Monthly Archives: September 2017

It’s Perfect

It’s nearing the end of August and it’s an awesome day. It’s 85 degrees, little humidity, I’m waiting for the bus. Okay, so maybe it’s only a good day. But there I am standing at a bus stop checking out my surroundings. It’s been awhile since I’ve taken this many busses but it’s good to see much hasn’t changed.

There’s still a woman in 85 degree weather with a bulky sweater on; a couple of drunk old guys trying to get into a conversation with anyone who walks past; a couple of pill heads barking at invisible shadows; and me. I don’t know what that says about me and, frankly, I don’t want to know.

I’m just standing there taking looking around at the collected mess when something catches my eye. It’s not something you’d expect to see on a hot August night. It’s a woman (okay, you’d expect to see that) with a cart filled to the brim with Christmas decorations. Plastic Santa’s, boxes of reindeer, a singing Christmas tree, decorations upon decorations. Incongruous at best I’d say.

I’ve been in stores and, even with the way things are going, I haven’t seen Christmas displays yet. None of the stuff looks store fresh anyway. I start to wonder what the urgency of having to transport these off-season items is when something else the woman is carrying caught my eye.

It’s a boxed item called the ‘Perfect Bacon Bowl’. Oh sure, some of that makes sense. Bacon is, after all, perfect. But a bowl of it? Coming from a box? More oddities from this woman’s cart. I stare at the box, transfixed, forgetting all about my earlier Christmas conundrum. This is now the oddest thing I’ve seen today.

The back of the box is visible so I can’t see the smiling bacon themed mascot but I bet he’s a cutie called something like ‘Peter Porker’. I could see what I infer is the slogan though: Everything tastes better in a BACON BOWL! There’s nothing to refute that and, because they screamed it at you, it has to be true. Having never seen a bacon bowl myself I’m just going to take their word for it that they did their due diligence before being thusly crowned.

There was an array of photos showing that the ‘Perfect Bacon Bowl’ would be just, well, perfect for so many items. But I had my questions. Some of the pictured items, I must admit, seemed somewhat less than perfect. I mean, yes, eating Mac N’ Cheese out of a bowl is standard but a bowl made of bacon? I don’t know how daintily you chow down on M’NC but that bacon bowl would crumbled faster than the Washington Capitals come playoff time.

Next pictured was the totally unworkable burger. The bacon bowl, itself, may be perfect but their box design team needs to step up their game to keep pace. I mean, I don’t know how big your ‘Perfect Bacon Bowl’ would be but having one that you could fit a burger into has to render it impossible to shove down your gullet. It would make it the size of a softball with a coating hard and sharp enough to slice up your awaiting face.

The next one made sense, on the outside. The next item offered up as perfect for the ‘Perfect Bacon Bowl’ was a BLT. Oh yeah, I know what you’re thinking, one third of that gifted sandwich is right in the title how can it not be perfect? But it has the same bowl to mouth issues as the burger. Even if you found a way to get it into mouth I have issues with the sustainability of the gnawed upon bowl itself. Structurally the moment you break down one side of the bowl a fission would occur across the entire surface causing it to become untenable as an edible bowl. I think in this scenario all you’d end up with is a table full of bacon bowl bits and a lap full of the BLT itself.

But it was the fourth and final suggestion that caused me to pause the most. Mainly because I’ve never considered the combination of bacon (bowl form or other) and dessert to be a suitable combination. Don’t get me wrong, I love bacon. I’d punch a pig in the face for holding out on me. But I’ve never tied it in with my post dinner repast.

But there it was, a picture of a perfect ice cream sundae happily plopped into a ‘Perfect Bacon Bowl’. It had to be stunt food because I know the amount of lighting it takes to shoot an advertising photo and in two minutes that entire situation would be a soupy mess.

Considering the meltability factor (who likes soggy bacon? Terrorists, that’s who) the thought of eating a butterscotch sundae then topping that off with a congealed container of moist, limp bacon can hold no appeal to any discerning palate. But, bless our artery clogging hearts, if you are among the multitude who find this not only appealing but appealing enough to get off your lazy asses, right there on some randomly frightening grocery store shelf are lined up rows and rows of what I am lead to believe is the ‘Perfect Bacon Bowl’.

To quote Yakov Smirnoff in the only quotable quote he’s ever quoted, “What a country!”


It’s just advice

I’m talking to a guy who is known to be loud during football games. It’s one reason he prefers to watch the games at his house. See? Polite guy.
His wife doesn’t see it that way. She heads down to the basement to remind him that, the house may be empty, but they do have neighbors. It’s an ongoing struggle for the both of them.
During this preseason she was watching games with him and she mentioned how it was nice to see that he can watch the game like a civilized man. He reminds her that it’s pre-season so he doesn’t feel as if he’s in full yelling strength.
But even during the preseason he can get riled up as he did during a boneheaded play during the last tune-up game. His wife stands up, gets in front of him and says, “They can’t hear you, you know?”
Of course he understands that. But it’s at that moment it’s the reaction he has. It’s like making a guttural sound when something amazing happens during (your favorite team or program here) for you.
I asked him if his wife liked romantic movies, he said yes. I asked her if she has ever cried during one of those said movies, he said yes.
“Then next time she cries during a movie stand in front of her and say, ‘They can’t hear you, you know?'”
I’m going to be the cause of someone’s divorce some day.

The Journey – Part 3

If you need a refresher click here parts 1 & 2.

I slowly saunter back down the stairs I moments ago hurried up. I’m heading to the food court. Specifically, this one bar there.

I’ve never been in this one before but I’ve been in it’s sister bar in the city. To all the hip, happening people in the know it’s called TITS. Because when you put the full title of the bar into initials it spells tits. Good enough a place to drink I’ve heard from many a child.

I now have fifty minutes to kill. A cold beer and a warm ball game and I’ll be just fine. My girlfriend who is going to meet me in a bar on the other side will sooner or later figure out I missed the bus. She’s good like that. I pull up a chair, order a beer and proceed to attempt to forget the last hour of my life.

I’m sitting there watching the ballgame when a guy sits next to me. He’s making so much noise I know he wants to get a conversation going. Hey, Starshine, go talk to someone without a homicidal hair-trigger. You’ll thank me later. He asks for the beer menu then proceeds to read it for five, six, seven minutes. I’ve been tracking tight seconds for so long I’m starting to sweat thinking about how much time he’s wasting.

He motions the bartender over to make his choice. They’re out. Sort of funny. He and the bartender go back and forth. He finally picks another. Damn! This is getting funnier. Strike two. The bartender begins rattling off the beers they do have but he goes it on his own with his third choice. Boy is my mood elevated right now. I’ll admit to being a little tweaked when I missed the bus. But this guy’s utter failure to pick a beer is cheering me up.

Thanks smelly hippie!

After a short time a woman sits to my right. I don’t engage her, she doesn’t engage me. My most successful transaction of the day. She orders two drinks and the bartender questions her. She explains that her husband is on the way. I sit there silently while three time beer picker loser boy pulls what looks like leaves and roots out of plastic bags. They are all meticulously handled so they must have meaning to him. Which he desperately wants to explain to me as he shakes and holds the plastic bags aloft. Ah, back off, pinecone, I don’t have time for another cult.

After one beer he left. I asked the woman if she said her husband was coming. She said that she did so I moved over. I would have moved over without saying anything but I didn’t want her to think she smelled. That’s what a gentleman would do.

Her husband arrives and he is psyched. He has some amazing news and he just can’t wait to lay it on her.

“I made some reservations for our vacation.”

“Where?” His wife enthusiastically replies.

“At camp sites all over the place.”

“Why would think I’d like that?”

“It’ll be great!”

And for the entire time I sat there he tried to explain to his bride how great it would be to camp out. And for the entire time I sat there she pretty much told him it was a stupid idea and that he should just go shit in his hat.

I never met these people and, even without her objections, I knew it was a terrible idea. Every time she’d ask a good question like, “What are we going to do for a tent?” His response was,

“Borrow it from so and so.”


“Borrow it from so and so.”

“Sleeping bags?”

“Borrow it from so and so.”

Not a man of the wild I take it.

I chuckled as I paid my tab knowing if that outdoor adventure every materialized she would spend the rest of their lives together reminding him just how horrible it was.

After an hours wait I’m finally on the bus. In ninety minutes or so I’ll be where I’m supposed to be and my weekend will begin. I’ll walk into the bar, say hi to my girlfriend who will tell me she’s starving, I’ll say hi to the bartender who will return the greeting but his will be better because he will have a beer in his hands for me, then, if I’m lucky, I’ll have to associate with few people after.

What I’m really looking forward to is getting home, seeing the cat and opening up a beer and relax for the first time today. My girlfriend, who has been down there all week, said she’d have some beer in the house waiting for me. Now that’s the way to start a day off. I put on my MP3 player, turn that sucker on and sit back and enjoy the ride.

We get to the destination without incident. I jump off the bus and start walking back from whence I came because, a few minutes ago, we drove by the bar I’m meeting my girlfriend in. Don’t even ask, they won’t think about letting me off there. I’ve asked a few times.

I don’t mind the walk. I get to be truly alone for the first time all day. I’m not surrounded by the sounds and smells and silly schemes of people. It’s just me and the sidewalk. I turn the corner and see the bar. I pack up my MP3 player and get ready to make my entrance.

When you open the door people can clearly see you enter but you can’t see them. It’s that dark a bar. So imagine my surprise (and dismay) when I hear,

“Who the fuck said you could come in my bar?”

It is the face of someone I haven’t spoken to in over a decade (with reason) next to her husband I haven’t spoken to in six years (no real reason – except she’s usually with him). They’re not bad people just annoying as fuck. And what do I truly need after this adventure? That’s right! Someone I avoid at home because she’s as annoying as fuck.

I can feel my body slumping as I walk in the bar. The woman jumps up and gives me the usual big hug and kiss. I wave at my girlfriend as this is happening. She gives me a look that’s half ‘I feel your pain’ and half ‘fuck you! I’ve been putting up with this for almost two hours now.’ I feel her pain.

I chat with the guy with the wife talking over us the whole time. I’m on autopilot. Trust me, it can seem like I’m there, engaged, witty, conversational, but the reality is I’m home with a cat and a beer wishing I had my own helicopter. And bar.

After who knows how long they exit to go to dinner. An invitation we declined due to a previously planned arrangement (I mentioned cat and beer right?). They make us swear we’ll meet them back here tomorrow night for some more cheerful bonhomie. I sincerely lie and say I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my few hours off during a week.

I finally get to chat with my girlfriend (who tells me she’s starving. You’ve been down all week. What did you do? Wait for me to get down here to eat?), tell her a cliffsnote version of this story (she is not a fan of my work) and we go get something to eat. The entire time, in the back of my head, all I’m thinking is, “Soon I get to go home for cat and beer.” That’s enough to get me through this journey.

After dinner we head home and the first thing I do is play with the cat for a moment. Give him some food. Scoop his shit. You know, bonding. I take off my shoes before heading to the refrigerator for the time in this journey I’ve been looking most forward too.

She forgot to buy beer.

So I create a immediate option B for the start of my weekend by putting this journey behind me and go to bed.

The End