Go out and snap some weird pictures

MARK’S ARTICLE – July 26, 2010 “Waiting for photos”

You know what killed the Abominable Snowman, Sasquatch, Yeti, Big Foot, Lee J. Cobb? Do you? No, they’re all one and the same… except for Cobb. I just threw his name in to see if you were paying attention. Hate to lose people this early in the piece.

Well, what killed Big Foot is the same thing that killed the Loch Ness monster and most UFOs. Ready for this? Ta da! It’s the cell phone. Pretty obvious wasn’t it? Well then, apparently my mind just thinks differently. Not better, necessarily… but, different…ly. (I’m using way too many of those “…” aren’t I? “Ellipsis” I think they’re called. I’m sure I’m using ‘em wrong, too, but they just seem to show up occasionally… along with Bigfoot, ghosts, extraterrestrials…)

Back to “death by cell phone.” I thought about cell phones while seeing about five minutes of the latest program on Roswell and Area 51. The Roswell incident happened back in ’47. Area 51 has been around since… who knows? I don’t.

Area 51

It could’ve been out there during the time of Moses. They’ve probably got Elijah’s fiery chariot in a hanger right next to the Roswell spaceship. (For those who consider that blasphemy, I don’t really think they have the chariot. That was just silly talk.)
I only mentioned Roswell and Area 51 because I’m tired of hearing about ‘em. It’s sad to think that that’s the best we can do. We’ve got some conversations with people who say they saw stuff? Is that it? Oh, I know there are blurry photos of UFOs and scary stuff, but come on, man, how come every witness to a “happening” turns out to be a lousy photographer with a cheap camera?
The only decent photo of Bigfoot was the one taken of the guy in the woods walking straight up, wearing the gorilla suit. He’s looking right at the camera like he’s saying, “Is this about where you want me, Herbie?

No, if there are any real Sasquatches out there, we’ll have some real pictures pretty quick. Maybe next week. And, that’s because of cell phones. Those things take great pictures. We had a family get-together awhile back, and Jill was snapping pictures right and left with her phone. They came out better than mine did, and I was taking photos with one of those disposable camera things. You can’t get any better than that… I thought.

Today, nobody goes anywhere without a cell phone. Well, that’s a lie, but since it adds more credence to what I’m saying, I thought I’d use it. People do that on talk radio all the time. It’s become an accepted practice. Accepted by everyone in the Free World. -- See how easy it is to do?

So, whether they’re in the woods, at the beach, on a dark and stormy night -- insert ellipsis -- everyone has the ability to take a picture or a video of anything weird. So far, we haven’t gotten any good stuff. Oh, there’s Grandpa’s pants falling down, a dog attacking a vacuum cleaner, a kid blowing spaghetti out his nose, a lady falling out of a canoe, ellipsis.

But, we see no in-focus UFOs, Yetis or sea monsters. Notice I didn’t include ghosts in there. That’s cause ghosts are among the few apparitions that show up mostly in pictures. You don’t know they’re there until you look at the photo. Hey, I’ve seen one. If Al can find the picture, I’ll see if the boss won’t put it in. If you don’t see it’s ‘cause Al couldn’t find it or the CIA wouldn’t let The Villager print it.

If you think I’m trying to debunk Bigfeet or Loch Nesses or UFOs, you’re sadly mistaken. Well, not sadly. That doesn’t even make sense to me. Point is, I’ve seen a UFO. At least I saw something in the air that I couldn’t identify and it was weird as all get out. Haven’t seen me on TV talking about it, have you? The Government won’t let me. Again, that’s a lie, but it’s really working here.

Unfortunately, during my sighting, I didn’t have a camera with me. If I had, the photo would’ve come out all blurry and weird, ‘cause I’m a lousy photographer. Or, maybe I had a camera and the aliens confiscated it and left a shard of something in my earlobe to make me forget. I’m liking the sound of that.

I’ve mentioned before that I’d really like to be the President, so I could find out what the government really knows about UFOs and aliens and what all. I’d make somebody show me all that we’ve got. Of course, I saw a preview of one of the new TV series where they showed a clip of the President telling some underling to give him some info. The guy said, “I’m sorry, Mr. President. That’s on a need-to-know basis.”

Boy, if I were President and somebody told me I didn’t need to know something, I’d have the nearest Secret Service guy make him talk in a squeak for the rest of his life. “Need to know basis” my foot! For a President “need to know” should be the same as “want to know.” If the President is kept in the dark, he could push a button to send missiles to France, when it was really the escaped extraterrestrials from Area 51 who attacked Silver City. (No offense meant to the French. I just drew France right out of the air. Could’ve easily been Paraguay… No offense to the Paraguayans.)

Oh, well, the only thing left to do is just sit back and wait. If there is anything out there, we’ll probably get a picture of it in a week or two. If we don’t, that means there’s nothing out there. What I’m thinking. There are too few places for oddities to hide anymore. And there is absolutely nothing that can dodge a camera. They’re everywhere. Of course, that’s not true, but it’s true enough to serve as evidence.

Area 51 and Roswell? They were yesterday. I want to see some new stuff. So, let’s all go out there and take some cell phone pictures. Starting with Jill. Post ‘em on You Tube. Don’t give ‘em to the government. We know what they’ll do with ‘em. Stick ‘em right there in Area 51, right next to ET’s bicycle. They didn’t let that poor creature go. You’re aware of that aren’t you?

END

Too many wheelbarrows, not enough porch swings

MARK’S ARTICLE – July 16, 2010
“The horror of side effects”

Did you hear the latest about vitamin D? Yeah? Well, I’m pretty tore up about, too. I would’ve just as soon not known. Just makes me wish Kay didn’t read so much.

We were doing our breakfast thing last week. We’re sitting at the table and I’m eating my Wheat Chex/Grape Nuts combo. I invented it. Only, I don’t buy the real Grape Nuts, I get the Kroger brand called, Nutty Nuggets. The box is bigger and it costs less. I can’t tell the difference. Of course, if you threw in some road gravel, I’m not sure I could tell the difference.

Where were we? Right. We’re at the table and I’m eating cereal, Kay’s eating… something healthy. Since I can’t read and eat crunchy stuff at the same time, I’m just munching. Kay’s got the newspaper in front of her nose.

“Uh oh,” she said. “Says here that Vitamin D will wheelbarrow you.” Of course, she didn’t say wheelbarrow. She said “constipate.” The term calls up so many horrible visions, that I’m just gonna call it “wheelbarrow” for our purposes today. Try not to get mixed up, or this is really gonna come across as stupid.

Where was—Oh, yeah. After many decades of study, some smarty-pants discovered that Vitamin D can give you a serious wheelbarrow problem, and he decided to share… his findings. Not the wheelbarrow.

Do you have any idea how long I’ve taken Vitamin D of a morning? About two years now. I take Vitamin D3 to be exact. No idea what the “3” stands for, or if there’s a “1” or “2”. Truth is, I don’t even know what a Vitamin is. Do you dig for ‘em? Pick ‘em? Suck ‘em out of fruit? Who knows? I’m sure Kay does.

She’s what started it all. A couple of years ago she commented on how little sun I get. She said it after I stepped out the door in my shorts. She noticed that my legs were a bit white. And, they are. I know that. Here, let me show you. No, no, it’ll just take a second. I’ll-- Well, okay. Take my word.

Anyway, Kay said that we get Vitamin D from the sun and since we weren’t getting much sun, we should probably take some D. She suggested D3. No idea.

So, I’ve been taking the stuff for two years now, all the while wrestling with the side effects. Turns out I’m taking several things that have been known to load your wheelbarrow. Way too many things.

All my pills are meant to make me healthier… help me to look young, help me sleep, see and bend down without staying down. I’m one of only three men in the county who are taking iron. I don’t know why those other two yahoos are taking it, but I’m taking it ‘cause I’ve got the jimmy-leg. Cowboys call it “restless leg syndrome.”

I didn’t know I had it till the third time I went to the sleeping clinic and got diodes glued to every body part that has hair. The doctor looked at the results of my tests and said that, among other things, I’ve got the ol’ restless leg. Gave me a blood test and said I’m low on iron.

I’ve been taking iron tablets now for about a year. The doctor recommended I eat a lot of fiber ‘cause the iron can really cause wheelbarrowation. Of course it does. Even if it didn’t, the mere suggestion of it would give it to me.

One time when I was with the brothers, I was eating a boiled egg. Dennis says, “How can you eat those? They give me the wheelbarrows.” Sure enough. No problem before, but now I can only eat eggs scrambled or over easy. Boiling, demonizes an egg. Don’t know if you knew that.

I also take a few pills for some other problems. I don’t wanna go into all of ‘em. Baylor University is doing a study. I take one pill for my eyes. Seems I’ve got retina problems from a cave movie. I’ve mentioned the movie before. There were monsters in the cave, so we kept lighting flares so we could see ‘em. We shot the cave scene a hundred times. No telling how many flares we used. The doctor said I should’ve kept my eyes shut. Obviously, he hasn’t been around that many cave monsters.

Good news is, my retinas aren’t getting any worse. Probably because of the pill I’m taking. I’m also taking stuff for… well for a lot of different problems. Many associated with my head. It’s a mess.

Fortunately, I’ve got Kay to read all the side effects of every pill. I’d just as soon not know, but she thinks I should. The subatomic-sized print that comes with each pill bottle says that among a hundred other things, the pills “may” cause wheelbarrows or porch-swings. I’m using “porch-swings” in place of diarrhea. A vile word it be. I’ll hear no more of it.

Anyway, when given the choice between wheelbarrows and porch-swings, I think we all know what my body is going to choose. Just once in awhile I’d like to get porch-swings. I need porch-swings. But, noooo. I’m one of the chosen few who are destined to push a low-tired wheelbarrow through life.

I see a lot of you think this funny. Dennis does. Dennis thinks it’s a hoot. He’ll make up stuff to mess with my head. He’s liable to call and say, “Hey, bro, did you read what cinnamon will do to you? Yep, one sprinkle is the same as three boiled eggs.” Anybody need to borrow a brother?

It would be so interesting to know what it would be like if I had never known of side effects of stuff. Would I be like normal people? Am I, in fact, allergic to knowledge? Is that what it is?

I’ll let you know what the doctors at Baylor have to say. They’re pretty excited about this. One of ‘em told me to just keep doing what I normally do, or else I might skew the findings. Right after saying that he recommended I cut down on cookies. Everybody's a comedian.

END

To see Mark and restaurant reviewer Brad Meyer’s second video review, go to You Tube and type in "Brad and Mark restaurant review" and click on the the picture of us with the gray screen behind us.

Oh, what a week it was

MARK’S ARTICLE – July 12, 2010

"Weird week"

Last week was not one of my better weeks. It wasn’t your fault. I can’t believe it was mine. Kay, maybe. Yeah, probably Kay.

The week started off with "The Southern Cross." It’s a song sung by Crosby, Stills and Nash. Mostly Stills. – "Got out of town on a boat for the Southern Islands. Sailing a reach before a following sea…" -- No idea what a lot of it means, but I dig the tune. I’ll give it a 95. http://www.totallyfuzzy.net/ourtube/crosby-stills-nash/southern-cross-live-video_7b8ebe9d5.html

Right now, I’d give about anything to get it out of my head. Scratch that. I’ll give anything under $10. Hey, it’s buggin’ me, but I’m not completely outta my mind. That won’t happen till early Friday.

This is one of those times when a song keeps playing over and over in my brain. I played it twice last Monday and it hasn’t left me since. You may be able to get away with hearing a good song more than once, but not me. Not even "I." (Lt to rt) Stills, Nash, Crosby and Young (better known as Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young)

The song is on a continuous cranial loop all day and into the night.

"Into the West" the song from "Return of the Kings" holds the record for the longest mental play, but this Southern Cross thing is getting close with no sign of let up.

I spilled my coffee twice on Tuesday. That’s another bad thing about the week. I seldom spill coffee. Maybe once every two months. Usually on a Thursday. I’ve got the remnant of a spill right here in the guts of my computer keyboard. It happened back in November. Since then my "j" key has been sticking. Have you ever had that problem?

Tuesday’s two coffee spills didn’t do any real damage. Both times the splash hit on a rug that has a weird design. Coffee blends well with it. Blended so well that I couldn’t find the second spill. I had to get down on my hands and knees. Found it with my left knee. Fascinating.

Although the coffee spills did little physical damage, they did give me pause. – What? Oh, sorry. -- Uh, the spills ‘caused me to worry about my coordination. It’s just not normal for an agile, athletic suave guy to juggle two coffees in one day. It’s not even normal for me. Or, even I. Weird week.

I wouldn’t worry all that much about mug juggles, if it weren’t for the blinker light on my Yaris. (That’s a baby Toyota. Cute as a bug.) Last week, I left my blinker light on… three times. Yes, I realize that blinker lights normally turn themselves off, but only if you make a complete 90-degree turn. If you do one of those 120-degree turns, that light just might stay on. At least mine might. And, when it does, my blinker doesn’t want to disturb me. It makes way too little noise.

Dennis told me that if he leaves his blinker light on too long, the thing will start blaring at him. I may have to take the car in and have Troy turn up the volume on my blinker. That’ll excite him.

Bottom line, I’ve turned into the driver I used to fuss about. Before I completely freak, I’d like you to run a test for me. How about finding the nearest Yaris, hot wire the thing (however that works), turn on the air conditioner and the blinker light and tell me how hard blinker is to hear. If you have no trouble hearing it, I may be turning into Kay’s uncle. If you do have trouble hearing it, I don’t have to feel so bad about making fun of Kay’s uncle.

The ol’ coup de grace of the whole week came with our decision to bundle. This particular bundling involved handing our telephone, Internet and HD TV service to one company instead of parceling it out to a couple. It was Kay’s idea. I knew I could drag her into this. Kay persuaded me to ditch Dish and bundle with our Telephone company, so we could save $60 a month. She made it sound so good that I agreed to delve into the world of the techno. Eve, thy name is Kay.

I was the one who did all the switching. There is a tablet on the desk behind me just full of notes and names and phone numbers. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but it’s much easier to buy into a service than it is to disconnect a service. The selling people are eager. The disconnecting people not so much.

I eventually told a Dish network guy – Miles, I think -- that if he sent me back to Customer Service I was going to get on a slow freighter to Kuala Lumpur and beat the daylights out of him. Fortunately, he had me on hold at the time. Miles couldn’t help it. He was just doing his job. It was pretty much Kay’s fault.

Eventually, I got everything disconnected that needed to be, and everything connected that was supposed to be. After just a few days we wanted out. We needed out! Our new HD TV DVR system must’ve been taken out of a house in Amityville. -- By the way, a TV without DVR is a box. (Isaac Newton, 1671)

Our new system was so slow and so much more complex. It required a PIN number to get into the closed captioning instructions. The remote had more buttons than a Van Heusen factory. The whole thing almost cost us our marriage.

I ended up having to switch everything back. Only took me a few hours and two pages of notes. Everyone I talked to from the Phone Company was from the States. So refreshing.

The guy from the Phone Company who came to pick up all the equipment said that much of my trouble was probably due to the metal roof. Seems wireless signals have trouble with metal roofs. Whatever, just move it out, and take the remotes with you. Devil sticks they were.

It was much easier to get Dish to take us back than it was for them to let us go. Apparently a prodigal son thing. Since I still had my equipment, Dish only charged us $40 to return to the fold. It took 10 minutes to get us back on line. A guy in a rock building in Nepal flipped a switch. Probably.

Fortunately, I learned a few things from the goings-on of the week. I learned that I may have turned into a deaf klutz with a reoccurring-song disease. And, I learned that the government doesn’t have a monopoly on bureaucracy. It all makes me wanna go "sailing a reach before a following sea." Whatever that means.

END

A later Father's Day article

MARK’S ARTICLE – June 26, 2010
“Father’s Day”


I was watching a “City Confidential” episode during lunch today. The program features famous murder trials. In this particular episode, a son killed two small town Minnesota bankers because his dad told him to. Nothing personal, he just wanted to please his dad.

When interviewed, the boy’s mom said something that resonated… with me. I don’t know if anyone else experienced resonation. She said, “Boys will do anything to please their fathers. Not their mothers. Mothers don’t matter.”

Wow, whatta quote. Uh, she might’ve said, “don’t count” instead of “don’t matter.” But, it’s close to a quote. A quote I don’t agree with, but can sure see where she’s coming from.

Without question, I tried much harder to please Faris than Elsie. Reason being, Mom was so much easier to please. If I managed to go a whole day without her wanting to spank me, she was pleased. With seven kids running around, that woman spent many a day unpleased. Dennis and I were “a spanking” waiting to happen.

From left: Larry, Susan (and doll) Dad with Mark, Mom with Jill, Lynda, Dennis (with jaw breaker) Big Al taking picture. That's a joke.

But, Dad? We seldom gave the man cause to spank us. I believe he only spanked me three times. I can only recall “the why” of one of ‘em. He spanked me for lying to Mom, when I didn’t… technically. When I yelled to Mom that I “wasn’t” wrestling with the neighborhood kids, I really wasn’t. I had been when she yelled, but I had stopped wrestling long enough to tell her I wasn’t. So, technically, I was telling the truth. And, I would’ve explained it to her had Dad not been watching the melee.

Dad didn’t care too much for technicalities. I didn’t even bring it up to him. Just took the spanking like a… well, like a crybaby. At no time did any of us kids need Dad to spank us. If he said he was disappointed in us, that’s all it took. I wish I’d been brave enough to tell him that. “Dad, no need for the belt. You had me at ‘disappointed’.”

Now, Mom really needed to spank us… bless her heart. Dad, never. It was partly our fear of him and partly our desire to please him. A touchdown in the big game, a game winning homerun, a four-year scholarship… something like that. Never came close.

Fortunately, Dad never asked me to kill anybody. Never even asked me to hit, taunt or write a mean letter to anyone. Quite the opposite. The man taught me respect by being respectful. I never remember Dad instructing us to say “Yes, ma’am” or “Yes, sir” or “Thank you.” We just always did. We apparently caught onto the notion that it was what Dad expected. He was always polite to other people. Even to people younger than he was. Even to mean people like that one lady at the library. “Thank you, ma’am,” my dad would tell her.

Odd, but Dad never cared if we said “Yes, sir” to him. I think it made him feel less close to us. We never said, “Yeah,” or “nah” or “Not me!” We’d say “Yes” and “no” and “I’m sorry.” Twice I got blamed for stuff I didn’t do, ‘cause I didn’t want to talk back to Dad. I just said, “I’m sorry, Daddy.” Dad was okay with that. Had I tried to explain that Dennis was the one who did it, well, it wouldn’t have come out good for either of us… I imagine. Like I say, I never questioned the man.

Dad said he questioned his Dad only once. It was the only time Grandpa Hayter ever punished him. Ever had to. Dad was helping Grandpa sharecrop during the Great Depression. In Oklahoma, no less. I don’t know what it was that Grandpa told Faris to do, but Dad didn’t think it made all that much sense, so he said, “Well, that’s silly, Dad.”

Grandpa walked over to my dad and boxed his ears. Dad had to explain to me what that meant. It’s when someone puts his hands over your ears and rubs them real hard. Hurts like the dickens. Only wrestlers are supposed to do it. Using a fake rub, I hope.

After boxing his ears, Grandpa said, “Never call a man a fool, son.” I can imagine the temptation to say, “I didn’t call you a fool. I just said that what you were asking me to do was silly.” Dad never said anything except “I’m sorry.” And, he never again questioned my grandpa. (Grandpa was one of the sweetest men I ever knew. He obviously let his grandkids get away with more than he did his son. Isn’t that the way of it?)

All said and done, I have to say that I was not at all pleased with my relationship with Dad. I don’t think he was, either. We were plenty respectful of him, just not close. We’d tell Mom stuff we’d never tell Dad. We’d even ask Mom to ask Dad if we could do stuff or borrow his tools. It was just easier that way.

If I could go back, I’d change it all. Try to, anyway. I’d tell him the no-need-for-the-belt comment just to see how he would respond. Might not have lived past it, but I should have chanced it. I would’ve asked him more about himself, and I would have told him so much sooner how proud I was of him. My dad could do anything… except have a close relationship with his kids. I wish I had made that my mission. I think it would’ve pleased him.

By the way, I mentioned awhile back that I was going to write a book about my dad. I’m still working on it. I plan to post a chapter a week on our website www.fromtherooftop.net. It may not be there by the time this gets out, but it’ll show up soon. When it gets posted, just click on the picture of the typewriter. Till it shows, you might want to look through some old articles in my “Mark’s column” section. Hey, you might.

Before leaving I want to say, “Happy Father’s Day!” to all you dads out there. Oh, the influence you have. A wise man once said, “It’s impossible for fathers not to set an example.” That’s true for each of us, but, at this time, it’s especially true for dads.
END


You can listen to Brad Meyer and Mark’s latest restaurant review by logging onto http://www.hcnonline.com/media/kebob.mp3.

The ceiling was angry that day, my friend

MARK’S ARTICLE – June 20, 2010
“This is scary”


Something scary happened yesterday. I thought the less skittish of you would want to know about it. Some people really groove on scary stuff.

I had just come out of the guestroom to—What? Uh, I was reading back there. Good place to read. – Anyway, I left the guestroom to make some coffee and—Beg pardon? Yes, using my new French Press. Uh, Yuban. Would you please let me get on with this? Thanks!

Okay, I’m making coffee when all of a sudden it sounded like a rabid goat had gotten in the attic and was trying to bust through the ceiling of the guestroom, the room I had just vacated. Remember?

My first thought was – I suppose I should go back in there and check that out. Scary is what it was. What weapon do you take into a room where there’s a giant hydrophobic goat? I grabbed the garlic squeezer and eased down the hallway. (If you can get something to stay still long enough, you can do some serious damage with a well-placed garlic press.)

On “three” I awkwardly bounded into the room to find the ceiling fan wobbling around like a bad dog. I had a vision of the original “Airport” movie, where the giant propeller falls off and—What? Okay, maybe it wasn’t “Airport”. One of those older movies. Just quit it, okay?

Instantly I react. After about five seconds I quit trying to grab the little hanging down chain and decided to flip the switch on the wall. Genius. Only downside was, in the panic, I had lost my garlic squeezer. No idea. It’ll show up.

Upon containing the immediate crisis, I decided it best if I finished my reading and my coffee in the study. The guestroom just wasn’t safe. Something had messed up the fan. While I had ruled out mad goat, I was seriously thinking poltergeist. After all, I had just been in that room. Suppose I had fallen asleep during the wobble and the fan had flown across the room and struck me on the head… I could’ve been killed! Or had an in-house rhinoplasty. No, unlike the stupid people in the Poltergeist movies, I wasn’t going back in that room until I had answers.

The answer would have to come later, ‘cause after finishing my coffee I realized I had an appointment in town. I had posted it on one of my calendars. A wall calendar is a great place to write down important stuff. The thing is, you pretty much have to occasionally look at the calendar for it to do any good.

Having to deal with a possessed ceiling fan is the perfect time to check your calendar to see if you need to be somewhere. I did… and I did. I was supposed to meet with stupid ol’ Brad Meyer. Whatta goober. And, he’s mean.

So, I head out the door, but FIRST I call Kay at work. I told her that if she beat me home, she was not to flip the switch in the guestroom. “Why not?” is what she said. I told her, “Look, just don’t do it. You can go into the room, just don’t flip the switch… or turn on the TV. Especially don’t turn on the TV!”

After leaving Kay hanging, I kept my appointment with crazy ol’ Brad. Just mean as he can be. We taped two of our audio restaurant reviews. Pretty good stuff. I don’t know how we do it. We never even land a punch.

Where was I before I offered up that shameless plug? Oh, yeah, fortunately I beat Kay home. I instantly shut the door to the guestroom and prepared supper. I grilled some Cornish hens. What I did was put some pepper and—Beg pardon? Well, of course there’s a shorter version. Okay, okay. All you hafta do is ask.

All right, long story getting’ shorter ‘cause of Mr. Gripey-pants. Turns out there was no ghostly connection to the severe blade wobble. Who woulda guessed it? Well, I did, actually. Right after Kay assured me our home was not built over a grave-site. Don’t know how she knew that, but she was convincing.

I waited till this morning to take a look at the fan. First I had to dust the blades. I put on my lawn-mowing mask for the job. Nothing collects more dust faster than a fan blade. Uh, maybe a piano. Yeah, I hear that pianos really—Okay!

While cleaning the blades I noticed that two of ‘em were rather loose. Could a loose blade ‘cause a wobble? Could starched shorts cause a rash? They have and they will.

You may not be aware but you can’t tighten a fan blade very well without removing the salad bowl sized light shade. Those buddies collect dust, too. Not as much a piano, but… So, I take off the light shade and clean it. Then I tighten the blades.

At this point a less confident person would’ve tried out the fan before reattaching the light bowl thing. Not me. I had conquered my fears… my uncertainties. Once you rule out frenzied goat and ghouls you’re pretty cool with everything else.

After reattaching the glass bowl to the fan, I flipped the switch and viola! All’s well at the Hayter house. I just called Kay to tell her the good news. Sarcastic as all get out. I’m her hero. Craig T. Nelson couldn’t have handled it better. So lucky to have me. Did I find the garlic press?

There is always something to mar a happy ending. Been my experience. Something apparently took off with the garlic squeezer thing. I don’t know who… or what. I don’t wanna know. I just want you to know that I fixed the fan.

Yes, I could’ve told you that right off, but I love a scary story. -- The ceiling was angry, my friend…

END

To listen to Brad Meyer and Mark’s latest restaurant reviews go to http://www.hcnonline.com/media/italiano.mp3.

We're being downsized

MARK’S ARTICLE – June 11, 2010 “The incredible shrinking can”

Did you know that if you close your eyes, lean back in your reclining swivel desk chair and tilt your head back that there’s a good chance you’ll eventually fall over backwards? Depending on where the rotating castered-legs are positioned. Something about center of gravity or a weird force tugging on you from the core of the earth. What I’m thinking.

This has nothing to do with today’s topic, it just happened to be on my mind. Now that it’s gone, let me tell you about this week’s real topic. We’re gonna talk about squash, sandwiches, tuna and ice cream. Not sure anyone has ever done that. So, grab some corn nuts and hold on.

Last week Kay and I were cooking some deer steak and squash that Virginia and Freeman had given us, and some green beans and new potatoes that our good friend Catherine had given us. Nobody thought to give us corn, but that was okay.

Oh, did you know that Catherine broke her foot? I was as surprised as you. I didn’t find out until the sweet lady called to ask if we wanted the green beans and potatoes. Don’t remember how she broke her foot. The story was getting a bit involved. She lost me at new potatoes. Poor Catherine. She’s got that boot thing and has to hobble around. Just as sweet as she can be.

Where was I? Oh yeah, we’re in the kitchen cooking. At some point, Kay suggested we call Virginia and Freeman to see if they wanted to eat with us. After all it was mostly their food. Turns out they wanted to come over… even with the late notice. I had to slap my forehead.

Why didn’t we invite Catherine, two of you are wondering. After all, she provided the green beans and potatoes. Well, did I mention she broke her foot? Hellooo? That woman would be tripping around hurting herself. “Mark, no. I’ll get that myself.” Bam! She’s on the floor. No, it was best for Catherine that we wait till she heals a bit. Just sweet as she can be.

So, we ended up with eating with just the Plilers. And, everything on the table had been given to us. Except for the tomatoes. We got those at Kroger. Kroger didn’t give ‘em away. But, the tomatoes did provide a segue into the HEB vs Kroger debate. The argument lasted for several minutes. It never got real heated, though. Food didn’t fly this time.

The debate ended when Virginia brought up tuna. I think she did it because she was losing the argument. Virginia said that tuna cans are so much smaller than they used to be. A lot smaller. We don’t know if it happened overnight or if it was a gradual thing. All I know is I’m in the store one day and there’s a can the same size as when tuna was first invented. Next time I buy tuna, it’s in a snuff can. Same price.

Can they do that? Isn’t there some kind of law? Apparently not. Same thing happened to me at Which Wich. That’s a reasonably new sandwich place where you grab a bag and check off everything you want on your sandwich. You can check anything and everything, and they’ll fix the sandwich and cram it in the checked bag. It’s genius.

Sidebar: You can actually put too much on a sandwich. Not sure you knew that. One time I ordered one of Which Wich’s Wickeds. That’s one with extra meat. To the meat I added everything. I had black olives, green olives, olive spread, red onions, coleslaw… I had it all. Took a bite of that bubba and it was all wrong. It wasn’t a sandwich. I don’t know what it was. I think it even moved.

But, if you don’t go crazy, you can get a good sandwich at The Wich. However, when they first opened the place near my house, they had big o’ buns. Huge-mongus? I could make two meals out of one sandwich. They cost a bit, but well worth it.

I ate so many sandwiches that Kay told me to lay off for awhile. So I did. A month or two later I went back. Same price, much smaller bun. I had to double up on my chips just to get full. I don’t know how it happened. Was it overnight, or did they just gradually downsize the bun? Do those people who eat every meal at The Wich realize that the buns are smaller? Or are they like the frog in the pan on the stove? -- What? Forget it. -- Point is The Wich downsized without telling me.

The Plilers and Hayters aired out a lot of other important stuff during the meal. We capped the oil leak, wrote out a high school graduation speech, figured out what not to get at the Chinese buffet... Eventually we were ready for dessert. Virginia brought along a homemade chocolate pie. It was the least she could do.

Unfortunately, chocolate gives me migraines. I’d tell you more about that, but I see most of you have your eyes closed, leaning back in your chairs. Nobody listens to me.

So, uh, oh yeah, I can’t eat chocolate, so I went to the freezer and got my half-gallon of Blue Bell banana pudding ice cream. Next to Blue Bells Blackberry Cobbler, it’s the best non-chocolate ice cream in the world.

When he saw the Blue Bell carton, Freeman said, “At least they still sell it in a half gallon container.”

Indeed they do. Most ice cream maker people have gone down to a quart and a half. I don’t know when they did it, but they all seemed to do it at the same time.
And, they seemed to somehow camouflage the smallness of their containers. Some kind of rectangular thing. Like a large can of SPAM. It’s not natural. Blue Bell must’ve missed the memo. They do what they’ve always done. Hopefully always will.

Makes one wonder what has been done to the other stuff. Potato chips, pickle jars, Wheat Chex boxes, donuts, frozen corn… The only thing I know they haven’t messed with is Oreo’s. They do sell ‘em in small looking bags, but they somehow put more cookies in it. Don’t know how that works.

Okay, I think I’ve covered all topic items. Let’s call it a—Hmm. I’ve lost everybody. I tell you, there are gonna be some cracked skulls tomorrow. Stupid weird force field at the core of the earth.

END

To listen to Brad Meyer and Mark’s two latest restaurant reviews go to
www.hcnonline.com/media/loscucos.mp3

Not seein' it

June 4, 2010
“In the year 2010”

I recently made a comment that I thought would make a recent high school graduate feel the least bit hopeful. It wasn’t one of those sappy “The world is your oyster” comments. I don’t even know what means.

Nor did I tell him that he could do anything he set his mind to. That’s just not true. I had my mindset to play in the Super Bowl. Do you ever remember me bringing up the experience? “Encouraging words can make you want to, but they don’t do much to make you capable of.” (Soupy Sales 1960)

No, I said something that made it sound as if I were envious of the lad. I wasn’t, but it sounded like I might be. I said, “Oh, the things you’re going to see during your lifetime.” I probably should have used a complete sentence, but I think he understood. At least he didn’t say, “What the heck does that mean?” Polite kid.

After high school, no one said anything like that to me. I think the closest anyone came was Dad. Right before I drove off to college he said, “Son, remember to always keep a couple of cans of oil in the truck.” I fought back the tears.

Truth is, I wouldn’t care to trade places with 2010 graduate for anything. The poor sap. When you shuck down the corn, I’m not sure he’s gonna see all that much fascinating stuff. Look at me. It’s rhetorical, quit staring.

Two years after I graduated from high school, this country put a couple of guys on the moon. More than that, we brought ‘em back. Anybody can chunk you on the moon, but bringing you back is a big deal. Bringing you back ALIVE is bigger still. And, we did that. Somebody did. I don’t remember playing that big of a part.

The thing is, 40 years later, we haven’t come close to matching that feat. That’s something I would not have believed possible during my younger years. By 2010, we were supposed to be taking vacations on the moons of Jupiter. We even saw movies about it! There would be robots that look just like us. We’d have flying cars and gigantic force fields around the major cities to protect us from extraterrestrial invasion. And, doors in buildings would open automatically when we approached. Wait a minute. Skip that one.

But, no, we’ve got none of that… except for the smart doors. Flying cars? We’re still using the ol’ internal combustion engine. I don’t know how it works, but I would’ve thought someone would’ve come up with something better by now. Something that used gama rays. What a dreamer. There have been no alternative fuel breakthroughs during my lifetime.

If someone had told me that a slogan for a candidate in the 2008 Presidential Election was going to be “Drill baby drill!”, I would’ve said that we must’ve had a global war somewhere down the line and all the smart people got killed.

And, had someone told me that there would be an oil leak in the Gulf that would be continuously leaking for a month and counting, I would’ve said that the U.S. was apparently no longer Number One, and that Brazil was the new super power. Just like my ninth grade World Geography teacher predicted.

If you had told me that one of the plans to cap the well was to shoot golf balls and pieces of tires into the pipe, I would’ve guessed that I had become head of the Dept. of Energy in this new third world nation.

Yes, I just expected to see some better stuff. Of course, I don’t want to leave the impression that nothing of a scientific nature has been accomplished during a big chunk of my life. Did I mention that we have the self-opening doors? And, that’s not all.

I may not have seen flying cars, but I have lived long enough to see the self-service pumps. That was big. Bigger still was the advent of pay-at-the-pump! You don’t even have to remember your license plate number when you use your card! Just your zip code. Oh, yeah. That’s another thing. Somebody came up with zip codes. We’re even up to nine digits!

We have some pretty neat computers, too. We’ve got some handheld ones that can take pictures and tell us what’s showing at any theater in the Free World. Our kids can now send hundreds of weirdly abbreviated messages every day. Even some of our smarter adults can text.

Oh, and we’ve got skinny TVs that you can hang on the wall. Speaking of skinny, none of us are. But let’s not talk about that bit of progress. Let’s speak of the advances in medicine. Doctors can do almost anything nowadays. They can stick a camera inside you and yank your gallbladder out through a little incision in your gut. Oh, and they can inject bacteria in your lips to make ‘em look real puffy. I mean way-out-there puffy.

There have been a bunch of other innovations since my high school graduation, but after the thought of lip enhancement, I’m out of the mood to continue.

Bottom line, I’m a bit disappointed in our progress over the last few decades. I just expected more. It’s one of those 150-TV-channels-and-nothing-to-see things. I want to witness more. I’d like to fly in a car, and see a few of my acquaintances go to one of the moons of Jupiter.

But, that’s not happening. Likely not even in the lifetime of any recent high school graduate. Especially not if our best and brightest are considering chunking golf balls and pieces of old tires in a pipe to plug an oil leak.

Anything we set our minds to? I’m not seeing it.

END