Since it was Labor Day, the Nordic Warrior Queen and I went to Mimi’s Cafe for a nice breakfast. She likes the cinnamon French toast, and I didn’t want to cook. I wish now we’d stayed home. The place was packed. We waited fifteen minutes before being led to a booth by the window. The hostess handed us menus. “Your server will be right over.” A dreadlocked young woman came over and introduced herself as Glinda. I couldn’t help it. …Read the Rest
The Nordic Warrior Queen asked me to stop at the grocery store on my way home. She wanted pork chops, milk and bread, and a head of broccoli. Oh, and get some beer for Debbie, please. I hate pork chops and broccoli. I planned to tell her they were out of chops and get some brisket instead. And since the Ubercat insists on sitting under the table during dinner, I would feed her my portion of broccoli. It’s good for …Read the Rest
I’m not a big candy lover. I admit to a fondness for Butterfingers, and the occasional bag of peanut M&Ms, but I watch my weight. It mostly just goes up. My weakness is Sour Patch Kids. I keep a jar of them in my office. The Nordic Warrior Queen always eats the red ones. Whenever she comes upstairs, I hear her behind me, unscrewing the metal lid. That’s the only way I know she’s back there. She’s sneaky like that. …Read the Rest
Despite the cheerless Mormons (and the people who make fun of them), I like Utah. Their towns have interesting names, like Beaver, and Brian Head, Tooele and Farr West. They ignore their speed limits. And even though they once hosted the Olympic games, they’re not snooty about it. The mountains are tall. Most of the Utahns I’ve met (yes, Utahns) refer to Arizona’s Superstitions and Catalinas mountains as foothills. And then they laugh, like that’s supposed to be funny. Sometimes …Read the Rest
I told the Nordic Warrior Queen I had to leave early. I was headed to Salt Lake City, to work with those cheerless Mormons and the people who make fun of them, and I needed a new mouse. She was skeptical. “Didn’t you buy a new mouse last week?” I told her I must have misplaced the last one. It happens. “They’re only fifteen bucks.” Geez. “Everything adds up.” She was feeling frugal today. I stopped at Best Buy (it’s …Read the Rest
Sam Champion, the weatherman on ABC, must be colorblind. That, or he simply doesn’t care about his viewers. Why does Midland, Texas, with a paltry 102 degrees, deserve to be colored deep red on the Good Morning America weather map, when Arizona, with its 111+ temps for weeks on end, is only pink? All summer long, we’ve suffered the same mistreatment. There he stands, going on and on and on about the heat wave in the Midwest—the blistering temps, the drought …Read the Rest
She had Mother Mary tattooed on her left bicep. Jesus and his crown of thorns wept blood on her right forearm. A flock of trumpeting angels swarmed across her shoulders and down underneath her halter top. Piercings hung from both eyebrows, her lip, the left nostril, and up her ear lobes like glittering spiders. “You need haircut?” she said. I sat down in the chair. The placard taped to the mirror said her name was Guadalupe Maria Lupita Rojas. “I am Maria. How you …Read the Rest
Apparently, it was Bring Grandma, the Dog, and All the Kids on Vacation day at the Salt Lake City airport. Everywhere around me stood gaggles of children, herded about by frustrated parents and matriarchal old ladies. The place was packed. The small-child stench of Gummi bear drool and eight-dollar Happy Meals filled the air, while the barks, howls, and yips of dogs and owners alike echoed off the check-in counters. I wanted to go home. All week long I’d been …Read the Rest
I was in the middle of a very important email when I suddenly discovered that my computer was broken. I was writing to President Obama, to ask him to do something to stop the TV stations from running ads for vaginal creams and laxatives at dinner time. Those commercials just bug the crap out of me. I’ll be sitting there at the dinner table, chewing a mouthful of creamed corn or munching a grilled cheese sandwich, and the next thing I know, …Read the Rest
I was glad Flip had determined this while still on the ground; when engines “act funny” at 30,000 feet, it generally means you have less than a minute to live, during which you’ll hear lots of people screaming, smell the mingled reek of vomit and urine, and finally find out if the oxygen masks really do inflate in the event of an emergency.