Post-Millennial

unnamed (1) “I met this girl online. A Millennial. From India. Everything looked perfect on paper,” he said to his blonde lunch date. I sat at the counter of the Greek restaurant listening to this. The lunch date had her back to me and sat face-on to this fellow. He was good looking. Chiseled features, straight nose, good teeth. “I knew this was too good to be true. And I was right. She was looking for someone to give her a leg-up in her career. I didn’t want to date a business deal. What are you having for lunch? To drink? The lamb salad is good.” He continued talking. She never uttered a word. The food arrived. She got the chicken salad. She skewered it with a fork.

Calvin says, “I hope she stuck him with the bill, too.” beagle

V Day

Today is Valentine’s Day and on my way to work on Market Street I passed by a flower stall spilling over with every flower imaginable – roses, tulips, orchids, daisies, baby’s breath, calla lilies, carnations, delphiniums, iris, narcissus, snapdragons, peonies and sunflowers. I took a million pictures and sent them to wish my friends and co-workers a Happy V Day. What a lovely way to start my Friday morning. When I got to the office everyone it seemed brought in candy, balloons, chocolates, donuts, and cookies. My willpower is zilch so I ended up on a sugar high within minutes.

I’m convinced Valentine’s Day was proposed by a fiendish marketer who grew flowers and needed a reason to sell them in large quantities. Enter Cupid with his dimples and arrows who was more than willing to act the part on the stage of American business. It seems the day is as big as Christmas minus the push for toys and trips. Cupid’s done a good job.

Even Noah’s bagels got into the spirit. They made heart shaped bagels today. Unfortunately they looked like stools.

Alf handed me a bouquet of red roses yesterday when I got home. He one-upped me. I had nothing to give him except a big hug and kiss. Today I bought him a dozen oatmeal and raisin cookies from his favorite store in the city. We don’t dare go out to a restaurant tonight. The feeding frenzy at eateries is not a pretty sight, and the food tends to be mass produced in order to get people in and out quickly. We’re staying home and watching our favorite British mystery on PBS.

Calvin says, “Oh good. Are you making red popcorn?”

The Perfect Halloween Dessert

There’s a new ice cream shop down the block from where I work.

It’s one of those pop-up stores, the kind that appear overnight out of nowhere.

The store used to be a shipping container. It’s been recycled to house a counter, some odd-looking machinery, a menu board, and a couple of servers.

Four unique flavors of ice cream are posted every day.

For example, Apple-Quince Streusel, Strawberry with White Balsamic, Earl Grey with Milk Chocolate Chips.

Making a choice takes time because all the flavors beckon you and they all sound luscious.

However, you’re forced to choose at least one and stick with it because there’s no sampling of the other flavors. That’s because the ice cream is made on the spot in front of you in less than 60 seconds.

It a ghoulish affair with special effects. Perfect for Halloween.

The recipe of your flavor is poured into a metal receptacle, which is then attached to a mixer with fierce-looking handles.

Then the fun starts. The server puts a lid on the container, turns on the mixer, and in an instant it’s swallowed in swirling fog.

Very apt for San Francisco.

What it is is liquid nitrogen. It’s used to churn the mixture into ice cream.

Hmm.

That’s my ice cream in there.

Sixty seconds later, you’re presented with two scoops in a cup.

You’ve never tasted anything like it.

The flavors are a taste sensation in your mouth and an adventure your palate won’t soon forget.

And you’ll be back the next day for more.

Liquid nitrogen and all.

Calvin says, “What would churned kibble in liquid nitrogen taste like? Forget I asked. My taste buds don’t want to know.”

The Fountain of Youth Is In The Grocery Store

I shopped for food this week, lots of it. Most everything I bought was in a package of some sort – plastic, paper, glass or aluminum. The only area of the store without packaging was in the produce section, but even there, I wasn’t so sure I was getting fresh. Everything looked perfect, shiny, and blemish-free.

There’s a scandal in the news about our genetically modified corn. It seems Russia has refused to import it, citing it’s dangerous to the health of Russians and can cause cancer.

Good for Americans but not so good for foreigners? Hmm.

This GMO food thing is scary.

Have you bought a tomato lately? It tastes like corrugated paper, but it’s oh so pretty to look at.

How about grapes? They’re getting plumper every year. And not a blemish anywhere.

I bought a bag of shredded cabbage a month ago, threw it into the cold drawer of my refrigerator and forgot it. I discovered it a month later buried under a bag of carrots.

“There’s something fishy about the cabbage,” I told Alf.

“Oh yea, what?”

“It’s bright and perky. If should be rotten by now if it was real.”

“Let’s give it to Calvin and find out,” Alf said.

“If he starts to smolder, we run for cover,” I said.

Calvin says, “I don’t smolder. Fart, that’s another story.”

Making Ice Cubes is Passe

Alf and I went to the home improvement store today searching for ice cube trays. You know, to make ice cubes in. The kind you bend and shake in order for the ice cubes to break loose so you can cool your drink.

We walked in, headed for the refrigerator section, and checked the shelves. They weren’t there.

We looked in the housewares area. None there either.

Our third attempt was in the pool section. Crazy, but hey, we were growing desperate.

No luck.

So we asked a sales clerk.

“Nope, we don’t sell them.”

So Alf and I bought a new toilet instead.

It may not make ice cubes, but at least they haven’t discontinued those.

Calvin says, “You forgot to look in the garden section. You’ll find them filled with dirt with little green things growing out of them.”

Conversations on the Run9

I’d like a fat-free cheese sandwich on gluten-free bread with soy mayo and a real tomato slice.

I’ve never been to the Genius Bar. I always go to the Greek Squad.

So I was like Wow!

What? Do you think I listen to myself?

May the Fourth be with you.

Paintball: It hurts like art.

I’m turning 25. It’s a real age, not like 24.

You can’t make up the news until it happens.

Calvin says, “You don’t need to be a genius to know these conversations aren’t even in Greek.”

Give Mom a Kick-Butting Day

Mother’s Day is just around the corner.

That horrid one day of the year when families take mom out for brunch and fuss over her with eggs Benedict and Mimosas. Then she’s returned to the daily grind and all is forgotten.

I’m sure the restaurant industry contrived the holiday to beef up their bottom line in May.

What if mom doesn’t like eggs with a last name and orange juice spiked with bubbles? Maybe she prefers her steak grilled with a heaping plateful of shoestring potatoes and a large pitcher of sangria?

And please don’t give her a cheesy card with a sappy greeting that a computer spit out last century that you found in the greeting card aisle at the supermarket next to the artificial smelling air fresheners for the house. Definitely don’t buy one of those either.

Instead, head out to the mall and buy her an all expense paid shopping spree to her favorite shoe store. Or put her on a plane to a beach somewhere. Or give her a lifetime of body massages at the Holistic Health Clinic where Mai, the masseuse will be happy to walk all over her back.

Then install the dog in the pet hotel so she doesn’t have to walk him for a month.

Hire a private chef for the rest of the year and give her a break in the kitchen.

Oh wait. The kitchen. It needs a desperate overhaul before Wolfgang can cook there.

Maybe mom has a dream she’d like to focus on for a change. Provide her with the tools she needs. Lipstick, make-up, haircut and color, liposuction, a new wardrobe.

Singing lessons? Maybe she’s always wanted to develop her voice beyond yelling at the kids.

Calvin says, “My mom never got to develop herself. I know she had a secret nobody else knew. She always wanted to be an owner.”