I'm so much better now

“The Incredible Hunk”

By the time you read this, three things are going to be true that aren’t true now… assuming I don’t eat one of those poisonous porcupine fish or swim in a lava lake or fall backwards off the jungle gym. I like to allow for the implausible. Too few people do that.

The first of the three things has to do with teeth. Not yours. I only marginally care about your teeth. – Oops. Change “only marginally” to “don’t.” – Hey, I’m funnin’ with you. I love what you’ve done with your teeth. But, let’s get back to mine.

I’m gonna get a bridge replaced and a cracked molar fixed. Oh, and I’m getting my teeth cleaned. I’m not sure all of that has been done in one day. The dentist and Mark are gonna be really close for the first half of the day. I’ll probably hafta take him out to lunch. Some soup place.

I’ve got the best dentist in the world. I’d tell you Dr. English’s name, but I’d just as soon he not get any more business. The guy needs time for me. You can’t overestimate the importance of your teeth. Well, I suppose you could. If you were a science fiction writer or something, you might.

The reason I’m having a rebridge and cracked tooth fixed is because I grind my teeth. Mostly at night. I don’t notice it all that much during the day. I wiggle my foot a lot during the day, but I don’t think my teeth are doing anything extra.

My dentist made me a mouth guard to prevent me from ruining my teeth at night. I guess it helps. If I forget to wear it, I’ll occasionally bite my tongue in the middle of the night. If you think waking up to an alarm clock is disturbing, try biting your tongue. Well, that’s improbable isn’t it? If you’re trying to bite your tongue, you’re likely not asleep, so why wake yourself? No, your teeth have got to covertly lure your tongue into a sense of calm before they can bite it. My teeth are real tricksters. My tongue? Just as gullible as it can be.

An early picture of me grinding my teeth.

My new bridge is supposed to be metal. My last one wasn’t. I chewed the daylights out of it. This metal bridge will take a hit. Or a grind. I doubt I’ll go back to eating corn nuts, but it’s enough to know that I could.

The day after my teeth job, I’m having my kidney stones crushed. I’ve got two of ‘em. The one in my right kidney is the size of a small pony. The one in my left is more like a golf ball. A prickly golf ball. They use ‘em in Australia.

This is a photo of the stone in my right kidney.

I’ve had the two stones for over a year. My stone doc has been keeping an eye on ‘em. His left one. They haven’t been hurting me till recently. I suppose it’s because they’re too big to try to escape. It’s the escape that’ll get you every time.

The stone in the left kidney.

I really don’t know what the stones are up to, but they’ve definitely changed their routine. The pony stone keeps kicking my side and messing with my lower back. The golf ball just gives me a quick punch.

The only good thing good about ‘em is the exercise. I can’t. If I start stooping, squatting, raising up and laying back down, those stones are gonna try to make a run for it. I can’t let ‘em try. There’s no room. Are you reading me here? They can’t get out!

I’m sorry. Stones really alter my mood. I don’t know why that is. Your kidneys do something with your brain. Take my word. Just wish I could get the stones near my new metal bridge… when I get it.

I guess, there’s no need, ‘cause the stones should be shattered in a couple of days. That’s when they get lithotripsied. Lithotripsy involves shooting sound waves at your kidney stones. You’re lying on a waterbed kind of contraption while sound waves hammer at you. They don’t mess up anything but the stones. The sound waves can crush stone, but they won’t mess with body tissue.

Do you believe that? I’m about as gullible as my tongue, but I’m having trouble swallowing that. For one thing, I don’t believe it is sound waves that they’re shooting at your kidneys. You scratch this thing and you’re gonna uncover gamma rays. Undiluted, massively amplified gamma rays. The kind that are liable to make me grow out of my shirt, but not my pants, and turn me into the Incredible Hunk. Of course, I’ll hafta get mad before the change hits. Or excited. Maybe both. I don’t remember the last time I got excited. Mad, not so hard for me.

Finally, after the teeth are fixed and the stones shattered I have my yearly physical. All three of these appointments just fell in the same week. Dr. Strickland, my family doctor, is another super nice guy and just as smart as can be. He knows all about me, and still doesn’t mind fixing me up.

I suppose my kidney stone doc is nice too, but I just have trouble feeling an affinity for a guy who has done to me what he has. If anyone even snaps a rubber band around me I immediately cry and assume the fetal position.

While I dread the yearly physical, it shouldn’t be all that bad. I just hate the weighing part. Last year Doc S told me to exercise and lose some weight. I told him “Sure thing!” Hey, I wasn’t gonna see him for another year. Figured I might eat porcupine fish between then and now. If not I’d diet and exercise a couple of weeks before the physical.

The last few weeks I have been cutting down on my food intake. I would exercise, but— Do you remember why I can’t exercise? Just seeing if you were paying attention. No, Dr. S is gonna see the same ol’ Mark. A bit over weight and very much unfit.

He doesn’t try to shame me, though, but I can see the disappointment in his eyes. I almost wish the stone in my right kidney was as big as it feels. If, after the lithotripsy I lose the weight of a small pony, I’ll get a great report. – “Mark, you’ve got to get some nourishment. Chocolate! More, chocolate! And, no more exercise. It’s killin’ you!”

That’s always been a dream of mine. Probably why I bite my tongue while I’m sleeping.

end

To see Brad and Mark’s review of The Toasted Yolk, click below.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zi9J8P0GhdM

Clooney and Rizolli vents

September 21, 2010 “A couple of vents”

I seldom get upset about anything. Have you noticed that? Well you need to notice. But, don’t notice now, because I recently got ticked off at a movie and a TV show. Not ticked off enough to boycott anything. Just enough to vent.

Kay’s already heard my ventage and it didn’t faze her. She didn’t even care. But, you care. Well, you can pretend, can’t you? Cool.

The first vent has to do with the movie Kay and I went to see on Labor Day. It was a packed theatre so there’s a good chance some of you were there. The movie had love, violence and George Clooney. Oh, and popcorn.

But, George was what really got Kay to agree to go with me. Had I suggested a movie about a hitman, she would’ve balked. Kay is a great balker. If the preview has killing, slapping or biting, she doesn’t care to see the movie. She prefers not to watch people get hurt… even when they’re just acting hurt. I’ve watched a lot of good movies by myself.

But, like I say, Clooney was the big draw for Kay. She loves George Clooney. I have no big love interest, but I do like him. He’s a good actor with a great personality, a benevolent spirit and great looks. He’s the antithesis of, uh… somebody who’s the opposite of all that.

If George Clooney just looked at Kay and smiled, she’d dump me in a minute. She’ll probably tell you different, but don’t believe her. I’m a Clooney-smile away from being tossed. I can deal with that, ‘cause I can’t see her ever meeting the guy. Won’t let it happen.

From all this, you’ve likely gathered that Kay and I went to see “The American.” I could’ve said at the beginning, but I wanted to lay down some groundwork to show that we were both expecting good stuff.

The popcorn sure didn’t let me down. Fortunately for me, Kay is really cutting down on her popcorn consumption. She’s going from “just a little bit” to “not much at all.” I’m slimming down from a “whole lot” to “a lot.” To demonstrate my resolve I only bought the medium popcorn.

We were fortunate to find a couple of seats in the high-up section just before the lights dimmed. I hate to feel around on the people in the aisle seats when the lights go out. You’d think they’d expect it. They always seem so surprised.

The movie lasted for a little over a couple of hours. Seemed much longer. When the screen finally went to black and the credits started rolling, the theatre was quiet as a golf cart. I didn’t notice anyone even get up. We were all waiting for someone to say it.

I sure didn’t want to be the one, but someone had to step forward. After about eight seconds of stillness, a guy to my right said the words that allowed us all to leave. He said, “You’ve gotta be kiddin’!” After that, practically the entire audience laughed and left.

I don’t wanna say the movie was slow, but during the two or three naked scenes I didn’t even care. Barely noticed. (Well, that part’s a lie.) There was so little action in that movie, that I couldn’t even find a good time to eat my popcorn. When the movie started there was no sound coming from the speakers to muffle the sound of my hand in the popcorn bag and all the chomping. Oh, there was the occasional sound of a car engine, a guy walking, maybe a little wind in the distance. But nothing else. Through that entire movie I could’ve pointed in the direction of anyone in that theatre that had any popcorn left.

Let me just say this and I’ll move on to my other gripe. The thing about “The American” that was so bizarre to me was how anyone could take a lousy story set in a really boring town in Italy; come up with a character you know nothing about and learn even less about; give him absolutely no personality; come up with a really bad ending, and decide to make a movie out it. On top of that, get a great actor with a charming personality to play the boring lead. Was Jude Law unavailable?

That vent felt good. (Apologies to Jude Law. He was collateral damage.) Since I have little time for my second vent, let’s get to it. Kay and I watched a taped “Rizzoli and Isles” episode last night. I didn’t care for the series at first, but I’m beginning to like Rizzoli. Even her voice.

At the beginning of last night’s episode, a guy gets in his car at night and drives off. He hasn’t gone far when someone hiding in the backseat, raises up, stabs him in the neck with an ice pick, and then exits the car. In the next scene, it’s daylight and the car with the dead guy in it is blocking traffic for blocks. Maybe miles. The police are just standing around the car waiting to get a search warrant before they can examine the dead guy and move the car.

That one scene ruined the whole show for me. I kept griping about it to Kay, but she was no help. “Let it go, Sweetie,” she said. Let it go? There’s a car with it’s door open; a guy with an ice pick in his neck in the driver’s seat; traffic is blocked from Boston to Halifax and the police can’t touch anything without a warrant!

Was there no one in the film crew, no actor in the episode, no writer, director or producer who didn’t realize that police don’t need a warrant to inspect a guy with an ice pick in his neck if he’s in the road, in a box, in a stagecoach, on a motor scooter, on horseback, in the back of a truck or a locked car… and especially in a car with an open door?

In Texas the guy wouldn’t even need to be dead. If he’s blocking traffic, they’ll drag him out through the broken window, haul his cuffed keester to jail and impound the car. Warrant my foot! Just ruined the whole episode for me.

But, I’m much better now. With your help, I think I’ve healed myself. Next time you hear from me, I’ll be singing a happy tune. Kay will see to that. She draws that George Clooney like a gun.

END

To see BradMeyer and Mark’s review of Landry’s click here. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bB254jh7AR8

September 9, 2010

"Ask me something else"

I’d like to you to stand up if you’re able… oh, and if you’re in a place that allows you to stand. What? No, by all means, Malcolm, stay seated. Okay, forget it, everybody stay seated. I didn’t think that out well at all.

Tell you what, try this. Just sit back and go to the best thinking part of your brain. Mine’s in a thin area between the parietal and occipital lobes. Let’s not all go there. Barely enough room for me.

Okay, now close your eyes. Wait! Wsheeew, that was close. Only shut one of your eyes. I’d like you to close both of ‘em, but then you wouldn’t be able to read what you’re supposed to do next. You’d be walking around the rest of the week upset at me for making you blind. So, just shut one eye, please. Those of you with only one functional eye just sit there. Hey, I’d start this article over in a second, but I’ve already invested too much time.

All right, so, you’re all seated with one or none eyes closed, and you’re in a pretty smart part of your brain. Okay, I’m going to ask you a question, and I want you to pretend that you’re on stage and a few thousand people are waiting for your answer. Oh, and you’re on TV with a few million people watching... just not all on the same TV. About eight of you are wondering what that meant. You picked the wrong brain place.

You’ve got two minutes to answer the question. Are you ready? Here goes: "What is one big mistake you’ve made in your life, and what did you do to make it right." The clock is ticking. People are waiting. Don’t make a fool of yourself, but answer the question. Did I mention the clock is ticking?

Okay, that’s the end of the exercise. No, I don’t want to hear your answers. I just wanted to try to simulate the situation Miss Philippines found herself in at the Miss Universe Pageant a few weeks back. From what I’ve read she was the favorite going into the question/answer part of the pageant. Her answer supposedly gave the title to Miss Mexico. Miss Mexico got an easy sappy question.

I didn’t watch the pageant, but I read about it. Miss Philippines came off looking a bit smug, according to one article and a short news segment I saw. She said that she had made no major mistakes in her life that she regretted. Then she mentioned the love and confidence she receives from her family. I understand that somewhere in the distance a lone bugle could be heard playing Taps. Like I say, I didn’t watch it.

I think the question a very cruel thing to ask. I mean, one of the other contestants was asked what she thinks about airport scanners that can see through your clothes. Was it a good thing to do? Hey, I can dance all over and around that question. – But "What one big mistake have you made?" Uh, can I think awhile and get back to you? Maybe mail in my answer?

When I asked you the question, what did you immediately think of? Wait! No, again, don’t tell me. But, I will tell you what I thought of. I thought of one or two big mistakes I made in my life. Stuff I’d just like to keep between me and the few who know. And, as soon as those two big mistakes came into my head, I couldn’t think of anything else. Not while I’m pretending to be on stage with a bunch of people watching and waiting for me to say something sweet and noble.

In my simulation, I eventually told the pageant judge that I had made a bunch of mistakes, none of which I cared to share with him and all the other Nosy Nellies out there. Of course, I had nothing to lose, seeing as how I had scored so poorly in bathing suit portion of the contest. Tore ‘em up, though, in the talent part with my impersonation of Janis Joplin.

By the way, William Baldwin (One of Alec’s kid brothers) was the judge who asked the question. I like William Baldwin. Can I call him Bill? Bill is a good guy, he just has no business judging a Miss Universe contest. Who the Sam Hill picked him? I can hear the committee now, -- Catherine Deneuve? -- Nah. -- Halle Berry? -- Nah. --How ‘bout William Baldwin? -- That’s it! Get his agent on the phone!

It’s similar to me judging a contest for the best design of a lady’s shoe, or me refereeing a soccer game, or keeping score in a bowling tournament. Hey, I can go on and on here if I need to. Bottom line, William Baldwin? No pageant judge. -- By the way, William, (I know you’re reading this) there’s a chance someone just handed you the question, in which case I apologize. You only did what you had to do.)

While I feel badly for Miss Philippines, I’m pretty sure I’ll get over it. -- Wait a second. I’m over it. – Regardless, I think she got a pretty raw deal. The only hope I see for her is the possibility of her entering another contest. There are several. Along with the Miss Universe, she could try out for Miss World, Miss International and Miss Earth. I would think that Miss Universe would be the best, but Miss Earth is nothing to sneeze at. If you were a woman, wouldn’t be great to be able to say, "Hey, I’m the prettiest, the most talented and the best answerer of a nosy question on Earth."

That’d be cool. It’d even be cool for some guy to be able to date such a person. "Hey, I dated Miss Earth. She’s thinking of running for Miss Galaxy and then on to Universe."

Any guy who lives in the US has a pretty good chance of dating a pageant winner. We’ve got pageants for Miss Distinguished Young Woman, Miss Outstanding Teen, Miss Teen USA, Miss USA, Miss United States, Miss US of A, Miss United States Teen, Miss America, Mrs. America… and a bunch more.

In fact, I may have married a pageant winner and don’t know it. I’ll have to ask Kay when she gets home. I’d really like to know what question she got. – "What is the worst thing about you, and why haven’t you corrected it? – Williaaaaaam! I would’ve thrown my shoe at the guy. Thrown something.

END

To see the video of Brad and Mark’s Pie in the Sky restaurant review, click on photo.

Some homely Brits and first day of school horror story

MARK’S ARTICLE – September 6, 2010 “Subject changes”

Dennis called yesterday to ask me something. I’ve got three brothers, and not one of ‘em ever calls without a reason. “Just to check on me” is no reason. I’d be real upset about that, but I’m the same way. Women check on each other all the time, but not men. At least not Hayter men.

Coincidentally, what Dennis had to ask was in reference to women. (I haven’t used the word “coincidentally” in about eight years. It felt good. Coincidentally.) Where was I? Oh, women.

Dennis asked me about British women, to be exact. He had watched the “Inspector Lewis Mystery “on Masterpiece Theatre the night before and noticed something about the women on the program. You didn’t ask, but Inspector Lewis is my least favorite British detective. He’s just below Miss Marple. Miss Marple is smart, but weak as rain. Lewis is dumb and weak. He’s the least smart detective on Masterpiece. I still like to watch him, though. British mysteries are the best.

Where was— oh yeah, women. Dennis wanted to know why women on British TV are so ugly. He thought I ought to know. Dennis is loony sometimes. He said that all the women on Masterpiece theater either have bad teeth, a bad nose, protruding chin or no chin. Keep in mind these are Dennis’ words. His phone number is 555-261-6789.

I knew right off that Dennis was way off on his assumption. Only 85 percent of the women on Masterpiece are homely. And, they’re not representative of all British women. Probably. Of course, 90 percent of all British men are scary ugly. (Why is it easier for me to say bad things about men than women? It’s just not fair.) By the way, ME making fun of someone’s looks is beyond hypocritical. It’s hypocriolossical. I’ve used that word in Scrabble. It’s most convincing.

Personally, I think it’s good that Masterpiece Theater casts ugly actors. We seldom do that in the US of A. After an audition, if I don’t get a callback, I assume I didn’t look good enough for the part. You can’t assume that in Britain. The British gravitate toward the “plain.” Apparently they’re the best actors. (Don’t forget Dennis’ phone number.)

I told Dennis all of that. Even chastised him for being so mean to British women. I about had him in tears. Upset him so much that he changed the subject on me. The switch came so fast that it about twisted my neck.

Dennis said that his grandkids were real excited about the start of school. He said that J Bear and Maxie were all grins when they left the house. No transition, he just skipped right to school. All the brothers do that. Well, they don’t skip to school that often, but they do change the subject a lot. Fortunately, I’m more disciplined.

Dennis sounded proud of The Bear and Maxie. Me? Not so much. I think they’re weird. At no time in my entire life was I ever happy about the start of school. I started every school year kicking and screaming. Particularly when I was teaching. Ba dump dump.

There is something about the beginning of school that is scary as all get out. If you’re not scared, you don’t have a full grasp of the situation. My first day in the first grade was terrible. I’d never been to kindergarten or day care. I was an outsider when it came to organized education.

I remember being so relieved when I came home from school after my first day, that I sang the “Have Gun Will Travel” song. It was over! The next morning Mom woke me up and told me to get ready for school. I thought she’d lost her mind. “Mother, I went to school yesterday, remember?” I actually thought school was over for me after that one day. How stupid is that?

Me in the first grade

Mom didn’t have to spank me to get me to cry, ‘cause I was already crying. I wasn’t going. Turns out, I did. Unfortunately, since I figured I wouldn’t be returning to school for Day 2, I had paid no attention to where my classroom was. Dennis was in the fourth grade line, but he wouldn’t and couldn’t help me, so I just walked the halls until I found a classroom that looked okay.

After roll call, the teacher asked if there was anyone whose name she didn’t call. I didn’t raise my hand. It took her awhile to figure out I was the additional student. She took me straight to the principal’s office. Didn’t trust me to find the place on my own.

I’ve told that story more than a few times, ‘cause it really burned a hole in the confidence part of my brain. At the start of each school year, that moment resurfaces and I get that sick feeling about being out of step with the rest of the world.

That’s what always scared me about school. I just knew that the kids and teachers could tell that I was acting my rear off trying to appear normal. And, that behind my mask of mild assurance was the real me… a citizen of Loserland. Population: Mark.

I told Dennis that story right after he told me about his grandkids. Oh, I didn’t tell him about the “mask of mild assurance” thing. That’s too weird for brother-talk. No, I just reminded him about how I thought school was over after the first day. And, about how he couldn’t get out of line to help me find my classroom that second day.

Dennis didn’t remember any of that. I must’ve been a pretty good actor to get my big brother… my best friend to think I had it all together. It’s hard when you’re young.

So Dennis’ grandkids were all excited about the start of school. Sheesh. Was sorry that Dennis let me in on that little gem. As bad as the ugly British women topic was, I was sorry he changed the subject. The brothers do that a lot.

END
To see the latest Brad and Mark restaurant review click here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dn_l4Bjb1S4.

Woulda never guessed...

MARK’S ARTICLE – August 29, 2010
“”Dinosaur dumb”

I had one of those dinosaur moments a couple of weeks back at my friend Gary Parker’s production studio, Quanah Productions. Big Al and I have been working on a new “From the Rooftop” series in Gary’s studio, ‘cause Gary is really nice and so easy to take advantage of. I just love the guy.
Anyway, I was trying to get Sam, an 11 year-old young lady who plays the Rooftop producer, to scream “Stellaaaaah!” the way Marlon Brando did in Streetcar. Sam was uncertain as to what I was asking her to do. According to Big Al, I was doing a really lousy Brando impersonation. My kid brother is so supportive.
Before I could tell Sam about the Streetcar scene, Kyle Scarborough, a local doctor and Rooftop investigative reporter, said, “Hey, Mark, here it is.” Kyle handed me this thin, little rectangular telephone/computer thing. He pushed the button for me and there was Brando screaming “Stellaaaaah!”

It was the scene straight from the movie, and it took Kyle 40 seconds to pull it up. I showed the scene to Sam and she said something like, “Oh, well, why didn’t you say you wanted it like that? Stellaaaaah!” The kid’s great.
That one display of technological wonderment completely blew me away. Completely. I’ve come close to losing sleep over it. Pretty close. There are two things I never thought I’d witness in my lifetime. Well, maybe more than two, but for our purpose let’s just say two. One was the fall of the Soviet Union. Never thought that would happen in my lifetime.

The other thing? I never thought I’d see someone grab a thin wallet-sized device, push a few buttons and come up with a scene from “A Streetcar Named Desire.”

And, the scary part? You wanna know the scary part? I was the only one in that studio who acted the least bit amazed. Kyle thought nothing of what he did; Sam thought it perfectly natural to look at a little screen and see an actor she’d never heard of scream something; Al didn’t care ‘cause he thought the whole Stella thing was stupid.

When I think of all the stuff that was going on in that small, thin box while it was searching for Brando, my cranium gets boggled. And then when I think of all the microwaves, radio waves, whatever waves that were bouncing around inside that studio and travelling all over the country and all out into space carrying that info… well, it makes me feel really small. Small and dumb. Dinosaur dumb.

I don’t want you to think that I don’t know how to use a computer, ‘cause I do. I’m using one now, in fact. I type, or keyboard, my articles and zip ‘em off to the boss when I’m through. I know how to work the computer, but I don’t know how it works.

I have even been known to look up important stuff with the computer. I’ve been Googling for four years now. (I just threw that in. I have no idea how long I’ve been Googling.) Remember the article I wrote about chopsticks and forks? Two of you? Well that just stinks. Whatever. The thing is, when I started the article, I had no idea where the fork came from. By the time I finished the thing, I was a fork expert. Thanks to the Internet.

In the days before Internet we had encyclopedias. They had a lot of information, but couldn’t tell you stuff like the number of episodes of “Gunsmoke” in which James Arness did not appear. No, for that you’d hafta call the Library Lady… more properly known as the Liberry Lady.

Did you ever call the Liberry Lady to find something out? I did about 20 years ago. I don’t remember what I was looking for, but it sure wasn’t in any of my books, so Kay recommended I call the library. I said, “You mean, the liberry?”

Well, I called and asked my question. The lady thought the question odd, but said she’d give it a go. She called back in about 20 minutes to tell me she couldn’t find what I was looking for. I felt guilty for wasting her time. Told her so. She apologized for not being able to help, and then corrected my grammar. Told me “liberry” was incorrect. No wonder she couldn’t help me. She didn’t even know who she was.

There was a movie in the olden days about a group of Liberry Ladies whose jobs were threatened by a computer. Spencer Tracy and Katherine Hepburn were in it. The movie was pretty much science fiction, ‘cause at the time, they didn’t have a computer that could take the place of Liberry Ladies. Now they do. I’ve pretty well been all over that.

I do not remember the name of the Spencer/Hepburn movie, but I’m getting ready to find out. I’m not nearly as smart as Kyle Scarborough, nor is my computer as small as his. But, I’m going to find out how long it takes me to get the name of the movie with my big bulky job. It took him 40 seconds to find Brando yelling “Stella.” Let’s see how I do with a Spencer Tracy movie. -- Are you ready? Okay, on your mark—set go! -- I’m finished. The movie is “Desk Set.”

It took me 25 seconds. I Googled “Tracy Hepburn Computer Movie.” It pulled up “Desk Set” and Gig Young and the screenwriters Phoebe and Henry Ephron. The movie came out in ’57.

Isn’t that something? I think it’s something. Don’t know what all happened after I typed in the words, but there must’ve been information flying all over the planet. You get a few million people looking up stuff at the same time, and we’ll all have information waves pounding the daylights out of us. Just weird as it can be.

And. I lived to witness it. Since I remember what it was like before the Internet, the whole process is a wonderment to me. Those who don’t remember encyclopedias and Library Ladies think nothing of it.

Oh, and people like Big Al and Kyle? Kyle knows too much to be all that amazed by technology. Al? The last time he was amazed I beat him in ping-pong. It was back in ’83. Only happened once. Pretty sure it’s ungoogleable.

END


To view Brad Meyer and Mark’s review of La Madeleine, the French Restaurant, click here. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jyaPiKHVPao

Today we're gonna sit on the roof of the porch just in front of those two windows.

MARK’S ARTICLE – August 25 , 2010
“Frontyard view”

ROOFTOP – No, we’re not climbing to the peak of the roof this morning. It’s too steep and too wet. I might make it, but I’d probably lose a few of you.

So, plop your buns down here on this flatter part of the roof here above the porch. We may be putting a bit of a strain on the porch supports, but, even if they give way, I doubt the fall would kill us.

We might make the six o’clock news, though. -- “Several Montgomery County residents were given a scare as the result of a collapsing roof above the porch of one Mark Hayter. No one was seriously injured in the fall, but the melee following the mishap was not pretty.” Yeah, I can’t help thinking some of you would blame me.

But, forget that. Some of you no doubt notice that we have different view this morning.. For you first time roofsitters let me say that we generally face the backyard, but from our perch above the porch we’re looking out on the front. Isn’t that something? You can see the garden without craning your neck.

Yep, it’s still there. Remember? Kay wanted a garden, so I dug and planted one for her. My efforts paid off bigtime. I managed to cultivate two tomatoes and a bell pepper. Digging, planting, watering, fertilizing and weeding. Two tomatoes and a miniature thin-skinned bell pepper.

A couple of weeks ago, Kay told me that it was time to plant a fall garden. I instantly called Freeman and passed along the news. He thanked me. I would’ve called our dear friend Catherine to remind her, but I just didn’t like the way I sounded when I practiced the call. I didn’t sound at all like I was doing her a favor by reminding her. With Freeman, I don’t care. Freeman knows I’m up to something the minute I call.

Eventually, Kay reminded me again about the fall garden. It was then that I realized she was telling ME to plant a fall garden. I’m not making this up. I confess that my voice was marginally raised when I said, “Darling, don’t push it.”

She then told me that she didn’t mean for me to plant the garden. She would get the plants and take care of everything. That’s what she said. Of course, I had to wonder why she had to inform me twice that SHE needed to do that.

Well, take a look down there. The original bell pepper plants snapped out of it and started producing. Kay pulled up the old tomato plants and stuck in some new ones. She built up the soil a little better than I did. Shaded the plants from the afternoon sun with dishtowels that she draped over the stakes. I think she’s showing me the proper way to handle a garden.

The way I see it, it’s a win/win for me. If her garden does lousy, there will be no use in either of us putting in another garden next year… or ever. If the garden does well, then we’ll get some good ‘maters, and she’ll have to do all future gardens, ‘cause it’s obvious I don’t know how to do it right.

We don’t have any tomatoes down there at the moment, but we’re rich with birds. Look at ‘em going after the birdfeeder. Birds are the least generous of animals… possible exception of a shark. Birds do not like to share or wait. You’re not hearing any “please” or “thank you” down there. Those are mean chirps meant to scare off whatever specie is currently sitting on the feeder stoop. The stoop won’t support the weight of a squirrel or even a blue jay. A cardinal is about the biggest bird it will let feed. There are a lot of those down there.

Yep, a lot of birds, but do you know what there is not a lot of… anywhere? Anywhere I’ve been. Butterflies. Over the past several years they’ve become more of a rarity. I hate that. A wonderment they are… butterflies. Some of ‘em migrate over 3000 miles. Did you know that? I’ve read it, but I don’t believe it.

I saw a butterfly flutter across the parking lot at church last Sunday. That thing flew three feet in a stagger, then all of a sudden it went up about two feet and then two to the left. Three thousand miles like that? Fragile wings that look like they could break in the wind. Life expectancy of a just opened kid’s racecar set. Oh, yeah, they can make 3000 miles. Easy.

If I had waited for the Sunday butterfly to cross the entire parking lot, I would’ve missed church. – “Kay, where is your husband?” – “He’s standing in the parking lot timing a butterfly.” I doubt there would be a follow-up question. Kay would just get a big ol’ hug.

After all that, maybe I don’t see butterflies now ‘cause they’ve all migrated somewhere. In Canada, maybe. In October they’ll head on down to Mexico. Probably skip my house. They always have in the past. I’d put up little butterfly feeders if I thought they would come… and if I knew what they ate. Probably pie crust.

The birds down there seem to eat nothing but sunflower seeds. If I put the Wild Bird birdseed out, they just pick around the parakeet-looking food and grab the sunflower seeds. Kind of like me with a can of mixed nuts. I save the filberts and Brazil nuts for Kay. Hit the cashews pretty hard.

So much to talk about up here. I was hoping I’d have time to mention my new sprinkler. It’s out back. Last year’s sprinkler walked off. Maybe I ran over it with the lawnmower. All I know is I can’t find it, so I bought this round looking job that will water in a circle, a square or triangle. No idea how that works. Made in China. You could’ve knocked me over with a Volvo.

I’ll show you the sprinkler during the next roofsit. Right now, let’s watch our step on the way down. If any of you want a closer look at the garden, feel free. It’s a masterpiece. I’m still banking on Freeman’s garden, though. I might give him a call when I get at ground level. If he didn’t plant more squash I’ll have to get after him. He doesn’t scare me. We’ve got an understanding.

END

MARK’S ARTICLE -- August 13, 2010
“Eating with pointy things”

Have you noticed how some Chinese restaurants are now calling themselves Asian? Same menu, just with a different restaurant name. Have you noticed that? Well, you need to start paying attention to stuff.

Not only Chinese, but many oriental-style-eating establishments are now calling themselves “Asian.” Japanese, Korean, Vietnamese, Chinese… They’re going “Asian”

I really don’t know why that is. I’m assuming that “Asian” makes you think there’s a wider variety of food. Let’s face it, Asia covers a lot of area. Not only do you have China, Japan, Korea and Vietnam, but you also Russia, Kazakhstan, Iran, India, Nepal, Turkmenistan and a few dozen other countries. If your restaurant can cater to the taste of all those places, you’ve got an encyclopedic menu and a cook that’s certifiably bonkers.

I mention that to mention this. Montgomery County food critic Brad Meyer and I ate lunch at one of Montgomery County’s Asian restaurants last week. It was a place where the guy does the cooking at your table while he jokes around and throws the knife and spatula into the air. Something I’ve been practicing. Kay is not completely on board with the idea.

Both times I’ve eaten Asian with Brad, I’ve always tried to use chopsticks just so I won’t appear a yokel. That’s what snobs think when you don’t eat right. Snobby Brad comes to mind.

While I was sitting there trying to deliver fried rice to my mouth with two pointed sticks, I got to thinking… which was hard to do because most of my active brain cells were trying to work the chopsticks. At one point I said, “How the Sam Hill did anything like this ever catch on?”

Brad said something like, “Rice? It’s pretty much the staple in a lot of Asian countries. We’ve got mashed potatoes; they’ve got rice. Try to adapt.” The guy can be such a goob.

It just boggles my mind how a person would think to pick up a small pointed stick and then another, and all of sudden say, “Voila!” (or “Wingraw!” in Chinese) “These would be perfect for eating my rice!”

What kind of genius would come up with something like that? I’d come closer to understanding the time/space continuum than figuring out the intricacies of eating food with two pointed sticks.

The chopstick inventor was so much brighter than the person who invented the wheel. Just about anybody could see a good use in something that was round that rolled. But, two pointy sticks? Short of poking at stuff, what are you gonna do with ‘em? A genius, I’m telling you.

The biggest task would be to get others to accept the invention. Can you imagine the first guy who heard the inventor’s spiel? -- “Okay, do that again, only slower this time. – No, I’m just not buying it.” -- The inventor had to be the best salesman in the world. Today, there are a couple billion people in Asia eating with two pointed sticks. Each is so much more talented than I.

That’s why I dropped my sticks and drew a fork early into the meal. I can shovel so much better than I can pinch.

This has nothing to do with anything, but I really liked it.

Speaking of forks, those buddies didn’t just land in our laps. Took a lot of figuring to come up with pronged stabbers. The Greeks were the first to leave behind evidence of fork use. This was back when B.C. was real close to your A.D.s. Hey, I researched this stuff. Not so much the Chopsticks. Did you pick up on that?

While the Greeks were fairly smart, they never thought to put more than two tines on their forks. And, they just used ‘em for serving, not eating. That’s where the saying, “Okay, fork it over!” came into play. Possibly.

It took 1400 years for the fork to make its way to Europe. The Italians were the first to accept the concept, and they only adopted it because of spaghetti. Do you remember the last time you ate spaghetti with your hands? Whatta mess! Kay still gets after me for that. Even with a two-pronged fork, spaghetti can be a struggle. It wasn’t until the 17th Century that someone decided to add a third prong. They’d been looking at statues of Poseidon with his trident forever, yet no one grasped the concept of a fork with more than two tines. Renaissance my posterior.

Eventually, a mathematician decided to put a fourth tine on the fork. People went nuts. That’s when people started hitting the mashed potatoes pretty hard. A couple of real smarty-pants tried to put six tines on a fork, but were laughed out of Europe. Their names were Gillette and Schick. More is always better? Get real.

The British didn’t embrace the fork until the 1750s. They used it for about 60 years before someone thought to put a little curve in the tines. A little dip. After this, the British (most of ‘em) substituted a fork for a knife when eating their peas. It would be several decades later before North America started forking stuff. It was about the same time spaghetti reached the continent.

And, it was about 20 minutes into the meal before Brad got rid of his chopsticks and grabbed his fork. Whatta loser. “How are those two pointy sticks doing for you now, big guy! How’s it feel to be a member of the yokel club?” I didn’t really say that to him, because he hadn’t paid for my meal yet. Just ‘cause I can’t operate chopsticks doesn’t meal I’m a complete idiot.

END

To catch Brad Meyer and Mark’s review of Benihana's click on http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=29_nxywmEH8.