LAX Dreamin

Dear Bloginistas,

Flying into Los Angeles, bringing in a couple of keys. Don't check my bags if you please Mister Customs Maaann... Good grief I'm singing a 60's Arlo Guthrie song!

Why the delirium? Because my new mission impossible (abet in a supporting role) is in Burbank CA. So now I get to fly to a whole new mega city (abet with palm trees) and do what I do best to earn the dosh that keeps me in diet Vault and tangerine orange juice, and, oh yeah, a place to keep the frig, plus heat.

LAXers seem about as muttley a bunch as EWRers except with a tan and a bit of the 'tude. No doubt brought on by the superiority they feel from having to pay for living in a $1.5 million shotgun house and getting to inch along in their daily 90 minute three mile commute. If it were me, I'd try to milk it for all it was worth too.

I guess with all the perks of living in Iowa (pigs, corn, no airports, no paved roads, no shopping, Slipknot(?), pigs and corn) I've been tainted.

Hey speaking of refrigerators, this winter has been just sweet. I never realized that at minus 12 degrees F even I, rather than go outside (in sympathy with the dogs Hans and Bell), would just as soon crap on the living room rug in protest.

Since I'm flying again on Sundays one of my rituals is to read the Sunday New York Times.

Even though it is a commie bastard left wing piece of crap(note: reoccuring theme), I do find the writing uplifting.

For example, in this week’s NYT Magazine was an interesting waste of ink article on an experiment by some kind of female sociologist who took a group of straight men, straight women, gay men and gay women and showed them films of baboons having sex (honest) to see what would happen.

Since this was the literary equivalent of a traffic accident (and it had the word sex in it) I had to keep reading on. Well, (pant, pant) to everyone's surprise, after getting them all wired up with electrodes in places best left to your imagination, the straight men and women all felt "sick", while the other "gender" to no ones surprise..., well actually this is where I felt sick and stopped reading.

For only 5 bucks you can't beat this kind of reading enjoyment.

The only thing that could top this little tidbit would be if this "project" was another federally funded executive order penned by Barky.

Hey, why I'm speaking of flying, why is it that the moron sitting in front of you (in steerage/last class err coach) always thinks it is aok to put his seat back in your face? Retardo must think that the 2 inches of space he's shoehorned into doesn't apply to the poor sap(i.e. me) behind him.

Luckily, revenge is sweet. I conveniently turn my air nozzle full blast at his head all the while rhythmically tapping my knee into the back of El Reclino's seat. To top off his continued flying comfort, I also wrinkle my NY Times by his head every 15 seconds or so. Who says its 5 bucks wasted? This takes commitment, but for the 3 hour and 51 minute flight, I'm up for it.

With some feeling still left in my legs, and still feeling the love, and with a little good karma (dude), maybe I'll see some "stars" like Micky Dolenz while I'm out here. Here's hoping and changing (leg position).

YHS

Wal-Mart Bingo

Dear Bloginistas,



I didn't write this, but thought it was pretty funny. Remember that you can always buy happiness at Wal-Mart.

YHS


(Click on the below to enlarge)

Amish PopTarts

Dear Bloginistas,

I'm sorry that I've been away for awhile. I've pretty much been hanging out with Her Hotness and servicing her every request. Accordingly and continuing on her "frugal food storage kick" I've managed to visit every embarrassingly cheapo retail food establishment in the tri-state area.

I’m always afraid to make eye contact with anyone shopping at these places lest I be recognized. Of course, anyone else shopping at these dumps also would have to be in as desperate as, err frugal a state as you. This embarrassment can best be equated to that of your Bishop catching you reading "Cosmo" in the supermarket check out line. (BTW, what exactly is your "V-jayjay" anyways?)

The creme de la creme of these discount food establishments is the Amish "Hilltop Grocery" in Plymouth IL (Where? Who knows? The Aussie voiced Karen on the GPS couldn’t find it either).

What do you normally think of when you think of an Amish business? Some quaint setting, or some fine old world craftsmanship? Ha. Not a chance here. We are talking Depression era ambiance. Let's see, hmm, the panache of shopping here can best be ranked (pun) in this order:

1) ALDI's
2) A Dumpster
3) This place (Hilltop Grocery)


Where to begin describing its charm (sic)?....

Well first off there is no electricity (nor heat), so you only get to see what you are buying if you had the forethought of bringing a book of matches or shopping on an extremely sunny day (which there ain’t none in Nov/Dec) since standing under one of their 4 "skylights" (ie holes in the roof) provides the only light in the whole place.

Secondly, the food is so cheap because it all is past its expiration. Somehow the Amish evidently get to fly under the radar of the health board (and common sense) and can get away with this, possibly on religious grounds. I guess since they all still live in the 1530's, the term "best if sold by Nov 22, 1997" isn’t really relevant.

Note: the lack of visibility may actually be a virtue, for the multi year old food doesn’t exactly still have much “curb appeal” either, Go figure.

While the prospect of buying a 3 pack of two year old expired granola bars can make Her Hotness's wick light up, the sheer weirdness of it all has YHS kinda raising an eyebrow and thinking "I'm still employed, right? So why in the heck am I shopping here?”

To add to the tinge of self doubt is the sight of my other "shoplifters" (nod to Gerry). These other patrons all seem to drive clapped out/gutted out green 1981 Ford Country Squire station wagons held together with baling wire packed to the brim with snot noised kids that all say "Eyuk" in unison every time they pick up a package of 1999 (let’s party like it’s) expired poptarts. Good grief Toto why am I here?

Let’s see, what else has been going on this X-mas time? Well, sugar plums have been dancing around in my head (sort of), and my annual "go out and buy what I really want for X-mas" shopping spree seems to have bolstered my self esteem for a wee bit helping to negate the above Amish delirium.

I managed to sneak past Her Hotness this year a Garmin GPS (sweet), and a 12 gauge shotgun (pre Obama vintage). So all is well in whoville for the moment (fleeting).

What else is going on? Hmm, Herr Mosley (sic) this off-season is trying his best to ruin my beloved F1 by turning it into Formula Super Vee with everyone running a “standardized” engine (whatever that is), but hope springs eternal that reason will still prevail.

Also on the F1 front, since Herr Ecclestone has cancelled the Canadian GP, to go along with the Indy GP as being a fond past memory, now for the 1st time since 1959 there will be no F1 race held in North America.

With all of the collective wisdom of the Federation International de L’Automobile, the closest I can now come to attending a Grand Prix is Sao Paulo Brazil. (nice)

Not that going to a place in another hemisphere full of “less tanned” Mexicans wouldn’t be a treat, but I’m not so sure this is what I signed up for 40 years ago when I first went to Watkins Glen.


That’s it for now. Obrigado, over and out.


YHS