Monthly Archives: July 2011

Oxymorons

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I’ll bet you thought this would be about the maroons in Washington who suck the oxygen out of the air wondering whether Roger Clemens took steroids instead of buckling down to the business of running a government.

And, yes, Roger Clemens could probably do a better job at the business of running a government. Jessica Rabbit could probably do a better job at the business of running a government.

Heck, even the Great State of New York with its 783 year history of waiting until 2153 to pass the 1960 budget brought theirs in on time this year.

Word play maybe isn’t as much fun as sex but it’s still pretty satisfying (I may catch holy hell from the missus for saying that).

Last week, I noted that Washington is a fine mess (most everyone there is a real phony) but I didn’t have space to work in absolutely unsure, devout atheist, genuine-imitation leather, or half naked.

Of course I, like all my readers, am absolutely sure of everything I write. For example the true believers in anthropogenic global warming have literal faith that planetary temps have risen almost exactly 10 degrees since last week. I should note that many on that side of the aisle who believe implicitly in political science poo pooh the scientific creationism embraced on the other.

I AM™ increasingly irked by the food industry for selling me twelve-ounce pound cakes and 48-ounce half gallons of ice cream. Food giants take a different view of the smaller, lighter, easier to carry half gallon orange juice cartons so I invited Popsicle-Klondike-Ocean Spray-Slim Fast-Starbucks-Ben & Jerry’s-Breyers-Heartbrand-PepsiCo-Frito Lay-Quaker Oats-Tropicana spokesman Ross Messier to comment. He pronounces his name ROSS.

“We already sell personal servings in many markets. We see the bigger containers as our dual entree in the grocery and convenience markets,” Mr. Messier (pronounced MAY-she) said. “Convenience stores are big on Super-Sizing their offerings.”

Remember, you read it here first when you see a straw taped to the side of a “half gallon” OJ carton and a wooden spoon on the ice cream tub at the Quick Stop next year.

http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3066/2764922038_9ce559c4d7.jpg I bought a new shirt last week. It’s a nice, blue, button-down, pinpoint oxford that drapes superbly and has a marvelous hand. The girls wouldn’t let me buy the one I really wanted, though. Maybe because it had a random pattern.

I’m in rather a financial pickle as so many are in these perilous times, but I like fine clothing, have a good eye, and even have my mom’s sketch books for inspiration. Oh, I know. I generally wear khaki slacks, button down shirts, and Bass Weejuns with no socks but I truly believe I could develop a line that caters to early adopting young taste makers who love the originality and eclectic style of mature clothing lines. And by “mature” I mean “old.” All I really need is a nameless celebrity to endorse me!

For the record, I wrote this whilst sucking on a sweet tart in my home office where the IRS prohibits personal business. I gotta get back to work.

Premte Peeves

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I’ve been chasing an online payment around the country this week. I deposited a check here in North Puffin, then used my BillPay feature to send my South Puffin credit union account a check. One peeve is that the bank mails an actual check to the BillPay recipient despite the fact that the transaction is then done electronically.

That payment cleared my North Puffin account JULY FIRST. As of 4:30 yesterday, it hadn’t even made it to the Keys but the bank here grabbed the money from my account JULY FIRST. That’s the second peeve.

I called the bank here. My friend Sally Ripley (my garbage man Tom’s wife) investigated. The check hasn’t been cashed yet. That means they’ve had a couple grand to play the float with for more than 14 days.

I can blame some of this on the holiday weekend (there have been just a few business days since July 1) but that’s no excuse.

Hmm. I wonder if this electrical disconnect notice means the utility is waiting for a check that cleared my North Puffin account JULY FIRST as well. All I can do now is wait to see who else complains. Three peeves and you’re out?

Rolled Oats

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According to the NYTimes this morning, “Speaker John A. Boehner told his fellow Congressional leaders and President Obama that he did not spend 20 years working his way up to the top job on Capitol Hill just for the cachet of the title — he wanted to accomplish something big…

“The speaker’s lofty ambitions quickly crashed into the political reality of a divided, highly partisan Congress.”

Having Congress is like having 535 wives. If you think having one wife who doesn’t listen, just imagine…

That’s why I didn’t want to write about politics this morning; Washington is a fine mess. They’re smmoooooth but they just. don’t. listen.

Oatmeal raisin cookies are a significantly healthier breakfast than a smoothie.

My good friend Liz Arden had a smoothie for breakfast this morning. Despite the date, it didn’t come from the 7-11. She blended her own rolled oats, cranberry juice, yoghurt, fruits, and protein powder. She says it tastes like ice cream. Really? We’re alone here but this is a family column so I can’t tell you what that particular flavor and texture combination evoked. I can say that acrid, gooey, whitish, slime doesn’t seem all that appetizing to me.

Anyway, the rolled oats got my attention. I likes oats. That grain forms the basis for my third most favorite sandwich bread and my third most favorite cookie. We still buy Arnold Oatnut bread because I haven’t put together a recipe to bake it here at home and I’m noshing on an oatmeal raisin cookie right now.

Rolled oats. Did you ever wonder how Quaker teaches oats to roll over? Do they have classes? Do the slow oats get special tutoring while the quick oats command higher prices in the marketplace? Can oats learn to sit up and beg? Do we need to do some genetic engineering so they can shake hands?

Wikipedia reports that professional trainers should most likely instruct the oat’s owner to train his or her own flake; available group classes continue the lessons for the more mature grain. Grains can be so stick-in-the-muddish that the owner must repeat and reinforce the techniques taught in the original class.

Owners and groats who attend class together have a unique opportunity to learn each other’s likes and dislikes and how to work together to become flakes without being, well, flaky. Training is most effective if all oat handlers take part in the training to ensure consistent commands, methods, and enforcement. Classes also help socialize the flakes to the other flakes in the round cardboard shipping tube. Training classes are offered by many brands, including Better Oats, McCann’s, and Quaker.

Probably just as well that Ms. Arden had neither fresh prunes nor fresh raisins for her smoothie.

It’s all better than tipping cows, I suppose. After all, I’m pathologically parsimonious and they take umbrage at my usual 10 percent.

In the real world of agribusiness, grain processors apparently employ no private trainers. They use heavy rollers to press oat groats into flat flakes, then steam and lightly toast them.