Respect Mike Rowe

This video is good. Respect Mike Rowe. And some other people.

Inverse Relationship

As a general acknowledgment of recent inactivity on this blog, I will point out that there is an inverse relationship between the stuff I've got going on and the number of blogs I put up. That's also why my blogs aren't really about anything. Hopefully these things that must be keeping me busy will soon be the subjects of some blogs in the near future. Hopefully I will be putting some pics up on the other blog in the next few days as well.

The Naked Run

I have just returned from my first run in my Vibram Five Fingers, and they were nothing short of spectacular. After wearing them to work for a couple of days, and another day out to eat, I finally took them on their maiden voyage. After researching the consensus on how far to go on the first run, I decided I would run out one mile, and walk the mile back home. Half a mile in I was pretty sure I would run round trip. Two miles is not impressive, but I've been warned about the week long debilitating calf soreness of the first run.

It has been a year this month since I did the Portland Marathon. I'd never really enjoyed running, but found I could enjoy runs up to six miles. More than that and the planning realities of waking up early, going to bed early, planning hydration and the such discouraged me. Furthermore, there was something that never really seemed right about distance running. A year and a half ago I discovered ChiRunning, which made a lot of sense to me, biomechanically, and greatly improved my ability as well as my enjoyment. I went through at least three pair of running shoes, not wearing any of them out, but never feeling comfortable. I felt a sensory disconnect from my feet and the road. I tried buying some Nike Free 3.0's, but was unable to find them in my size. I settled on a close relative, and while an improvement, were still too much shoe.

Somewhere along the way I became interested in the mechanics of barefoot running, but never really considered it as an option, thinking it the domain of hippie running whack-jobs that smelled like B.O. and patchouli oil. I was nonetheless intrigued, and academically curious. Eventually I stumbled across the VFF's, and new I would buy some.

And buy some I did. They do not blend in. Most will stare or ask questions. Opinions are divided. Some say that feet need the support and cushion of running shoes, yet there is no evidence that this is true. In fact their is more evidence to the contrary, if people examine their unfounded truisms. The more cushioned the shoe, the harder the foot hits the ground. When I would run with my roommate, he would hit the ground harder than me, although I outweighed him by fifty pounds.

What happened next was just like I expected. I ran, and did not fight my shoes. I did not find my shoes fighting me. I have not run more than two miles since last year's marathon, and have not enjoyed any of those infrequent runs. But today, in the first day of my experiment on myself, I enjoyed running. I have been having the armchair runner debate about form and technique for some time, and am now turning myself into my own guinea pig.

Right now barefoot running is getting considerably more press. I have Born to Run by Christopher McDougall right in front of me. The websites below offer more information on barefoot running and Vibram Five Fingers.

birthdayshoes.com

livingbarefoot.info

Hazard of deceptive advertising of athletic footwear.

The Return

Well, after being plagued by writer's block for over a month, finally something amazing happened. Before I get your expectations all in a tizzy, let me just say that it was amazing like my fingernails. After having nothing extraordinary happen for some time, there was a chain of events worth sharing.

First, on Monday, I finally called the Northwest in my first proactive move to leaving this smog-infested cluster-f*%& that is the Inland Empire. It felt good to finally do more than daydream about it.

Secondly, tonight on the way home from work I stopped by Albertsons, which has been hanging on by a thread. In an unexpected surprise, I was greeted right inside the doors by a single four-pack of Ciabatta sandwich bread. I almost avoided a Rachel Ray experience, but was ambushed at the olive oil section by her f'ing Rachel Ray EVOO. I didn't have to hear her say it or anything, so everything worked out okay.

Third, and this was a near miss, I was finishing my day at work I was kind of noticing that my shoelaces were loosening. I didn't really want to do anything about it, so let it go. I noticed again in the grocery store, but pressed on in spite of it. I thought the knot might make it until I got home. About 60 feet from the front door the right gave way. The left held on, loosened, but intact. Upon entrance into our ghetto castle a quick shake of my foot freed my foot. The left required a slight bump on the back of the heel.

It was instantly apparent to me what I must do. In spite of the variables involved, I must try to tie my shoes every morning with the intent that they loosen right at the moment I intend to remove them. If I pull it off for real, it will be legendary. I wear slip-on shoes about half the time, and often go days without a proper shoe or laces to tie, so my chances are likely reduced against a more frequently shod competitor (should someone want to try to accomplish this feat before me).

This brings me to another exciting event. After much internet research on Vibram FiveFingers, I tried some on. Their unique fit necessitated trying them on for size, but as recent demand has exceeded supply, they did not have a desired size/style/color combination in stock. They were ordered that night from the website, and I expect them this Friday, which will surely inspire another post.

Jerseys

Football season is pretty much here, and I am excited. In a couple of weeks I will probably come to the realization that my team, the Raiders, will suck hard yet again, but for now the chance at a fresh start brings hope.

I wish that with this fresh start I could also have hope for people. I wish I could trust that people would have better taste than to wear jerseys all throughout the season. Sadly, I doubt much will change. To be fair, there are appropriate times and places for fan jerseys.

You get a pass on Sunday, but only if you're watching a game. If you're making a trip to the store to buy some nacho cheese before the game, that's okay, but only if it's Sunday morning. The Saturday afternoon jersied grocery run is in poor taste.

If you are a child, you get a pass throughout the week. We live vicariously through you. If you are in your 30's wearing a Terrell Owens jersey on a Tuesday, there are few forgivenesses. Come to think of it, if you're anybody wearing a Terrell Owens jersey, even on Sunday, you've probably got a screw loose.

If you're at the game, I strongly support you wear a team jersey, and at the very least, the colors. But listen, if you're going to wear a Broncos jersey to the Black Hole in Oakland you probably deserve what's coming to you. You might end up with an infamous Darwin Award.

This transgression is not limited to football. A worse offender is probably basketball. I can't really think of a time when wearing a team basketball jersey is appropriate. Not even one. Now, I can't explain what I'm doing with a retro Kings Mike Bibby jersey, but I can tell you that I have never once worn it. I like that it is in my closet. I have no intention of getting rid of it, just as I have no intention of wearing it.

Look, I wouldn't say I know all about social identity theory as it pertains to team sports, but I get what's going on there. I, too, am a part of it. I might even buy a jersey someday, to be worn only at the appropriate times. And as I wrap up, consider those with their favorite team's emblem tattooed on themselves. Wild stuff. Fortunately, the ones I have seen the most have been Raiders tattoos. And that's good, because the Raiders have the most bad-ass uniforms in pro-sports. That's pretty much irrefutable. The end.

Two Strikes for Albertsons

Albertsons is really living on the edge with me. For the last fifteen months it has been my go-to grocery store, mostly for it's proximity. At only 1.5 miles from the house it is pretty much too close to avoid.

To be clear, Albertsons is no Whole Foods. It is nothing to get excited about. But, fickle as I am, it has been disappointing me. First strike against, is that they never have Ciabatta bread. They've got some impostor, which calls itself Ciabatta, but is like a loaf. There's a sandwich that I like to make and it really requires a sandwich sized square. If they came through and got me some good bread I would gladly remove the first strike.

The second strike, and one which I will not be so quick to forgive, is what they've got playing on their televisions throughout the store. I am often tortured from above by none other than the one-and-only Rachel Ray (see how I really feel about her here). Kind of makes me want to put the earphones in, preferably with some Rage Against the Machine. Loud.

To be fair, I don't see a third strike on the horizon. As it is, I will probably keep doing the majority of my grocery shopping there. One positive, is that it forced me to learn my roommate Luke's phone number, so I can reap the club savings. But that's about the only plus.

Nordstrom Part 2

A couple of days ago, Sunday to be exact, I went out to grab some lunch with the roommate (the one with a girlfriend) and his girlfriend. This turned into a lunch/shopping/movie day, which turned out pretty well. We ate at Carino's, which was alright, but had the worst Caprese salad ever. The tomatoes were cut too thick, and were pretty much like apples, so that was a bust.

After lunch we headed to Nordstrom Rack, which was really my first time. While there I realized a new level of the trickery of Nordstrom. I have grown somewhat fond of Faconnable shirts, although they are on the upper end of my price range. Well, here at the Nordstrom Rack is a whole display (I don't know what they're really called) of Faconnable shirts, some marked down over $100. This can still leave a $70 shirt, but questionable logic says that this is a remarkable deal that you cannot pass up.

This is when it occurs to me how brilliant the arrangement is. You keep your A-team (the hot girls) at the full-price store with the B-deals, and put the B-team (less-hot girls. Okay, plain...) at the store with the A-deals. Either way, as the male consumer, you are nearly defenseless. You will buy. I'm really at a (hopefully temporary) loss at how to combat this, short of avoiding the store completely.

Please share some wisdom with me if you have any suggestions.

The Birthday Girl Eats Her Wings

This was amazing.  A month or so ago, while out to eat at a usual pizza joint, I laid down a challenge for our friend Daisy.  If she could eat her buffalo wings with her hands behind her back she stood to make $150.  She declined.  Then she regretted it.  A date was set.  She was to make her attempt on 6/28.  Her birthday.  And while we tried to get the pot up to $200, she had to settle for $183.  

The restaurant staff had been expecting this, and actually made it a little easier by serving the wings on a plate instead of the usual bowl.  They also rolled the wings in dressing.  Earlier, various dudes had offered to do it, but since we are generally foul, dirty bastards this could not stand.

Sunday comes, and Daisy arrives with her hair pulled back, obviously not wanting to get wings in her hair.  What I thought was funny was that she was wearing a nice white shirt!  Mario bailed her out with an over-sized polo shirt, so don't knock her for her style.

The following video has slightly edited/shortened for the purposes of fitting on Youtube, so the nervous anticipation is lost, but their are almost ten minutes of highlights.  Pretty much everyone had left the restaurant at this point, so it wasn't too publicly embarrassing.  We started off with my camera on a tripod, and things were going well for the first eight minutes or so, then the media card was full.  Fortunately, the new iPhone came to the rescue and finished the documentation of this momentous occasion.  That, in turn, forced me to play with iMovie, which was new, so don't expect a polished job...

In the end, Daisy was a champion, finishing her wings.  A feat made more impressive in that she never finishes them.  I am not making anymore birthday food challenges for awhile, but now that it is documented on this blog (and here at Youtube for a larger viewing experience), it was money well spent.  

During the meal, somebody asks what made me think of this.  It got me thinking about the weekend I graduated from PT school.  We were down in Pasadena walking around Old Town, and a pan handler asks my dad for some change.  Before I know it, my dad is making up some B.S. story about how another guy down the street was doing tricks for money, and was demanding that this guy sings or dances or something.  The next thing I know, the guy is putting on a little show, and earns himself ten bucks.  Brilliant.  I couldn't have pulled that off, but I guess it stuck in the noggin somewhere.

So, happy birthday to Daisy, you're a champion, and you totally earned it.  

Ants

Well, it's June, which means that here in Riverside the temperatures have jumped into the high 90's. It also means that the ants are back. They've started in the bathrooms, largely avoiding the kitchen so far. Last year they pretty much had the run of the place. I once asked my roommate/landlord if I should write the rent check to the ants, since they obviously owned the place. It was a losing battle all summer long.

As far as their location, they will eventually invade both the kitchen and the bathrooms. In the kitchen they get in the food. In the bathroom, you're naked. Nobody is naked in our kitchen. At least I hope not. It really is a no-win situation.

Those little poison boxes that we kept using didn't impress me in the slightest. They would take the poison back to their nests, but the queen would not die. I'm pretty sure they've got little ant hospitals down there. Maybe they've developed a vaccine.

This year I will be stocking up on vinegar, borax and sugar, cinnamon, black pepper and a blowtorch. Hopefully they can be defeated. If we cannot defeat them this year, we will have to break down and get some professional help. The ants have become public enemy number one.

Polo Mullet

It's starting to get hot again, and for those of us who can get a sunburn when we just go out to check the weather, special considerations must be made. For the planned outdoor activities a little sunscreen goes a long way. Respecting the sun has been covered in a previous blog, but what happens when you are caught unexpected?

In March, during an unseasonable hot spell, I found myself in this very situation at the Redlands Classic. I was wearing shorts and a polo, walking around the venue, people watching, hanging out, more interested in the scene than the race. I begin to notice that the skin on my neck, which is not quite albino, but the punch-line to many of my darker friends' jokes, is starting to feel like sizzling bacon. If you've ever seen me, you know that I'm not really a collar up kind of guy, but I've got to do something. Going down to the drugstore would be crazy, and let's be honest, show weakness. I realize that I am surrounded by cyclists, who if you didn't know, have chosen to throw conventional style sense to the dogs. This gives me the motivation to break out the polo mullet. Collar down in the front, up in the back. The softness of the polo knit makes this possible without looking like a disheveled mistake.

So there I was--business in the front, party in the back. I gave brief consideration to my scalp, less protected by my thinning hair than it was a couple of years ago, but just rolled the dice on that one and came out a winner. I am pleased to report that my polo mullet saved the day, resulting in no discomfort after the event. A t-shirt might have screwed me, but so far this warm season, it's Zak one, sun zero.

Happy Father's Day

Happy Father's Day!

My dad is better than your dad.  Unless you are my dad, then you're the best.  Love you lots.

The more proximally located son is probably making an appearance today.  I will have to wait until next month.  

Rambling on, here is a poem I accidentally found by an unknown author:

What Makes A Dad

God took the strength of a mountain,

The majesty of a tree,

The warmth of a summer sun, 

The calm of a quiet sea,

The generous soul of nature, 

The comforting arm of night,

The wisdom of the ages,

The power of the eagle's flight,

The joy of a morning in spring,

The faith of a mustard seed,

The patience of eternity,

The depth of a family need,

Then God combined these qualities, 

When there was nothing more to add,

He knew His masterpiece was complete,

And so, He called it.. Dad

That's pretty nice, huh?  I've got a couple of issues with it, though.  First, I don't know what the hell the comforting arm of night is.  Second, an eagle's flight may be graceful or majestic, but a grizzly bear is more powerful, don't you think?  Probably a rhyming limitation.

Anyways, happy Father's Day!

What Just Climbed Up the Tree?

What the hell just climbed up the tree outside the front door?  It was about 11:30 p.m., and I'm coming home from the gym.  As I start to go in the door I hear rustling in the bushes.  Curious, I step back out to see what it is.  I look in time to see the back-half of something going up the skinny little tree.  Pretty much all I can see is a white rump and a pink tail.  I figure it has to be either a small possum, or a huge rat (not that there is much difference to me).  Yesterday the roommate says he chased a possum out of the garage, so this seems likely.  

I'm not even sure what I want it to be.  I'm leaning towards possum, so that way I don't have to believe it will come in the house, settling only for a garage visit.  Either way I lose, since I'm not a big fan of night critters in general.

To be fair, the ants have not thoroughly infested the kitchen and bathrooms yet.  They sent millions of scouts for a long weekend or so, but have since disappeared.  They might be back when we get to real summer, but for now we have others.

When I was getting ready to go to the gym tonight I went out to the garage to grab some shoes.  Amongst the pile of shoes there was a cockroach.  It made its way under some shelter before I could smash it with one of his shelter shoes.  Out of the corner of my eye I see a spider rushing down to the shoes as well.  If you know my at all, you know that I hate/fear spiders.  I prefer to kill them so I don't have to worry about them laying eggs in my ear while I sleep, as I'm sure that this is always their secret plan.  I was also unable to kill the spider.  I spent about two minutes, one per shoe, making sure there was neither a spider nor its egg sac present.  Those shoes are not going back in the garage.  There are Black Widows out there.  

By the way, those little electronic bug repellers that plug into the wall don't work.  I should know.

Trade Sanchez

The San Francisco Giants need to trade Jonathan Sanchez, before it's too late.  What success the Giants have had this year has been largely due to the strength of their pitching staff.  Their anemic line-up will at some point necessitate a trade for a bigger bat, inevitably requiring them to give up a pitcher.  I think Sanchez has filthy stuff, when he can find the strike zone (no "Dirty Sanchez" jokes, please), but I believe he is ticking time-bomb, with the potential to follow the career path of Mark Prior.  

Examine the following pictures.

Both pitchers come through a similar impingement motion during their deliveries.  Mark Prior is a knuckle-head who refuses to do anything about his motion, which was at one time hailed as the most biomechanically perfect motion in the game.  His motion is/was obviously not the best in the game, but was his demise.  

There are, of course, anatomical variances from pitcher to pitcher, but from a biomechanical perspective, Sanchez worries me.  Matt Cain, for instance, avoids this impingement motion, and will probably have a much longer career, with fewer injuries.  Randy Johnson has a safer motion, and is currently pitching in his 60's (not actually true).  

So, I think Sanchez has a much smaller number of pitches left in his big-league arm than his age would indicate, and since baseball teams are often ignorant of such things (Prior is the perfect example), the Giants should be dangling him as trade-bait at every opportunity.

The End.

p.s.

Dodgers suck.

The Belly Dancer

Tonight, all my planning backfired on me. Tonight, as we frequently do on Friday nights, a few of the fellas headed out to the O.C. to grab some delicious Persian food. The events usually play out the same each time. We arrive, then shortly afterwards a not-quite-right belly dancer does her thing. After the belly dancer comes the guitarist, who is good enough, but a couple of my friends (who have been frequenting this restaurant for many years vs. my one year) seem to have developed an awkward connection with him, if not an actual weird relationship. I almost forgot, the hostess is worth the drive by herself. Amazing.

Well, tonight we arrive at the restaurant, only to be greeted by another hostess. She is attractive in her own right, but we still missed our regular girl. We are seated right away, and I take my choice seat - facing the corner, my back to the dining room. I will sometimes try to face the entry way, especially if our hostess is in action, but with her gone I figure it will save me uneasy eye contact with the belly dancer.

I have a hard enough time knowing how to look at the belly dancers as it is. I have a patient who does some belly dancing, and I have questioned her as to the etiquette of watching the dancers. I have been assured that we are to be looking at their bodies, but with the well-lit room, I feel like I'm in a spotlight, and feel like the lights should be dimmed like a strip club.

Some people seem to be afraid of clowns (coulrophobia), but this restaurant has made me afraid of belly dancers. It has nothing to do with the dancing, but the two dancers who are usually there have good enough bodies, but also have these plastic faces, and they look at you with these weird smiles that make me uncomfortable. I found the name for fear of clowns, but if you can let me know if there is a name for the fear of belly dancers, please let me know.

Tonight, after we are seated, a new dancer comes out. She doesn't have the plastic face. She has a very good body. Her dancing is better, too. For the first time I actually want to watch her. She's doing amazing things. Now my seat facing the corner has created a disadvantage. I have my neck cranked around like an owl. I still feel like the lights are too bright. I don't care. I do make conscious decisions to shift my attention back to the table periodically.

Now I have a dilemma. Do I face the room or the corner? It used to be an easy answer. Now I'm not so sure. It's really rolling the dice next time. At least the excellent food is a constant.

Hey, has anyone ever seen a clown belly dance? That would be really freaky.

F*@k It!!

You dirty bastards thought I was saying... oh, never mind. Fork it. That's right. I hereby defend my preference for eating various hand-foods with a fork. I have often been ridiculed for eating pizza with a fork. What some of these people don't know is that I also will occasionally eat burgers with a fork. I wouldn't go as far as to eat a Snickers bar with a fork and knife, but there are times when it makes perfect sense.

If you ask me, hot pizza always calls for a fork. Thin crust, thick crust, Chicago style--hot = fork. Chicago style will, of course, always require a fork. Regular thick or thin crust should be eaten with the hands if it is cold. It would just be absurd to eat cold pizza with a fork. Seriously. Warm pizza is a bit of a can't lose proposition. Eat it any way you like, and it's perfectly acceptable.

Burgers. Of course burgers are hand-food, except for that as the author of this blog I can make up the rules any way I please. Homemade burgers, Grillers (best ever), drive-thru burgers and the like should of course be eaten by hand. This is not debatable. However, if you are at a legitimate restaurant, the fork is almost required. The Hillstone restaurant group makes ridiculously amazing veggie burgers that would be a disaster if eaten with your hands. Factor in that you will more likely set the burger down makes it even more appropriate for forking. If you don't know any better and make the mistake of thinking TGI Friday's is a really good restaurant, then you are wrong. Most of their food sucks. It's not a good restaurant. Neither is Red Robin. Garbage. You should know by now how I feel about In-N-Out. Make it Taylor's Refresher and it's an amazing hand job. Perverts. You just eat it with your hands. The whole blog title put your mind in the gutter. You should get help.

This isn't really mind-blowing material. I just had to get it off my chest, to defend my forking in spite of repeated head-shaking when my hand-eater friends see me eat. That, and I've been in the middle of a month-long creative block. More blogs coming soon.

Going Postal, Less Often

The price of stamps went up two cents today.  I don't really care.  This will increase my postage spending approximately ten cents a year.  I doubt that the USPS is going to make up $3.3 billion (plus the estimated 3 billion more this year) it now owes (as of 3/31/09) two cents at a time.  The USPS has not made a profit since 2006, when parcel volume totaled 213 billion.  In the 2008 fiscal year volume dropped to 203 billion parcels, and the Postal Service lost $2.8 billion.  It has lost $2.3 billion in the six months since then.  Parcel volume is expected to drop more than 20 billion pieces this year and another 10 billion the following year.

Whatever the reason, the Postal Service has been experimenting with Segways and bicycle delivery.  I'm no accountant, but buying a fleet of Segways whose batteries die mid-route doesn't seem like a good way to get out of debt.

Postmaster General (Really?  General?) John Potter says it could become necessary to temporarily reduce delivery to five days a week.  This could supposedly save $3.5 billion annually.  Trouble is federal law has mandated six-day delivery since 1983.  The Postal Service's Board of Governors must approve a work-week reduction, and is unlikely to do so.  Instead the USPS is seeking to reduce annual retirement fund contributions from $7.5 billion to $5.5 billion.  

Why do I give a crap?  Because it's stupid.  If this were a real corporation, instead of a government operation we would have lost Saturday delivery years ago.  You know what I would do?  I'd get rid of Wednesday delivery, too.  Seriously--who's going to notice?  How much good mail does a person get these days?  I don't even get most of my bills by snail mail.  The Postal Service pats itself on the back for exploring alternative fuels and delivery methods, but almost everything that I get goes straight into the trash.  

I've got nothing against the USPS, but let's keep things in perspective.  We don't need the mail every day.  I don't really look forward to the mail like I do packages, which are often delivered by someone else.  Drop Saturday delivery.  Drop another day.  Then shut-up about it.

Special shout-out to my favorite letter carrier, Mary Fenton.  I like your hat.

My Ghetto, Part Deux

So, yesterday I am parking my car inside my pointlessly gated community.  I pull up behind my roommate's second car--a 1998 Corolla, with the gold trim package.  It was fairly pimp in it's day, but is no longer much to look at.  Well, as I get out of my car I see that the driver's side window had been smashed.  Walking up closer I see the dash ripped out and a $89 stereo missing.  Making things strange, is that the Corolla was probably the least awesome car in the line-up (no offense, Mario).

When I think about it, I've had seven stereos stolen, so maybe I've been living in little ghettos all along.  I am somewhat desensitized to the scene.  That said, the scene of the crime is a mere forty yards away from the stranded shopping cart.  To clarify, this happened on the good side of the complex.  

This is another little check in the reason's to leave column, as I think the grass really is greener concerning my future plans.  

Oh!  One more thing on the insult to injury factor.  By that afternoon there was a notification on the windshield from Patrol One, the lamest mother f*%@ing company in the world, saying that they're going to tow the car because it obviously has not been moved recently.  

This is where I live.

Gentlemen's Quarterly

Let me begin by saying that GQ is Gentlemen's Quarterly, yet it is published monthly, and this confuses me. I suppose Gentlemen's Monthly wouldn't sound as good, and GM was taken. Quick research from my usual source explains the history (originally quarterly), which eases my mind, but leaves me with my following issues, pun not intended (but pretty cool, anyways).

My friend Camille has been promoting GQ for the articles, and finally won me over with features on breakfast. I have picked up the last few issues, and have mostly been happy with them. Wikipedia suggests that GQ has been closely associated with metrosexuality. To a point this is forgivable. It's slightly more acceptable to buy a largely naked Jennifer Aniston or Megan Fox on the cover of a GQ than it is FWM or Maxim, but I don't worry about this too much. The problem, which is much harder to justify, is that the last two issues have had Robert Pattinson and Zac Efron on the covers. This is a no-win situation. I went ahead and purchased the Robert Pattinson issue because there was a Barry Bonds article. When I saw this most recent issue with a very metro Zac Efron on the cover I didn't even take a closer look at the front cover for contents.

I am forced to reconsider, however, when I see a tweet from Camille regarding America's Newest - and Gutsiest - Food City. As luck would have it, it's Portland. This is a weak spot for me. I'm already there in my head, but appreciate any form of validation that I'm heading someplace wonderful. Now I have to buy the magazine. Zac Efron and all. At dinner I make a feeble attempt to have a female friend go purchase the magazine for me, but it doesn't work out. So yesterday I go to the supermarket and decide to try my luck. Pride won't let me roam the aisles of the store with Zac Efron staring out of my cart, so the magazine lies face down. I choose the checkout line with the homeliest looking checker--the one least likely to give me the "really" look, and place the magazine face down on the conveyor belt. There are plenty of other items, so there is little chance to focus on the magazine. I check out without event. Out of the corner of my nervous eye I am pretty sure that the only part of the magazine visible throughout it's voyage is a back page Hennessy ad. I am relieved. I have escaped judgement. And it's a good read. Maybe I should just read it online next time.

Sign Language

Occasionally at work I need to use sign language interpreters for the deaf. The deaf, and those who sign, have got to be the most demonstrative people in the world. The last few times I have used an interpreter I have begun to notice how much I use my hands when communicating. I begin to wonder if I should limit my hand gestures. I think about just putting my hands in my pockets to avoid misspeaking. Do the deaf have a filter?

When I am using an interpreter for a Spanish speaking patient I will throw in a little Spanish here and there, but I know that I'm doing it, and apparently they know what I am saying (not to mention I think most of them speak fairly decent English anyways). With the deaf, I have never tried to sign, but little gestures, pointing, etc. leave me thinking, "what did I just say?"

Speaking of Spanish, I have noticed that when I am studying Spanish in the car or on the iPod, I use my hands a lot. I think I do it for rhythm, but it probably looks like I'm studying Italian.

My Ghetto

Well, it's official.  I live in the ghetto.  One could easily be confused by the fairly nice houses and the gates that protect our housing complex from the outside world.  Further investigation, however, reveals the truth.  Within the walls of our own complex, we live in the "good corner."  Park across the complex and it gets rather seedy.  Outside our walls, directly across from my bedroom window, is a 7-Eleven and an out of business liquor store.  However convenient it is having a 7-Eleven right across the street, it's doubtful that a neighborhood has ever been improved by one.  The view out of my bedroom is that very 7-Eleven, and right behind that, the freeway.  So far, these things are easy to explain, and by themselves do not qualify my residence as ghetto.  But today, as I was walking back from parking over at the seedy side of the complex, I saw a stolen shopping cart outside a garage.  While usually the homeless grown-up's equivalent of a child's Radio Flyer Wagon, this was empty, and apparently not currently being used.  One could argue that in a complex of town homes without front yards, that this is our equivalent of the broken down car up on blocks.  This was the first, and hopefully last sighting of the shopping cart, but rest assured, if there starts to be a small collection of such items, there will be an update right here.

My Amazing Fingernails

Let me just start out by saying that this is probably a story I should keep to myself, but that's not going to stop me. While I might not cut my fingernails nearly as often as Mike Bibby, I don't let to let them get too long. I never bite my nails, and think that nails look gross when cut too short, but if the white tips are showing I usually start cutting. I feel the need to cut while people looking at them think they're well within reasonable limits. I've got fingernail clippers in my work desk, in my car, in my travel bag, in my room and a few other places.

My dad tells me that one of the first things he did when I popped out of the womb was cut my fingernails. I don't know if this is true or not, but it sounds plausible. When I was first getting contact lenses, my optometrist stated that looking at a person's fingernails was his quick judge of hygiene to see if he would even let somebody try contacts. Also, I use my hands on human flesh, and if they're getting too long the could be uncomfortable for the patient. Since reality dictates that no matter how much I love Spanish guitar I will probably never learn to play, I have little reason to grow claws.

I am not a multiple stage manicurist. I'm not clipping, filing, buffing, etc. I've never used fingernail scissors. If I can clip the white off I'm usually happy. Well, yesterday as I'm heading out the door to work I look at my fingernails and decide it's time to cut. I'm ahead of schedule, so it's going to be the first thing I do when I arrive. But as I look at them at various stop signs and lights I notice something unusual. Somehow this is the most even and symmetrical my nails have ever been. It was amazing. Almost like they had been professionally done. Yes, there was white at the tips, but the were perfectly even, finger to finger, hand to hand. I had to stop and admire them. I wondered what I had done differently the time before. Anything? I ended up not cutting them until evening, and believe you me I showed some people just to get feedback on the beauty. My show and tell was not met with equal enthusiasm, but I didn't so much need the affirmations or others on this matter. At one point during the day I did think they were getting in the way. I knew all along that they would not make it to bed time.

Last night before going out to dinner I had my clippers in hand. Never before had I experienced the fingernail clipping performance anxiety that I was feeling. The bar had been raised. Should I give it extra attention? Had I just experienced the best it was ever going to be? I began a cautious clip. So far so good. Another. But within a couple more clips thirty plus years of auto-pilot took over, and I was just getting it done. They look good. They feel good. It's too soon to tell if this job will be as good. Now we wait. Only time will tell.

Edible Eggs

Just to clarify, this is about the edible eggs, the food, unless somebody was hoping to read about reproduction.  I consider myself much more qualified to speak on the food, although there will be little discussion of science.  Tonight I hard-boiled some eggs in preparation for an egg salad sandwich that will be my lunch tomorrow.  I've been thinking about this off and on for years, but more often over the last week or so.  Egg temperature and tastiness seem to have a completely random relationship.   Let scrambled eggs get cold and I wouldn't eat them with your mouth.  Let a hard-boiled egg get cold and it's delicious.  Fried eggs gone cold are bad.  Deviled eggs are fantastic.  Why?  Do eggs cooked in their shells magically maintain whatever it takes to make them delicious after cooling?  If an egg is cooked outside of it's shell is it destined to have a shelf life of only a few minutes?  I don't know!  Does this go beyond chicken eggs?  Do fried ostrich eggs taste good cold?  I may never know.

Green Porno 2

It has come to my attention that there are some new installments in the most amazing Green Porno series starring Isabella Rossellini. These short but life changing videos can be found online here. You'll laugh. You probably won't cry - unless it's from laughing. But they're funny.

I'm Onto You, Nordstrom

I'm onto you, Nordstrom. I went to the mall today to buy a casual black belt and some socks, which I accomplished at another store, but somehow I ended up in your men's section. I'm not sure if it was your live piano player, or a deeper draw to my Swedish roots, but there I was. I entered with two friends, but was soon separated, yet not alone. Every few aisles I encountered your accomplices--beautiful women pretending their only concern was my shopping whim. They approached with disarming smiles, ready to trick me into buying $200 wallets and $100 t-shirts. At first I was ready for their friendly greeting with a witty response, but was disarmed by her keen comeback. Even so I managed to escape the frying pan, only to land in the fire, for along my escape route waited another of your customer service angels. She showed me a cologne that I didn't want, but suddenly needed. I agreed it smelled amazing. She offered to put some on me, just to see if I would like it over time. Fortunately, for the first time in years I had tried a sampler in a previous store, and explained that it would probably not give me a true sense of how it would be. I escaped your seductive grasp. I left your store without spending a dollar. I have overcome. I will see you next Monday.

What am I supposed to listen to?

Listen up to what I'm supposedly supposed to be listening to.  It seems to be that most people expect me to only listen to classic rock and 80's music.  People find out I know some hip-hop and they act all shocked and surprised.  This doesn't really blow my mind, as I myself am not hip-hop.  I'm used to this, but it's happened many times with country music!  What could be more different from hip-hop?  What's hard to believe about me and country music?  I have pretty eclectic taste in music.  Jazz.  Latin.  Broadway.  Whatever.  The list goes on.  I just want to know why people are so often surprised.  It's not a big deal.  Here's the big secret.  I don't like commercials.  If I'm driving and commercials come on, I jump to the next station.  Easy.  It's not rocket science.  How long will I surprise people be listening to different music?  What's more surprising is that more people don't listen to such varied music.  This almost makes me think that other people like commercials more than different music genres.  If I think this through too much I will have to address iPods and such, so I'm just going to wrap this up.  

Almost Sliced Bread

I don't know how far behind the curve I am, but recently I discovered something amazing.  Single-serving, microwaveable packages of vegetables!  Revolutionary.  If there was an excuse for not eating vegetables before, it is now inadequate.  This is not about whether or not one should be eating vegetables, because that's not debatable.  But one must admit that when reality happens vegetables often fall by the wayside.  It's another dish to prepare and clean up.  It all too often turns into leftovers.  It's never been difficult, but now that preparing vegetables is easier than making toast, green foods are finding their way onto my plate.  No leftovers.  No clean-up.  No excuses.  

These pre-portioned vegetables are not the only ones I will eat, but as I'm usually cooking for one they are perfect.  Sure, I will pull out the big bag or grill up some fresh veggies when cooking for others, but that weekly meal was hardly a contribution to the seven daily recommended.  You people who get home by five might scoff at my enthusiasm.  You might turn up your nose at my vegetable equivalent of microwave mac-n-cheese.  Even so, I will tell you that it's almost as easy as taking a vitamin, and far more satisfying.  Also, while there is great culinary shame with making macaroni and cheese out of a box, there is no such emotion with vegetables.  Once your boxed macaroni is on the plate, everyone can tell where it came from.  When I've got some steamed peas on my plate there is no trace of my efficiency.  Furthermore, this allows extra time to put towards a better main dish.  

I haven't eaten Top Ramen since high school.  It's been five years since I've had the aforementioned macaroni.  My new vegetable friends will just clear my arbitrary line of acceptability.  I make no excuses.  They are amazing.

Soft Tower

My favorite Korean restaurant is just around the corner from work.  It's mostly a lunch place for me, and I only order one thing--the dolsot bibimbap.  It's fantastic.  I also like some of the appetizers, but have no idea what they're called.  So far, I would expect to be able to order this in just about any Korean restaurant I would come across.  What really seals the deal is that when you get the check, you also get an ice cream cone to serve yourself from the soft-serve machine!  It has turned into a bit of a competition to see who can make the highest cone.  I am putting it out there, declaring myself the undisputed champion of the soft-serve stack, at least amongst my usual lunch buddies.  I suckered a co-worker into believing that I had previously worked at a Foster's Freeze.  I will admit that the competition is catching up.  I have seen some impressive towers, but none without their weak links, their structural faults.  But it has fueled my competitive juices.  I am issuing a challenge.  Try to beat me at the soft-serve tower.  I'll even give you a little tip, just as a reward for stopping by the blog:  Stay away from the chocolate--it's always too soft to stack.  There are also multiple techniques involved, but for that you're on your own.  Just in case my coworkers aren't up to the task, I have a second motivation.  I want to build a cone so tall that the restaurant wants to charge me extra.  

He Has Counted to Infinity - Twice

Happy 69th birthday, Chuck Norris.  We all know nobody is going to try to spank you.

Happy Square Root Day

Last week we had the wonderful opportunity to celebrate National Pancake Day, as well as National Pistachio Day.  As exciting as these annual holidays were, today, 3/3/09, we celebrate a day that will not come again for seven years.  Nine times each century math nerds cut root vegetables into squares, and cut other foods into the square root symbol.

If National Square Root Day gets you excited for mathematical holidays, and you can't wait for 4/4/16, then maybe the annual Pi Day (3/14) or Pi Approximation Day (22/7) can scratch that itch.

Go Crazy.  You know you wanted to--now you have an excuse.

Lakers

To all the Lakers fans that were talking smack about the Lakers matching the Chicago Bulls' 1996 72 win season:

SUCK IT!!!  Lakers 48-12.

National Pistachio Day

What a wonderful day.  A day to celebrate pistacia vera l.  Probably my favorite nut.  Even with my love for the pistachio, I had to learn about this celebratory day from a restaurant place mat.  Once a couple of years ago I entered a drawing to win free pistachios for a year from pistachios.org, but when I look at the site today it seems much different.  Pistachios.com is a site from Arizona, so I know it was .org because they were definitely California pistachios.

I took pistachios to work today and people told me I was a nut.  Good one.  I've put some links below because I know how badly you want to learn about my favorite nut, but my favorite fact is that bulk container shipments of pistachio nuts are prone to self heating and spontaneous combustion because of their high fat and low water content.  Nuts on fire.  Awesome.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pistachio

National Pistachio Day

National Pancake Day

Today is National Pancake Day, so sayeth IHOP.  While many people are assuredly taking advantage of free pancakes, I would like to take this opportunity to cheer for waffles.  While a quick Google search informs me that National Waffle Day is August 24, I simply cannot trust that I will remember to make my point on that day.  

While there are many kinds of pancakes, my beef is with the American pancake, the hotcake, the griddlecake, the flapjack.  While I love baked German pancakes, thin Swedish pancakes and even potato pancakes, I do not share this love with our American version.  For some reason, our misguided sense of pancake perfection is usually associated with fluffiness.  This fluffiness quickly turns to sponginess with the addition of the usual syrup.  While I understand that flapjacks are sometimes thinner and crispier than a regular pancake, the lack of texture quickly bores me.  The Swedish pancake is thinner, more resembling a crepe, and you'd be hard pressed to recognize a the German variety as a pancake at all, but both of these are superior.

Waffles, on the other hand, are pure breakfast perfection.  The crispy exterior is well suited to stand up to the popular toppings.  Waffles can hold up to ingredients from ice cream to fried chicken.  Try that with pancakes.  Years ago I once had friends over for a birthday breakfast so we could feast on waffles instead of birthday cake.  Strangely, while we are often forced to settle for pancake feeds, and other places that may have pancakes but no waffles, hotels are one of the few places where there is a waffle option without pancakes.  I like to think the hotels are sticking it to the pancake industry, even if I know better.  Stranger still, these are usually Belgian waffles, which were created for the 1964 World's Fair in New York, but aren't actually made by Belgians.  Believe it.  Look it up if you want to.

Pancakes usually get first mention when it comes to breakfast food, but it's waffles that should receive all the glory.  Waffle cones are the premium ice cream cones.  Nike's first original design was based on liquid urethane and a waffle iron.  Have extra waffles?  No problem.  Try putting a frozen pancake in the toaster and tell me how that works out.  

Last but not least, I must mention that I don't for a second believe that all waffles are created equal.  Eggo waffles are not special.  You've got to make your own.  That's where the magic happens.

Bag vs. Box

I guess it's less about the package than it is the contents, but let's compare cereal and chips.  When you get to the bottom of a bag of chips, it's kind of a nuisance how the bag is filled with chip crumbs.  The mess factor really jumps up a few notches, and forget about adding any dip or salsa at that point.  Once you've gone that far you put the chips on the dip instead of the other way around.  I've never had a bag of chips that didn't end up like this.  Wait, I hear the Pringles complaining.  It's true that Procter & Gamble have a bit of a novel package, but it's the exception, not the rule.  

Cereal.  Still in a bag, but that bag is usually placed in a box.  I don't care.  I like my cereal crumbly.  There's almost magic in the bottom of the box.  Maybe it's just a little extra frosting off the Mini Wheats, but I almost get excited as the box empties, and I see the crumbs rushing towards the bowl.  It's exhilarating.  Surely you've experienced this, as well.  What's great is that it's almost always a little surprise.  It's not 100%.  Grape Nuts and granola are a little sneaky.  That's good.  It keeps you from taking the crumbs for granted.

Straight Dope

As both of you who have read my blog may realize, I'm a big fan of Wikipedia.  It has become my go-to site when I need to learn something in a hurry.  But there are other times when the free encyclopedia that anyone can edit leaves me disappointed.  Fortunately www.straightdope.com has been there to pick up the slack, not only to inform me, but to entertain me.  

My first example of how I love straightdope.com comes from last August.  Los Angeles traffic being unpredictable as it is, I arrived quite early to a wedding where I only knew the bride.  There were a couple of familiar faces, but certainly no friends, so I tried to pass time on the fringes, watching pigeons in the shade.  I hate pigeons, but found myself watching their ridiculous head bobbing as they walked.  Being fascinated by movement, I wondered why the head bob seemed so excessive.  Surely this couldn't just be a balancing function.  Loving my Blackberry as much as I hate pigeons, I asked Google why pigeons bob their heads so much when they walk.  Second amongst the results was a link to a straight dope answer.  Following this link I found explanations ranging from balance, which I didn't buy, to assisting with depth perception due to their monocular vision.  Birds with forward facing eyes share our binocular vision, but probably not the neurosis that accompanies it.  The entertainment was great, as even the pigeons got to weigh in on why they did it (it feels good).

This last holiday season I was at a cooking demonstration at the Culinary Institute of America, and found myself wondering what was going on with the chef's outfits.  Once again Wikipedia left me sorely disappointed, and straightdope.com was there to pick up the slack.  No longer did I have to believe that a chef's hat was only to keep hair out of food.  I still think chef's hats are absurd, but they've got some history over the hairnet.  

I especially like that on the straight dope website, there is an option to search a random article from the archives.  I couldn't believe all the things I never knew I was interested in!  It's worth bookmarking the site for those inevitable waiting times.  If there is a downside to the straight dope, I will have to admit that I've spent an entire church service reading straight dope articles, and never heard a single word of the sermon.  It's that good--and bad.  I would tell you more about it, but I expect both of you to rush right over to www.straightdope.com and check it out for yourselves.

You're welcome.

Showtime

I hate to be late to the movies.  Really hate it.  I understand I'm kind of anal in that regard, but I've got my reasons.  To sum it up, I hate rushing, love previews, and am pretty fond of a good seat.  Some of my friends have a fairly relaxed attitude towards arrival times, and this drives me crazy.  I try not to be a killjoy and talk about it in the moment, but it seems so absurd to think you're going to roll over to the theater on a Saturday night and magically roll up, purchase as ticket and grab four seats together just as the movie is starting.  How many countless times have I been sitting there thinking, "I told you so!" while sitting way up front, split apart from the larger group?  Okay, I could probably count the times, but it doesn't weaken my point.  I just went to the movies last night and was all alone in the theater ten minutes before the previews started.  Of course this time I drove myself and relaxed while my friends scurried in later.  

While we're talking about it, why do we need to go to movies with people?  Why do people give me an incredulous look when they learn I went to a movie by myself?  Don't we get mad when people are talking in the theater?  As I see it, the solo movie goers are the most responsible and considerate of all.  Going to a restaurant by yourself isn't cool.  Going to the movies by yourself is awesome.

Parakeet Rat

If you had a parakeet that liked to talk, would you keep it in your bedroom?  Probably not.  But that's exactly what my aunt and uncle did.  They used to have a parakeet that would say, "that's preposterous, birds don't talk."  It said some other stuff I don't remember, but you get the point--it's skills of mimicry were outstanding.  This would make most couples (I hope) think of keeping their bird in another room, lest it embarrassingly rat them out as they show off their birds skills.  Apparently this was of no concern to them, which was also ratting them out in a way that is more sad than embarrassing.  I suppose that I shouldn't jump to conclusions, and would probably be better off never thinking about it again.  But it's kind of funny, so I can't help myself!

Cut Men and Waitresses

I was at the fight tonight (Emelianenko vs Arlovski), and was once again noticing one of the things that weirds me out.  The fight was great.  If you didn't see it you should learn about it from some place other than my blog.  I can get past the sweaty man-on-man action without a problem.  What gets me is that when the fighters retreat to their corners their cut men reach in and pull out the mouth guard -- barehanded!  Does this seem gross to anyone else?  I've seen it a lot.  It won't ever seem normal.  

I haven't worn a mouth guard in years, but have had someone recently handle my saliva tainted refuse.  I was eating at a pretty nice restaurant with some friends a few weeks back, and our first appetizer was some Spanish olives.  There was a plate full of olives, and as everyone was discarding their olive pits to the edge of the table to keep them from mingling with uneaten olives.  After the olives are gone, a waitress is walking by--not our waitress--and just grabs all the olive pits up in her bare hand and keeps walking!  I ask you again--does this seem gross to anyone else?  Now before you go making assumptions, this waitress was really good looking.  I would maybe expect such a swipe from some dirty waitress at some greasy spoon, but I was completely caught off guard.  I've seen such behaviour from mothers with their children, but this girl did not appear to be anyone's mother.  It's bad enough when they take your plates and their thumbs go into some food left on the edge of the plate.  Far worse when the food has clearly been in ones mouth.  

That's all I've got for tonight.

American Idol Done Right

I was at my local Globo Gym tonight, and while I'm on the treadmill, what do I see on the flat screen but American Idol.  Closed Captioned.  Right.  Of course there was a little sign saying to tune into 107.9 for audio, but everybody's headphones were plugged into iPods, which do not have FM tuners.  Zunes suck, and nobody has an old school Walkman anymore, so I found this amusing.  Fortunately, the next screen had the World's Strongest Man Competition, and there was enough grunting all around me that it could have very well been the appropriate audio...

Giugni's

In the heart of the Napa Valley there is a dark and dirty little deli that is easy to overlook. Surrounded by world class restaurants and wineries it might slip past the visiting epicure, but those in the know are blessed. I kind of understand, as in high school I remember all varieties of freaks making my sandwiches--people I would never let prepare my food had I not known in advance how excellent it would taste. There are plenty of chain sandwich shops, with their expensive advertising and so-called "sandwich artists," but these sandwiches are mundane and prosaic. How quickly does one tire of sandwiches off of the menu board? Three cheese choices? spongy bread?

In one of the culinary centers of America, you will find a sandwich taken to a different level. You want bread? Thirteen choices. You want meat? Twenty-seven choices. You want cheese? Twenty one choices. You want mustard? Three choices. You want a sub with under six grams of fat? You go to hell. Jared Fogel would not have lost the weight on the Giugni's diet.

Even though for almost 12 years I have lived 500 miles away from Giugni's Deli, the girls making my sandwich know I'm a local by the way I order it. How, I won't share with you, but even new face will say, "Ah, a local boy." When I am home to visit my parents, who for some reason do not share my passion, I am careful to plan my arrival time before five, so I can enjoy a sandwich before eating more family oriented meals. When I was home for Christmas, I ordered my sandwich, sat down at a window table, and just held it for a couple minutes. I wanted to let as many senses as possible partake in the experience. I went back the next day with friends. On my way back out of town, I stopped by to purchase four bottles of Giugni Juice -- red wine vinegar, soya oil, herbs, salt, pepper and garlic. It's legendary. The girl at the register immediately took an understanding tone, acknowledging that I must be going out of town, that she knew that I would be settling for inferior sandwiches for quite some time.

I try to avoid sandwiches for a while after being home. If I eat one to soon I get frustrated and either angry or sad. Within a couple of days of returning to Riverside, I ended up at a Panera Bread. Many regard this as a decent, even excellent sandwich place. I couldn't even finish. I grew silent. My friends asked what was wrong. I said nothing was wrong, but I had just eaten at Giugni's earlier. One knew what I meant, and gave an empathetic sigh. The others just looked at me like I was crazy.

If you haven't had the pleasure, you probably think I'm crazy. I have given friends visiting the Napa Valley lists of wonderful places to eat. Many include the destination restaurants, the ones they might read about in magazines, or see on the Food Network. I am only mildly surprised when they come back raving about their favorite -- Giugni's. I know I haven't had every sandwich in the world, but I will call Giugni's the best deli sandwich this side of heaven. Many will agree with me. Some might vainly try to convince me that some other sandwich is better, but until you try mine, I will not listen.

Giugni's Deli

1227 Main Street

St. Helena, CA

94574

(707) 963-3421

Another Mystery

Maybe I'm coming at this from obvious bachelor sensibilities (or lack thereof), but can somebody please explain to me why so many half bathrooms have a full set of towels?  It happens all the time.  I step into a half bath and find two hand towels, and two full size towels.  Am I to believe that there are full size towels just in case somebody gets really carried away with a sponge bath?  It almost seems like excessive wetness is being encouraged!  It's pretty much accepted as sufficient to wash your hands after you use the restroom.  I've got pretty good sized hands, and have never gotten them so wet that a standard hand towel wouldn't cut the mustard.  As long as we're over-supplying the half bath, why not put in a couple of washcloths as well?  

I live in a house with such a mysteriously stocked half bath.  There's more towel rack in the half bath than in the full bath!  This decorating was not my own doing, as I am just one renter in a house of three.  I cannot say that when I am decorating my own place it's half baths will have only hand towels, but I will likely be no more able to explain my reasoning than those whom I have asked.  I swear to you I have seen faces turn into question marks as these decorators ponder this question for the first time.  It's nearly 11:30, and now I will probably be up all night thinking about this.  Please shed some light on this mystery.

Watch Your Head

Lately I've been thinking about how I never think about hitting my head while getting into a car.  Thousands of times I've just plopped into the seat, my head playing a high stakes game of limbo, where the bar would not fall harmlessly, but inflict great pain.  I don't remember the last time I did hit my head, but I probably have.  John McCain apparently did it in June of 2008.  What's amazing is that it doesn't happen far more often.  Sometimes I think I can almost feel the door frame just beyond my hair, yet no matter what type of vehicle I enter, appropriate avoidance adjustments are automatically made on the fly.  It's really pretty amazing.