Friday, February 25, 2005

Nearly Excommunicated Nurses

I can't stop thinking about what the Pope had for breakfast following his tracheotomy.

NPR reported the Pontiff dined on: Café au Lait, ten biscuits and some yogurt.

I heard: a cup of coffee, a box of cookies and some ice cream.

I realize it would be difficult to tell the Pope to cool it on the cookies. He is the Pope and an old one at that. You can't tell old people anything. That's one of the great things about being old. In my experience, after age 60 you get a license that allows you to ignore all advice and provide unfiltered commentary on every topic. I don't think it's supposed to be a license to be rude but it seems that's how most folks use it. I guess in most cases that's okay with me. In fact, I think it would be nice to get your speak-your-mind license at 40. However, because most 40-year-olds still work, raise kids and maintain romantic relationships, holding off on unbridled honesty for twenty years or so might not be a bad idea.

Still, I can't wait to get my license.

The Pope's definitely got his. He says exactly what's on his mind (hence the whole a new ideology of evil thing) and makes no bones about exactly what he wants. So I'm sure a nurse woke the Pope up this morning and asked, "Hey Pope, you hungry? What would you like for breakfast?"

The Pope grabbed a notepad and wrote, "Cookies."

The nurse might have paused for a moment but he realized his soul might be in jeopardy so he gets the Pope some cookies. Then he asks, "You want anything else?"

The Pope scribbles on the notepad, "Cup of Joe to wash them down. And my throat hurts, how about some ice cream?"

The nurse is still worried about his soul but as a health professional knows better than to follow up cookies with ice cream after a major procedure. He compromises with some yogurt. The Pope is too tired to notice so he eats the yogurt without excommunicating the nurse.

That's the explanation for why the Pope ate like a six-year-old caffeine fiend at a birthday party following his tracheotomy.

The real question I'd like to ask (specifically to Jon) is this; at the age of 85 can the Pope still fly?

Shh. It's a secret. Don't tell anybody. Otherwise everyone will wanna be the Pope!

Sunday, February 20, 2005

Official Notification

Richard Snead and Carlson Restaurants Worldwide Inc. can kiss my ass.

I told you I'd let you know if I successfully reproduced T.G.I. Friday's Jack Daniel's Dipping Sauce.

I did.

It's good.

Now my plan to exact revenge on T.G.I. Friday's for all the money they've taken from me without concern for my satisfaction can finally be put into motion.

It begins by providing you with the link to the recipe I used:

Roasting the garlic is a bit of a pain and your house will smell like an Olive Garden restaurant on a very busy night for a few hours. However, it's worth it.

Phase two of my plan involves completely side-stepping the restaurant. Even if I'm desperate and in an unfamiliar city I'll do my best to stay out of a Fridays.

Phase three?

Hell, I don't know. I've already invested too much energy into this as it is.

Just let me know when you're coming and I'll make some sauce and we'll have some wings or something. Maybe wash them down with some Jack and Coke. After all, the sauce only takes a tablespoon so I've got plenty of booze to go around.

Tuesday, February 15, 2005

Feral Toddler

I'm mixing over-the-counter cold remedies in search of relief. The Nyquil/Alka-Seltzer Cold combination seemed to work last night. This despite the fact that my nose was so clogged nothing short of a hammer drill would have cleared an airway.

Eventually my nose did clear and I got some over-the-counter assisted sleep. But it really wasn't the stuffed-up nose, coughing and general malaise that got to me. I had the hiccups. The only way I could get relief was to stand on my head and swallow some water. We tried other remedies. Allie fed me a spoon of peanut butter. Judy told me to balance a spoon on my nose while I drank water. Debbie recommended holding my breath while I took seven sips of water. Nothing worked other than placing my ass above my head while I swallowed some water.

The hiccups would return and I'd invert myself on the stairs or over the edge of my bed and they'd subside. The third time they came back, the upside down swallowing didn't work. Crud. I felt like crap and these tiny convulsions were pushing me over the edge. Plus I knew they would keep Deb awake if they persisted so I got serious. I sat on the bedroom floor and held my breath until I felt as if I was going to pass out. For some reason my diaphragm got the message that I was serious and left me alone.

So far. So good.

Yesterday we registered Allie for Kindergarten. We're not certain she'll go to the school at which she registered last night. But the Principal was kind enough to give us a tour of the Kindergarten classrooms. Allie didn't seem as impressed as I thought she would be. Overall, though, it was very apparent that she's excited about the prospect of going to school. I asked the Principal if they still did milk breaks. He told me they did and he believed it was a state law. When Deb and I were in school white milk was five cents and chocolate was seven. Milk will now cost Allie 20 cents each day.

Nothing profound to say about Allie's impending matriculation or the cost of milk. Just making notes for posterity.

Glenn and Judy are spending the week with us. They're taking care of the girls while our daycare provider gets to know her new baby. We're grateful they're here. This is particularly true when you consider how much Julia hates to go the temporary provider near my office. She would scream and try desperately to get her coat back on each morning I dropped her off. In the evenings she would cling to us as if someone was going to storm in and snatch her away at any moment. It was horrible.

I suppose things might have improved over time. Either that or she would have snapped and Julia would have gone feral on us. She'd lock herself in the bathroom and scream at us. She'd refuse to eat. She'd lash out and bite her sister.

Oh wait. . . She does do all those things.

Never mind.

Thursday, February 10, 2005

Thanks, Grandpa Mike

We're back from a mini-vacation and we've got video. Unfortunately if you've got a dial-up connection it's going to take you a long time to watch it. 8.2 MB pretty much means you can get things started today and watch the footage tomorrow.

It's worth it just to see me half-naked.

Just go to password please, click Multimedia and choose Water Park.

We had a great time. Thanks to Grandpa Mike for really wonderful Christmas gift.

Monday, February 07, 2005

May I have the bitterness on the side, please?

Before you read this post, you should know I'm not a very picky guy, especially when it comes to restaurants. I know that the food business is a tough one and that every joint is going to have an off-night now and again. Ask Debbie and you'll find out I'm downright obsequious to staff and wouldn't consider sending a dish back unless it tried to crawl off my plate and harm someone at the next table.

That said, I think our local T.G.I. Fridays sucks.

And not just our Fridays. I've been to a T.G.I. Fridays in California, Georgia, Illinois and Wisconsin. Each time I've visited the restaurant I'm usually disappointed. The host station is always manned by an indifferent 19-year-old who inexplicably looses the ability to recognize the letters L, E and E (when combined) thereby seating dozens of other patrons who arrive after I've already blown most of my evening waiting for the little pager to vibrate and flash. The wait staff is usually okay but more than once I've been saddled with a server who is obviously going through some sort of career and/or emotional crisis. The table and flatware are usually sticky and dirty. The drinks are almost always heavily watered down. The food is usually presented as if Cub Scout Pack Number 43 was allowed to throw on some aprons and try plating a few entrees during their field trip.

So. Greg. Why do you keep going to T.G.I. Fridays?

For the Jack Daniels Dipping Sauce, of course.

This stuff is great. It takes T.G.I. Friday's mediocre fried shrimp, semi-tough sirloins, rubbery chicken, meatless ribs and past-its-prime salmon and turns them all into dishes of note.

It's like magic. Magic I've only been able to find at T.G.I. Fridays.

Until now.

This evening I looked for a recipe for Jack Daniels Dipping Sauce on the Web and I found one that looks very promising. I haven't made it yet but when I'll do I'll report the results and give you the recipe.

Then, Greg, why swear off T.G.I. Fridays until you're certain you can replicate the sauce?

Because the last time Debbie and I took the girls to T.G.I. Fridays I swore to Debbie that we would never return. Now there's hope that I can make good on my vow and I'm very excited. It's time that I stopped letting T.G.I. Fridays take my money without regard for my satisfaction. I've been too nice and too quiet for too long. It's time to fight back.

I'm officially putting Richard Snead and Carlson Restaurants Worldwide Inc. on notice. If this sauce pans out, I'm leaving and I'm going to take others with me. . . to Red Lobster. Those little garlic, cheese, biscuit thingys they serve are really good.

Sunday, February 06, 2005

Is this thing on?

Allie: Why did the chicken cross the road?
Deb: Why?
Allie: To get to his banana yellow car!
Deb: Good one. . .
Allie: Sorry. That's old. It's like from the 80's.