Gettin' the Shakes

Today was step two with the teeth. I was delightfully numb during the procedure, but in quite a bit of pain afterward. So I took another pain pill. I hope the worst of it all is now over.

So I got up this morning and had a bowl of Shredded Wheat and Bran with low-fat (1 percent) milk. A healthy start to the work week.

That was followed by lunch. I went to Fazoli's and tried their new low-carb chicken broccoli bake. With--and I counted--FIVE breadsticks. They weren't low-carb, but two of them were soaked in butter.

Then I went to the dentist, then Wal-Mart.

Then I stopped by Shakey's (a.k.a. Shake's) Frozen Custard. This is a chain of ice cream shops that actually started in Joplin and has, regrettably, spread through much of the South like wildfire.

Here's the concept: make home made ice cream fresh throughout the day and serve it in sinfully delightful sundaes. If you have the means, I recommend you franchise one right away.

Oh, and I chased the pain pill down with a small pizza from Paxton's. Best pizza in Little Rock and, regretabbly, 2 1/2 blocks from my house.

Apocalypse Now

Only a couple of you, if any, probably remember my previous web sites. They were very amateurish compared to this one, and perhaps that's why I never really had a large base of readers during the first two attempts. (Of course, the Internet was kind of new then, too.)

On my second web site, I announced my intention to be Emperor of the Known Universe. I'm not saying that my motives were purely altruistic, but I did mean well. I just thought some changes needed to be made that no one had the guts to do. For instance, upon my installation certain rules would be immediately adopted:
- Anyone 20 percent or more over his or her ideal body weight would be forbidden to wear muscle shirts or tube tops.
- Anyone shaving his head could not wear sideburns.
- Anyone wearing a beard must also wear a mustache (though mustaches without beards are perfectly acceptable).
- Anyone throwing cigarette butts out of their car window could be flogged silly.

As Emperor of the Known Universe, I also pledged to utilizye the vast resources under my control for the betterment of science. One of my first pledges was to have a team of scientists develop a version of Cheetos that would not turn fingers bright orange.

Imagine my surprise when today at Wal Mart, I came across this:

Cheetos without colorings or preservatives. This really set me back. Could it be that the human species is capable of solving the greatest problems of science without my help? Fat chance!

It's the other possibility that intrigues me more. What if someone is succeeding in what I have not (yet) achieved? What if someone has quietly ensconced himself (or herself) in the emperor's seat?

Who could it be? Anyone have any theories? Could the end be at hand?

Nature Abhors a Vacuum

If you don't already have one, I urge you to RUN, not walk, to the nearest home improvement store and buy a Shop Vac.

You're probably asking yourself, "What can I do with 6.5 HP of suction?" Plenty, mister, believe you me.

I bought mine shortly after my birthday with gift cards some thoughtful people gave me (thanks, Dad and Mavis!). So today I was at the car wash, and pulled into the "drying station" to clean my car out after the wash.

Right as I was about to put 75 cents into the car wash vacuum thingy, I thought, "Wait, I can do this at home!" So I drove home, pulled into my garage, and began vacuuming.

The vacuum cleaner did a nice job on my car. In fact, it sucked up the car charger for my cell phone lickety split. (Fortunately I found it safely inside the storage tank.) After I finished the car, I was looking for stuff to vacuum, and ended up vacuuming the entire garage floor. Dirt, debris, receipts, small widlife . . . "SHOOK, SHOOK, SHOOK, SHOOK!" The noise of something getting sucked in is itself pure bliss.

But wait, there's still more, because my shop vac not only SUCKS, it also BLOWS!!! That's right, you detach the motor and and attach a nozzle, and it becomes an awesome leaf blower. Leaves tend to collect around my front door. So I plugged in, pointed at the corner of my front porch and turned the machine on. VROOOM! I was instantly enveloped in a vortex of flying leaves and debris. [Note to self: Next time, protective eyewear.]

I tried to corral those puppies into the yard, and in the process almost blew away my landscaping!!

Anyone have a mess to clean? Have vac, will travel.

Small Talk

Some people are hard to figure out, especially since I've never been one for idle chit-chat. Want to discuss the hidden implications of alternative minimum tax? I'm all over it. Want to contemplate the cash flow advantages of foreign partnerships? How about differences between the saturated and polyunsaturated fat molecule? Any of those topics, I could go on for hours.

But ask me, "Looking forward to hump day?" and I am stopped dead in my tracks. Yet there is a sub-species of human that seems to thrive by speaking purely small talk. I'm designating this sub-species homo sapien officum weaselo, more commonly known as the office weasel. And let me share with you a few of my vast observations of this creature.

The office weasel, in its natural habitat (often 9 X 12 cubicle), has no discernible function other than to sit around and, in between personal phone calls, spout unending cliches. Unsuspecting management, often otherwise frightened by unattractive facts and grim statistics, tends to promote the office weasel to positions of seeming importance, allowing the office weasel to hire others like him, thereby achieving his principle means of reproduction.

I find the office weasel's means of communication elusive. I've only once successfully engaged one in conversation, and even as I write a team of scientists is working around the clock to attempt to translate the conversation. It went something like this.

Office Weasel: "Yo, there, TGIF! It's crunch time."
Me: "Yep, it's time to put the pedal to the metal."
OW (perking up): "Yep, somebody's got to step up"
Me: "Uh huh, 'cause we're down to the wire."
OW (grimacing): "It's the quiet before the storm. Sounds like the ball's in your court."
Me: "Yeah, but we'd better not rock the boat."
OW: "Otherwise it might get put on the back burner."
Me: "There would be a bunch of unhappy campers, then."
OW (look of deep concern): "Yeah, then things will get crazier than a crap house rat."
Me: "Best not put the cart before the horse, or it could stir up a hornet's nest."
OW (leaving in disgust): "That dog won't hunt."

If anyone can translate for me, please drop me a line.

R.I.P.

Today I received the worst news since I heard of DeForest Kelly's passing. My good friend in times of need, Fannie Mae candies, is gone.

As some of you know, Fannie Mae's was my favorite candy east of the Mississippi. (My favorite west of the Mississippi would be, of course, Sees.) As I bit into the luscious centers of Fannie Mae's delectable delights, my mouth would be flooded with fresh flavor, and my palate could discern the quality ingredients: ground cocoa, real butter and rich cream.

More importantly, they had these wonderful miniature chocolates called Debutantes. They were about 1/3 the size of regular chocolates. Therefore, a 1 lb. box of them had 2/3 fewer calories than a 1 lb. box of regular-sized candy.

My friend, you will be missed.