So goes the calzones...

Believe it or not I do try to look on the bright side of things in most every situation. Last night’s news cast required too much effort. I never watch the local news (in any town) in that I have always believed the "news" to be regionalistic (not sure if that's a word). "We're the best town ever and here's why…" Not only that, it is usually slanted to help people justify their over priced homes by harping on and even exaggerating stories from "that" part of town. The type and quality of the news usually provides little interest for me.

I have also even seen broadcasts where there was actually less than a minute of "news." It seems that unless there is immediate info to make the "nicer" parts of town appear nice and the "bad" parts of town seem worse, it is interpreted as a, “slow news day.” Where am I going with all this? Well, I accidentally saw the first three minutes of the local news last night. I had just brushed my teeth and cleaned my eye glasses and returned to my bedroom when the broadcast started. As I've already wrote, I don't watch local news so the anchor seemed unfamiliar. No matter, his exuberance and plastic looking hair were indeed familiar. In a much trained professional excited voice he led off with a story too bull-shity to believe.

Apparently, this town has successfully survived the economic downturn. Apparently, released state figures show the unemployment rate at 7.3% or some such manufactured number. That rate is lower than the state's and the nation’s. The point that the rate is still too high was only addressed as an aside. The field reporter took the story after the lead in and ran with it. He interviewed a woman who had just opened a Calzone shop in an area this town terms "trendy." She had a “help wanted” sign in her shop window which has gone mostly unnoticed, she told the reporter. She needed people to help make the Calzones and deliver them to her hungry patrons. The story ended with her telling the reporter that she hoped to find people for her minimum wage slow deaths (not her words) soon so her husband could spend a bit more time at home. I know what you're thinking. There are indeed all sorts of literature about starting your own business because you want to work less but, one argument at a time. My problem was that a calzone shop with a couple of minimum wage openings is hardly evidence of an economic recovery.

The calzone as an economic indicator? I guess maybe an interview with say an economist or a corporate CEO might have fared better. Are manufacturing jobs up? Are people spending more on stuff they don't need? Aren't these some of the many questions that are usually queried to judge economy health? Not in this town. Apparently, so goes the calzones, so goes the town.

Further, the idea that someone in search of a minimum wage job would even be on the street where the calzone shop is located is silly in and of itself. The city has funded and designed that neighborhood to discourage "po" folks from being about. I am sure you know what I mean; every city has such an area.

I think I will stop writing here. I am getting depressed by a number of things. The thought that the story passed for news, the thought that many watching it will actually believe that it is a sign of things getting better and most importantly that it discourages those in power from doing their jobs better because we now have jobs and people are just not applying. Oi!

What Not to Gift a Germaphobe

I don't want to slam the maker of that fruit arrangement that you can send to anyone anywhere in the country. They are a business with an idea; an idea that has caught on. I chatted with the neighbor Tom (not his real name) yesterday when a delivery van pulled up. The cheerful driver after checking the name and all, handed the neighbor this large munchable arrangement. It had what appeared to be pieces of melon on sticks carved like Clip Art flowers. They were bright and melon colored with pineapple even. Although, it had plastic wrap about it the neighbor said exactly what I was thinking, "Dear God," or "Dios Mio" or words to that effect. Who would send such a thing? It was at this point that the neighbor and I discover that we had much in common. We are somewhat germaphobes. The idea of eating something not knowing where it comes from is foreign to both of us. I have over the years learned to fear restaurants for the same reason. I even make certain that my own hands are sterile to prepare food for myself.

I stared at the arrangement and then the neighbor. "WTF," he offered. "Indeed," I offered. "Who sent you that," I asked? It had come from one of the neighbor's pleased customers. We both looked as if we had stepped in poop. We confessed that we were thinking the same things. We had seen the commercials many times and thought that peeled fruit and most likely underpaid labor was a very bad combination. Can you honestly imagine what has had an opportunity to create a biological home on that carved and peeled fruit while it is being arranged and transported? Is the factory sterile? Do the workers were face masks and multiple mil thick elbow length gloves. And how are those plastic bags that cover them made? No, I can't imagine any of it would meet the standards of a person who uses hand sanitizer each and every time he sits down at the computer. Yuck.

Tom told me that he felt the same and added he was insulted to receive such a gift. "Who the hell would eat that," he demanded? We made our way to the side of his house where the gift could make a new home in the galvanized garbage car waiting there.

We then wondered how much the thing costs. I checked on line and the thing was close to one hundred bucks. It costs a great deal more than a simple thank you note that one might file and remember longer or rather pleasantly longer. Now, the unwitting sender will long be remembered for sending brightly covered germs as a token of his thanks. What a swell idea, an expensive bacterial arrangement.

A Stinky Idea

It’s raining, lighting and thundering and I am not afraid. I do not know why I thought of this tale from years ago this morning. There might be lessons here though-

I saw four large men wheel it away this morning, the French Fry Vending Machine. It has been replaced with an additional soft drink machine. The French fry vending machine was monstrous. It was almost twice the size of an average soft drink vending machine. The McDonald's French fry machine prepared piping hot deep fried Waffle Fries. Can you believe that, hot deep fried waffle fries at your convenience while you wait? It was almost as if we had died and gone to clogged artery heaven. However, there were negative aspects to this badly market tested technological and culinary marvel.
I believe it frightened people. All anyone ever knew of was that French Fries came from fast food establishments, the microwave or in some rare instances from the kitchens of elder matrons and guy with big guts. "From a vending machine," was different, it just was not right.
To assuage their fears, they made fun of it in the campus newspapers. They even gave it funny nicknames, none of which I can recall. Regardless of the nicknames, some were brave or hungry enough to eat the product. I would often see a waffle or two just below the monster on the floor where someone's eagerness led to carelessness. "Unfortunately," these curious fans did little to help make the Fry monster a profitable venture.
Given that the waffle fry fans probably totaled no more than an order of the space age delicacies, this could not out-weigh two important facts. The monster generated great heat and cooking oil invariably becomes rancid and smells bad. The hallway where the monster stood was at least 20-30 degrees warmer than the rest of the building. I would feel ill just walking through there. It was after a few weeks that I made the connection along with everyone else that the Fry monster was the culprit. A few hours after the Fry monster was taken away to where bad vending ideas go to die, I noticed these words scrawled on a sheet of notebook paper and taped to the wall where the monster once stood, "I Can Breathe Again."
In addition to the great heat generated, the dirty oil smell was almost immediate and filled the hallway near the library tunnel entrance. I really don't believe that others did but, I wondered where the oil went; was it just recycled indefinitely; was it at least filtered each time? My guess from the smell would be the obvious answers of, no and no.
The passing of the McDonald's French Fry Vending Machine was significant in that it may be one of the first times that something that we did not need, wasn't good for us and did not want left the market place so quickly. Yeah, yeah, I know you're thinking it was because of the lack of profits but, I say, "...his wonders to unfold."