Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

Observed Recently ...

I went to get my mail from my post office box Friday, and I found a yellow slip for an oversized package. I was expecting a copy of an 800-page joint appendix filed for a case; but nevertheless, a tinge of excitement rose inside me. Like maybe it was something else.

So, I took my mail with me over to the counter and gave Barbara (not that her name was, in fact, Barbara, she looks like one) the yellow slip. She went in back and appeared a few seconds later with a box ... the joint appendix, which was okay with me. The tinge of excitement died down. I started the drive from the post office to my appointment. I got about half way there and wanted to make a call, but I couldn’t find my Samsung Pocket PC. I had it when I left for the post office. So, I turned around and headed back there at a little higher speed than I left. Whe I got there, Barbara was gone, but Chip (he doesn't look like a "Ken," so I'll call him Chip) was manning the counter and the phone. "I finally figured out that this was the thing that was ringing," he said. Thank you, Chip!! Saved me a lot of money and aggravation.

I stopped by Stacey's office to drop off a mocha for her inasmuch as Frank was not making her day very ... I better shut the fuck up about that. Incidental to my visit, I thought I'd stop by the men's restroom because my impression on a couple of previous occasuions was that it was pretty clean. I try to avoid public restrooms because, admittedly (and let's not beat around the bush), men are filthy pigs. I need only point to my adventure at Tinley Park Amphitheatre, outside Chi-town, where men and boys were lined up seven or eight deep just itching for the chance to pee in the sinks. Need I say why I try to avoid public restrooms at all cost? This comes from a guy who gained a great appreciation for bathroom sanitation only after being married because my mom and dad's housekeeping skills were less than satisfactory and sanitary. I shudder now at the thought. And I shuddered when I went into the men's restroom at Stacey's building. I decided to drive home ... fast.

And on the way home, there's a new housing "development" going in -- Eastgate, it's called, I think. It sits on a sliver of land -- if some enterprising lawyer looked into it, he or she might find that it was protected wetlands and that nobody bothered to inform the Army Corps of Engineers about all the trees and plants and other stuff being removed and plowed under and that a creek that empties into Lake Erie will carry water run-off from these homes to the lake, another thing the Corps of Engineers wants to know about -- which has been for sale for a very long time because Stacey and I decided not to buy it way back in the day.

Anyway, one of the houses is about 20 feet from Interstate-90 right-of-way. I remember some big brouhaha about hazardous waste and fissionable material being driven down I-90 on big fucking trucks that crash ... the feds said "Fuck you, we're doing it." I wonder if the builder will tell the buyers about that .... And sodium vapor lights, the kind that hum when they are on at night, are in the median on poles 40 feet high. Anyway, here's the diagram I drew for you:

And I found this annoying today. Someone tried to call me on my cell phone today ... twice. The caller I.D. read "RESTRICTED." Now, how am I suppposed to know who called? No message. Nothing. I got two clients who do that, but they leave messages. To all of you who make calls and dial whatever number you dial to come up on caller I.D. as RESTRICTED, could you please explain why you do that.

I was at the local supermarket grocery store -- there's something stuck between the "F" and "C" on my keyboard ... oops, slipped down there, oh well (Tip: Do not use a #2 pencil to try to extract something stuck between keys on your keyboard, especially one with which you've drawn a picture after having sharpened it with a linoleum knife.) -- so, I went to the grocery store to pick up a quart of milk for someone's office and, because a customer asked for a "soy latte" at Starbucks when I was there earlier this evening, I thought I'd find out about soy milk, you know, check out the label; since, they keep that stuff with the real milk and I was getting real milk.

For those of you who don't know, "soy milk" is not the proper name for the stuff. It is called "soymilk," all one word, probably invented by some vegetarian, the same one who made all the names of prepared vegetarian foods sound like meat. Here are the ingredients (verbatim from the 8th Continent soymilk container):

Soymilk (water, soy protein, soybean oil, calcium phosphate), sugar, potassium nitrate, soy lecithin, dipotassium phosphate, sodium polyphosphate, salt, carageenan, xanthum gum, natural and artificial flavor, vitamin B₂ (riboflavin), vitamin A (palmitate), vitamin D₁, vitamin B₁₂. CONTAINS SOY INGREDIENTS

At the 8th Continent website, the company, which is based in Minnetonka, Minnesota, claims that:

Like cow's milk, 8th Continent soymilk is a good source of protein and an excellent source of calcium, vitamin D and riboflavin.

It's also a good source of nitrates and phosphates and artificial color. Mmmmm ... why kid yourself, just throw some tofu in a blender ... better yet, go right to the source and buy some soybeans.

I, for one, have had a cool and happy Father's Day ... and I hope it's been that way for all of the fathers out there.

Posted by Bill at June 20, 2004 11:54 PM