Crock Pot
As I perused the meat section at the grocery store, my eyes fell upon the perfect specimen of London Broil. My thoughts immediately turned to my crock pot. "That massive slab of red beefy meat sure would smell good after roasting all day," I thought.
I put it in my shopping cart and began browsing for the necessary accessories to go with it. A bag of baby carrots, an onion and a few choice potatoes. My mouth was beginning to water already. I made my purchases and headed for home.
Placing the bag on the counter, I pulled out the crock pot and removed the crock. I carefully took the wrapper off the meat and, ever so gently, placed the roast into the container. After slicing the potatoes into perfectly sized chunks, into the pot they went. I added the bag of carrots, the onion and my special top secret seasoning of salt and pepper before putting the crock into the refrigerator for safe keeping until morning. That night my dreams were of the smells radiating from freshly cooked meat and of a wonderfully garnished roast.
Anticipation awakened me in the morning. I readied myself for work and removed the crock from the refrigerator. I gazed once more at the perfect form before placing it in the cooker. I set it on low. I let out a little giggle as left for work knowing that my creation would be slow cooking all day long.
The end of the work day finally came and it seemed as if it took me forever to get home. As I stood outside my door, my hands began to tremble with the knowledge of the delectable dish that awaited me on the other side. I burst through the door, stepped into the house but smelled nothing. Something was amiss. I ventured into the kitchen. "Hmm. No condensation on the lid. This can't be good." I removed the lid. "It's not cooked!" I checked the controls. "The switch is on and set for low. I don't understand."
A visual sweep across the counter quickly found the problem. The crock pot wasn't plugged in.
Ringer
Graduate students all work for that day in which they present themselves to a panel of professors to defend a thesis that has taken years to write. This defense of a thesis can take hours to complete as a student is grilled by expert teachers on all points of their research.
I happened to run across someone who had just come from such an event. This man wasn't the student but was asked by advisors to be present during a student's defense. "I'm what is known as a ringer," the man said.
I had to ask, "What exactly does a ringer do?"
"Well, I'm someone who was never involved in the student's research. Someone on the outside. Someone who can ask questions from the viewpoint of a casual observer."
"That's interesting," I said. "What sort of questions do you ask?"
"In this case, the student seemed to be depending a whole lot on assumptions. I asked him how he came to the conclusion that his assumptions were right. He told me that they weren't really assumptions but were calculations. I asked how he knew that his calculations were correct and he said that they were based on the formulas that he used. I asked how he knew that the formulas were correct and he said that he assumed they were correct since he had gotten them from his professors. I said, 'Then you are basing your conclusions on assumptions.'"
"What happened next?" I asked.
"I guess he passed but I really don't know."
"You don't know? Why?"
"The faculty made me leave."
Prices are Falling
Having recently been to a local Wal-Mart store, I noticed signs that read, "Prices Are Falling" and "Watch for Falling Prices." I have also heard these phrases often during Wal-Mart commercials on television. I used to think that these were the slogans of a slick Madison Avenue advertising campaign until recently, while I was browsing the isles of the store, a bunch of prices fell off the shelf and almost hit me. It was a close call. It scared the wits out of me. I firmly believe that it is always a good idea to keep your wits about you but when they're scared out of you then you are just standing there witless.
What if those prices had hit me? Would Wal-Mart's liability insurance cover something like this? I can imagine the headlines in the newspaper, "Local man crushed to death by falling prices. Wal-Mart officials say warning signs were prominently displayed."
I haven't actually heard of anyone being killed by falling prices but I did hear of one man who got one in his eye. It took a team of surgeons fourteen hours to remove it. He was recovering nicely until he got his hospital bill. He opened the envelope and a huge price fell on him. How's that for irony?
So there I was, a witless man, looking at a pile of prices on the floor of Wal-Mart. I picked up one of them and examined it closely. It looked okay to me. It didn't even have a fowl odor about it. As a matter of fact, it smelled like it might be tasty. I decided to bite into one and, wouldn't you know it, the doggone thing cut my lip. I sure am glad that they didn't fall on me.
Pizza Pizza
I remember the days long ago when I shared a house with a roommate in the tiny Franklinville community of North Carolina. Pizza to Go, was a pizza delivery place that we frequented so often that all we had to do was pick up the phone, mumble the words, "Pizza, pizza," and thirty minutes later a piping hot pepperoni pizza would arrive at our door. Those were the days.
It seems that now there is a new kind of pizza place where you pick it up yourself, take it home and cook it. I've heard a few people talk about what a great idea it is. "Those folks are so innovative," I've heard people say.
The fact is, those folks aren't innovative. They stole the idea from the popular show "Seinfeld." Yes, it was Kramer's idea that these folks have used. The fact that it isn't an original idea doesn't bother me, it's the whole concept itself. If I am going to buy pizza, why would I want to go pick it up when I can have it delivered to me for free and who in there right mind would pick up an uncooked takeout pizza? Okay, so I've done it but who says I'm in my right mind?
So I admit that I have bought pizza from this place. It was after the fact that I wondered why I was doing it. The more I thought about the idea of having to drive to buy a pizza that I have to cook myself, the less sense it made. I'm surprised they don't charge extra for folks having to pick it up themselves.
I guess the next step is to have a cook it yourself Chinese restaurant. You supply the meat and we'll supply the noodles. "The Sizzler Steak House invites you to try our new ready to grill buffet." Or how about "Condiments to Go." You supply everything, come by and see us so we can squirt a little mustard and ketchup. Okay folks listen up. The grocery store is cheaper. Just say no to cook it yourself restaurants.
I'm going to call this new place and mumble the words "Pizza pizza" in protest of their nutty concept. Perhaps then they will realize just how crazy they are.
|
|
 |
 |
 |
 |
