Day 10 - Recipes

Today, while in a rush, I threw together the ingredients for what I intended to be cornbread. I say intended to be cornbread because in my hurry, I forgot to add cornmeal which, as it turns out, is a pretty vital ingredient in cornbread. I didn't realize the error until I sliced into the non-cornbread and noticed a distinct lack of corn color. I ate it anyway. It wasn't horrible, but it was stupid, so I decided to make myself the subject of today's stupidity. However, I rarely go down without dragging someone else along with me, so I figured today would be like a Reader's Digest Life in These United States blurb in which I throw in a few culinary mishaps of people who, until today, were my friends.
When I met Karla, her diet consisted mostly of Pop Tarts and pasta with processed Parmesan cheese, and she had little interest in expanding her repertoire. But she fell in love and got married, and her new husband expressed an interest in a diet consisting of more than two items. She dutifully accommodated, and after a few years even bought a rotisserie. Upon presenting her beloved with a perfectly cooked chicken, he took a bite and spit it out. “Is it cooked?” he asked. “Yes.” “Why is it so wet?” Unlike the chickens she had cooked for him over previous years, this chicken was moist.

Jill's husband loves pot pie. As a treat, she decided to make pot pies from scratch. She searched for the perfect recipe and followed it to the letter, but the finished product yielded a watery sauce that had an odd flavor that no one could quite pinpoint. Finally, her husband asked to see the recipe and noticed that it called for heavy whipping cream. Realizing what the odd flavor was, he asked to see the container. Nonplussed, she presented him with the remainder of a tub of Cool Whip.

So now that I've thrown my friends under the bus, I'll be back to my regular format tomorrow.

Day 9 - Bathtubs and Erections

If the advertisements aired during a program are a correct indication of market demographics, then the television evening news audience consists of a bunch of asthma-ridden, bladder-control-issue suffering, erectile dysfunctional people. And those of us who are NOT Baby Boomers get to enjoy the ridiculous commercials that have the pharmaceutical solutions to these problems.

I particularly like the Cialis commercials. If you get your news on the internet, or record it and forward through the commercials, or use any number of other technological advances that eliminate you from this demographic, you may have missed this piece of marketing genius in which a couple is shown in several romantic settings such as a field of flowers, or lakeside during a majestic sunset, holding hands from their separate Victorian bathtubs. The first time I saw one of these commercials, I thought that I had misunderstood what the product was. After all, it's a large leap from separate bathtubs to happy sex life. Particularly separate bathtubs in a random and possibly public setting. If a man were to ask me to help him drag a couple of bathtubs out into the woods, it really wouldn't matter if he were able to perform or not.

I also like the part of the commercial where it tells you to check with your doctor to make sure you are healthy enough for sexual activity. The doctors know what this drug does when they prescribe it, right? Is it really necessary to remind them only to prescribe items that won't kill their patients? “Oh, that's right! You have that pesky heart thing going on. Give me that prescription back.”

And the best part of the commercial is at the very end, when they suggest you look for their ad in Golf Digest magazine. Do a lot of people take them up on that? Wasn't sitting through the commercial on television bad enough? Who is really going to go take a jaunt to the store to see what else they have to say?

Day 8 - Infomercial Stars

Years ago I spotted a picture of Steven Tyler in a teen magazine with the following caption: “Steven Tyler, Liv Tyler's father, spotted backstage.” Granted, this was pre-American Idol days and his teen-magazine-reading audience was probably more limited than it is now, but I bet he still got a kick out of the fact that the editors felt he was not recognizable enough on his own.  

Today while making a quick run down the cleaning product aisle of the grocery store, I saw two separate cardboard cutouts of infomercial personalities with their names printed on the signs, devoid of any kind of qualifier. Not even an “As seen on TV” distinction. So I had to wonder: are infomercial stars now so famous that they are instantly recognized by name? Is it really possible that more people know who Anthony Sullivan is than Steven Tyler? I have long been under the impression that infomercials were where bad actors went to die. Not so. Apparently, this is a career goal. Once again, my Guidance Counselor missed the boat on this one.

Remember the days when cardboard cutouts were something you sought to have in your dorm room? It used to be that the honor of your image being rendered on a 2-dimensional life-sized stand-up was reserved for attractive movie stars, hunky athletes, and anonymous bikini-clad women. I'm not waxing nostalgic for a six foot tall woman in a bikini per se, I'm just saying that cardboard cutout images should be worthy of theft by rogue frat boys and drunken co-eds. And under no circumstance should they feature a mop.

When Billy Mays died, I remember thinking that it was odd how famous he was. But then, he was in an awful lot of commercials. And besides, everyone who is even slightly famous gets more famous when they die. But then the Shamwow guy (I don't know his name, but I'm sure plenty of you do) got arrested, and everyone knew about it. Suddenly infomercial personality was a category of fame. And now this cardboard cutout nonsense. Scavenger hunts will never be the same again.

Day 7 - So Say The Children

People are very concerned about America’s youth scoring low on standardized testing and not measuring up to children in other countries, and the brunt of the blame for this falls on the shoulders of our educational system. But I have my own theory. I’m convinced that it has something to do with well-meaning parents refusing to let their kids speak for themselves.

Today, for example, while visiting a friend, I noticed that her 4-year-old had a band-aid on her leg. “What did you do to your leg?” I asked the girl. “She scratched it,” supplied Mom. Ignoring Mom, I asked the girl, “How did you do that?” Again, Mom quickly chimed in, “On a stick in the yard.” Once again, addressing the girl I asked, “Did it bleed?” and, of course, Mom answered for her and told me that it had, but just a little. I turned to my friend and said, “You know I’m not actually trying to diagnose her problem here, right?” The truth is that I had very little interest in what the girl did to her leg. Kids have cuts and scrapes all the time and the story behind them is rarely interesting. There are only so many times you can hear, “He fell down” before it looses its magic. Unless the child is telling the story. That’s the interesting part.

I have a brother who lets his kids speak and interesting and funny stuff comes out of their mouths all the time. When his daughter was four and cut her leg, I asked her the same question. “Did it bleed?” She sighed and said, “Aunt Michelle, it’s just a little blood. You wipe it off and you go on.” Now THAT’s funny.

So why do parents think that they have to come to the rescue every time I ask their child a question? There is not a lot of information that I can glean from a 3-year-old that is going to enhance my life. It’s how they answer the question that will do that for me. I know that some of the questions I ask are too hard for them. Those are the funniest answers. Did you learn nothing from Bill Cosby? And I don’t need you to explain their answers to me. If your little one tells me that her favorite color is lemonade, you don’t need to tell me that she means pink lemonade because she likes pink. I’m not planning a shopping spree for her. I may ask her for further clarification, or I may let it remain ambiguous in my head. Could be yellow…could be pink…could mean she doesn’t know any colors yet. The real answer doesn’t change my day. I like the lemonade answer just fine. As a parent, you need to just let the answer ride.

Day 6 - Literally

According to my mother, I've been correcting people's grammar since I was three years old.  I completely believe that to be true.  Eventually, I made a real effort not to do that because at some point, I figured I'd want to stop running off my dates.  But there are still some misused and overused words that get under my skin.  The word 'literally' is at the top of this list (not literally) and it is both misused and overused.  Today I heard it misused by a news anchorman.  That’s just adding insult to injury, in my opinion.  There are enough problems with our media already without  adding lack of grammar to the mix. 

First, let me explain how it should be used for those of you who aren't sure because believe me, there are a lot of you out there.  The word means that what you are saying is without exaggeration or inaccuracy.  Therefore, you may want to use it when what you are saying may sound far-fetched.  For example, if an athletic person was telling the story of how he was in a hurry and ran a mile home in seven minutes, people would believe he did that without further clarification.  If I were to tell the same story, I would have to qualify that 7 minutes with ‘literally’.

You can also use it for clarification when it is possible that the sentence that you are using might easily be taken figuratively.  For example, if you were to say, “I stole her heart,” most of us would assume you meant that she fell in love with you.  If what you really meant was that you have her heart in a decorative box on your mantle, you would clarify that by using ‘literally’.

Literally is not a word which conveys emphasis on an exaggeration.  “He was literally 30 feet tall.”  No he wasn’t.  I know he wasn’t.  What I DON’T know is anything you said after that because I’m still stuck on that sentence trying to figure out if YOU know it.

It also does not need to be used when it is obvious that you are being literal.  “I am literally exhausted.”  I know what exhausted means.  Everyone knows what exhausted means.  There is no figurative translation of exhausted.  The word you are looking for is not ‘literally’.  It is ‘very’.  I know it doesn’t seem to sound as intellectual, but if you are speaking to intellectual people, they will appreciate that you did not slaughter the language.  Literally.  Oh wait.  Scratch that last part.

Day 5 - At the Grocery Part One

The beautiful thing about grocery stores is that they contain one stupid thing after another.  Doctors and nutritionists encourage us to read labels for pragmatic reasons, but I find myself reading them just to see what someone decided was a well thought-out sentence.  And then there are the signs around the grocery store itself.  If you’re really reading them, you know what I’m talking about.  Here are some things I noticed today at the grocery store:

The non-dairy section.  If you already have all the dairy in the dairy section, then isn’t the non-dairy section the rest of the store?

Natural and Organic.  This was funny to me at first because I’m pretty sure that in order for something to be organic, it HAS to be natural.  Then I thought that maybe this sign denoted both some organic items, and some natural items that are not organic.  But then I saw that the sign was hung over bottled water.

Gravity-proof glue.  This glue caught my eye  because it was blue and glittery.  It was labeled ‘space glue’ and claimed to be gravity proof.  It wasn’t floating above the shelf, so I asked the cashier what it meant.  She stared at the bottle and then replied, “I think it means that if you use it to stick something on, it doesn’t fall off.”  I see.  That’s actually a very good quality in glue.

Better Than Ears.  This was the name of a product in the pet food section.  I happen to be familiar with the pig ears dog snack and assume this is what they are referring to, but surely when naming this product they had to realize that there might be people who are not.  Terrified children everywhere will be picking this up in the store only to have nightmarish visions of their beloved family pets staring longingly at their ears.  And what of the adults?  Wouldn’t they wonder what kind of bizarre testing had to happen in order to place this item on the taste scale right above ears?  And for that matter, although I’ve never tasted ears, I’d be willing to bet that the claim is applicable to every food product in the store.

You’ll noticed I titled this article part one.  I go back to the grocery store next week, and I have no doubt there will be more stupid stuff to find.

Day 4 - Packaging

My affinity for Starbucks aside, I generally like to spend my money at privately owned businesses, and that includes my drug store.  This morning as I waited for a prescription to be filled, I decided to splurge a buck on some emery boards and file my nails while I waited.  Not because my nails actually needed filing, but because I quickly discovered that a small drug store is the least conducive store to browsing in the world.

So, I sat down with my purchase and removed the cardboard backing.  However, this was the type of packaging that toothbrushes and compact powders come in, and on such packaging the cardboard never actually comes completely off.  It peels apart leaving a second layer of cardboard to get through, only the second layer is always completely flush with the plastic front leaving nothing to grip and remove it with.  I used my fingernail to jab through the remaining layer, breaking the corner of my nail in the process.  Luckily, I had just the thing with which to file the jagged edge.  Sort of.  With the cardboard barrier successfully breeched, I removed the emery boards to find them shrink-wrapped tightly together with a thick layer of plastic.  Really?

So I pulled and I poked and I scratched, and three broken fingernails later, I had access to my emery boards AND a use for them.  It was win/win.  But it got me thinking about the new obsession with putting thick molded plastic around everything valued at $9.99 and above.  I get that manufacturers want to make it difficult to peel open packaging and steal their products, but who came up with the no-seam, slices-you-open-if-you-open-with-scissors packaging model?  Somehow, packaging companies have figured out a way to mold non-pliable plastic around the product so tightly that it can’t be penetrated by any of my household utensils.  I would love to know how that boardroom conversation went down.  “How do we keep people from stealing this?”  “Let’s make it impossible to open.”  “Don’t be ridiculous.  The customer has to open it.”  “Let’s make it ALMOST impossible to open.”  “Now you’re thinking.”

Environmentally speaking, this stuff has got to be lethal.  So where are the protests and the petitions?  Plastic water bottles barely stand up on their own anymore because the thinner plastic has been deemed more environmentally sound, and yet I’m still an earth-hater if I purchase one.  So why isn’t anyone clamoring about this packaging that is thick enough to sever an artery?

For now, I’ve come up with a plan of attack that keeps my skin intact.  I use both hands to get my scissor blades through the outer lip of the packaging, cut a large circle around the edge and then in  a spiral pattern cut closer and closer to the product and BAM!  Four hours later I can use my purchase.

Day 3 - McDonald's

I don't frequent McDonald's.  That's not a reflection of my opinion of McDonald's or of their food so much as it is a reflection of the large percentage of my life that has been spent too broke to have other people cook for me.  But because I am not a frequent customer, I don't know what is on their menu.  I mean, I get that you have your Big Mac and Quarter Pounder and other classics that have been there a really long time, but for those of us who may go there once or twice a year, there are a whole lot of other items that pop up.  I can't tell you what those items are, however, because I never get to look at the menu. 

I resigned myself long ago to the fact that unless I am going to order a Big Mac or a Quarter Pounder, I can't use the drive-through.  Drive-throughs are designed for speed.  It’s kind of the point.  I get that.  What I don’t get is why they can’t set up a menu about 3 car lengths back so that while I’m waiting in line I could be choosing my lunch and have something to do besides sorting the receipts in my car console.  But they don’t, so as a courtesy to the throngs of people in a hurry and familiar with more than just the Big Mac or Quarter Pounder, I park and go into the restaurant.

Also as a courtesy to others, I don’t get in line right away.  My theory when I first started this practice was that going up to the counter was the recognized action meaning ‘I am now ready to order.’  But every time I start looking at the menu from the back of the restaurant, a well-meaning employee shouts to me at the back of the restaurant.  “Can I help you, ma’am?”  Maybe my lack of McDonald’s experience has left me naïve to the masses of confused customers those employees must deal with every day.  Maybe there are people wandering about aimlessly wishing that they could figure out how to get someone to take their order.  If this is the case, I would suggest that they hire a retired person greeter, like WalMart does, only instead of saving you the trouble of reaching for a cart, these people could gently guide people to the cash registers.  That way, those of us who want to read the menu can do so in peace from the back of the store.

Today, after the inevitable cross-the-restaurant greeting, I told the employee that I was still deciding and she left to go do something important in the back.  But no worries.  She was immediately replaced by another employee who shouted pleasantly, “Can I help you, ma’am?”

I ordered a Big Mac.

Day 2 - The Jersey

Ironically, today's stupid moment happened outside of a coffee shop.  Of course, I spend a lot of time inside and around coffee shops, so statistically speaking, stupidity inside and around coffee shops had to get a hit eventually.

Standing outside of the coffee shop was a woman smoking a cigarette with a child that looked to be about 18 months old (the kid wasn’t smoking his own cigarette, just enjoying the smoke from hers).  I watched for a few minutes as he continually tried to get out of his stroller, but kept knocking it over instead.  At first I thought he might have some sort of mental challenge that he was contending with, but then the mother spoke and I realized he was probably developmentally right on target.

“This is the next Ohio State quarterback right here,” she informed me as she blew smoke in his face.  I was actually at a loss as to what to say.  Should I break it to her that the next Ohio State quarterback is already in college and that this kid would hardly be a contender against an 18-year-old?  It occurred to me that she didn’t really mean ‘next’, so much as ‘future’, so I let it slide.  Should I tell her that in the future his inevitable asthma may be a disqualifier?  Or that I’m pretty sure dexterity is a requirement for football players, and that her kid was once again in danger of being overcome by a stroller?

As I debated with myself on whether or not sarcasm would be completely lost on this woman, she spoke again.  “He has a jersey and everything.”  Is there some sort of try-out level that I am unaware of in which OSU players are required to provide their own jerseys?  Wouldn’t that be a bitch?  “His stats were great, he had the grades, but the damn kid never thought to buy a jersey.”  I thought about the jersey in my own closet and wondered what my chances were for the spring.  It was not a career option my Guidance Councilor had ever brought up for me.

I decided that sarcasm would be confusing for her, but I didn’t know how to respond any other way, so I said, “Having a jersey is the first step.”  She agreed and went on to tell me that it had a one on it or something.  I had to walk away.  If she can’t even identify the number one with conviction yet, I’d say the kid’s chances of getting into Ohio State are small.  But it got me thinking.  Why is everyone always trying to figure out the careers of children? 

My son is 14 weeks old, and every time he kicks his legs he’s a soccer player, and when he swings his fists he’s a boxer.  There are some careers that I will probably steer him clear of, but I’m not really making any permanent employment decisions at this time.  Paula Poundstone said that when adults ask children what they want to be when they grow up it’s because the adult is looking for ideas.  I get that.  But what are we doing when we try to assign a career to a child?  Probably the same thing, I guess.  Maybe I should go back to the coffee shop and give that woman my jersey.

Day 1 - Starbucks

Okay, so it's the very first day of my 'stupidity project' and I'm already going to break the rules.   This event didn't actually happen to me today.   However, I thought it would be apropos to begin with a coffee shop story (if you don't understand why I'm deeming that scenario appropriate, you may very well be appearing in future blogs), and since I don't have any readers yet, I'm not letting anyone down. To further confuse the issue, I'm not writing about an event at all, but rather a recurring situation at one of my favorite places to grab coffee – Starbucks.

Starbucks is generally staffed with some pretty intelligent people.   I have been to enough of them over the years to feel safe in making that statement.   I have no idea what percentage of them have college degrees, but I can think of a number of degrees that don't have any other employment prospects, so I'm guessing it's pretty high.  And I completely understand the frustration that comes from spending $50,000 on a degree and still having a career with no prestige, mediocre pay, and little or no authority.   I majored in English, after all.  These are my people.

There is an interesting phenomenon that happens with people who have very little authoritative power – they exercise what power they do have at every opportunity.   It's understandable, really . We all need to feel superior at some point.  In fact, that's the basis for this very project. (Seriously. My people.)   But Starbucks has created an interesting outlet for that power-wielding desire by giving a unique and specific name to each menu item.   The sizes of coffee, for example . A drink-sizing name system was already worked out and used successfully in the food service industry for many years.  Small, medium, and large are our agreed upon drink sizes.   You can argue extra large and other variances if you really want to, but do you really want to be that guy?   The point is that Starbucks took the entire accepted sizing system and threw it out the window.   At Starbucks, small is tall, medium is grande, and large is venti.

Since this project is about stupidity, I feel I should take a moment to point out that the names that were chosen in their attempt to rename the accepted sizing system are inconsistent and don't make sense either...are they trying to be Italian or not?   I don't even speak Italian, but I know that 'tall' is not an Italian word.   It's an English one that does not mean 'small'.   I also know from my Spanish classes that grande means 'big', and I'm sure it's the same in Italian.   Even if I'm wrong and Italian differs from Spanish on that, I guarantee it doesn't mean 'medium'.  And venti means 20, which would denote ounces (which an Italian would not use to measure the volume of his drink), and means nothing when ordering an iced drink at Starbucks since those are 24 ounces.

But even if the new names made sense, do the employees have to correct patrons who cling to the outdated naming system?   Why is it that if I order a 'large', the barista cannot silently translate that into 'venti'?   Surely she has also used the small, medium and large system at some point, and recognizes the correlation between the Starbucks terminology and the standard.   So why does it get repeated back to me in the new phraseology as a question?   “Large iced white chocolate mocha, please.” “Iced venti white chocolate mocha?” “I believe so, yes.   You tell me.  Is venti 24 ounces?”

Besides my affinity for the white chocolate mocha, I often enjoy a double shot of espresso with a dollop of whipped cream.   Seems simple enough, right?   I mean, I get that some people may struggle with 'dollop', but overall, it's a fairly simplistic drink order.   Not at Starbucks.   A double shot of espresso is a dopio, and although with every other drink on the menu, “with whip” is the correct way to request whipped cream, if you're ordering it with espresso, it's 'con panna' (which I assume means 'with whip' in Italian).   I was corrected on this order so many times, that I decided to actually learn the Starbucks terminology.   It seemed so important to them that I do so.   And believe it or not, 'con panna' is not an intuitively obvious phrase when it's only been heard out loud by baristas who are attempting a mandated second language.  Copama?  Compana?   I finally looked it up online, and armed with my new language arsinal (as it were), I stepped up to the counter with confidence and with perfect pronunciation ordered a dopio con panna.

The barista smiled at me pleasantly and said, “A what?”

The Project

According to T.S. Eliot, our days can be measured out in coffee spoons, meaning that the consistency of coffee in our daily lives (or, in my case, a white chocolate mocha) would theoretically allow us to construct a sort of bizarre hourglass with each coffee spoon (or Starbucks to-go cup) making a sort of strange substitute for each grain of sand, and each grain of sand representing one day of life.

I pose that a similar metaphor could be created with stupid things that people say or do.  I may not consistently start my morning with a dose of stupidity, but at some point during my day, I will encounter something, somewhere that is really dumb.  Sometimes, coincidentally enough, while I am in the process of getting my coffee.

So my goal for the next 365 days is to take note of the dumbest thing that I encounter all day, and point it out to others so that everyone can feel a little bit superior as we age.