Sad story

A sad story from Boston today. Hard to know what to make of it, without more information. One thing, though-- you'll never read about this happening at Green Acres. Because the security guards there aren't allowed to put their hands on the patients, let alone carry weapons.

Funny #2

Dragonfly's comment on the last post reminded me that, in addition to the carbon-free sugar, J. also brought home this product:
Yes, it appears to be canola oil in a can-- and yet it is "calorie free" and allows you to undertake "fat free cooking"? How can this be? We view the back of the label:
Here again, confirmed: there are 0 grams of fat in the product. We read further to the list of ingredients:
What the H? The main ingredient is confirmed to be canola oil, a substance known to science to have 5g of fat (and 40 calories) per teaspoon. In fact, it is known to science to be fat, all fat, and nothing but fat. So how can the contents of the can be fat-free, calorie free?

Evidently, and this makes smoke come out of my ears, if you define the "serving size" of your food product to be so small that the amount of fat delivered is "less than 0.5 grams of fat per reference amount and per labeled serving of a food", then you can call the product "fat free"-- even if it is, in fact, nearly 100% fat. And this is what we find on the canola spray: "serving size" is defined as "1/4 second spray", or "0.25 grams" (or 1/20th of a teaspoon, if you can image a quantity that small). In fact, the little 6-ounce can contains 557 servings! Yeah, sure it does. If you can make a stir-fry using this product every night for a year and half before it runs out-- well, I'll be very impressed.

Just Funny

J. brought this "carbon-free" sugar home from the store the other day. Hilarious! Carbon-free carbohydrates? What will they think up next-- hydrogen-free water?

Phone Conversation

I called Favorite and Only Nephew prior to his 5th birthday party.

Turbo: So are all your friends coming to your party?
FAON: No. Only the ones I like.

Satanic Lyrics

I was listening to some Joni Mitchell, as I am wont to do-- specifically "This Flight Tonight"-- and was perhaps paying more attention than usual to the lyrics. Hidden deep in the last verse is this:

"Up go the flaps, down go the wheels
I hope you got your heat turned on baby"

(Italics mine.) How terribly disappointing. I may have to re-think my whole Joni Mitchell fandom. I may have to re-think my whole Canadian fandom. Of course, this song was written after she had already moved to the U.S.-- specifically, southern California-- which might explain why she had, evidently, become feeble of mind and constitution and required the heat to be turned on.

Or is hoping that her "baby" has "turned on" his (her?) "heat" here not supposed to be taken literally?

A Green Acres Interlude

Suppose someone offered you one day of work, with this job description:

- Arrive at 8am, leave at 4:30pm, half an hour for lunch, two coffee breaks.
- Candidate will talk to 4-6 people to hear what is on their minds.
- Candidate will attend several meetings, 30-45 minutes each. Meeting topics will range from tedious to fascinating.
- Candidate will write a 1-2 page report summarizing each interview and meeting above.
- At 2pm, a large, unpleasant man unknown to you will be held, by staff, approximately two feet away from you. The man will scroff up a huge guggle of saliva and will spit it all over your face.

What sort of payment would you find acceptable for this day of work? Just throw out some numbers. Because I'm having trouble deciding what fair market value is. Sometimes it seems less like going to work and more like being on "Fear Factor".

Ideal

A scooter is perfect for many things. But of all, the thing it is perhaps most perfect for is bringing home take-out Brit-Indian on a cool fall evening. Because you can just roar up to the place and slam on your brakes and run in with your helmet to get the food, then put the bag in the under-seat compartment that stays warm from the engine, and get home and eat it, still hot. It really is perfect.

A House Divided

Yesterday after work I returned to my scooter, which was parked in one of the [fantastic] new Smallish City scooter-parking areas. I noticed that every other scooter there had a little white paper notice attached to it somewhere, but mine did not. I pulled one off a friend's Vespa to investigate. It was a crudely photocopied invitation to the first-ever Smallish City scooter rally! To be held on Columbus Day, at the oceanfront park!

At the bottom of the invitation, it said "So that we can all ride together, maximum engine size 150cc. 50cc preferred. [italics original]".

So. My scooter is a 150. Looks just the same as a 50, just has a little more juice under the hood. Believe it or not, I can ride just as slowly as a 50cc scooter. But apparently, I will be, at best, tolerated at the scooter rally. Clearly, the person passing out invites purposefully skipped over my little red scoot. Not invited.

Well. I don't like the way they play. I may just show up anyway, with my bad-ass monster-engine scooter, wearing my black leather, smoking, and lurking on the fringes of their little party, revving my engine menacingly. They best be careful.