Monday, October 16, 2006
Mostly Saturday and the Fruity Dots, with Amazing Race Notes for Extra Credit
It was a good weekend, and I sure as hell needed one so that was a relief. Saturday we went to the zoo. Zach hadn’t been since he was really small and didn’t much care, but this time he was all, “Whoooo!” and “Wow!” and “Ghaaaa!” It was really fun to watch. We didn’t come close to seeing everything and there’s a good playground there too, so a membership doesn’t seem like a bad idea.
We got home, ate a very satisfying and super-easy lunch, and took an all-family nap. As we awoke the phone rang – Jackie was inviting us to join her family for supper. We settled on Q, cleaned up a little, and then walked over. We always eat well there, but I totally scored with the special “smoked and drunk” tri-tip on mashed potatoes with tomatillo sauce and green beans. The meat is marinated for two days in beer and spices, and then cooked in a smoker. But, good. We skipped the dessert menu for chocolate at Jackie’s, plus some tasty chamomile grappa that significantly loosened the conversation. All I really recall is that I somehow wound up with the nickname “White House,” and I really like it. It is now authorized for general use. Best nickname I’ve ever had.
On the way home we walked past so many little neighborhood spots with nice parties going on – at Cinderella bakery and café, and at the tiny sushi spot next to that place we couldn’t figure out what they did there and left other puzzled pedestrians staring into the window when we left…. and others, too. It’s a nice neighborhood and I want to give it full credit for helping to complete a very nice Saturday.
The last part of Saturday worth mentioning was the box of Apple Jacks I finished after getting the boy to bed and cleaning up the house a little. These were the AJs with the “eyepopping” marshmallow eyeballs, and I really enjoyed them. The jax have always had a high spot in my pantheon of sugared breakfasts, and you just can’t go wrong adding marshmallows to cereal. But the good folk at Kellog’s were using the vehicle of the Jax box to advertise this other product, little fruity boogers wrapped in a yogart-flavored shell. They call ‘em “Yogos” and a little pack came inside my cereal box. After I finished the cereal, then, and completed all the puzzles on the back of the box IN INK because I had figured them all out during my prior weeks of cereal eating, I pulled out the sample and read about it as I munched the dozen or so sugarnuggets I’d found.
They are “YogartY-Covered FruitY Dots.” I added some capitalization there, to point out that they are not committing to being either yogurt or fruit. But they seem to have been richly inspired by them both. (I grow suspicious.) There are three flavors, each of which bears the disclaimer, “natural and artificial flavors”: Strawberry Slam (okay, I know strawberries, and I like them, so slamming one isn’t so distasteful to me), Crazy Berries (um, I like berries but I don’t know about the crazy ones, I like rasp and black and straw, like I mentioned above, but maybe crazies are best left to others, this is not a flavor I want in my mouth, like “bipolar boysen” or some damn thing), and – here’s my favorite: Island Explosion. With natural and artificial flavor. The natural and artificial flavors of exploding island. Taste the sulfur! Savor the pumice and magma! With the real (and artificial) flavor of exploded island in every yogurty-covered dot! “Hey, get me some of that essence of Kilauea, some Blue #4, and another bottle of Krakatoa Lake #7!” No, sounds like too much for me to enjoy, but some rock-eating kid out there is probably ripping open boxes of Apple Jacks just to get samples of it.
Okay that was Saturday. Sunday was good too, but I don’t have time to get into that. But for those who care, Amazing Race notes follow in the extended entry.
Last night we enjoyed yet another exciting installment of the Amazing Race. So as further to alienate those of you who don’t watch, here are my jotted comments:
It’s sweet that the coalminers are trying to win the race for their kids. However, they seem to define that goal differently than I do – “This is my chance to take care of my kids. With a million dollars I could take ‘em to Disneyland, put’em on an airplane…” Those are heartfelt sentiments, but maybe someone could point out to Mr. Miner the value of a college education? “Yup, dad won a million and put us on a plane to Disneyland. Haven’t seen much of um since. You want Micky™ fries with that?”
Yeah, poor woman, they stare at your fat ass, but it’s not to make you self-conscious – it’s because they can’t afford to feed themselves. It’s not like none of them have any body fat just to taunt you. Take solace in that last bucket of burgers you had before leaving Seattle, and let it roll off your well-upholstered back.
Peter, if I didn’t love you before, your blatant taunting of other teams has won me over. “I know where the nearest travel agent is.” “I can make human limbs.” You have officially worn out your welcome with all other teams, and of course myself.
However, those train seats – wood frame and some sort of brown vinyl with reflective foil squares and slivers? How cool is that? Travel to India – the land of trains with stylish seats and groping mobs!
Hey Cho bros, nice psych-out with the fake cell phone. Did you plan to get Peter so worked up that he’d just go find one himself? This is the difference between the stoners from your dorm who fell for this, and the borderline sociopath who’s competing against you for a million dollars on national television.
“Don’t screw us.” What a great entry line. I must remember to try it out next time I encounter two beauty queens on line at the airport. And what response did he expect from that? “Oh, we were gonna screw him, but now he’s asked so politely I guess we won’t.” More likely, “say, hadn’t thought of screwing your self-satisfied ass, but now you mention it – sorry, Sarah!”
I love the tension with the guys who bought tickets on the early flight who are waiting for them to be delivered before they can leave. Well-crafted drama. Props to the writers.
Peter, if you want to know why people don’t talk to you, it’s because you do stuff like come around to look over their shoulders, blatantly and without apology, at stuff they clearly want to keep to themselves. Yes, you can do it, but that’s not the point. Expect payback at every turn.
Oh, if you hadn’t alienated enough of America yet, making fun of Mrs Coalminer within her earshot is the stuff that heartwarming overcoming-adversity movies are based on. You suck. And the worst part is, the Coalminers are likely to lose this leg and not be able to give you a hard time about it. You just have the special touch that way.
Ow, waitlisted! Finally, national television attention is given to the ignominy of waitlisting! How my heart goes out to you all… losers…..
Where are they going? Is the name of the shop in India actually “Vulvar Arts?” Is there even a joke I need to make about this?
Peter, you are just too cool. You have a choice of low- or high-impact challenges. Your girlfriend’s knee is mechanically blown out – you know exactly how bad it is, you made the damn thing. You want to go somewhere really nearby and make art? No? Croc rasslin’ it is, then. Prick. I didn’t even hear you give her a chance to weigh in, though you know she’d never have done anything to let you down. She’s tough as hell. You’re a ballsack.
Oh amazing editing – feeding a wild monkey, and then Peter and Sarah. He’s such a tool. I’m just glad she seems to be getting the right perspective on him.
BARBIES FREAKING OUT! I love television.
Is it yellow…. Or beige?!!! The answer to these and so many more incisive questions when we return to, Existentialism and the Male Model!
Oh good, another prize for Peter and his monkey Sarah. Good thing it’s something she can keep for herself – not like a cruise they can enjoy after the race. Damn, locked in a stateroom for two weeks with that guy AND his ego? I’d suffocate.
Yes Mr Miner you coulda done got two crocs by then. If you’d had the balls to stand up to your wife. When she asked you, What makes you think I want to rassle an alligator?, you should have told her, One million dollars. Except she has that bad foot. She’d never have done well carrying that ladder over that wall. You were just out of luck, dude.
LUCK HAS RETURNED! Minerfolk survive, in an unprecedented netherstate of being MARKED FOR ELIMINATION! It’s like having a fading handcrystal in Logan’s Run! YEA, THEY BEAR THE MARK! They keep their stuff. They keep their money. They get a 30 minute penalty from when they finish the next leg, unless they win it outright. They are hanging on by a thread. Mr Miner, this is your wakeup call. You did your damn best following orders from that harridan of a wife of yours, now it’s time to play it your way, with all those wily miner tricks you picked up during your time in the shaft, or whatever it is in which you mine. But I’m calling it a shaft. You know why. Now, get shafty, buddy!
And next week, turmoil between the DK girls and the Lyn girls – Barbies vs Anti-Barbies! Bless you, Phil! Bless you!