• But seriously.

    Here’s another great question facing humanity in the 21st century… how often should we eat? Is it better to pig out at breakfast and lunch, then moderate you dinner; or, is it better to eat a whole bunch of little meals – aka: nibbling. Does it make any difference? What if you can’t stand going that long between meals? If I eat breakfast before I leave for work, I’m starving at 9 a.m. I can’t even get a Big Mac a 9 a.m. What is that you’re saying, my problem isn’t how often I eat, so much as how often I eat Big Macs? Point well taken.

    There’s a little baggy of colored gold fish with my name on it. Excuse me.

  • Twin mistresses of Cheryl’s psyche.

    One day Cheryl will read this entry and get angry. There are several, sure fire means of procuring an invitation to sleep on our old bed in the spare room (I knew it was a good idea to keep a spare, king sized bed). This entry may well become an example of one.

    Somewhere, there is a fine line between good old fashioned cleanliness, and obsession/compulsion. Poor Cheryl is nowhere near that line. She suffers from something that has been passed down from her father’s side of the family: the need to clean. Victims of this rare, inherited condition are some of the cleanest people on the planet. They have a kind of sixth sense. Seemingly from miles away, they can sense the moment foreign substances soil any exposed surface in their homes. It is a sight to behold. Cheryl will sometimes wake from a dead sleep, swoop into the family room with paper towels in hand like some kind of crazed Mrs. Clean, and sweep the crumbs from the lap of our unsuspecting daughter.

    One day there will be a cure. Until then she’s got me to balance her out; the yin to her yang, the laissez- faire to her policy of strict intervention, the slob to her Mrs. Clean. Who says you can’t use the same towel for more than two weeks anyway?

    Cheryl is reading over my shoulder. She’s getting hives just thinking about it. The smell. The germs. The mold. The mildew. Her husband.

  • K-Mart

    I have used this space in the past to describe my families oath of allegiance to the blue light retailer. Over the last 10 years, the retailer, and my families allegiance to it, has been in decline. First, there was the declining stock price. Then there was the bankruptcy. Then there was the lousy service, and the crummy products. Then there was the great divestiture.

    Now comes the final straw. There was exactly one reason why I continued to shop at K-Mart – it was convenient for me. I knew that I could grab something and get out quickly. No, this had nothing to do with the quality of service provided by it’s employees. In fact, it was convenient in spite of the employees. It was convenient because I could get in and out without having to deal with a single employee directly. Yes, they had self-check out registers. On several occasions I brazenly bypassed the long lines of lemming like shoppers waiting for assistance from the K-Mart cashiers. A quick scan of my one or two items, a swipe of my credit card… and I was ready to leave retail purgatory behind me.

    Now imagine my disappointment when I picked up a few items this weekend. I walked through the facade that is older than I am, passed the jewelry case that looks better suited for displaying lottery tickets at a 7-11, walked through the isles that look as if they were organized 15 years ago by an intern from G. Pierce Wood, picked out my selections, and prepared myself for self-checkout; only to face rejection in the form of an expanded magazine selection. The self-checkout stations were gone, and so is my patronage

    It is finally time to abandon the sinking ship.