Fish in an Igloo

A few weeks ago, I made an aborted trip to Jackson, Mississippi. It snowed. A lot. In Mississippi. Prior to that trip, I asked our good friend Georgette for some restaurant recommendations, knowing that she was a Jackson native. She passed along a few ideas...a Japanese steakhouse here, some barbeque there, and an igloo that serves fish.

A few weeks after that, I actually made a trip to Jackson, but I wasn't in town for my nightly feeding. So when I had to come back down here this week, I decided to revisit Georgette's list, focusing mainly on the fish igloo.

I punched in the location on the GPS, drove 20 minutes, and then lo and behold, I was staring at an igloo on the side of the road, announcing itself as Jerry's Catfish House. What the?

I figured the igloo had to have a hook of some kind. Was the catfish "ice breaded?" Was the iced tea "cold as an igloo?" Nope. Jerry just decided to build his restaurant so that it looked like one of those DPW salt/sand storage facilities you see along the highway.

I went inside and got seated. The menu had a plethora of options that mostly looked like "catfish and sides." I ordered the all you can eat catfish, and within 90 seconds, I was eating.

The waitress brought me about 2 pounds of fish, 20 hushpuppies, a bowl of coleslaw, and a basket of greasy french fries. It was heavenly. The breading on the catfish was nice and light, leaving plenty of internal storage for the pound of hushpuppies.

About 10 minutes later, the waitress asked if I needed more fish. I laughed out loud and said, "Uh...no." in much the same way that I suspect Jonah did while toweling off on the beach. She smiled, gave me my bill, and I was on my way.

So Georgette, your fish-gloo was a hit. Next time I'm down here, I'll be sure to checkout another of your Mississippi fine dining establishments.

Mid-Week Update

After arriving on Saturday, we got checked in at our resort on Sunday. We're staying (on points!) at The Westin, which is lovely primarily because it sits right on the beach. It's one thing to have to walk across a couple of streets to go to the beach when you're a couple, but it's a whole different ballgame with two crazy little people in tow.

Sunday night we at the early dinner seating at The Old Fort Pub. We had various plates of salmon, crab cake, shrimp, etc all in a quint setting overlooking the Intracoastal Waterway. We celebrated an early Father's Day with my folks and went for a walk on the beach. Postcard delightful.

Monday we made our first trip out to the beach with the kids. After some initial tentativeness, they both ended up having a great time. Here are a few pics:



Monday evening we ventured out to The Sea Shack for dinner. Erin and I visited this place on our last trip, and it continues to be a favorite. It's been wicked hot the whole trip, so waiting in line outside for a half hour before dinner was a little rough. Once inside though, we loaded up on the freshest fish you can find. Grant is quite the fish eater, so he was in heaven.

Tuesday we decided that since the forecast was for 100 degrees in the shade, we'd go for a tour of Savannah. The trolley tour was great, but none of us could have imagined just how hot it was. To get out of the heat, we had lunch at Mrs. Wilkes' Boarding House. Oh my goodness. You've never seen so much food in your life. Vegetables of every type, the best fried chicken you've ever tasted. Wonderful.

After returning to Hilton Head, we lounged around for a bit and had a quick dinner at Fat Baby's Pizza. None of us really needed dinner, but we ate anyway.

Today has been a lazy pool day. It's just...so...hot. We had a quick breakfast at a cute little bakery called Signe's. Their breakfasts weren't the usual "2 eggs plus toast" variety, which was nice. Grace rolled herself head over heels in a chair, which provided some momentary excitement. She was fine, although startled.

Tonight Erin and I are going out for our eighth anniversary. The kids are staying with the grandparent, and we're going out for tapas and drinks at WiseGuys. Where did eight years go? Unreal...

I know this entry was a little dry...I'm just trying to get it down so that we remember these places later. Lots of funny stuff has happened, so I'll try and post some of those things tomorrow.

L.A. Wrap Up

On Sunday, we took Peter Pan's understudy (nee Grant) to Disneyland. Now you may be thinking, what two year old goes to BOTH Disneyland and Disney World within the same 6 month span? That would be an excellent question, and my only answer is GRANT.

As expected, he had a ridiculously good time. He got to ride on the Matterhorn, his first real roller coaster. And of course he got to ride many rides with NeNe (Erin's mom), which he loved.

Here's Grant sporting his "Honey, I Shrunk The Audience" 3-D glasses:



And here's Grant and me in the back car of a coaster...


I made two observations at Disneyland when comparing it to Disney World. First, the apparently "refurbed" Space Mountain at Disneyland is a VAST improvement on the one in Florida. It is MUCH darker than it's Disney World counterpart...far more exciting as a roller coaster. My other comment is that Disneyland's castle looks like a suburban home outfitted with turrets. It's tiny. I was pretty shocked when I saw it. Old Walt must have decided his studio apartment sized castle wasn't cutting it when he later built Disney World.

Here's Grant tuckered out in the rental car, post-Disney, with his favorite new appendage from Peter Pan:



On Monday, I dragged Erin around to some Los Angeles based Beach Boys sites. She was unimpressed. She apparently had no interest in seeing the house where Brian Wilson lay munching Animal Crackers in bed for several years or where Dennis Wilson hosted luaus with Charlie Manson. I guess we simply have different interests.

Next we headed over to the Santa Monica Pier to let Grant ride some more rides. The kid really is turning into a ride junkie. We bought him a pass to ride all of the little kid rides, and he had a blast. He kept the staff well entertained also.




Monday evening we had dinner at a Mexican restaurant in Santa Monica called Lares. I ordered a chicken dish in chipotle sauce which was indicated to be "very spicy." Having been lured by this before, only to find out it's "very spicy" if you think Taco Bell is "very spicy," I was shocked to discover that my meal was, indeed, freaking spicy. I couldn't feel my tongue or lips. I was drooling margarita onto my shirt it was so spicy. The flavor was excellent, but I almost couldn't keep it in my mouth long enough to enjoy it.

At the conclusion of our meal, our server came over, looked down at my plate with a big grin and said, "Not bad! Not bad!" I replied, "It bwas bewwy beweey gwood."

On Saturday we took a drive up the coast through Manhattan Beach and the world's largest "Say No To Drugs" display, better known as Venice Beach. Anyone who walks through Venice Beach and exits the other side thinking, "Man, I'd really be happier if I had a joint" is obviously not paying attention.

After Venice, we made our way to Tony P's for dinner in Marina Del Rey. As I looked out the window at all the boats, I noted to Erin that this was the exact set of docks where Dennis Wilson drowned. Having had enough Beach Boys trivia for a lifetime, she threatened to throw me overboard, so I kept my other facts to myself.

All in all, it was a nice trip, but I'm glad to be home. Erin and Grant return from Sacramento on Saturday...hopefully I can get the house cleaned up by then.

Pictures from California

We've done quite a bit on our mini-vacation to California, so I wanted to get some pictures up before I head home. I'll try to post more about what we did during my layover in Atlanta on Wednesday (thank you, Delta).

On Saturday, we had a wonderful breakfast with Erin's cousin Kathy, her mom, her husband, and their two adorable kids. Grant fell IN LOVE with their daughter Andrea. IN LOVE. We met them all at a little place called Dinah's in Culver City, which looked like a HoJo's from the 1960's. It was great. Here are some pics of Grant and his long lost cousins, Andrea and Justin.




The traffic during our stay has been very un-L.A. like. This was the view on our way to Disneyland on Sunday (perhaps someone warned them of our arrival).



Here are a couple of pictures of the Grantster at Disneyland. More to come...

Cincy, IKEA, and Dinosaurs

Since the arrival of little miss Grace is imminent, we decided to use some of our free long weekend to make a run to the IKEA in Cincinnati to pickup some more kiddy gear. In reality, we picked up some cool beer mugs and a plush shark for Grant, but it was still a good trip.

But prior to shopping in elegant splendor at IKEA, we made a quick run to Jungle Jim's. This place never ceases to amaze me. They have an amazing selection of virtually every type of food, AND you get to see a singing Campbell's soup can. How could you ever top this?

Between Jungle Jim's and IKEA, we had dinner at an AMAZING little Italian place in the Cincy suburb of Madeira called Ferrari's Little Italy. Holy smokes, was this some good food. We had your basic spaghetti and meatballs so that we'd have something Grant would eat, plus their pollo basilico. I can't say enough good things about the pollo basilico. At least two of us at the table agreed that this was the single best Italian meal we'd eaten EVER, so that tells you how good it was. Wine was drunk, noodles were slurped, and Grant ate several platefuls of spaghetti. It was a good night.

On Saturday, we made our way over to the Creation Museum. Now I know this is a controversial topic, but I'm pretty sure nobody reads our blog to engage in meaty debate (of which, I believe, there is plenty regarding this topic). So I'd just like to touch on this as an experience.

As I made my way past the "Biology book burning" on the way into the museum, I was immediately struck by just how crowded the place was. Obviously this place has turned into Disney World for the "homeschooling, can I borrow your bonnet?" crowd. These ticket agents heard "family of 13 with 1 on the way" more than anywhere else in America. It was pretty eye opening. I actually felt a little out of place in shorts and sandals...Mostly because my shorts didn't touch my ankles.

I did note that they have the world's largest collection of art featuring human beings playing cards and smoking cigarettes alongside the dinosaurs, so that was entertaining. We wandered through the museum and took in all the displays, including a large replica of a section of Noah's ark and a replica of the garden of Eden.

In case you're wondering, all of the "pre-apple-tasting" displays featuring Adam and Eve showed the lovely, unclothed Eve seated with her long, flowing hair perfectly placed over her front. I'm fairly certain that there were not even breasts sculpted underneath her lengthy locks, for fear of the potential consequences.

After seeing the museum, we then made our way out back to the petting zoo and gardens, which were actually quite lovely (the gardens that is...Petting zoos rank right up there with nosebleeds as entertainment to me). All in all, it was an interesting experience. And it gave me more than enough material for a blog entry.

A Whopper of a Temptation

Tonight, Satan took me up on the mountain for my temptation, and this time, it came with a side of fries.

On our way to go shopping tonight, Erin and I decided that we couldn't wait until after buying the week's groceries to eat dinner (as that might cause our stomachs to growl for at least 30 minutes...unacceptable), so we stopped at Burger King (my choice) for a healthy and delicious meal.

When we eat fast food, Erin inevitably asks questions like "Are the tomatoes grown locally?" or "Can I get that with some of the mustard on the top bun and some of it on the side?" These questions usually garner a blank stare and occasionally reveal that the individual taking our order actually speaks no English beyond "cheeseburger," "fries," and "Sorry dude, I don't have insurance."

So tonight at Burger King, she requested that her Whopper come with no onions or mayo, simple requests. Upon receiving our order, I began devouring my sandwich when Erin opened hers to find no onion and globs of mayo, despite being correctly marked "No Mayo" on the wrapper. Frequently in these situations, Erin just sucks it up and eats her food, not wishing to have a confrontation with a vacant high school student (at least not on her weekends). But tonight, she did NOT want mayo, so she headed rightfully back to the counter.

As I watched the exchange occur between Erin and the individual behind the counter, I noticed her sandwich sitting there, lonely, on the counter. I silently prayed to myself, "God, please let that lonely, discarded Whopper make it into the trashcan or an employee's dinner. Whatever you do, Lord, don't let Erin bring it back with her."

Just as I saw the employee hand Erin her new sandwich, I noticed Erin also pickup the old one. As she walked back, I was about half finished with my original Whopper. She threw her first Whopper on the table in front of me and began eating her new and improved, no mayo sandwich.

I finished up my sandwich and stared longingly at the extra Whopper on the table. I had finished my fries and sandwich, and I was actually pretty much full, but the Whopper looked so forlorn, laying there already unwrapped on the table, like an uninvited guest at the party.

Eventually I told Erin, "You know, I've always said I could eat two Whoppers."

"No way" she replied.

"Oh sure I could. Watch me."

And with that, I began the 2nd Whopper.

Almost immediately, I began to feel my dinner building up in the top of my stomach as though trying to climb out of my throat with a rope ladder. I would have tried to push the food down manually, but I was too busy trying to regain the feeling in my left arm.

I slowly finished Whopper #2 and let out an exclamation, letting our fellow Burger King patrons know how proud I was of my achievement. I waited for Erin to congratulate me in astonishment. She was astonished alright, but all she could say was "You're gross."

As I type this, there is a small army of Tums the size of a toy poodle keeping my Whopper's at bay. I shudder to think of what will happen when I go to bed later, or even worse, the bathroom.

You must be joking, Mickey...

Yesterday, we started our Disney Day at the same character breakfast buffet that we indulged in on Monday. I ate approximately five pounds of eggs, bacon, sausage, waffles, and cream laden bread pudding.

After lounging around for the day, we made our way to the Whispering Canyon Cafe at Disney's Wilderness Lodge. The cafe is notable for several reasons. First, they have an all-you-can-eat BBQ skillet featuring ribs, brisket, pulled pork, and chicken. As if this wasn't heart stopping enough, they also offer unlimited milk shakes. If this place existed in Indianapolis, there would be an ABC special when they have to cut a wall out of our house to wheel my bed onto the back of a truck to take me to the doctor.

In addition to the all you can eat grub, the Whispering Canyon features some small hostilities. For example, if you're the first guy in the room to ask for ketchup, they deliver 30 bottles of Heinz to your table. When the next guy asks for ketchup, you dump all the bottles on him. Similarly, if a kid asks for a crayon, every table delivers one to him. The kids love it, and I didn't mind it because it never required me to come up for air from my barbecue.

After eating ourselves sick, we made our way to the Boardwalk, where Erin and I share fond memories of eating donuts that looked a lot like icing covered inner tubes. We entered the bakery, and immediately I noticed the lack of donuts. They had whole grain muffins and some carrot cake, but not a donut in sight. I figured that perhaps they were only available in the mornings.

We inquired about the donuts, already planning to return in the AM, and the girl behind the counter informed us that they no longer serve the beautiful donuts because "Disney has gone no trans-fats."

You must be joking.

There was a cart not 10 feet away serving elephant ears covered with powdered sugar, and Disney just offered me unlimited beef, pork, and chocolate milk shakes for dinner. Not to mention the fact that in the parks, virtually every lunch spot serves a small heap of fried fish and chicken nuggets. But you can't serve me a freaking donut?

I have to believe this was decided in a board room with a conversation that went something like this:

"So what can we eliminate from our dining options that doesn't impact our offerings very much, but makes Disney look like they're doing the socially responsible thing?"

"Umm, sir, how about we eliminate one of the 65 buffets on the property?"

"Poppycock, Wilson. Those buffets are keeping our scooter rental business afloat!"

"How about we eliminate the giant Goofy candy dispensers that allow kids to fill a tube the size of a whiffle ball bat with pure flavored sugar?"

"Hogwash, Jones! Daffy's On-site Dental Care fills 2000 cavities per week because of those sugar sticks!"

"What about eliminating trans-fats? I don't know what a trans-fat is, but we did a study, and all we have to ditch are those donuts at the Boardwalk Bakery. Plus CNN talks about trans-fats every day, as though they carry Bubonic plague!"

"Excellent idea, Smith! Make it happen. And here's a free 3-day Hopper Pass for you and the misses for your hard work."

I feel like I've been had.

Singapore Bound!

Well, I've finished off my work week in Shenzhen, and now I'm sitting in the Hong Kong airport waiting for my ride to Singapore. Singapore should be a hoot this weekend, given the F1 road race that's taking place on Sunday. Plus it'll give me a great chance to catch up with the Longs since their move to Asia.

Here are a couple of photos from my last couple of days in China. The first is of one of our hostesses at the Holiday Inn Donghua. We stay at this hotel primarily because of their wonderful staff. Candy, pictured next to the jolly green giant below, is leaving in a month to return to college, and we will all miss her and her unlimited supply of Tsingtao between 4 and 7pm.

The final picture is of one of my fellow employees, Vicky. Vicky has always been a wonderful ambassador to all of us when we are in China. She knows all the great restaurants, and she always offers to make you a home cooked meal during your stay. I haven't gotten to take her up on that offer yet, but I'd love to on the next trip.

Vicky told me that in addition to her love of cooking Chinese food, she also loves to eat American food when in the U.S. Her favorite restaurant, you ask? The beloved American classic -- Steak 'n Snake. I thought I misheard her the first time, but after she brought it up multiple times, it was all I could do to keep from biting through my lip. Perhaps that is the name of their Asian division.

In any case, I had a great trip to China this time around. I got tons of work done, made some new friends, and didn't drink the water or milk. Life is good.

Branson Part 1

Branson has proven, thus far, to be an interesting experience. In some ways, it's not at all what I expected. In other ways, it's exactly what I expected.

First off, our accomodations are generally very nice. The condo is plenty large, and features a very nice kitchen. In other ways, this place is in dire need of updating. They have a putt-putt course which was built probably 10 years ago and hasn't been touched since. They've got VCRs in all the rooms, but not DVD players. I went to the front desk to "reserve" a DVD player, and they gave me one with the caveat that "the remote was lost." That makes selecting "Play Movie" on the DVD rather tricky. All in all though, the resort has been fine.

I did have to chuckle when I visited the resort "activities center." It was chock full of middle school kids whose parents were off attending the timeshare sales pitch. They were miserable. Luckily they had all bonded together to play various card games. I overheard one kid ask about "Nintendos or other games." He was pointed to a checkerboard and a deck of cards. Another asked about videos and was handed a list of VCR tapes. "There's nothing too recent on the list." No kidding. Another kid inquired about playing the game "Operation." The attendent (i.e. babysitter) offered it to him, but the batteries were dead. "Do you have new batteries?" Noooope. Note to self: Never, ever do this to Grant.

Mornings have been spent at the pool, given that it's been in the 90's every day so far. Grant has mastered jumping off the side into the water, and I hear that last night he managed to master pooping in the pool. The swim diaper prevented us from being escorted from the grounds.

Our only struggle at the moment is finding that memorable restaurant for the trip. Last night we ate at a steakhouse which was very mediocre. This morning we had breakfast which featured more hair than food. I'm doing some research as I type this, and hopefully tonight will be more successful.

I guess the thing I'm most surprised by is the fact that Branson truly is about the shows. There's no big walking district like Gatlinburg, and it's been too hot to really want to be outside. Therefore tonight we may venture out to one of the shows. I'll keep you posted...

Prom 2008 - "Now With Breathalizer!"

Yep...it's that time of year again. For our third consecutive year, Erin and I chaperoned the prom. Actually this is the second consecutive year that Erin has been one of the organizers of prom, so with each year, she gains more responsibility and the speech about how I'd better not do or say anything stupid gets a little bit longer.

This year's prom theme was "Viva Las Vegas." What could better suit a student at an elite college preparatory school than a thorough instruction in the art of roulette or Texas Hold-Em. I kid, but prom this year was a rousing success. This year's prom had several key differences from previous years, and I think in all cases these changes were beneficial.

The first major difference was that instead of a formal sit down meal, there were food "stations" placed around the room. These included a veggie/dip table (read: the table nobody went to), a fajita table (read: the table covered with little chunks of discarded meat), a turkey carving station (read: a man with a big knife and short temper for snotty high schoolers), a pasta bar (read: a table for people trying to carb load for the rest of the night's activities), and finally, my personal favorite, a dessert table (read: where you'll find me for most of the evening).

I was assigned check-in duty for prom, which stationed me directly across from the dessert bar. As the food stations opened up, I noticed that the long lines were at the main courses, but the dessert bar was looking lonely. I also had a creeping fear that the desserts which looked good to me might disappear at the hands of these greedy little monsters who had actually paid their way into prom, so I decided to make my move. While everyone else was eating dinner, I snuck (rather unsuccessfully) over to the dessert table and loaded up a platter of desserts.

This plan worked flawlessly and proved to be endlessly entertaining to the other parents and teachers assigned to check-in duty. Erin was off doing other things, so I ran little risk of getting smacked around for what was later deemed embarrasing behavior. I also noted that since it worked so well, I should make it a ritual every 15 minutes or so. I tried different desserts with each visit, and it actually became quite a challenge once I discovered that if I emptied one plate on the dessert table, they brought out new, DIFFERENT desserts to replenish it with.

After my checkin duties were done, Erin and I made our way to all of the other food stations. It was difficult to scoop up the pasta or fajita meat, in part because of the diabetic tremor I had developed after two hours of dessert. I also noticed that I was having trouble controlling my bladder and my vision was blurry in one eye. Such is life.

After we had eaten our real dinners, I decided I needed my real dessert. As I made my way back to the dessert station and got a couple of cookies placed on my plate, one of the deans at Erin's school scolded me and ordered that I take no more cookies. She laughed in that, "I'm just kidding with you, but you really are disgusting" kind of way. I was undeterred.

Following the meal, the kids could either stand on the dancefloor and be deafened by the soothing sounds of today's Top 40, or they could make their way to any number of gaming tables around the room. These tables turned out to be an enormous success. There was no money involved, and you simply played for bragging rights, but these high school kids ate up getting to sit at a real gaming table with a professional dealer who, in some cases, looked like a hired lady. It was a hoot.

The kids who stayed on the dance floor also provided me endless entertainment. One of my coworkers noted that his daughter's school now broadcasts live video from prom on a local cable access channel. This seems like an interesting idea. He commented that he was somewhat taken aback by the fact that kids no longer dance facing each other, choosing instead to have the girl in front of the guy with her back to him. Apparently strip clubs are now providing dancing lessons.

I figure this makes the girl feel better about all the lunch money she blew getting her "tramp stamp," the common name of those lovely tattoos in the small of girls' backs that are so popular. I tried to explain to Erin why this type of dancing is so popular with the younguns, but she still didn't quite get it. I then tried to show her, but this only resulted in her smacking the top of my head and threatening to have me neutered.

At the end of the evening, as they did on the way into prom, the deans gave each kid a breathalizer. The students had been warned about the test on the way INTO prom, but they weren't aware of the test on the way out. We manned the exits at the back of the hall, figuring at least one kid would catch wind of the exit exam and make a run for the back door, but it didn't happen. This year's prom appeared to be a problem free experience, as far as alcohol goes.

Erin and I spent a lot of time discussing what the theme for next year's prom could be. This mostly involved me making suggestions featuring inappropriate slogans. For example, I suggested that they bring in Pop-A-Shot basketball goals and have T-shirts that say, "I scored at prom." I made other suggestions as well, but in the interest of maintaining our family friendly readership, I'll stop now. I figure I've already garnered myself a couple of nights on the couch with this post as it is.

Adios

On my final day in Juarez, I was forced by incurable hunger (I hadn't eaten since breakfast) to venture into the streets alone to find lunch. I decided initially that I would go to a Burger King that didn't appear to be too far away, based on Google Maps. It was in the same vicinity as the Wendy's I'd previously visited, so at least I knew the area.

As I approached the Wendy's, I decided that the BK was still several miles away, and no part of me wanted to get any closer to central Juarez than I had to. I also noted, at this point, that there was a restaurant called Barrigas near the Wendy's, which we had eaten at on our previous trip a couple of weeks ago. I decided that I'd rather have decent Mexican food than lame fast food, so I headed into Barrigas.

My food was good, although not exceptional. I spent the whole meal a little paranoid. During my dinner at Kiki's the previous night, a couple of El Paso natives told me multiple times that they thought I was crazy to wander around Juarez alone. They said things like, "Don't you know they have shootings in broad daylight?" and "If you have a wreck, you have a 50/50 shot of ending up in jail."

What I've discovered is that I actually feel much safer in China, in part because I don't have to drive. Mexico requires you to have "special" Mexican insurance, and if you have a wreck, it's immediately a criminal matter. Coupled with the fact that the traffic in Juarez is horrendous, and things like turning left from the right lane are common, and I just don't like taking the chance of having to deal with the cops over an accident. My drive back to the plant from lunch was made even more complicated by another sand storm, so visibility on the highway was extremely low. What a nightmare.

Erin inquired as to why I didn't just eat lunch at the plant. Excellent question. Basically I have a greater fear of being killed by our cafeteria than I do of being pistol whipped by a Mexican cop following a fender bender. When this plant opened a few years ago, there were several deaths due to improper food preparation in the cafeteria. No exaggeration. Deaths. "I'll have the chicken fingers...(24 hours later)...I'm dead now. Dang." There is a van parked in front of the factory that sells various burritos and such. Apparently they're very tasty...if you don't mind eating perishables from the back of an unrefrigerated minivan in 90 degree heat. Hell hath no fury like Montezuma...

Dinner last night was a mini-pizza and many brews (dig my homonym) at a place called BJ's Brewhouse. It was all tasty, made even better by the fact that it was all half price due to a happy hour special. Half price mini-pizzas are probably more dangerous for me than half price pints, but I was glad to test both. I crashed at the hotel early, wanting to get a good night's sleep before my 8am flight.

As I sat staring at my wedge salad and supreme mini-pizza, a thought crossed my mind. Over my many trips during the past few years, I've heard some dang seedy tales regarding what guys do on business trips. I've heard tales of drunkenness and debuachery. I've heard tales of strip clubs and girls in Asia. I've heard of guys putting weed on an expense report as an "entertainment" expense.

But what dawned on me last night is that my wife need not worry about me hanging out at strip clubs or smoking a joint. These are not my vices. No, my vice is corporately expensed food. When I travel, it's nearly impossible for me to eat in a proper fashion, knowing that I'm not paying for it, and I have nothing better to do. If it's fried, I'll take it. If it's green...and fried...I'll take it. If it comes smothered in cheese or some sort of butter based sauce, I'll take it.

And then each night, once I'm so stuffed that I can't remember what city or country I'm in, I wedge myself back into the rental car, I go back to the hotel, turn on the TV, and lay in the middle of the bed in various stages of undress with my arms and legs sprawled out like I'm making a snow angel on the covers, moaning quietly to myself in gastric misery. And I think, "If only Erin and Grant were here, life would be perfect." Indeed...

Mexico -- Round Dos

Monday, April 28

Well I've obviously ticked my employer off in a big way, because I find myself marooned, yet again, in Mexico today.

After a whirlwind weekend which involved seeing my cousin's family complete with their new son in Greencastle, followed by a visit to Chicago to see my good friends who are relocating to Singapore, I boarded a plane at 5:45am this morning and arrived in El Paso at 10:00am (noon Indy time).

I dropped my luggage at the hotel, had a quick bite to eat (at a place called Cheddar’s, in honor of my wife having previously waitressed at a restaurant of the same name in Indiana), and then proceeded to the border crossing. After receiving my visa in an uneventful fashion, I headed into Juarez.

The drug wars in Mexican border towns are at a fever pitch at the moment, and many passengers on my flight were discussing various strategies for getting into and out of Juarez in as quick a fashion as possible. After having no trouble with my visa, I had a somewhat false sense that things would go smoothly.

As I headed back out onto the street, I immediately saw six or seven policemen with machine guns tearing some guy’s car apart while he lay handcuffed in the street. Ok, no big deal…Just another day in Mexico, right? Then I stop at the first stop light. Two cars behind me, I see a pickup truck off to the side come barreling toward the guy waiting in line at the light. The truck plows into the guy, obviously on purpose. Both vehicles then pull into oncoming traffic and go racing around me through the red light, causing much dust and screeching of tires.

Now a little more shaken, I made my left turn and headed for the main road to our factory. Two more lights and the previously attacked car came barreling by me, jumped a curb at high speed and proceeded the wrong direction up a four lane road.

I'm not one for swearing unnecessarily, but can someone please get me the **** (choose your own word) out of here?

Tuesday, March 29

After a much needed night’s rest (and a really necessary beer at Logan’s Steakhouse), I awoke this morning and began my trek across the border for yet another day. Today went much more smoothly. I did witness a truck full of Mexican federal agents standing in the back carrying machine guns wearing what appeared to be black ninja outfits. This didn’t seem all that concerning in the grand scheme of things.

I tried a different route to work, which was semi-successful. My goal in altering my drive was to avoid left turns. It seems that in Mexico, you can turn against a red left turn light. I found this out as a semi-truck driver came at the back of my rental car at 80 miles per hour and began blaring the horn until I made my turn against the light. It appears that everyone does this, but it scares the bejeebies out of me. I’m under no delusion that Mexican drivers would stop before hammering into your passenger side door, especially if they saw the Texas license plates the moment before impact.

My new route only had one left turn, so I thought I’d found a master plan. When I arrived at the intersection, it had been designed such that you had to make a right turn and then an approved U-turn to go left. This is great! NO left turns! Except that it took me a moment to figure out the system. I started to attempt a left turn, only to be alerted to my mistake by a police car on my tail whose lights were set to “Stun The Gringo.”

The rest of my new route turned out to be pretty good, although the “major” street shown on Google Maps would qualify as a “major” alley in most places. I will probably continue to use this new, left-less route for the remainder of my visit, as it also avoids the part of the expressway that turns to dirt for a few yards, as discussed in my last visit.

I ventured out to Wendy’s, of all places, for lunch. The dilemma was that none of my Mexican colleagues seemed very interested in going out at 12:45pm, and I was about to eat the table (after I’d thoroughly sanitized it, of course). So I grabbed my Mexican car insurance from my laptop bag (I’ve been advised that you should have this on your person while driving, for if you leave it in the car and someone absconds with your vehicle, you’re up somewhat of a crick) and headed out.

My first thought was that I didn’t have any pesos, so I needed to find a place which took Mastercard. My second thought was that I’d go back to the nice Mexican restaurant I ate at on the previous visit to Juarez. As I approached this restaurant, which is only maybe three miles from our factory, I noticed a Wendy’s. As I approached the door, I took note that they accepted credit cards, so I was good to go.

After lunch, I began the few miles back to the factory. It was chaos. People pulling out in front of me, people honking, more trucks driven by ninjas with machine guns aimed out the windows. Madness. I’ve decided that if I ever want my dad to have heart failure under what will not appear to be suspicious circumstances, a drive through Juarez might just be the ticket.

This evening I ventured into El Paso proper for a meal at Kiki’s, a restaurant I discovered while perusing the web in my free time at the factory. I knew I’d found a restaurant close to my heart when I saw their sign which read, “Kiki’s – We now have silverware.”

I’ll post pictures of all my adventures later in the week. Kiki’s was, as hoped, a brilliant place for El Paso cuisine. My meal reminded me a lot of my beloved Pancho’s in Indy. I had Chicken Muchaca, which was the special. It was chicken, peppers, onions, cheese, and tortillas, but it was far better than the same type of dish would be at a generic Mexican restaurant. I drew some looks as I took pictures, and I ended up spending my meal talking with a couple at the bar who were native El Pas…uh…El Pasians(?) who had been eating there for 25 years. They were surprised that I’d tracked the place down as a business traveler. I explained to them that I’m far more willing to drive all over creation for a good meal than the average business traveler.

And with that said, I think I’ll head over to Outback for dessert…

Spring Break

A week ago we loaded up Big Whitey (our family friendly name for our giant, white, shoulda-been-sold-to-a-retirement-village mini-van) and headed south for Birmingham. Spring Break gives us a great opportunity to go hang out with family, get warm in the 70+ degree weather, and eat everything not bolted to the countertop at my aunt and uncle's house.

This year's visit was no different. We had a wonderful time seeing everyone down there, and I did, indeed, eat most of their food. When I wasn't eating their cupboards bare, they took us out for a couple of great meals. The first was at a place called Dale's Southern Grill. An upscaled version of the classic meat and three, this place provided us the opportunity to try fried pickles, fried green tomatoes, and various other Southern cuisines. I love eating at these types of places while in the South, since we don't have anything similar in central Indiana. How hard can it be to soak stuff in butter and breading, then fry it? I think perhaps someone needs to take the opportunity to open someplace like Dale's in Indianapolis. You could even make Lipitor one of the sides.

The other big meal out was at a place called Newk's. We all had various sandwiches and pizzas, although there wasn't enough evidence of excessive use of a deep fryer for my liking. The crazy part of the Newk's experience for me was that I looked up midway through my lunch and saw a couple of old friend's from high school waiting in line. Given that we were over 500 miles from where all of us went to school, it was crazy running into them in Birmingham. One of them had moved to Birmingham five years ago, and the other one was visiting him. It was great to spend a moment catching up with those guys, although the presence of kids, wives, gray hair, etc did remind me that high school is drifting into the past at a rapid pace. In any case, it was great to see Mr. Keene and Mr. Corbin.

After saying our goodbyes to Birmingham, we headed north to Cullman, Alabama, home of the Ave Maria Grotto. Now I've been seeing the signs on I-65 for this place since I was a kid, but I had no idea what it was. Who uses the word "grotto" with any regularity? "Grotto" always evoked an image of a man straining. I have no idea why. Erin found out about the Grotto on her own and insisted we stop. The basic story is that this monk named Joseph Zoettl created miniature versions of various sites from around the world. They've been collected and placed on a hillside behind a monastery in Cullman. Monks in Alabama. Who knew?

As it turns out, the Ave Maria Grotto is relatively fascinating if only for its scope. There is a whole hillside covered in little buildings and shrines made out of old shells, buttons, hunks of rock, broken dishes, etc. The buildings are literally made out of whatever Brother Zoettl had lying around. If you went to someone's house where they had a front porch stacked with various old appliances, bedding, dishes, and car parts and started having your kids make little buildings, you might end up with something similar. But the work is definitely fascinating, and it's interesting in that Zoettl made so many little buildings. It's definitely worth a stop if you're ever trying to break up the monotony that is northern Alabama.

Part of the Ava Maria Grotto

After departing Cullman, we headed northeast toward Scottsboro, Alabama. Most people's knowledge of Scottsboro ends with the Scottsboro Boys, but as it turns out, they now also have the distinction of being home to the Unclaimed Baggage Center. How this ended up in Scottsboro, Alabama -- hours from the nearest major airport -- is beyond me.

The Unclaimed Baggage Center is a store filled with all of the stuff left in bags which are collected up by the airlines. Seeing the amount of unclaimed baggage lying next to baggage carousels around the world, I expected this to be a cornucopia of untold riches, and to some degree, I was correct. On one floor, they had piles of clothing, shoes, and books to peruse. On another floor they had a wall of golf clubs, luggage, CDs, DVDs, and various other electronics. You could find a cell phone charger for any model from the past 10 years at this place. Somewhat disturbingly to me, they had piles of earbud headphones available as well. My mind replaced the image with a giant pile of flowing ear wax. Ick. There is some unclaimed baggage that should just be pitched, and this would include earbuds and underwear. This place sold both.

Initially I was excited to look through the piles of treasures, hopeful to load the back of Big Whitey with loot. But after I got started, I realized that the trip wasn't going to be as fruitful as hoped. For example, they had a handful of iPods. Most were one generation old, and most looked as though they'd ridden on the floor of the lavatory for the duration of a flight from Atlanta to Kyrgyzstan. Price? Approximately $50 off their original new price. Maybe 25% off.

Now if I'm going to load up my cart with treasures, I want to pay, oh, 10% of the original price, not 75%. Clothing appeared to be the same story. CDs were $6 with no artwork...the disc only. Since I heard several others griping about the prices in the store, apparently my reaction was common. Apparently the place is selling stuff, otherwise I can't imagine it would stay open for long. In the end though, it was a disappointment. I guess the only cheap way to get this stuff is the old fashioned way -- to grab it off the baggage claim carousel and run like mad.

After leaving Scottsboro, we headed for Chattanooga. We had planned to spend a couple of days in Chattanooga, and we had booked a room at the Holiday Inn an the Chattanooga Choo Choo complex. Priceline netted us the room for $45 per night, and the reviews online were good, therefore I was optimistic about our stay.

The lobby of the hotel was very nice, having been restored with a great deal of care. As I was checking in, a manager of some sort came over and chatted with me. He then had the attendent put us in a "new" room that had recently been renovated. He made a big deal of the room being new and in a nice building, so I was grateful.

As we drove to Building 3 at the back of the complex, I became aware that the Choo Choo complex has the feeling of a once great entertainment venue that is now merely staying open. Everything looked a little worn, and places taht looked as though they were begging for crowds of people with drink in hand, were strangely solemn. It was like being in an amusement park when it's closed off-season. We drove across two empty parking lots before finding our building, which had a handful of cars parked out front. The outside of the building was nothing special, but there was a nice pool with a jacuzzi in the middle...again, all empty. (It was in the 50's that day, so this was understandable.)

As we approached our room, we passed a room that was barking. Not one dog, but multiple dogs. This is never a good sign with me. I can appreciate people loving their pets, but I don't need to stay in a hotel with them. Luckily they were well away from our room, so it wasn't a problem, but it did leave me with a questionable feeling.

Our room turned out to be fairly nice. Like much of the rest of the complex, it was nothing spectacular. It had, indeed, been renovated. But there were still plenty of hints that it was an old building. The AC didn't work quite right. The tub dripped continuously. The bottom of the bathroom door was water damaged. We were paying $45 per night though, so it didn't bother us much. In China, they'd be telling me "5 Star...5 Star!"

Chattanooga turned out to be pleasant enough. It's obviously a city undergoing a downtown renaissance, with lots of new buildings and restaurants. We had a good, but not unique dinner at the Big River Grille & Brewing Works. Grant had the grilled cheese and left enough food on the floor to feed the previously mentioned Kyrgyzstan for a year. We had some teriffic barbecue at a place called Porker's. (This might be the only restaurant in America for which I could serve as a pin-up model.)

Our last night we had pizza at a local place called Lupi's. The food at Lupi's was great, but the long wait for our food to arrive didn't settle well with Grant. He spent the majority of the meal flinging various bits of bread and pizza all over downtown Chattanooga. At one point he scowled, grabbed his bib, gave it a yank, and through it on the floor all in one motion, as if to say, "I've had it with all of you."

Our favorite meal in Chattanooga was breakfast at a place called Aretha Frankenstein's. I read a great review of this little place online, so we hunted it down. (Plus the image of the "Queen of Soul" with bolts in her neck makes me giggle. Inexplicably, Aretha's website is titled "So Damn Happy." Sounds like somebody found the Zoloft jellybeans to me...)

The restaurant was situated in a neighborhood, away from the tourist center of the city. It featured only a few tables, but the food was great and the atmosphere was fun. There were lots of music posters everywhere featuring "my bands" so I enjoyed that. The only issue was that, again, the small kitchen meant a long wait for food. Grant serenaded everyone with various shrieks while we waited. He and Erin both fought colds for the entire trip, so he was in no mood to sit around waiting to eat. I do have to love a place that bills itself as featuring "breakfast, lunch and beer." Sounds like the food pyramid to me.

We hit several of the major tourist attractions in Chattanooga, including taking a ride on two trains. The first was an hour long ride provided by the Tennessee Valley Railroad. The other was a trip up Lookout Mountain on the inclined railway.

Mommy and Grant before boarding the train

The inclined railway chugs up Lookout Mountain at a 72.7% grade. It reminded me of the train up to Victoria's Peak in Hong Kong, although it was significantly steeper. Surprisingly, Erin had a much greater issue with this railway than I did. By the end of the trip, she had bent the steel on the rail in front of her. She was not pleased that we had purchased round trip tickets.

The view from the top was great, but it's one of those attractions that you do primarily to say that you've done it. I did find it fascinating that the gift shop featured multiple cookbooks featuring "Hillbilly" or "White Trash" cuisine. These items appear to sell hand in hand with magnetic rocks and fudge.

With a similar mindset, we headed over to Rock City. My knowledge of Rock City was only that the classic "See Rock City" ad was painted on barns all over the midwest, and you frequently see little bird feeders with the same message in our neck of the woods. As it turned out, this ended up being our favorite attraction on the trip. I carried Grant on my back for most of the visit, which meant that I had to pull him out of the carrier several times due to narrow squeezes through the rocks. (In reality, he was merely providing me an excuse. My aunt Karen's chocolate cake was the real culprit.) Erin and I both agreed that Rock City might make a good pit stop while on a drive to Florida in the future.

Daddy packing Grant around Rock City (one of Erin's fav attractions ever)

Upon leaving Chattanooga, we made our way across Signal Mountain to the town of Whitwell, Tennessee. Whitwell is the home of the Children's Holocaust Memorial, as featured in the film "Paperclips." Basically a group of middle school students started collecting paperclips as symbols of each life lost in the Holocaust. They have placed the paperclips inside an authentic German transport boxcar, along with many other related items. It's a touching memorial and was worth the stop.

We next proceeded to Fall Creek Falls state park in Tennessee. A colleague of mine had suggested that this was a very scenic park. We did enjoy the couple of waterfalls we visited, but Erin and Grant both felt pretty miserable, so we ended up heading home. My only comment on Fall Creek Falls was that Tennessee should take a lesson from Indiana on how to present a state park. We had to hunt for an information booth, where I received hand drawn maps of the trails. I never did get a good map of the roads within the park. It was definitely a little tricky finding our way around the hills without a good map.

Some of the Falls at Fall River Falls State Park

Our final stop was at Barren River State Park in Kentucky. We happened to be passing through the area and made a brief stop so that I could show Erin and Grant where I almost died as a 6th grader. My family had descended on Barren River for Thanksgiving. My cousin and I decided to take on one of the hills on our skateboards. The net result was that I spent Thanksgiving throwing up and watching the room spin. (Although truth be told, I probably would have spent the holiday throwing up anyway, due to an excessive intake of cobbler and pie.) I banged my head pretty good, and I was glad to see upon returning to Barren River that the hill was, indeed, a steep one. (I greatly feared that I would return to find a nice shallow grade that even a small child could negotiate on a skateboard. I was vindicated.)

Overall we had a very nice visit with our family, and we were impressed with Chattanooga. It's sort of a shame that Erin and Grant both felt pretty lousy by the end of the trip, but I think we found some places we'd like to visit again in the future. I can now say "I seen Rock City" with pride.

The End

Happy New Year!

So I'm a day late, as usual, but yesterday was Chinese New Year! In my current work environment, this is cause for celebration. So one of our Chinese coworkers invited us to her favorite local Chinese restaurant for a lunch to celebrate.

The selected restaurant, called Sichuan (they don't appear to have a website anyplace), is well known by yours truly. It has long been the favorite Chinese buffet for me and my coworkers. Erin delights in telling people that one of the owners once seated me and three other gentlemen and informed us, "$5 for you, $5 for you, double for you," the last part stated while glaring at me. Apparently he felt he was losing money on me each week. The guys at work used to start chanting "third plate" or "fourth plate" in an effort to get me to take in another 2000 calories at the end of each lunch.

In any case, the food on the Sichuan lunch buffet is as close to what I eat while in China as anything I've ever had in the U.S., so it seemed fitting to eat there for the New Year. When we arrived at the restaurant, our Chinese coworker began having a lengthy discussion with one of the servers. In the end, she informed us that she had ordered lunch for us from the menu so that we wouldn't eat the same things we always eat off the buffet. This seemed like a good plan to me, and it had been rumoured that the real Chinese food at Sichuan is only found on the Chinese language menu. Interestingly, the ordering process took several minutes and there was much discussion between the waitress and orderer. This is always true in China as well. The items on the menu appear to be somewhat negotiable, and it seems that you can haggle to get items prepared the way you like them.

After being served the usual green tea (which to me always tastes a bit like boiled dishwater), out came the initial dishes, served family style as is the Chinese custom. At first there were sesame noodles, which were great. They were cold noodles in a chili and peanut sauce. Then came the jellyfish. This fell into the "Yeah, I could eat this if starving, but would I choose to under normal circumstances?" category for me. My coworker later informed me that she didn't think this was "good" jellyfish. "Good" jellyfish, in my mind, is being shoveled off the beach and into a trash can. This felt like eating the seal from a toilet tank.

The main courses included a super spicy beef dish, some fried pork, and some sort of fish boiled with vegetables (sans bones). It was all very good, and it was almost exactly like what I've been served in China (except in China, bones would abound). Throughout lunch, our coworker taught us some phrases in Mandarin and explained some of the customs we see while working in Shenzhen. I will take pride during my next trip in my new found ability to swear at my coworkers in Mandarin. I'm sure they'll be delighted.

I'm going to have my coworker write down what she ordered so that the next time Erin and I eat at Sichuan, I can order more traditionally. And perhaps by doing so, the restaurant owners will forgive me from wiping out their buffet on a weekly basis for the past five years.

Death by Doughnut

This morning I had to have my blood drawn for my yearly cholesterol checkup. It has been noted that when I bleed on something, it leaves a film like the inside of a Little Debbie wrapper, so I suppose a yearly checkup is necessary, but no more enjoyable none the less.

The worst part of having this test done is that it requires a 12 hour fast prior to my blood being drawn. For many people, 12 hours doesn't seem like a big deal. You stop eating at 9pm the night prior, and you have a late breakfast the next morning. For me, I'm dragging my cereal bowl around the house like a dog. I don't even handle the concept of Biblical fasting well, choosing to sleep or to think about what I'll be having for lunch during these sermons.

But I fasted like a good vascular disease patient and the blood draw was uneventful. As I returned to work, I did what any good cholesterol sufferer does and dropped by McDonalds for an Egg McAngioplasty. The drive-up line was backed up into the street (this IS Indiana, you'll recall), so I bagged it and headed for work.

After dropping my laptop off and grunting unenthusiastically at my fellow engineers, I headed for the vending machines. (We were pushing 10am by this point. It was dire.) Fearing pure chocolate might make me shaky, I looked to the bottom of the vending machines...you know, where they put the larger items like apple pies and bear claws.

The one item of any interest that remained was a single donut. It was nothing special. Just a plain old glazed donut. (Actually, I couldn't really see the donut very well, as the clear wrapper had been rendered somewhat non-translucent by whatever the donut was excreting.) I plunked in my $0.95 and out popped my round little friend.

As I began unwrapping the donut and heading for my cell, I happened to catch the "nutritional" information on the wrapper. I expected a 300 calorie, 20 grams of fat sort of hit on my heart, but what I saw left me speechless, cold, and with my left arm all a tingle.

58 grams of fat. 980 calories. I do not lie.

Now I thought for a moment about ignoring this bit of information, and downing the donut like a good Survivor contestant. I was really freaking hungry. But as I got to my desk, I saw the picture from my wedding day. I saw Grant's smiling face on my desktop. I have so much to live for! Knowing that there was little else to eat before lunch, I threw the stupid donut in my trash can. I looked at it for a second, then I threw a couple of used tissues and something off the bottom of my shoe on top of it, just to keep me from going after it later.

Erin asked me tonight why I didn't leave it at the vending machine for someone else. I told her that I couldn't deal with the blood on my hands if someone else ate that thing. It's pretty sad when a better nutritional option is a Big Mac at 10am.

Birthday Weekend

First off, a quick happy birthday to both my father-in-law and mother. We celebrated my father-in-law's birthday with a trip to Indy's finest provider of Greek cuisine -- Santorini. (Their homepage is rather bizarre, if you ask me, but alas...) I love the food at Santorini dearly, but the restaurant is not without its quirks. For one, it has two restrooms (I can see people's eyes rolling, given my issues with bathrooms), both of which are unisex. This is not where the problem lies. The issue is that the door to each bathroom faces out into the restaurant, so you get none of that "check your fly and adjust your shorts on the run" time that you normally get. It's sink, paper towel, family of four. It's very disconcerting.

My second issue with Santorini is that it sometimes features belly dancers. As a red blooded male, this would seem like a good thing. But in many cases, my blood would need to be slightly older and pudgier to find some of the dancers appealing. I'm not trying to be rude (at least not entirely), but surely there are some girls under 40 willing to don a little belly dancer costume and tuck singles into their waistbands from fathers trying to pretend they've never "tucked a buck" before in front of their kids. I've seen belly dancers at Santorini where you couldn't "tuck a buck" if you tried because of the expedition required to FIND said waistband. Never a good thing.

Following Santorini, we made our yearly run to America's favorite concrete putting grounds, Rustic Gardens. This provided its usual plethora of delights, although the loose chickens were conspicuously missing this year. I did manage to nearly hit a hole in one, no easy feet from 80 yards with a putter onto a concrete "green," but in the end, I was soundly defeated by my father-in-law. His ability to putt on a normal green is assuredly wrecked for at least the next two weeks, so perhaps my father will be able to beat him in their weekly competition.

On Sunday we had a birthday cookout for my mom and father-in-law. Just as I was getting ready to start the burgers and Sinai Koshers, the grill ran out of gas. This invariably happens when you have the largest of groups awaiting dinner, so I made a bee line to the nearest gas station for a replacement tank. When I arrived, I ran into the quickie mart and told the pleasantly smokey young lady behind the counter that I needed a replacement propane tank. She told me to go out front and wait and that she would be out in a moment. As she said this, I noted an elderly gentleman helping her behind the counter. He was fetching a pack of Pall Malls for another patron and doing so with the approximate speed of an engineer on a first date. I could have grown my own tobacco and rolled a smoke faster.

In any case, I headed outside. I looked back in to the store and noted that my attendant was not helping anyone, so I assumed she would head my direction momentarily. After about 30 seconds, out came the elderly gentleman. He walked with a noticeable problem with his hip, which led me to believe that he had probably had a hip replacement, although I'm not sure with what it was replaced. He was very kind and gave me the needed gas tank, but I wanted to say to him, "Gee, sir. You should have your little 3-packs-a-day friend in there do the outdoor errands." He didn't seemed bothered by the trip outside; although, he did comment that it was "danged hot." ("Danged" is usually the adjective of choice in these parts.)

Following the grill debacle, we had a lovely cookout, and everyone got to watch Grant eat, poop, drool and attempt to roll over. Now that I've written that, his day is not dissimilar to my own.

Drive-In

Bret, Erin, Grant, and Erin's parents arrive at the Mug 'n Bun Drive-In in search of dessert foods and root beer.

A sign on the side of the building announces a new menu item, Edie's Dibs (chocolate, mint, or crunch) for $2.00.

Said occupants of Big Whitey inspect Mug 'n Bun menu looking for dessert items.

Shakes, sundaes, and malts (does anyone under 55 really know what a malt is?) are the offerings.

Mother-in-law: What are Edie's Dibs?
Others: They're little ice cream balls.
Mother-in-law: Balls?
Others: Yes. Ice cream balls covered in chocolate.
Mother-in-law: Crunchy chocolate?
Others: Yes, if you order crunch.
Mother-in-law: But I thought they were chocolate?
Others: They are. They're crunchy chocolate ice cream balls.
Mother-in-law: Then what are the chocolate ones?
Others: Crunch-less chocolate covered ice cream balls?

Waitress arrives to take order. She senses confusion.

Waitress: Do you folks know what you'd like?
Me: I'll have a large chocolate shake.
Father-in-law: I'll have a small strawberry shake.
Erin: I'll have some root beer, please.

(Mother-in-law thoroughly inspects the ice cream cone-less menu)

Mother-in-law: Do you have cones?
Waitress: No cones, mam. We have Edie's Dibs.
Mother-in-law: What are those?
Waitress: Little ice cream balls.
Mother-in-law (somewhat inaudible due to laughter in van): I'll have the crunch ball.
Waitress: It's actually many little ice cream balls.

(Laughter in van escalates.)

Mother-in-law: Ok, I'll have the crunchy balls.

Waitress leaves, shaking her head for various reasons.

More Donuts

After a relaxing if unexceptional weekend milling about central Indiana, we made our way downtown yesterday afternoon for a stroll with Grant in the nice weather. Our first stop was at Circle Centre mall which proved relatively uneventful. As we passed through the food court, Erin said "Oooh...They're getting a Taco Bell!" which pretty well sums up the excitement awaiting one at Circle Centre.

Afterwards we took a stroll around Monument Circle and decided to have an early dinner at P.F. Chang's. (What else would one awaiting a two week stay in China want besides some California-fied Chinese food?) As we were seated, Erin remarked that the last time she ate at P.F. Chang's, she received food poisoning. Lovely, eh? I remember the event very clearly, as it was shortly after we started "hanging around" (we never dated, for those of you who know us...at least we didn't according to Erin).

On that fateful day, we had childcare that day at church, and we were both stationed in the nursery. Erin's stomach was not feeling well when we got to church, and about half way through the service, Erin tossed some poor baby like she was in a baby shot put competition into a crib. She ran outside and started what turned out to be a day's worth of eliminating her last evening's meal from P.F. Chang's. In an effort to be chivalrous, I took her back to her apartment and tried to comfort her, bringing her wet washclothes, glasses of water, etc. She was extremely ill, and little did she know at the time that I avoid sick people at all costs, so for me to stick around and voluntarily expose myself to her was an act of unparalleled devotion.

As she tells the story, she couldn't get me to leave and I essentially stalked her in her sick state. That's right, hon. I was waiting for just the right chance between wretches to make my move. Sheesh...A fella can't get a break.

Anyway, our meal last night at P.F. Chang's has not, thus far, produced such results. It did become traumatic about 15 minutes in, as Grant decided he'd had enough missed naps and began sort of randomly tossing objects about the restaurant. He didn't scream. He didn't cry. He just tossed a pacifier here, a stuffed dog there. Luckily nobody else eats at 4 pm at P.F. Chang's, so we were able to crawl around the floor retrieving things without anyone else noticing.

On our way home, we joked about taking 16th Street home on the off chance that Long's Bakery would be open. Now I realize that faithful readers think I'm on a diet, but such an ordeal is always paused in the event that I pass Long's. Long's has, quite simply, the finest donuts (or "do-nuts" as the sign advertises) available anywhere in the world. (And I include Dunkin' Donuts in this comparison, despite my fawning in Friday's post.) These little old ladies put Krispy Kreme to shame. We once took our elementary school aged niece to Long's, and after her first donut while riding home, I turned around and asked her if she wanted another. Her response says it all. "Keep 'em comin'."

Now Long's does have its quirks, and since they happened to be open on Sunday at 5:30pm, I was able to stop for my weekend dose of icing. Their first quirk are the hours. They seem to be open randomly. Sometimes in the middle of the night. Sometimes on Sundays. I'm sure they have posted hours, but I haven't been able to sense any sort of pattern.

Their second quirk is that they have at least four signs within the shop advertising the fact that they take nothing other than cold, hard American cash. One says, "We are not set up to take credit cards or debit cards." Another says, "No personal checks will be accepted." Yet another says, "We accept cash." All of these appear to be made at the same time. They use the same block, all capital lettering, and all appear on little pieces of white cardboard. Methinks some signage consolidation should have been considered. They also have a sign of similar construction announcing, and I quote, "Anyone caught yellin or cussin an employee will not be served." Cheery.

The final quirk is that the kindly, little old ladies are not always exceptionally friendly. First off, they have a system to their line that you dare not tamper with. I once ordered my donuts and watched the lady put all of my goods into an anonymous white box at the end of the counter where stacked were a dozen other such boxes. As I got to the cash register, I thought I was about to receive the wrong box, so I alerted the cashier who began checking the box I THOUGHT was mine. Upon discovering that their system had actually worked correctly, and I had sent her on a sort of donut snipe hunt, she petitioned me to "just let us do our job." Ouch.

The other key mistake to make in line at Long's is to get all the way to the cash register, apparently blinded by the sugar and donut smell, and offer up a credit card. This results in an old lady doing a dance to point out all the aforementioned signage before snapping your donuts back up and pointing you to the gas station across the street for an ATM. This is a freshman error and will result in severely delayed fried dough gratification.

As I placed my order yesterday, I took note of the fact that at 5:30pm on a Sunday, Long's was packed. I had to wait several minutes to get to the counter. The other thing I noticed was that Long's donuts appear to unify people over class, race, and age boundaries. Everyone in line was discussing their favorite Long's product with each other. An old white guy was discussing filled long johns with a middle aged black woman, while another toothless white dude inquired of the rest of the line as to the merits of the cinammon fried donuts. It was a beautiful thing. We need to be dropping sacks of Long's over the middle east. I'm quite sure mililtants would stop blowing themselves up once bloated on the deep fried, cream filled goodness which is a Long's filled donut or the sticky sweetness of a Long's apple fritter.

Erin and I ingested our donuts, as well as a couple of "test" brownies from Long's, on our way home. Erin took note of my adherence to the diet, but she understood that there are some points in life where you just have to live it up.

Oh what a beautiful morning

The beauty of some mornings can't be cloaked by idiot drivers, a less than engaging career, and the inability to eat a real breafast because I had an extra 200 calories last night at dinner. Yes, there are some days where everything is coming up roses. You only get fifteen offers via email to help transfer money out of Nigeria or you find a McDonalds where "We're sorry sir, our ice cream machine is broken today" isn't a part of their vocabulary.

Today is one of those days, simply because of this article.

That's right, kids. Dunkin Donuts is returning to Indy.

Now I'm sure those of you on the east coast or up in Chicago are reading this saying, "But gee, Bret. There are already 15 Dunkin Donuts locations within 2 blocks of any spot in town. Every Indian in our town owns his or her own Dunkin Donuts franchise!" (Before I get hate mail, the girl in this franchising info is even Indian...or perhaps Hispanic...in any case... It's just a fact!)

But au contraire, my little blogging buddy. Indy has been Dunkin-less for the past couple of years. We had one final franchise near where I work, but the staff there acted as if they had been forced to work each morning at gun point and then made to endure the putrid stink of warm, fresh pastries all day. Every donut they served had been present since the last election and was so stale as to even make it inedible by my, ever slipping standards.

So the news of 80 NEW FRANCHISES in the area is music to my ears. Nothing in my childhood made me more happy than my mom piling me into one of our classic cars to make a run to Dunkin Donuts. Starting at around age two, I could polish off three chocolate cream filled donuts without even stopping to breathe. And Munchkins...oh the boxes of those little donut holes I could eat. I'm pretty sure I still have a Munchkin lodged in my aorta someplace.

I'd better stop. This is already starting to make my poor, empty stomach hurt. But it does give me something to look forward to.

In other news, I was driving into work this morning listening to the radio, and I was becoming tired of hearing what Paris Hilton burped up after her breakfast or retrieved from between her toes when I got behind a nice, shiny new car with a bumper sticker prominantly placed in the middle of the rear bumper.

"My child hit a hole-in-one at Putt Putt"

Really? That's what you've got? Your kid didn't get straight A's or join Mathletes? So sad.

Nordic Device of Torture

I'm sure you've seen them in infomercials, at used sports equipment stores, or perhaps in the basement or garage of every third house in every suburban neighborhood. I speak of this device, created by the NordicTrack company -- the ski machine.

Now my beloved mother can hardly find her car in a parking lot without falling into an imaginary hole. She once tried to jog around the quarter mile block surrounding my parent's house and ended up with the type of abrasions normly reserved for someone recently dragged behind a moving vehicle. Yet for years, I watched her use this machine with the greatest of ease while watching whatever she had recently taped off of HBO, a channel to which they did not subscribe, hence the snowy picture and lack of what we in the industry call "vertical hold," but that's another blog (I'm still not entirely convinced of her purpose in using the ski machine. She's never looked anything other than "skinny" my whole life.)

So when my parents relegated their precious ski machine to the garage, Erin and I adopted it (as we're prone to doing these days), and it has been going to no use in a corner of our dining room ever since. So last night I missed my workout on the way home and decided to give the NordicTrack a whirl. Now the construction of the machine is simple. You stand on a pair of skiis roughly five or six inches off the floor -- just high enough to twist the devil out of an ankle if you slip off. Approximately waist high, depending on your height, is a brace which pushes into your midsection while you "ski." With your hands, you hold a jumprope looped through a tension wheel at the top, just to make sure no part of you has the ability to generate balance while using this thing.

I hopped on without any hesitation and tried to start skiing. I quickly realized that the tension on the skiis was too tight for a first timer, but Erin, my Biblical helpmate, unfortunately noticed this first. Without warning she dropped the tension lever to zero.

Now I'm sure my father, using a napkin over some Mexican food, could give a much more accurate drawn representation of what happened next, but I'll do my best. You see, in physics there's this whole equal and opposite reaction business. Basically the tension wheel is working against the skiis which are working against my feet and legs. If you remove the tension, the skiis are free to do as they wish, which is not provide a reaction against my feet.

The geekless version of this is that the skiis immediately shot out behind me sending me, more or less, horizontal. I didn't completely hit the floor though, as my face first slammed into the waist high brace which gave me enough to time to yell something starting with F or S before catching myself. After explaining to Erin that you can't just release ALL the tension at once, I regained my composure and repositioned myself on the machine. (She didn't hear my explanation through her tears of laughter.)

I began slowly trying to ski on the machine. I've skiied a lot in my life, and this felt like no skiing I've ever tried. I LIKE skiing, but this...this I didn't like. Erin's approach to using the machine is to reduce the tension to zero and sort of run on it. My approach was to set the tension at the midpoint and try to really ski on it. I eventually got to where I could stay upright, and I even eventually was able to get my arms into the act.

A couple of things I discovered during my half hour workout. First off, the machine forces your back to stay ever so slightly hunched, leaving you with incredible lower back spasms after the fact. I could hardly walk when I was finished. Second, if you try to stand upright a little bit to reduce the throbbing in your back, for whatever reason, the skiing motion just naturally stops. You find yourself suddenly standing there trying to catch your balance, all the while trying to figure out why the blamed thing stopped skiing. And finally, the brace that presses on your midsection really just pushes on your digestive system enough to create incredible gas throughout your workout. I had an ice cream treat at McDonalds prior to the workout (don't ask how this fits into the diet...it just does), and the combination of dairy and the waist brace made the lower section of our house pretty much uninhabitable by the end of the workout.

All in all, the experience made me realize that this is only an emergency option for missed workouts. I'd be better off to go out and run around the block or something. This ordeal also gave me a new respect for my mother. I'm sure she has absolutely no idea as to how or why she can use this device successfully, but such dumb luck is frequently on her side, so good for her. As punishment for Erin laughing so hard at me, I listened to the new White Stripes album at high volume throughout my workout. That'll teach her...