No Common Sense
So off I go today to the grocery store to restock my fruit, veggie, fish and other diabetic punishment foods.
As usual, I got some all beef, no fat 100% kosher Hebrew National hot dogs.
So I needed buns. Healthy, whole wheat, low carb buns.
None to be found. Where is the grocer's common sense?
They had sugar free, whole wheat hamburger buns, but no hot dog buns with fewer than 35 grams of crapohydrates. I ended up getting the hamburger buns, which means I have to cut the hot dogs in half, which kind of ruins the whole effect. No way will I use the hamburger buns for hamburger. I think hamburger is one of the most dangerously suspect foods one can eat. And Bocaburgers and Gardenburgers are just a reminder that I am now serving a life sentence in dietary Hell.
Can you tell I drifted away from my strict diet while A. was here and I am having a bit of a struggle putting the yoke back on? My blood sugar is averaging about 160. That's the stage where I don't feel sick but I don't feel that well, either.
I am too fatigued to exercise and will feel worse if I don't.
All this would never have occurred to me had I not faced the hot dog bun dilemma.
I must now drown my sorrows in the crunch of a gala apple.
Feh.
Thursday, January 09, 2003
Does This Mean the War is Off?
Associated Press:
UNITED NATIONS (Jan. 9) -- U.N. weapons inspectors have not found any smoking guns in Iraq during their search for weapons of mass destruction, the chief U.N. weapons inspector said Thursday.
''We have now been there for some two months and been covering the country in ever wider sweeps and we haven't found any smoking guns,'' Hans Blix told reporters at the United Nations."
Mark my words, this news will not change the Bush decision to engage Iraq in war.
All of his campaign financing buddies in the military industrial complex are eagerly awaiting the cash flow from a protracted war. Bush can't let his buddies down, now can he?
Watch the spin the White House will put on the UN's findings (or lack thereof).
We are about to enter the "Yeah, but" phase.
No weapons of mass destruction found?
"Yeah, but we know Saddam didn't answer all the questions."
Bush, you said if they were denying UN weapons inspectors access, they'd have to pay. They let them in and they didn't find anything, so no war, right?
"Yeah, but we know they are liars."
Fasten your seatbelts, folks. We are going to war.
Associated Press:
UNITED NATIONS (Jan. 9) -- U.N. weapons inspectors have not found any smoking guns in Iraq during their search for weapons of mass destruction, the chief U.N. weapons inspector said Thursday.
''We have now been there for some two months and been covering the country in ever wider sweeps and we haven't found any smoking guns,'' Hans Blix told reporters at the United Nations."
Mark my words, this news will not change the Bush decision to engage Iraq in war.
All of his campaign financing buddies in the military industrial complex are eagerly awaiting the cash flow from a protracted war. Bush can't let his buddies down, now can he?
Watch the spin the White House will put on the UN's findings (or lack thereof).
We are about to enter the "Yeah, but" phase.
No weapons of mass destruction found?
"Yeah, but we know Saddam didn't answer all the questions."
Bush, you said if they were denying UN weapons inspectors access, they'd have to pay. They let them in and they didn't find anything, so no war, right?
"Yeah, but we know they are liars."
Fasten your seatbelts, folks. We are going to war.
Wednesday, January 08, 2003
Word-O-Matic
I have added my old pal Sue's new blog to my links. She's funny as hell and I have known her since my long-abandoned chatroom days when I first joined the Internet.
Her comments box is located at the top of her blog, so be sure and search for it and give her some feedback. She'll do anything for feedback and I do mean ANYTHING.
I have added my old pal Sue's new blog to my links. She's funny as hell and I have known her since my long-abandoned chatroom days when I first joined the Internet.
Her comments box is located at the top of her blog, so be sure and search for it and give her some feedback. She'll do anything for feedback and I do mean ANYTHING.
I'm MADA and I'm not gonna take it anymore
• IHOP is doing an all-you-can-eat pancake deal. I think the American Diabetes Association needs to form a militant splinter group who will take to the streets and wreak havoc with companies who seek to kill people by means of carbogluttony.
• San Antonio has been given the dubious distinction of being in the Top 5 for having the fattest citizens. This situation was confirmed by a recent foreign visitor, who dubbed me one of the more "in-shape" San Antonians she'd observed.
By Canadian standards, I am roughly in the same category as the lead singer for Blues Traveler, but by San Antonio standards I am somewhat svelte since I can still purchase clothes in regular department stores.
• San Antonio's plethora of excellent TexMex establishments is to blame. The Militant ADA (or MADA, as I have coined it) needs to invade this city muy rapido. Example:
Here is the "diet plate" for Jacala, the place that poisoned my girlfriend only last week.
Dieter's Delight: The Santa Fe Dinner: Three blue corn enchiladas made with Monterrey jack cheese and chicken, topped with our own authentic New Mexico chile sauce, and served with rice, beans and guacamole.
• Every establishment licensed to sell food should by law be compelled to make available sugar free Jell-O and whole wheat breads or tortillas, made without lard or grease. They should also be forced to have on hand at least one diet soda that is not Diet Coke.
• TexMex diners should be weighed, measured and licensed by MADA before being allowed to order.
• Anyone with camel toe, especially men, should not be permitted to buy beer or anything made with white flour, cheese or sugar.
• MADA should sue Red Lobster for their ads featuring butter dripping off chunks of lobster, or for shrimp specials that offer more than 8 shrimp.
• Ice Cream stores should be forced by MADA to install doors that are only 18 inches wide. Anyone having to stuff themselves in must not be served.
This is just the start. As the MADA executive director, I plan to become a menace to the homicidal food industry, starting with Jacala.
• IHOP is doing an all-you-can-eat pancake deal. I think the American Diabetes Association needs to form a militant splinter group who will take to the streets and wreak havoc with companies who seek to kill people by means of carbogluttony.
• San Antonio has been given the dubious distinction of being in the Top 5 for having the fattest citizens. This situation was confirmed by a recent foreign visitor, who dubbed me one of the more "in-shape" San Antonians she'd observed.
By Canadian standards, I am roughly in the same category as the lead singer for Blues Traveler, but by San Antonio standards I am somewhat svelte since I can still purchase clothes in regular department stores.
• San Antonio's plethora of excellent TexMex establishments is to blame. The Militant ADA (or MADA, as I have coined it) needs to invade this city muy rapido. Example:
Here is the "diet plate" for Jacala, the place that poisoned my girlfriend only last week.
Dieter's Delight: The Santa Fe Dinner: Three blue corn enchiladas made with Monterrey jack cheese and chicken, topped with our own authentic New Mexico chile sauce, and served with rice, beans and guacamole.
• Every establishment licensed to sell food should by law be compelled to make available sugar free Jell-O and whole wheat breads or tortillas, made without lard or grease. They should also be forced to have on hand at least one diet soda that is not Diet Coke.
• TexMex diners should be weighed, measured and licensed by MADA before being allowed to order.
• Anyone with camel toe, especially men, should not be permitted to buy beer or anything made with white flour, cheese or sugar.
• MADA should sue Red Lobster for their ads featuring butter dripping off chunks of lobster, or for shrimp specials that offer more than 8 shrimp.
• Ice Cream stores should be forced by MADA to install doors that are only 18 inches wide. Anyone having to stuff themselves in must not be served.
This is just the start. As the MADA executive director, I plan to become a menace to the homicidal food industry, starting with Jacala.
Wednesday
I have found something more confusing and daunting than quantum physics:
United States Immigration Law.
Having read an eye swelling assortment of websites, links and links to links, I have determined a few absolutes:
1. Either the Canuck or I need to be millionaires
2. She needs to record a platinum CD on an American record label
3. She needs to earn an immediate medical doctor or registered nursing degree
4. I need to turn my little business into a multinational corporation with NAFTA ties
5. We need to befriend an altruistic immigration attorney who will trade legal work for haiku
6. She needs to learn the business of restaurant table bussing or domestic labor
7. One of us needs a sex change operation
8. I need photos of an influential politician screwing a chicken or sheep
9. My sister needs to switch her law practice to immigration and be nicer to me
10. I need to start watching hockey, drinking copious amounts of beer and ending every sentence with "ey?"
If we could just accomplish one or two of the above, we'd be on easy street.
Leave it to me to fall in love with a gol-dern foreigner.
All I know is this house is not as fun with her being gone. The bedroom no longer smells like a warm pastry cart.
The bathroom looks empty without 75 jars, tubes and bottles of mysterious girly potions.
The cats are constipated, no longer having the thrill of making her squeamish after depositing their stinky kitty tootsie rolls.
Nope, this ain't fun at all.
I have found something more confusing and daunting than quantum physics:
United States Immigration Law.
Having read an eye swelling assortment of websites, links and links to links, I have determined a few absolutes:
1. Either the Canuck or I need to be millionaires
2. She needs to record a platinum CD on an American record label
3. She needs to earn an immediate medical doctor or registered nursing degree
4. I need to turn my little business into a multinational corporation with NAFTA ties
5. We need to befriend an altruistic immigration attorney who will trade legal work for haiku
6. She needs to learn the business of restaurant table bussing or domestic labor
7. One of us needs a sex change operation
8. I need photos of an influential politician screwing a chicken or sheep
9. My sister needs to switch her law practice to immigration and be nicer to me
10. I need to start watching hockey, drinking copious amounts of beer and ending every sentence with "ey?"
If we could just accomplish one or two of the above, we'd be on easy street.
Leave it to me to fall in love with a gol-dern foreigner.
All I know is this house is not as fun with her being gone. The bedroom no longer smells like a warm pastry cart.
The bathroom looks empty without 75 jars, tubes and bottles of mysterious girly potions.
The cats are constipated, no longer having the thrill of making her squeamish after depositing their stinky kitty tootsie rolls.
Nope, this ain't fun at all.
Tuesday, January 07, 2003
Anna, Anna fabulous Anna
We managed to catch the Anna Nicole Smith episode where she went on a date with Claude, a mousy millionaire. I loved the part where she wanted A-1 Sauce for the sublime Japanese beef, prepared by a private hibachi chef.
Then after what must have been a $3,000 dinner, she hauled him out, first to get some big pickles, then to a cowboy dive where she devoured a pile of ribs and made the poor schnook ride a mechanical bull.
Poor guy. She went home to Kim.
It was the perfect first episode for Aviva to watch. She was suitably horrified.
P.S. My best friend Anna and Anna Nicole share the same birthday. Ha!
We managed to catch the Anna Nicole Smith episode where she went on a date with Claude, a mousy millionaire. I loved the part where she wanted A-1 Sauce for the sublime Japanese beef, prepared by a private hibachi chef.
Then after what must have been a $3,000 dinner, she hauled him out, first to get some big pickles, then to a cowboy dive where she devoured a pile of ribs and made the poor schnook ride a mechanical bull.
Poor guy. She went home to Kim.
It was the perfect first episode for Aviva to watch. She was suitably horrified.
P.S. My best friend Anna and Anna Nicole share the same birthday. Ha!
Update
Well, Aviva made it home all right but one of her gargantuan suitcases did not arrive with her. That alone is a trauma, but she's a woman who folds her T-shirts so they look like they've never been worn and uses little zipper bags for anything she packs that may leak, stain or fall out of perfect alignment. She packs a suitcase in a way that would make Martha Stewart's luggage look like a drunken sailor's shore leave duffle bag.
She's not one to accept lost luggage with a sanguine attitude. United Airlines will wish they'd never fucked up, that I can guarantee.
My house is dead quiet. The cats are depressed and have been sleeping all day.
James may be especially tired because he sensed something last night that made him do a Cirque de Soleil act on the bed while we were, uh, saying good-bye. He was jumping, twirling, pinning our arms under his ham-sized ass, rolling over on his back, looking at us upside down and break dancing. We finally had to exile him, he got so manic.
I never before noticed the volume of cat hair the boys leave in their wake. Nor was I that aware of the 'fragrance' they create in their bedroom within a half hour of getting a clean litter box.
Aviva, however, can spot a single cat hair at 30 paces and can smell a one-inch cat turd from five blocks away. The boys are so lovable their disgusting habits weren't a deal breaker, per se, but we will have to create a new kitty management system if A. decides to join our little family. We'll have to start with one of those electric, self cleaning litter boxes. And ripping up the carpeting.
All that talk of exiling the kitties from our sleeping area lasted maybe two days.
One night I put my arm around her as we slept and I found myself with a handful of James. His spine was fused to her belly, *under* the covers. She had her arm around his ribs and his head was asleep on her forearm.
That seriously undermined her strict 'no cats in bed' edict. Meanwhile, Bart charmed her with his calm, mature presence and overall beauty. I caught her kissing him on the head when she thought I was outside.
James actually got in the shower with her. I had to hide my guffaws when she told me.
Well, Aviva made it home all right but one of her gargantuan suitcases did not arrive with her. That alone is a trauma, but she's a woman who folds her T-shirts so they look like they've never been worn and uses little zipper bags for anything she packs that may leak, stain or fall out of perfect alignment. She packs a suitcase in a way that would make Martha Stewart's luggage look like a drunken sailor's shore leave duffle bag.
She's not one to accept lost luggage with a sanguine attitude. United Airlines will wish they'd never fucked up, that I can guarantee.
My house is dead quiet. The cats are depressed and have been sleeping all day.
James may be especially tired because he sensed something last night that made him do a Cirque de Soleil act on the bed while we were, uh, saying good-bye. He was jumping, twirling, pinning our arms under his ham-sized ass, rolling over on his back, looking at us upside down and break dancing. We finally had to exile him, he got so manic.
I never before noticed the volume of cat hair the boys leave in their wake. Nor was I that aware of the 'fragrance' they create in their bedroom within a half hour of getting a clean litter box.
Aviva, however, can spot a single cat hair at 30 paces and can smell a one-inch cat turd from five blocks away. The boys are so lovable their disgusting habits weren't a deal breaker, per se, but we will have to create a new kitty management system if A. decides to join our little family. We'll have to start with one of those electric, self cleaning litter boxes. And ripping up the carpeting.
All that talk of exiling the kitties from our sleeping area lasted maybe two days.
One night I put my arm around her as we slept and I found myself with a handful of James. His spine was fused to her belly, *under* the covers. She had her arm around his ribs and his head was asleep on her forearm.
That seriously undermined her strict 'no cats in bed' edict. Meanwhile, Bart charmed her with his calm, mature presence and overall beauty. I caught her kissing him on the head when she thought I was outside.
James actually got in the shower with her. I had to hide my guffaws when she told me.
She's Gone...
Everybody's high on consolation
Everybody's trying to tell me what's right for me
My daddy tried to bore me with a sermon
but it's plain to see that they can't comfort me
Sorry Charlie for the imposition
I think I've got it, got the strength to carry on
I need a drink and a quick decision
Now it's up to me, ooh what will be
She's Gone, Oh I,
Oh I'd better learn how to face it
She's Gone Oh I, Oh I'd pay the devil to replace her
She's Gone - what went wrong?... (Hall & Oates)
Nothing went wrong.
I just put Aviva on a Montreal-bound plane a few minutes ago. I miss her already and James and Bart are inconsolable without someone allergic to shed fur on.
Yesterday we spent a really glorious last day together.
We ended up downtown, exploring the Riverwalk from beginning to end. They empty the river for cleanup every January, so we walked along the romantic sludge without millions of tourists blocking our meandering.
Being avid Cow Parade devotees, the highlight of our day was a visit to my friend Brad Braune's gallery.
Brad was in the last stages of completing his two entries for Cow Parade, one a cactus cow and one a tooled leather cow. We got to watch him paint and took some photos of Aviva between the two cows. As one of the premier artists in South Texas, his cows will be displayed prominently in town and my hunch is they'll be chosen to be reduced to miniature cows that people can add to their collections.
Then he gave us an incredible deal on a small watercolor painting, so A. and I now have our first piece of art together.
She didn't want to leave today and I didn't want her to go.
We both had colds most of the two weeks, and she had a blocked ear and contracted food poisoning the last few days from those fucking puffy tacos, but we still managed to get out and explore a lot and see most of what South Texas has to offer.
We finally defined our relationship. She is Felix and I am Oscar of The Odd Couple.
Still somehow it works. We got along better than we ever have on this visit.
She packed two suitcases weighing more than 125 pounds combined. She bought enough Texas related crap to stock a gift shop. She found some terrific tan doeskin cowboy boots. She looks great in a cowboy hat, but she didn't get one.
I think people visit San Antonio and either love it or hate it. She loved it.
Mission accomplished. Now what?
Everybody's high on consolation
Everybody's trying to tell me what's right for me
My daddy tried to bore me with a sermon
but it's plain to see that they can't comfort me
Sorry Charlie for the imposition
I think I've got it, got the strength to carry on
I need a drink and a quick decision
Now it's up to me, ooh what will be
She's Gone, Oh I,
Oh I'd better learn how to face it
She's Gone Oh I, Oh I'd pay the devil to replace her
She's Gone - what went wrong?... (Hall & Oates)
Nothing went wrong.
I just put Aviva on a Montreal-bound plane a few minutes ago. I miss her already and James and Bart are inconsolable without someone allergic to shed fur on.
Yesterday we spent a really glorious last day together.
We ended up downtown, exploring the Riverwalk from beginning to end. They empty the river for cleanup every January, so we walked along the romantic sludge without millions of tourists blocking our meandering.
Being avid Cow Parade devotees, the highlight of our day was a visit to my friend Brad Braune's gallery.
Brad was in the last stages of completing his two entries for Cow Parade, one a cactus cow and one a tooled leather cow. We got to watch him paint and took some photos of Aviva between the two cows. As one of the premier artists in South Texas, his cows will be displayed prominently in town and my hunch is they'll be chosen to be reduced to miniature cows that people can add to their collections.
Then he gave us an incredible deal on a small watercolor painting, so A. and I now have our first piece of art together.
She didn't want to leave today and I didn't want her to go.
We both had colds most of the two weeks, and she had a blocked ear and contracted food poisoning the last few days from those fucking puffy tacos, but we still managed to get out and explore a lot and see most of what South Texas has to offer.
We finally defined our relationship. She is Felix and I am Oscar of The Odd Couple.
Still somehow it works. We got along better than we ever have on this visit.
She packed two suitcases weighing more than 125 pounds combined. She bought enough Texas related crap to stock a gift shop. She found some terrific tan doeskin cowboy boots. She looks great in a cowboy hat, but she didn't get one.
I think people visit San Antonio and either love it or hate it. She loved it.
Mission accomplished. Now what?
Sunday, January 05, 2003
Puffy Tacos Be Damned
It was bound to happen.
After about forty trips to Jacala for puffy tacos, Aviva was stricken yesterday with what seems to be taco poisoning. The beef was 'not quite right,' and for sure it was way undercooked.
Still, like a trooper, she marched on that day, to Target, Dillards and Nomadic Notions exotic bead store. Then last night we went to a party for a 98-year-old guy, my friend Ruben's daddy. We finished out the night eating goat cheese in a piloncillo sauce at the Liberty Bar. No wonder she felt like crap all night.
I am calling Jacala today to bitch. I am calling Code Compliance tomorrow to rat them out for poisoning my girl. TACO POISONING BASTARDS.
It was bound to happen.
After about forty trips to Jacala for puffy tacos, Aviva was stricken yesterday with what seems to be taco poisoning. The beef was 'not quite right,' and for sure it was way undercooked.
Still, like a trooper, she marched on that day, to Target, Dillards and Nomadic Notions exotic bead store. Then last night we went to a party for a 98-year-old guy, my friend Ruben's daddy. We finished out the night eating goat cheese in a piloncillo sauce at the Liberty Bar. No wonder she felt like crap all night.
I am calling Jacala today to bitch. I am calling Code Compliance tomorrow to rat them out for poisoning my girl. TACO POISONING BASTARDS.
Friday, January 03, 2003
Go Go Go Go Go
Aviva is an action girl. She likes to go places, see and do things more than anyone on Earth. As you may recall, I tend to stay tired and curmudgeonly. She hasn't seemed to notice the former and ignores the latter.
Yesterday we had a few hours of unscheduled time at home. She said, "What the fuck are we supposed to do with the time?"
So we used it (select one):
a. lovemaking
b. driving to three different western stores so she could look at tooled leather purses.
I am not giving the answer, but suffice it to say she didn't find a purse she liked.
Ahh, the Riverwalk. It has had its desired effect on her. She loves it. We go everyday. We just walk mostly, she likes the umbrellas over the cafe tables.
And Cow Parade. She likes that, too. We have seen 90% of the cows on display all over town. We snuck into the official cow parade studio on Tuesday and photographed a woman actually painting a cow.
And puffy tacos at Jacala. She wants them twice a day.
So let's review: the Riverwalk, cows and tacos. The rest is just filler.
Aviva is an action girl. She likes to go places, see and do things more than anyone on Earth. As you may recall, I tend to stay tired and curmudgeonly. She hasn't seemed to notice the former and ignores the latter.
Yesterday we had a few hours of unscheduled time at home. She said, "What the fuck are we supposed to do with the time?"
So we used it (select one):
a. lovemaking
b. driving to three different western stores so she could look at tooled leather purses.
I am not giving the answer, but suffice it to say she didn't find a purse she liked.
Ahh, the Riverwalk. It has had its desired effect on her. She loves it. We go everyday. We just walk mostly, she likes the umbrellas over the cafe tables.
And Cow Parade. She likes that, too. We have seen 90% of the cows on display all over town. We snuck into the official cow parade studio on Tuesday and photographed a woman actually painting a cow.
And puffy tacos at Jacala. She wants them twice a day.
So let's review: the Riverwalk, cows and tacos. The rest is just filler.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)