Dear Ian:
Real short today, so I apologize in advance.
Pretty darn sure that Broccoli and Cauliflower are direct descendents of the same ancestor. Not 100%, but close enough. They are, in essence, the same darn plant.
Brussel Sprout, on the other hand, may be completely unrelated, maybe not.
Green Beans, for sure, are not related (closely anyhow) in anyway.
Here's the proof: Cheese Sauce.
Cheese Sauce plus Broccoli, Cauliflower or Brussel sprouts equals YUMMY!
Green Beans, well, yummy, because cheese sauce make almost everything better, but it still seems a bit strange, you know?
Green beans, Campbell's cream of mushroom soup and fake fried onions equals super-cliche-Thanksgiving YUMMY!
Never going to pull that dish off with Broccoli, Cauliflower, or Brussel Sprouts.
Probably mentioned this before, but it is definitely worth repeating, when you are eating Brussel Sprouts, it is a lot of fun to pretend that you are a giant ogre eating the peasants' cabbage crops.
But that is a strange fantasy for another time.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Anderson's Shop-Rite
Dear Ian:
Mentioned this place yesterday. Melba, Bud and their son Scott ran the place. You can ask your mom about it, I am sure, as always, her memory is better than mine.
Big yellow, cinder-block building. Anderson's Shop-Rite painted in brown on the side. No frills for sure, but I loved that place.
And you could buy things on credit.
"Bud, give me a pound of hamburger, five of your best pork chops, and a pint of chicken livers. Put it on my tab."
Try that at Wal-Mart. Ugh!
Oh, and yes, chicken livers. Don't ask me. Your Baba and your great(?)Baba, loved those things. Even uncle Jim got in on that. Breaded, fried, and dipped in ketchup. Supposedly ketchup makes everything better. Can't tell by me. I couldn't even get past the smell.
Your mom kept in touch with the Andersons for a long time. Even after she moved to Michigan. I didn't. Never been real good at that. Your mom is a "people person."
Me? When you are 18, we will talk about "Notes From the Underground." Maybe sooner, but it's pretty bleak. Most of the Russians are.
But, again, that's for another time.
Mentioned this place yesterday. Melba, Bud and their son Scott ran the place. You can ask your mom about it, I am sure, as always, her memory is better than mine.
Big yellow, cinder-block building. Anderson's Shop-Rite painted in brown on the side. No frills for sure, but I loved that place.
And you could buy things on credit.
"Bud, give me a pound of hamburger, five of your best pork chops, and a pint of chicken livers. Put it on my tab."
Try that at Wal-Mart. Ugh!
Oh, and yes, chicken livers. Don't ask me. Your Baba and your great(?)Baba, loved those things. Even uncle Jim got in on that. Breaded, fried, and dipped in ketchup. Supposedly ketchup makes everything better. Can't tell by me. I couldn't even get past the smell.
Your mom kept in touch with the Andersons for a long time. Even after she moved to Michigan. I didn't. Never been real good at that. Your mom is a "people person."
Me? When you are 18, we will talk about "Notes From the Underground." Maybe sooner, but it's pretty bleak. Most of the Russians are.
But, again, that's for another time.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Snickers vs. Milky Way vs. Charleton Chews
Dear Ian:
Your brother is alleric to peanuts. Not an uncommon allergy, now, but rather unheard of when I was growing up. Not much more I can say about that. Not sure why the huge increase, or maybe we just weren't all that aware of it. Who knows? Maybe that is why that kid always hung at the edges of the playground at Riverside Elementary when Kyle, Jeff, Todd and I were enjoying our lunch dessert: Snickers!
Total sidenote (as if any of this ever stays on point for more than 125 words). There was a girl in elementary school, Kim, if I remember correctly, who stole a whole box of Snickers from a local, family grocery (long, long, long time ago there were neighborhood groceries...these were replaced by SUPERmarkets later on. Nothing really super about them, and I will save discussion of WalMart for later. Remind me if I forget.) Anyhow, Kim got the nickname Snicker Box from her introduction to petty crime. This nick hung with her all the way through high school. Not as cool as "Baby Face" Nelson or "Scarface." I think she wound up in prison, maybe, maybe not.
Back to candy. Snickers: pretty much Milky Way but with nuts. You can freeze a Milky Way for a pretty awesome summer treat, but for some reason the peanuts mess this up for Snickers, so don't freeze them.
Never eat a Snickers around your brother. Probably not a Milky Way either. I think they are made in the same plant. So why risk it? Sneak off behind the garage, if you have to, but really you have to give them a shot.
The other candy bar that absolutely has to be frozen is the Charleston Chew. I don't even know if they make them anymore (I quit eating candy when I was a sophomore in college, again, more on that later, let's just say that I got HUGE for a little while, there.
We used to get our Charlestons from Anderson's Shop-Rite in Morgan Park. This was a different Mom and Pop grocery than the aformentioned site of the Snicker Box heist, but you get the picture. I think they were cheaper than everything else and at least 2 feet long. Okay, maybe not, but they were a lot bigger than a Snickers, and even though I did't take my first Economics class until I was a high school junior, I knew a sweet deal (ha! a pun!) when I saw one.
An unfrozen Charleston is basically a 26.2 mile run for the jaw muscles. (There may or may not have been a candy bar named Marathon, I forget). Let's just say that it was a whole lot of chomp-chomp-chomping. Freeze those bad boys, though, smack it on your thigh or kitchen table and presto change-o, crackly little bits of nougat goodness. And bonus, Charlestons were available in chocolate covered vanilla, strawberry and chocolate (double-double goodness).
Candy has changed a lot in the years, but then again, what hasn't. Your nickle candy is gone...maybe.
Next time we meet, maybe we will go hunting for Laffy-Taffy. That, again, is for another time.
Your brother is alleric to peanuts. Not an uncommon allergy, now, but rather unheard of when I was growing up. Not much more I can say about that. Not sure why the huge increase, or maybe we just weren't all that aware of it. Who knows? Maybe that is why that kid always hung at the edges of the playground at Riverside Elementary when Kyle, Jeff, Todd and I were enjoying our lunch dessert: Snickers!
Total sidenote (as if any of this ever stays on point for more than 125 words). There was a girl in elementary school, Kim, if I remember correctly, who stole a whole box of Snickers from a local, family grocery (long, long, long time ago there were neighborhood groceries...these were replaced by SUPERmarkets later on. Nothing really super about them, and I will save discussion of WalMart for later. Remind me if I forget.) Anyhow, Kim got the nickname Snicker Box from her introduction to petty crime. This nick hung with her all the way through high school. Not as cool as "Baby Face" Nelson or "Scarface." I think she wound up in prison, maybe, maybe not.
Back to candy. Snickers: pretty much Milky Way but with nuts. You can freeze a Milky Way for a pretty awesome summer treat, but for some reason the peanuts mess this up for Snickers, so don't freeze them.
Never eat a Snickers around your brother. Probably not a Milky Way either. I think they are made in the same plant. So why risk it? Sneak off behind the garage, if you have to, but really you have to give them a shot.
The other candy bar that absolutely has to be frozen is the Charleston Chew. I don't even know if they make them anymore (I quit eating candy when I was a sophomore in college, again, more on that later, let's just say that I got HUGE for a little while, there.
We used to get our Charlestons from Anderson's Shop-Rite in Morgan Park. This was a different Mom and Pop grocery than the aformentioned site of the Snicker Box heist, but you get the picture. I think they were cheaper than everything else and at least 2 feet long. Okay, maybe not, but they were a lot bigger than a Snickers, and even though I did't take my first Economics class until I was a high school junior, I knew a sweet deal (ha! a pun!) when I saw one.
An unfrozen Charleston is basically a 26.2 mile run for the jaw muscles. (There may or may not have been a candy bar named Marathon, I forget). Let's just say that it was a whole lot of chomp-chomp-chomping. Freeze those bad boys, though, smack it on your thigh or kitchen table and presto change-o, crackly little bits of nougat goodness. And bonus, Charlestons were available in chocolate covered vanilla, strawberry and chocolate (double-double goodness).
Candy has changed a lot in the years, but then again, what hasn't. Your nickle candy is gone...maybe.
Next time we meet, maybe we will go hunting for Laffy-Taffy. That, again, is for another time.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Pancakes
Dear Ian:
Whether it is Perkins, Big Boy, Denny's or IHOP, you can tell a lot about a person by the syrup they reach for. Never trust the berries. Maple is the truest choice, in my opinion.
Unless: Blueberry syrup on blueberry pancakes.
This is acceptable.
I am not much of a sweet eater, so you should only take this advice with a grain of salt.
That said, anyone who salts their pancakes is to be completely untrusted.
Rest easy.
Whether it is Perkins, Big Boy, Denny's or IHOP, you can tell a lot about a person by the syrup they reach for. Never trust the berries. Maple is the truest choice, in my opinion.
Unless: Blueberry syrup on blueberry pancakes.
This is acceptable.
I am not much of a sweet eater, so you should only take this advice with a grain of salt.
That said, anyone who salts their pancakes is to be completely untrusted.
Rest easy.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Old School pt. 2
Dear Ian:
As will happen, I think I got a bit sidetracked and never really got to my point, which wasn't about strange nicknames, yearbooks, or Fat Tom (by the way, I know this is a really mean thing to have called him, but in our defense, there were two Toms who worked at the 7-11).
What I was hoping to get around to, and will here, now, was how much video games have changed over the years. I suppose video games, or at least how they were designed, had their start in pinball machines.
Pinball was a huge hand-eye coordination game that cost a quarter (a dime or a nickel in great-grandpa's age). Pinball has all kinds of lights and noises designed to distract you. You get three balls (or "lives" as they will soon become). There are multiball bonus rounds and unlockables for completely certain tasks. Replays are awarded for high-scores or random "matches." Originally, pinball did not have leaderboards, but after Pac-Man nearly killed pinball, digital scoreboards were added, and I could once again enter BOO to prove my awesomeness. (I think my best game was Addams Family. Cool and Creepy all at once.)
Neither pinball or the original video games (Space Invader, Pac-Man, Asteroids, Pong...) had a "save" or continue feature. Pole Position may have been one of the early leaders in that field. Add another quarter, continue from where you left off. Gauntlet, a four player-dungeon crawl, was definitely my first experience in the addictive possibilities of old school games.
When the third and final life was used up, you basically had 15 seconds to fish another quarter (or token) out of your blue jeans pocket and add another three lives. Not really the "save" feature that would show up later in XBox or Playstation, but pretty close.
Anyhow, I guess the point that I was trying to make before was that poor performance or inattention actually seemed to have consequences. Do poorly and it's game over. With modern video games, it's just a quick reboot and you are off and running again.
A lot of people poo-poo on the old 2-D games. Not me.
I like my nostalgia rolled up tight. Like quarters.
As will happen, I think I got a bit sidetracked and never really got to my point, which wasn't about strange nicknames, yearbooks, or Fat Tom (by the way, I know this is a really mean thing to have called him, but in our defense, there were two Toms who worked at the 7-11).
What I was hoping to get around to, and will here, now, was how much video games have changed over the years. I suppose video games, or at least how they were designed, had their start in pinball machines.
Pinball was a huge hand-eye coordination game that cost a quarter (a dime or a nickel in great-grandpa's age). Pinball has all kinds of lights and noises designed to distract you. You get three balls (or "lives" as they will soon become). There are multiball bonus rounds and unlockables for completely certain tasks. Replays are awarded for high-scores or random "matches." Originally, pinball did not have leaderboards, but after Pac-Man nearly killed pinball, digital scoreboards were added, and I could once again enter BOO to prove my awesomeness. (I think my best game was Addams Family. Cool and Creepy all at once.)
Neither pinball or the original video games (Space Invader, Pac-Man, Asteroids, Pong...) had a "save" or continue feature. Pole Position may have been one of the early leaders in that field. Add another quarter, continue from where you left off. Gauntlet, a four player-dungeon crawl, was definitely my first experience in the addictive possibilities of old school games.
When the third and final life was used up, you basically had 15 seconds to fish another quarter (or token) out of your blue jeans pocket and add another three lives. Not really the "save" feature that would show up later in XBox or Playstation, but pretty close.
Anyhow, I guess the point that I was trying to make before was that poor performance or inattention actually seemed to have consequences. Do poorly and it's game over. With modern video games, it's just a quick reboot and you are off and running again.
A lot of people poo-poo on the old 2-D games. Not me.
I like my nostalgia rolled up tight. Like quarters.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Old School
Dear Ian:
I know I have mentioned a love of video games several times before. I would explain this fascination with pixelated adventures if I knew how, but I don't. In some ways, I suppose, it would be like a fish trying to explain its love for water.
Or the Tao.
If I have to explain it to you, you won't get it. If I can explain it to you, I don't really get it. It's one of those catch-22s. More on those later, if and when I remember.
I do know that we played a heckuva lot of video games at the 7-11 when I was growing up in the Denfeld neighborhood. Back then, a quarter bought you three lives and a chance at achieving high score glory, advertised in three initials or less. Some guys were really fortunated to have cool initials. Some were not. There was always someone who thought it was really funny to list their high score as ASS.
It's really not that funny of a word. And certainly not the filthiest thing any of us ever uttered.
I always entered BOO. It was an abbreviated version of my nickname at the time: Amboo Zipcoo Pweb Xylus. Let me repeat that, my nickname, at the time was Amboo Zipcoo Pweb Xylus.
No, I don't know what it means either. But somehow, I have always managed to have one goofy nickname or another at any given time. Most of the time, friends would just shorten it to Amboo. It didn't help it to make more sense, but it made it easier to write in yearbooks.
Dear Amboo:
It was great getting to know you in Algebra this year. Have a great summer. Stay cool!
Kids two years younger than me, who didn't know your uncle Jim, would come up to me in the hall and say, "Hello, Amboo." It wasn't until I got to high school that I shook that nickname. At the moment, I can't remember what the new one was. I know that it didn't immediately become Squid or Squish. I will have to do some thinking on that and get back to you.
Anyhow. BOO was pretty easy to enter on the Tempest, Asteroid, Zoo Keeper, Mr. Do! machine. And everyone knew exactly who it was.
Temporary glory. Until someone came along with a quarter and beat it, or Fat Tom unplugged the machine and reset the high-scores.
I know I have mentioned a love of video games several times before. I would explain this fascination with pixelated adventures if I knew how, but I don't. In some ways, I suppose, it would be like a fish trying to explain its love for water.
Or the Tao.
If I have to explain it to you, you won't get it. If I can explain it to you, I don't really get it. It's one of those catch-22s. More on those later, if and when I remember.
I do know that we played a heckuva lot of video games at the 7-11 when I was growing up in the Denfeld neighborhood. Back then, a quarter bought you three lives and a chance at achieving high score glory, advertised in three initials or less. Some guys were really fortunated to have cool initials. Some were not. There was always someone who thought it was really funny to list their high score as ASS.
It's really not that funny of a word. And certainly not the filthiest thing any of us ever uttered.
I always entered BOO. It was an abbreviated version of my nickname at the time: Amboo Zipcoo Pweb Xylus. Let me repeat that, my nickname, at the time was Amboo Zipcoo Pweb Xylus.
No, I don't know what it means either. But somehow, I have always managed to have one goofy nickname or another at any given time. Most of the time, friends would just shorten it to Amboo. It didn't help it to make more sense, but it made it easier to write in yearbooks.
Dear Amboo:
It was great getting to know you in Algebra this year. Have a great summer. Stay cool!
Kids two years younger than me, who didn't know your uncle Jim, would come up to me in the hall and say, "Hello, Amboo." It wasn't until I got to high school that I shook that nickname. At the moment, I can't remember what the new one was. I know that it didn't immediately become Squid or Squish. I will have to do some thinking on that and get back to you.
Anyhow. BOO was pretty easy to enter on the Tempest, Asteroid, Zoo Keeper, Mr. Do! machine. And everyone knew exactly who it was.
Temporary glory. Until someone came along with a quarter and beat it, or Fat Tom unplugged the machine and reset the high-scores.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Coffee and Time Travel
Dear Ian:
I can't remember the first time that I had a cup of coffee. But I know it was awfully darn young. And probably at St. Elizabeth's Church in New Duluth. I do know that it was a pretty big deal. I think it cost 25 cents for the "donation." And, in reality, to call it a cup of coffee is really stretching the truth a bit. It was more like a cup of warm milk, with a little coffee on top, and a whole lot of sugar. The concoction was really a dipping place for really bad cinnamon cake donuts. I think great-grandpa John called them sinkers.
The made me feel important. Like an adult. This may or may not have been a good thing. I am still not sure. I drink the coffee black now. I have a donut, maybe, once every eight months. Most of the time, I have to wait in line for 10 minutes to get the coffee.
Those in front of me order things like lattes, cappuccinos, and other sugary, gooey, whipped creamy energy "potions." They pay upwards of four dollars for this privilege. As much as my syrupy sweet cup o' joe made me feel more like and adult, I wonder if all these lattes make them feel younger, more comfortable and protected.
Like I did, in the church basement, kneeling on the church folding chairs to make myself taller. Listening to the grown ups talk church politics and plan fishing trips.
I can't remember the first time that I had a cup of coffee. But I know it was awfully darn young. And probably at St. Elizabeth's Church in New Duluth. I do know that it was a pretty big deal. I think it cost 25 cents for the "donation." And, in reality, to call it a cup of coffee is really stretching the truth a bit. It was more like a cup of warm milk, with a little coffee on top, and a whole lot of sugar. The concoction was really a dipping place for really bad cinnamon cake donuts. I think great-grandpa John called them sinkers.
The made me feel important. Like an adult. This may or may not have been a good thing. I am still not sure. I drink the coffee black now. I have a donut, maybe, once every eight months. Most of the time, I have to wait in line for 10 minutes to get the coffee.
Those in front of me order things like lattes, cappuccinos, and other sugary, gooey, whipped creamy energy "potions." They pay upwards of four dollars for this privilege. As much as my syrupy sweet cup o' joe made me feel more like and adult, I wonder if all these lattes make them feel younger, more comfortable and protected.
Like I did, in the church basement, kneeling on the church folding chairs to make myself taller. Listening to the grown ups talk church politics and plan fishing trips.
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