Shaking my Cob

So I am a salesman by trade, and I have noticed something that really annoys me lately. (Dear Breakfast B., You can use a blog to just vent about what annoys you in the world!) As I am driving home from work every day, I pass about 4 of those stands that sell corn in the parking lots of Mexican restaurants and gas stations this time of year. And lately, it seems, there is some annoying 15 year old boy with a corn cob in each had, shaking them about, as if to entice me over to the corn stand. Now, I love to spend money. But I don't really see corn as an impulse buy. I've never once been driving along, thinking about how much I love Wynonna Judd's latest CD and the thought "CORN!" And why the shaking? Is the corn more appealing in motion? Is it to make me think of corn in its wild, free state where it roams the plains in great herds, killing lesser vegetables?

And it isn't just the corn people. Little Caesar's always has some idiot out on the street corner waving around that $5 pizza sign (seriously though, was that Hot n' Ready idea the greatest idea ever or what?) And you can't help every day but drive by a furniture store that is going out of business (why is that?) and they have paid some homeless man to hold a sign advertising their incredibly low prices. And wait...he's SHAKING the sign to reel those of us in who could resist his obvious charms. "Look honey, that transient is waving a purple sign around. Let's go buy a new settee'!"

And every time I go to the mall, I am accosted by 21 year old return missionaries in too much cologne trying to sell me a cell phone. "Excuse me, sir? Do you have a cell phone?" Does anyone NOT have a cell phone? (Chris and Lisa Clark notwithstanding.) And if you didn't have one, would the guy at the mall actually convince you to get one by yelling across the hall at you? Don't you think if I don't have a cell phone, there is a reason? It isn't because I haven't yet heard of them and I am hoping that someone will enlighten me and sell me one. And then there are the booths that sell stupid lotion or Proactiv or whatever that only employ Ukrainian girls who can't speak a lick of English except to try and sell me hand cream. And why do they teach them to start out with: "Can I ask you a question, sir?" and then I have to be the jerk and say "No!" because I am sure the question is "Are your hands dry and chappy, pappy?" and then I am sucked into the sales pitch. I don't WANT any lotion! If I did, I would know where to find it. And now you think less of America because we are all such jerks, but really we just don't have dry hands!

I don't stand outside of my store and shake a twinset around. Or approach passers-by and say "Hey do you guys own pants?" I just wait for customers to come in ask where the twinsets are. Is that so wrong? Does that make me an unsuccessful salesman? I don't believe it does. I believe it means....CORN! Excuse me.

Condiments

Did some of you read that title and think that this blog was about something else? Well, get your mind out of the gutter! I wouldn't write a blog about those! My mom reads this blog! Plus, I hate them.

Anyway, I LOVE condiments. If anyone has ever seen me eat, or seen me go up a pant size in the last year, you know I love food. But my love of food pales in comparison to my love of condiments. Why would I even bother eating food if there weren't things to dress it up with, slather on it or dip it in?

The reigning king of condiments in the Bingham house it Ketchup. And if you try to tell me it is spelled catsup then you are just plain dumb. You probably like Del Monte brand Catsup. That's ridiculous. At my house we but the double jumbo bottle of Heinz ketchup from Costco about once a month. It's so tart and vinegary with the perfect blend of tomato and spices. Heavenly. Why anyone would buy any other brand of ketchup is beyond me. Hunts? Give me a freaking break. Del Monte? You don't even deserve to live in this country. Western Family? Non ne parliamo. Heinz is the most sublime, delicious, beautiful condiment on earth. My wife says she really only eats french fries as a vehicle for ketchup, and I believe her. Lately, having seen his parents dip so many things into ketchup, Jonah has taken it up as well. He won't eat french fries unless he can dip them. And he does the funniest, daintiest little dips, too. (Yes we feed him french fries. And sometimes things with trans fats. So call the parenting police already.) He also dips other things in ketchup as well, like bread, those pink and white animal cookies and spoonfuls of frosty. Recently I read an article about how salsa has surpassed ketchup as the number one selling condiment in America. I cried a little that day. Don't get me wrong, I love salsa. But better than ketchup? I don't think so, Tina.

Don't get me started on the other condiments. Well, Ok do. Sour Cream: I could (and do) eat it by the spoonful. Mustard: delicious tangy boring yellow, smooth and spicy Dijon, or sickeningly sweet honey it's all good to me. Worcestershire Sauce: Does anyone know how to properly pronounce that? Wasabi: yumm (even yummier is that pickled ginger stuff that often accompanies wasabi. What's that called?) mayonnaise: the most glorious of all. What isn't better with a big spoonful of mayonnaise mixed in? Soy Sauce: nothing beats that deep, mellow, salty flavor.

In England they have the most amazing condiment called clotted cream. I don't know how describe it, except that it is like butter, except creamier, and sweeter and less buttery. I'd live in a home built of it if I could. Its amazing on a hot scone, but they also put it on ice cream. Amy and I went to visit our friends Chris and Lisa when they lived in England and I remember walking a long the beach in the rain and eating a big ice cream cone with a dollop of clotted cream on the top. Heaven help us all. The UK gets a bad wrap for having horrible food, but I disagree. Have you had a Hob Knob? Curries? Filled Baguets? Nando's Chicken Land just off Earl's Court? Mmmm...take me there.

And while it technically isn't a condiment, I have to give a shout out to my boy, the lime. If you know me, you know I love diet coke. And is there anything better than a fountain diet coke, in a Styrofoam cup, with pebbled ice and a fresh lime or two? No, there really isn't. I know because I am drinking some right now. Heaven.

I need to stop writing this blog now. I have a craving for some food from the "dipping" food group.

Funny and Safe

A while ago we bought a little plastic tool set for Jonah. It was purchased at Hammond Toys in the Cottonwood Mall. How that place stays in business I'll never know. All of their employees are 13 year old boys with early-onset acne and the inability to count change. Anyway, the tool set was about $1 and clearly made by retarded monkeys in Cambodia. Was that insensitive? Anyway, the tool set is called "Tools Set: Funny & Safe." If the fact that the toys will not only make you laugh, but keep you safe is not enough to send you to your nearest Hammond to get your own, here are some other selling points from the box: "Superior Materials" and "The Best Welcome Gifts For The Children." Where exactly have the children been that they need a welcome gift? Are we welcoming them to the world with "Tools Set: Funny and Safe?" That might be good, because no one loves safety and humor more than infants, but this Superior Materials product is for ages 3 and up.

On a completely unrelated topic, but in the same vein of "silly things that I found funny," the other day I was calling home from work. Because I work in Park City, it is necessary to dial a "1-801" before dialing my home phone number. Somehow, I accidentally dialed "1-800" instead and got this message: "Thank you for calling Peggy's Precious Heros. Please leave a message." What, praytell, are Precious Heros? My wife thought they were sandwiches. I thought they were defunct super-heros. I guess we will never know until one of my faithful blog readers calls the number, leaves a message and gets a response.

And in closing this completely random blog, here is a very special text message I received on my phone the other day:

Hey bud, Hope the east coast is treating You well. Last I saw You things were rough with You and your girl. I Hope It all worked out. Peace. d swiss.

Now I don't know who d swiss is. Nor do I know why he can't capitalize. Maybe he thinks I am deity, because of all the capitalized "You's." At least he is looking out for me and my girl. Things with us have been real funny and safe since I got back from the coast. Thanks for your concern, d swiss. Your a pal.

The city on a hill

As I have previously mentioned, I am now working for a lovely little retail store that will remain unmentioned, but we will call Dan Taylor. And said job finds itself in a lovely little community called Park City, high up in the mountains. Park City is home to the 2002 Winter Olympics, and a bunch of overly-wealthy hippie type people who LOVE to shop at Wild Oats and have a lot of plastic surgery. To be fair, a lot of my employees are Park Citians, and they seem like nice enough people. They just have more money in the "New Jazz CD" part of their budget than I make in a year, but whatever. Working up there has brought me to some interesting conclusions about the denizens of this mountain hamlet.

1. They can't drive. Maybe they are dizzy from all that driving on canyon roads. Maybe they are giddy about the new flavor of Tofu at Wild Oats. Maybe they are pissed because everything there is so expensive. But regardless, they swerve and stop in weird places and back up inappropriately and try to make their Subaru's hit my Subaru. (Oh, and everyone there drives a Subaru. EVERYONE! It's pathetic!) (Oh, I also drive a Subaru. It is silver and named Suki after the lovable best friend on the Gilmore Girls. I love Suki. The character and the car.)

2. They don't wear shoes. Now don't get me wrong. I hate wearing shoes as much as the next guy. But here are two of the places I have seen people not wearing shoes: The Chevron and Wendy's. It makes my feet itch just to think about it. CHEVRON AND WENDY'S!! Except for a toxic waste dump, and a field of poo, I can't think of anywhere where I would rather be shoeless. Can you imagine the germy bits of frosty and mealy tomatoes that are on the floor of the Park City Wendy's? Gee-Roce!!

3. Um, I forgot what the third thing about Park City was.

5. There is a whole lot of that "Grumpy Old Man Married to Much Younger Woman With Boobs That He Paid For" situation going on. Today, one of those couples was in my store. We sell some lovely skirts that come with a ribbon belt that the plastic surgeryized woman was trying on. The man stopped me and said. "Clearly, you are not meant to wear this ribbon with this skirt. Clearly, it is only decoration."
"What do you mean?" I said.
"Well, this ribbon is only meant as decoration. When you wear the skirt, you aren't supposed to wear the ribbon." (Notice how he isn't asking me any of this. He is telling me. And notice how he really thinks we just tied some ribbons around some skirts to make them more attractive to purchase, like they were a gift from your friend Ann.)
"Actually, the ribbon is meant to be worn with the skirt. Ribbon embellishments are a big trend right now in women's fashion."
"Well, I see that the skirt has belt loops. You are really supposed to wear a belt with it. It is absurd to me that anyone would wear a ribbon around their waist."
"Well, when you take the skirt home, it is your perogative to wear it with or without the ribbon, or with a belt, or with a fiery serpent tied around your waist. And seriously, what woman to you know who wears a skirt with a belt?"

So maybe the last thing I said didn't really come out that way. But hey, leave the fashion to me. You take care of paying for the botox and being grumpy.

All in all though, it is a delightful place to work. It isn't as hot there, the air is nice and clear, it's quite beautiful and Suki the Subaru fits in nicely.

When the cat is away.

So my wife has taken my son and gone to the lake. Actually, I am joining them tomorrow night after I finish working for THE MAN! And by the man, I mean a lovely, classy, twin-set wearing entity named Ann Taylor. But anyway, THE MAN is making me miss the first part of the family vacation. They left this morning and then I will leave tomorrow night and join them. Naturally, I am trying to sew some wild oats while they are gone and party all night long. Any by sew wild oats I mean do some chores around the house and the yard.

So far I have mopped the kitchen and mowed the lawn. Two jobs that are IMPOSSIBLE to do with a 15 month old around. When I am mopping the kitchen, he tries to run through the room, which causes him to slip and cry and then the mopping stops. And if I am mowing the lawn, well heaven help us. Jonah, the aforementioned 15 month old, LOVES the great outdoors. He would live outside if we would let him. So if I ever go outstid to mow, he throws a fit at the injustice of it all. How can there possibly be SOMEONE outside and he not be included? Does he not like to eat dirt, too? Is there sun enough for all of us? Did I just see a rat swim by in the canal in the front of the house? (These are the thoughts I imagine he has. And the answer to the last one is yes. Rats do live in that canal. Big, long, wet ones.) So then my wife brings him outside, but then I get paranoid and think of all of the horrible things that could happen with me mowing the lawn and him 40 feet away. Needless to say, not a lot of lawn mowing gets done.

What I love the most about when Jonah is outside (and when I am not mowing the lawn) is that within 3 minutes of him being out there, he has a stick in one hand and a rock in the other. Once he has those two crucial items, he will run around the yard indefinitely. He doesn't really do anything with the stick or the rock. He doesn't hit them together much, or poke things, or throw them. He just carries them around. Don't you remember that though? Being a little boy and how many possibilities a stick in hand meant? Granted, many of you are women, and therefore don't remember being a little boy (unless you have a dark past we don't know about) but I think you catch my drift. A stick meant you could do ANYTHING. I used to really hope when I was younger that my Mom would get called as the Ward Music Director, because I imagined when they gave you that calling they also handed you a box of those cool slim wand that you would lead the music with. I wanted one of those wands so bad! I don't know why, really. I guess it looked something like a magic wand, and well, it was a stick.

When I see Jonah with his stick and rock my heart melts a little bit. Sometimes I don't really think I am well equipped to be the father of boys (and we have another one on-order right now!) I know a lot more about fashion and recipes and floral arrangement than I do about football or being tough. I am not tough (and for the record, neither is my son. He spent a large chunk of his life afraid of grass and towels) but I also want to raise boys that are. Not in a mean way. Just in the way that they will be respected and looked up to and be the champions of the underdog.

Anyway, I guess this blog should have some sort of clever ending that wraps it up nicely like "I guess I better teach Jonah how to use that stick and that rock." I don't want him to USE the stick and the rock. I really hope he turns out a little like me. Just a little bit more coordinated. And with a basketball scholarship to pay for school. And a degree in the Culinary Arts (so that I can force him to live my dream.) I'd be a little annoyed if he was a grunting, smelly obnoxious boy, which he probably will be a bit of too. Good thing I will have taught him so much about grooming.

PS. SO THERE! TWO BLOGS! What do you think of them apples?!

Sweet, sweet technology

I recently received an iPod for my birthday. For those of you who don't know what an iPod is, then crawl out from under that damn rock! My is sleek and beautiful and shiny blue. It is even engraved on the back. More on that later. I got this iPod as a birthday gift I think mostly to shut me up about when I would ever be able to get one. I was convinced I would find some way to get one for free from a contest or a promotion or from my famous rock-star brother-in-law. I don't have a rock-star brother-in-law, but my friend Chris does, and that is how he got his iPod. Spending that much money on something that just played music seemed impossible, but a boy can dream, right? But I never tired of talking about it, and since my wife did tire of hearing about it, she took pity and got me one as a birthday gift.

What I love about my iPod is that it is like the soundtrack to my life. When I am listening to it, simple, every day events are punctuated by song that is sometimes poignant, but usually odd. For instance, I work in Park City, so every day I commute up lovely Parley's Canyon. And for some reason, almost without fail, my iPod plays "Lost in Love" by Air Supply. I know iPod doesn't consciously choose songs to match the situation I am in, but then why, pray tell, does "Lost in Love" play in that canyon? When those dulcet tones whisper "Carry On..." in my ears the surrounding seem even more beautiful. And then today, when I was mowing my lawn iPod chose to play Chaka Khan's "I'm Every Woman." Now if my life is a movie, and my iPod is my soundtrack, why am I every woman while riding a power mower? Is it a message about the empowerment of women, iPod? Then why am I the woman?

The other thing I love about my iPod is that it is my ticket to be anti-social. You see, I kind of hate people. Not in a sociopathic kind of way, but in the way that most people (except all of my lovely friends who posted messages on my first Blog. Oh and the rest of the Lunchdate slackers. And my family.) bug me. My ultimate pet peeve is when I am standing in line somewhere, say waiting at the bank, or to get a deli sandwich and some "person" in front of me says, "Don't they have anymore workers that can help out?" or "I love ham!" Why do we have to have a conversation, just because we are standing in line together? I once considered having cards printed up that read "Thank you for you comment/question. Please note: our proximity in line does not make us friends. Please don't say any more." That I could hand out whenever one of these chatters brought up the price of postage. But iPod has solved all that. When those little white headphones are plugged in, you are golden. No on can talk to you! I recently flew to California, and instead of worrying if the old woman sitting next to me was going to ask me if I was "going or coming" I just plugged myself into the sweet whisperings of Rufus Wainwright and Howard Jones.

My virgin blog

So my friend Lisa is the one that told me I needed to do this (ohjudy.blogspot.com) after her husband Chris (thejollyporter.blogspot.com) started his blog. I'm one of those people who love to write, and used to write quite a bit. I majored in creative writing in college, and for about 5 years afterwards (well OK, 1 year if you count the number of years since I actually graduated.) carried around my "Writer's Notebook" in my bag in the unlikely event that inspiration were to strike. It did sometimes. About once a year, and I would write down some clever sentence that someday would be part of an even more clever novel or short story, and that would be the end of that. So I stopped carrying around that notebook about a week ago, and then Lisa suggested I start my own blog. So why not. It is my new Notebook.

So the title...Well, the aforementioned Chris and Lisa used to live in England where Chris went to graduate school and Lisa held of waves of depression brought on by incessant rain and no access to a Wendy's. Lisa during the day would take her kids to the park, where there was a river and some ducks. And for some reason one of her boys named two of the ducks Table and Singlepot. I always thought that it was the most delightful set of names, and of course, being the writer that I am, said that I should write a children's book about those ducks, which of course I never did. So the names are a little reminder that I am a lazy writer, and hopefully this blog will someday be more than this entry.

Well, I promised my wife I would be in bed by midnight. I hopefully will be back soon...