Monthly Archive for August, 2010

Page 5 of 6

Sale Tax Holidays at Whole Foods gives me Earworm

Tax Holidays

A bunch of states are giving shoppers a “tax holiday.” States that can’t meet their budgets and are cutting essential services have decided it’s smart to give up a revenue stream for a weekend.  The rationale is that this is “back-to-school” time and stores are stuffed with shoppers.

Harriet puts this into perspective

The National Retail Federation says that a U.S. family, on average, is expected to shell out $606.40 on clothes, shoes, supplies and electronics this year, up from $548.72 last year…

At best, 9% sales tax (Tennessee) would save $54.  I’ll bet you dollars to donuts (yum, donuts) any Mom dragging along kids to shop for school spent that much on junk food today.

Tax holidays are stupid.

Whole Foods

Last weekend was the first weekend all summer I didn’t kayak. You decide the reason:

  • Nancy had hand surgery
  • It stormed all weekend

At any rate, I hung around the house and watched her  drug induced slumber. This weekend she is out of drugs. I told her we were doing something this weekend: whatever she wanted – with or without dogs.

She decided she wanted to go to the grocery. Whole Foods.

We don’t have a Whole Foods in Smallburg, we had to drive to Nashvegas.  Why? Because her friends say “it’s the best grocery store you will ever see.”

That’s kind of like “it’s the best root canal you will ever have.”

The place was full of organic, tofu, locally grown, gluten-free, overpriced yuppies. Dayam. Stuff was expensive! But people were filling their hemp cloth bags like the holocaust was upon us.

Had a lot of good samples, better than Sam’s Club. We bought five bananas and a bottle of extra virgin olive oil. And, we bought  a baguette of bread and some artichoke and Parmesan cheese to eat on the way home.

Earworms

Last night Orchestra Smallburg had a ’70s music concert sponsored by Chuck and Mary Barris. Yeah, THAT Chuck Barris! Smallburg has a lot of great local talent: they raid the church choirs and university. If ever there was an opportunity for me to have an earworm, last night was it. Didn’t happen. I miss having earworms after a concert!

Grandad, an Irish fellow, calls it a “snatch”. If he knew the 70s American definition of “snatch” he would be more careful about wiping it. He has a method of wiping a snatch.

I keep my haunting little piece to hand now.  If ever I am troubled by any repetitive snatch, I play my wee sound track.  It never fails.  It erases both the irritating piece, and also itself.  I am left with a clear, unmelodic head.

Larry indulges his earworms, nay embraces them!

If you know me, you can probably guess the rest. I wound up with an earworm. And so did my friend. We spent a lot of the rest of the day asking one another to stop whistling.

He compiled a post based on his ear worm, complete with narrative and links.

I decided last night about 6/8 of the way through the concert and after surveying the crowd at halftime, the Orchestra Smallburg maestro must be very frustrated.

First, he is no slouch at waving his stick at musicians. He has conducted the St. Petersburg (Russia) State Symphony (and other guest stints) and his leadership of the finale of the Charleston Piccolo Spoleto got a rave:

“the very best Piccolo Spoleto Finale in the history of the festival.”
But the dude has to realize, 7/10 of the audience isn’t hearing all the notes because of hearing loss from medication or listening to 70′s music cranked up on the eight-track.
That is all, you may now resume your normal activities.

The Woman Who Had No Kitchen

Hortense Shenefield lived in a house with no kitchen.

Yeah, Hortense. One of my mother’s bridge buddies. The others were Darlene, and Mrs. Berman.

I don’t know why it was OK to call the other ladies by their first names, but it was always Mrs. Berman. Maybe because she was jewish.

Anyboringway, Hortense was the mother of one of our gang. Like the Stand By Me gang. Lloyd was son of Louie and Hortense – owner/operators of the Standard Oil Gas Station across the street from my house.

The gas station was in front of their house but a little to the east too. So the driveway to their house was also the driveway to the gas pumps.

Very similar to this abandoned gas station…  no iconic overhang, nothing dramatic, just a small service station. (Oil change pit was in the back.)

Here is the house now (thanks Google Maps!), so imagine the rear corner of the gas station was where that gigantic tree is now…

A small sidewalk led from the front door of the house to the back door of the gas station – where Hortense had her “kitchen.” It  was a two burner stove, refrigerator and table to seat three. I rarely saw it and usually only was passing through, but it was tiny!

This is one of those mysteries I never asked about and wish now I did. I’ve lost touch with Lloyd and everybody else who might know is dead.

Why didn’t Hortense have a kitchen in the house?

Hortense and Louie had indoor plumbing, so it wasn’t like they were totally backwoods.

Maybe it was a throwback to plantation days where the kitchen was away from the house in case it caught fire.

But living next to a few hundred gallons of gasoline would kinda make that moot, doncha think?

Why Drifters Love Kayaking

Me and the Green River

Imagine getting in a kayak and drifting from the Cayman Islands to Key West 600 miles away. Impossible you scoff?

The Coast Guard found a drifting kayak 4 miles from Key Largo, Floridia. No body was found with the yak. But the Coast Guard had to determine the origin of the small craft. (Why? Dunno.)

“This is certainly a crazy, crazy story — just bananas front to back,” said Sam Dawson, owner of the kayak.  “Even if you understand the Gulf Stream, it’s a pretty phenomenal story of how it traveled that far.  And it’s pretty phenomenal how they found me.”  Six weeks ago, while enjoying the surf at his home in the Caymans, Dawson lost his ride.  “I got caught by a wave and flipped off,” Dawson said.  “The wave took the surf ski away from me — I assumed never to be seen again.”

How can you not love a hobby that requires no effort and can lead you to exotic lands?

Bad Things Come In Fores!

Fore! What golfer’s yell when a shot goes awry. Often followed by profanity.

1. Garage door spring broke. Patched and one week to get part.

2. Clothes washer died, error code 51, fully covered by Whirlpool because of my brick washing avocation. One week to get part.

3. Router didn’t withstand a relatively minor lightning strike. I didn’t survive installing new router. Part from Office Depot, hours to install

4. Nancy’s right hand wore out. Part removed, no replacement parts available.

I’m More of an Utz Cheese Ball Man, Myself.


Morrie Yoahi, R.I.P.

I do like Cheez Doodles, but the local Sam’s Club prefers I buy the gigantic tub of Utz Cheese Balls. Prefers, hell, forces me! It’s the only cheese-like crunchy stuff they carry.

Morrie Yohai was an adopter – an adapter – an innovator: He put his know how into making a new product out of an old one.

Dipsy Doodles were his inspiration.

He changed the Dipsy Doodle machine he owned to make mushy cornmeal into little tubes and had them coated with “cheese” and other processed crap that would lead to addictive behavior and yellow fingers everywhere.

His company also made ice cream cones – King Cones.

Melba Toast. Yeah, that was Morrie’s company too.

He died of  cancer brought on by Yellow Fever.

I bought some BAKED off-brand cheesy flavored tubular crunchy things last night.

Blech.

Had I known, I would have looked harder for bonafide Cheez Doodles.

It’s the least I could do for Morrie and his legacy.

Another smart guy dies just to beat U.S. out of some taxes!