Archive | February, 2012

Priorities First (Classic Random Repost)

9 Feb

February 9, 2012

I have to admit- I am busy. Too busy to blog. While I have material for the next two weeks I have not actually, you know, um… written anything.

But that is no problem when you have a back catalogue of almost 800 posts.

I picked this at random and it is a pretty good one. Hey, could have been worse, it could have been my review of Matthew Perry’s bomb TV show Mr. Sunshine.

Enjoy.

—————————————-

Originally posted March 24, 2011

Quick- your toilet or your cell phone?

You can only have one. Which is it?

I choose the toilet.

Let me say up front that I am a cell phone owner. I am not a cell phone user. My phone is rarely, if ever, on. My theory on cell phone ownership is this: I am not a doctor or a lawyer. I am not on call at all hours of the day or night. If I am out doing something I don’t want to talk to people with whom I can talk to any other time. I don’t need to be on the grid 24/7. My phone is for my convenience. It is there in case I have to make a call. I don’t make frivolous calls. I have never called someone to say “where you at?” My phone calls don’t include the phrase “just chillin’.”

This is why people buy answering machines. Unless you are a professional or a corporation, you don’t have an answering machine to get the important calls you miss when you’re out, you have it to screen calls so you can avoid them. So if I am avoiding calls at home why would I answer any ring when I’m out?

I can hear the arguments now: What if it is an important call? If I am expecting an important call I am not at a ball game in a crowded stadium. If my wife is pregnant and may go into labor at any minute I am not venturing more than two minutes away from home. Don’t look for me in Baltimore. What about an unexpected emergency? Really, how many emergency calls have you gotten in your life? I haven’t gotten any. Odds are I won’t miss one if I go out. If an emergency happens at night I can be reached at home. During the day get me at work. The odds are on my side that I won’t get an emergency call while pumping gas, and the rules say I can’t use the cell phone then anyway.

The usefulness of my toilet is so obvious that I won’t go into it. I will simply link to the blog entitled No Toilet No Bride if you need an explanation.

Of course I am used to the toilets (and toilet paper) of the modern world. What would the answer be in Cambodia?

40 percent of Cambodians have cell phones? I have trouble believing that. How can they afford them? From all I have seen of Cambodia it is A- extremely poor and B- extremely poor. It is also underdeveloped and extremely poor.

“Hello, Sam?”
“Yes.”
“Where you at?”
“Starving.”

Cambodia once had the thriving civilization of the Khmer Empire. Its capital city, Angkor, was the seat of government for a civilization of over 3 million. Not a single one of them had a cell phone. And no, it is irrelevant that cell phones were invented maybe five hundred years after the civilization declined and disappeared. My point stands- they valued toilets over cell phones.

So imagine the embarrassment of the guy sent to Cambodia to convince them to use toilets. This could not have been a glamour assignment. This seems like the sort of job given to the new guy.

“Earl, I have a job for you. It is a very important overseas assignment.”
“My name is Louis.”
“Earl, you leave tomorrow morning for Cambodia.”
“What am I going there for?”
“We’ll brief you when you arrive.”

And then it is too late to back out or quit.

On the other hand, put yourself in the place of the farmer singled out for producing the most excrement of anyone in the village. If he’s anything like me, he took it in stride. I’m sure he stood up, gave a small but awkward smile, waved to the crowd, and announced that he’s ready to take on all challengers. I hope a championship belt and a Wrestlemania match come with this title.

I wonder if Oprah knows about this? She needs to make them sign her no cell phone pledge.

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Not By The Hair Of My Chinny Chin Salad

8 Feb

February 8, 2012

You may recall that last week my friend Saarah and I had an interesting dinner at Buffalo Wild Wings, where the silverware was apparently sold to pay the wait staff and the cherries were going for $45 per pound on the black market. Undaunted, (seriously, we refused to be daunted) we decided that this week we’d give sushi a try.

Since we both live in Brooklyn and there are more Japanese restaurants in Brooklyn than you can shake a stick at, and believe me I tried, we decided to find one in our area. Or more accurately, it was decided that I would find one in the area. I knew of three nearby and one of them was out- Saarah had had a fight with a waiter there. I found reviews online for the other two I knew. One of them had mixed food reviews but the decor was excellent, with a rock garden and waterfall in the lobby and booths where you take off your shoes and sit on the floor. The other one had better food reviews but standard decor. I left the choice up to Saarah and she picked the one with the Japanese booths.

She had a half-day of work so I met her there in the evening and we went in. I was very excited. I even wore clean socks and washed my feet. You never know when the mood to play footsie might strike.

It was close to 6 o’clock on a Friday and the place was empty. Literally. We were the only two customers. Hmmm, that should have been a sign. The waiter brought us to a booth and we took off our shoes and sat down with some difficulty. Rather than sit on the floor, there was a pit for our feet so we could sit normally, albeit at floor level. The difficulty was maneuvering our legs beneath the table which was very low and left only a small space for us in which to sit and tuck in our legs.

The maneuvering accomplished we ordered and before long our food arrived. I was starting with miso soup and Saarah got salad. Not just any salad, but a Japanese Surprise Salad.  I’m sure you know what a Surprise Salad is. It is a salad with a hair in it.

A long one.

And that was it. Saarah shoved the hair with the salad (it was no longer a salad with a hair) at me because it was me who picked the restaurant so of course it was my fault. (And if you read the second paragraph above and thought “Hey, she picked the restaurant!” we’ll just pretend that never happened. She certainly did.) The waiter took his time coming over and when he did he seemed neither concerned nor surprised. He asked, unbelievably, if Saarah was going to finish the salad.

At this point she had her shoes back on and was putting on her coat to leave.

I got up to leave, the waiter walked away, and in the background from the kitchen we heard “where are they going? I’m cooking all their food!”

Not an apology, not a word as we walked out.

The rest of the evening? Grilled chicken salad at a pizzeria, arguing with a Chinese tea salesman, and vegetable shopping.

And now, last night.

Saarah and I found ourselves at Applebee’s and as she was eating her French fries what did she find?

A hair.

Her hair.

For the record, Applebee’s had zero part at all of the hair ending up in her food. Saarah was playing with her hair and it fell in.

Not that it was any less disgusting.

Next time we go out, I am going to insist that she, I, and everyone involved in the making and serving of our food wear one of these:

Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

← Older Entries
Newer Entries →