• Something wicked this way comes

    The other day one of my coworkers was extolling the virtues of the Interstate Highway phenomenon known as the Cracker Barrel. Personally, I don’t think the Cracker Barrel is “all that.” In fact, I think there’s something seditious about the whole thing.

    How could a good, wholesome establishment for good old-fashioned home cookin’ be cast in with the likes of commie bastards? To be honest, I don’t really know. My gut just tells me there’s something not right with that place. My coworker suggested that it’s the attached “country shop” that rubs me the wrong way, and that being a male of the species I’m just naturally suspicious of anything resembling every man’s sworn enemy: gift shops.

    I have to admit, he may be on to something there. Women folk teasing their men with home cooking and rocking chairs as a rouse, a foot in the door if you will, to get in some extra shopping time?!?

    Some might call it good business, but I call it evil.

  • Tolerance

    I’m not talking about something us heathen Yankee folk try to force on the decent, God fearing victims of the war of Northern aggression. No sir, I’m talking about a physiological phenomenon, the kind most people learn about in college – well, everyone that pledges a fraternity anyway. Yes, that kind of tolerance. I’m talking about the kind of tolerance that makes one cup of coffee no more stimulating than the used grounds; the kind of tolerance that makes a 32oz cup of coffee at the 7-eleven seem small. Now you’re getting the picture.

    Now if I can just find something socially acceptable that will put me to sleep at night. I wonder how I would tolerate that Behavioral Psychology textbook? I just knew I shouldn’t have sold that back!

  • Giving thanks, two days later

    Today was our Thanksgiving dinner. We spent the nationally recognized holiday walking around a central Florida theme park. In case you were wondering, theme park BBQ ribs are not a good substitute for a classically prepared turkey. After one bite caught me a bit off guard, I looked around the table to see if anyone else would be keeping me company in the ER later that night. (Luckily, the taste of that one bite was not a harbinger of things to come – no ER visits were forthcoming.)

    We drove to Tampa this afternoon to join Christy’s in-laws for a Thanksgiving feast of good food and good company. Once again I’m going to permit myself to dive headlong into the realm of the obvious by saying that Thanksgiving is best spent with folks you like to spend time with. If that means driving to Tampa (the U.S.’s 15th most dangerous city to live in, according to FBI statistics on violent crime) and celebrating the holiday two days late, then count your blessings and do it two days late. If this means agreeing to a game of touch football, then order up some over the counter analgesics, tie your shoes and loosen up baby!

    Now the question lingering in my mind is: what am I going to do tomorrow? Just thinking about sitting up to get out of bed is making my muscles ache. Maybe I should print up a blown up picture of my favorite Starbucks offering and hang it above my pillow. Maybe that will give me some incentive to get up. Not only does it taste good, but it promises the gift instant energy; energy that comes in a cold, refreshing, creamy, and positively yummy mix of coffee and artificial flavors.