucking by these relentless Missouri mosquitoes (M&M’s)?

In California, M&M’s were for eating not for slapping and scratching. In fact mosquitoes were practically non-existent within 10 miles of the ocean. In Missouri, they seem to travel in marauding gangs that hover ceaselessly looking to sample my life juice. Hey I know the only mosquitoes biting me are females, but why can’t I be this attractive to women of my own species? You’d think I WAS the mosquito as many times as human girls have told me to buzz off.

With literally a million different types of insects to ‘bug’ and only fifty four hundred or so species of mammals in the world, why must Missouri mosquitoes focus so much on me. Is my milky slab of flab so enticing that those Ozark ‘fly-by-biters’ find me totally irresistible, and ready to probe freely without remorse? I thought usually that kind of thing only went on in prisons - not out in the open in a suburban backyard.

So now you name it; in-between my poor knuckles, the backs of my knees, the tops of my ears – I’ve been violated mercilessly everywhere, by these stealthy skeeters. If these little flying freaks are so head up for a carbon dioxide fix, why not just dive into a Diet Coke and suck-up a bender on a bounty of bubbles? I know that in reality, the M&M’s, like everyone after a dose of diuretics, are just answering nature’s call. With my trusty ‘skeeter-squisher’ in hand, I too must answer the call to duty – but MY response will surely exact a far costlier toll!

The Luxuries of Laundry

What’s the deal with all of this luxurious stuff required to do laundry now days? I rolled in an overloaded hamper into the laundry room and was faced with a cabinet full of sprays, detergents, brushes and those irritating sorting bins. I cannot believe all this is necessary to get the stink out of clothes. How do people who live under bridges or in cardboard boxes handle such chores?

Do you think our ancient ancestors put up with all of this processing and these intricate procedures to prepare their loin cloths for quality time with a rock in the river? I honestly doubt it. As I recall, whenever I’ve ventured to antique shops, all that was required was a tin tub and a washboard. Even the more modern washing machines simply had a motor, pulley, and an impeller to slosh the clothes around – what else do you need?

We have spray that specifically attacks stains, little bottles to preserve colors, big bottles to supposedly wash the clothes, bleach for whites, and some kind of conditioner packets. After the clothes go for a swim, then they get to tumble around in the heat, like a day at the beach, with some anti static sheets. Eventually the duds will finally find their way racked on hangers of every size, shape, color, and configuration.

Sometimes I wonder if those homeless folks are on to something with their simple, no frills lifestyle. I’m fairly capable at walking around with a month’s worth of grime ground into my clothes. Just think of all the water I could save if I did all my wash in a local city fountain. I could sort my vast wardrobe of socks and overcoats using sturdy chrome shopping carts instead of those flimsy plastic baskets we use now. And even if I can’t quite get all the 'ripe', street-people ardor washed out, you know the drying will really be top notch. After-all, when your homeless, hanging around stinky is the ONE THING you’re pretty darn good at.

Cone to Cream Paradox

Though my wife ‘T’ is not particularly infatuated with ice cream, she does love a good Sugar Cone. Since those cones have no tops, they aren’t much good for gun powder so the wife ends up with Breyer’s Vanilla ice cream on top instead. If she is going to take in the calories, no other brand or flavor is an adequate substitute.

Now my kid on the other hand has a preference for those regular flat-bottom cake cones but she prefers any kind of ice cream EXCEPT vanilla. Since I am more from the ‘tar pit’ edge of history, I possess many mammoth qualities in addition to the prerequisite sticky pits. So I live by the rule that I will eat just about ANYTHING that is smaller than I am and does not gag on me as a hot appetizer first.

So goes the paradox. My freezer can barely hold another bag of frozen peas, much less ten kinds of ice cream. All this flavored ice cream real estate is kind of cramping my freezer’s tater-tot to pizza roll reserve ratio. I have room in the cupboard for both styles of cones, but all that protective crush-proof packaging is very bulky. The Cream of Wheat remains loyal, but it has heard rumors and rumblings from the cold cereals of a possible mutiny if things don’t change soon. I clearly need a combo Cream n’ Cone solution and fast.

I really think I am creative enough to solve this problem. Aren’t both types of cones REALLY made out of sugar anyway? I’m sure the cake cups must have sugar in them or they would be tasteless like cardboard – oh wait, THEY ARE! Ok then, let’s start off easier and check the refrigerator to try to dress-up that plain vanilla ice cream into something special for the kid. Hmmm, I’ve got pepperoni, jalepenos, dill pickles, leftover tater-tots – for some reason I’m feeling this combo is leaning more towards a pizza than my creamy iced-treat goal?

Oh forget it, I’ll just have to acquire a second freezer for my tots, peas, and party snacks. Let those picky specialty brands of flavored creams and cones keep the other ice-box all to themselves. I learned that problem-solving technique from our politicians. “There is never a problem of our own making that is too big to tackle, or too small to ignore.” Of course, the REAL paradox is getting someone ELSE to handle the problem for you, and then most importantly, pay for it, no matter what the cost, with THEIR OWN MONEY! Gee I wonder who will loan me a couple of million bucks for a big variety of ice cream, cones, and a really GOOD freezer?

'HIGH FIVE' reasons Ozzy's still alive

Although 61 years is not really a record-breaking age to live to anymore, it isn’t bad for a rock-head like John “Ozzy” Osbourne. I don’t think personal longevity is one of the pre-conditions when auditioning for a heavy metal band like Black Sabbath. I mean all the occult stuff, hard booze, drugs, and oh yeah, biting the head off of an occasional bat (The furry flyer kind not the wood baseball ones), usually leads one to a reduced lifespan or at best - rabies.

So since ‘Ozzy O’ has beaten the odds so far, in his foggy and muddled mind, he got the fun idea to hook up with a genome mapping company to find out what makes his DNA tick. Being British and never pale to ale, little did Ozzy know, when the DNA folks asked him to share a pint, they actually meant , a pint of his BLOOD. This should finally dispel the age old myth and definitely prove, you CAN get blood from a turnip.

So CLICK HERE to see a more detailed video summary of the ground-breaking DNA gene science and research expectations from a bag of broken-down Osbourne hemoglobin. Or just skip the egghead explanation and go with my ‘High Five’ reasons Ozzy’s main blood supply is still in ‘circulation’ even if his brain isn’t. Enjoy . . .

1) Ozzy is the poster boy for why ancient Egyptians removed the brain BEFORE mummification

2) Osbourne is the last living model for ‘Hippie-style’ John Lennon sunglasses

3) He is the last U.L. approved test monkey for aggressive shock-treatment centered speech therapy

4) Official hair extension donor for cousin ’IT’ and Lindsay Lohan

5) National ‘spokes-squid’ for the powerful union “Inked Brotherhood of human Cephalopods”

Dirty Work Sacrifice

Can somebody explain to me the science behind, why my house and windows get so filthy all of the time. This dump is like having a little baby again that needs to be pampered and preened every day. Actually, just like when I had a baby, I don’t even care if they TRULY are dirty, as long as it doesn’t show to the casual observer.

I especially hate working on the computer in the early morning when magically the sun will come up and scare me. No I am not a vampire, though as a blogger the similarity can be confusing; it’s just the rising sun at an acute angle, hits the windows just right. This of course, while signaling my primal need for caffeine, also dramatically highlights the rivulets of dirt, grime, and bird strikes on my home’s wall of windows.

I know I sound like a royal whiner but you have to understand, to remedy my castle’s need for clean crenulations – well it requires a lot of work. I will have to push the special doorbell that I installed into my daughter’s dungeon suite so that she will come out when I need her. I will have to show her where the soap, ladder, catapult, and pressure washer is. Then I may have to wait upwards of a WHOLE FORTNIGHT to finally receive ‘instant gratification’ that only sparkling parapet windows and siding can provide.

Lest you forget, I am from the dark underbelly of medieval society that forages for ideas and humorous asides from other people’s leavings, leftovers, and misfortunes. I don’t actually DO anything – I’m kind of like that irritating reminder of yesterday’s gruel left on your table plates - AFTER they’ve been cycled in the dishwasher. I hang-on long enough to needle YOU into action, but escape your ‘fingernail justice’ just-in-time with a light rinse under the tap. Yeah like my windows, it’s dirty work. But I'm happy to sacrifice myself (or more appropriately my kid), in the name of science and have the chance, to cleanly live-on to WRITE another day!

Pitch a Chip Fit

Maybe more than most people I like spicy snack chips. Yeah a lot of humans can’t get enough ice cream , cakes or cookies, but you can keep all that sweet stuff. I need my salted triangles, flat pepper crackers, and crunchy ‘hot’chips. But just because of that fact, the people at Doritos should not take advantage of my indiscriminate spicy-liking, yet ‘chipper’ nature with their clever packaging.

Now the problem is that the Frito Lay folks have decided to start marketing bags of all kinds of weird flavored chips. Most tend to be acceptable combinations of spicy salsa flavors like Habanero n’ Cheese or Chili and Lime and they all are in excitingly colorful red bags. However, I found a flavor variety this week with Japanese written on a yellow-green bag. The name on this new mystery chip was simply, “Doritos, Mr. Dragon’s Fire Chips”.

Now I don’t know about you, but that sounds PRETTY GOOD to me! I mean “fire chips” and a DRAGON on the SAME package? You cannot get a much better representation of a hot, spicy, and salty snack chip than that. It looked like a bag of fireworks so I fell instantly in true love! The only problem is that it has been more than 25 years since I studied Japanese, so I could not remember the meaning of the Japanese writing on the package. All I knew was since it was Katakana, it HAD to be a Japanese attempt at a phonetic translation of a foreign descriptive word like “Crunchy or Jumbo” – well you get the idea.

So I get this curious green Doritos bag home and of course I have to dive right into the contents. I was on a mission to see what rare flavor treat this “dragon fire chip” had in store for me. The smell alone wafting from the open package gave it away. But once that golden chip with the unique and very green flavor dust hit my tongue, I instantly remembered what the three syllable Katakana word on the packaging said – WA-SA-BI!

Yes that nasty and brutally hot sushi mustard, Wasabi had tainted my lips and worse yet the WHOLE 12 ounces of my $4 bag of chips! What have I done to Frito Lay to deserve such treatment? I am a loyal customer, willing to risk my own health and financial security to eat their pricey, heart-stopping products. Heck I am even dumb enough to fall in love with their pretty green packaging even if the critically important main flavor ingredient is written in a foreign language.

So needless to say I was not happy and half a mind to pitch a fit AND those chips to the wind. But a cool head prevailed and I thought better of it. Whatever my daughter’s friends won’t eat, I will RECYCLE the rest as organic ‘mustardy-mulch’ around the garden. Then, not only will I truly be going GREEN, but as soon as it gets dark, our pesky raccoon moochers will be too!