So, today, while I was sitting around BOB trying to do my taxes and getting more depressed by the nanosecond, I decided to go out for lunch. In a city the size of this though it's always tough to decide where to go. I could get Mexican. Or fast food. Mexican. Pizza. or Mexican (there are really an awful lot of Mexican restaurants here). So, where to go?
In the end, I did what any good mostly broke bachelor would do -- I went to Costco.
Before you just cast your derisions consider the following:
1. You'll probably end up at Costco at some point anyway, why not go for a reason?
2. The food is free.
3. It's in really tiny portions so there's no chance of getting that bloated, just after Thanksgiving I-need-to-stick-my-hand-in-my-waistband-to-ease-the-pressure kind of thing.
4. It's free. Yeah, I know I already said that, but it's worth repeating.
The big difference between a Costco here and back home is the size. And in the case of giant box warehouse stores, the ladies have it right - size does matter. At the Costco at home, which I believe would neatly fit inside the one here, it's not really much of a lunch and it's really hit or miss on what you'll get.
Here, however, it's all bigger. I had three different kinds of chicken -- plain chicken breast, buffalo-style in little pastry shells with ranch dressing, and another one I'm not entirely sure was chicken. There was some oriental orange beef; some mango fruit; spiral sliced ham; the new peanut butter snickers; cranberries; chocolate milk from a box; a fiber bar; and sausage.
You've got to admit, that's a pretty good spread. I'm certainly not going to hang out in BOB and make myself an 11-course lunch. Not the least reason is that I have no idea how to get those little paper cup things, and I think those are integral to the aesthetic of the meal. It just wouldn't be the same without them.
Now, as wonderful as the free lunch buffet at Costco is, there is still the matter of shopping. Costco is NOT a place for bachelors to shop -- unless it's the guy who draws the short straw and ends up doing the shopping for entire floor of a dormitory or something.
I was looking at Alaskan salmon (want to tick off a Texan? Remind them that if Alaska were cut in half, Texas would be the 3rd largest state. Do that and you're buying your own beer, I guarantee it.) Anyway, I'm looking at this salmon thinking, 'yum, salmon would be good.' Then I gave it careful consideration and didn't buy it.
Why? Because the oven BOB comes with isn't big enough for this thing - not to mention I don't have a pan that would fit a fish the size of a pillow case.
And THAT is the problem with Costco if you're a bachelor. Nothing comes in a size you need. For instance, my grocery list included: bar of soap. Not 12 or 24, just one or two.
Some laundry detergent - just a small bottle for a guy who does laundry once a week? You're buying it by the drum.
Vegetables? 4 pounds at a time.
Fresh fruit? By the case.
Small TV for an apartment? 60+ inches of high def goodness.
Pair of pants with a waist size under 40? Not happening.
Couple batteries for a flashlight? Make it 20 flashlights.
Muffins? At least a dozen at a time. And here I had to pause and reflect. Because I like muffins. A lot. And while I really like muffins, I'm not about to buy a dozen of them because I'd have to eat them before they went bad. And I would.
And if I did that, it would really kind of defeat the purpose of having lunch there wouldn't you agree?
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
How was my flight? .... You're kidding, right?
Well, it’s been a month and relaxing at home with The Shadow and the kids was great – leaving to come back to Texas sucked, but the holidays were great – hopefully for all involved. (BOB did not seem to notice my extended absence and I'm suspicious that the three bedroom across the parking lot may have visited while I was away).
I noticed on this trip I’m starting to become one of those people who take notes of dumb stuff – because I just can’t remember it all. There weren’t many notes for this trip which is really good. Here’s why.
There are two entirely ridiculous questions people ask you when you are involved in long-distance travel. The first can ‘almost’ be excused, but not really.
“So, did you fly?” No, I took a cab and it cost me 15 thousand dollars. Of course I flew. It’s 2,000 miles and the last time I drove…well, you might remember how well that turned out. Hell, the cab ride probably would have been cheaper.
However, “THE” most ridiculous question is...
“Did you have a good flight?”
The plane landed and I walked off. It was a good flight. Any plane trip that doesn’t end in a ball of fire at the end of the runway or require the use of dental records is a good flight. A more appropriate question would be, “did you have an annoying flight?” or in some cases, “were you annoying others on the flight?” Also perfectly acceptable when dealing with air travel are these:
“Were there screaming kids on board?”
“Was the enormous muffin top of the fat guy next to you intruding in your space?”
“Was the person behind you forever kicking the back of your seat”
“Did anyone sleep on your shoulder – whom you did not know?”
“Will we see TSA-nudes of you on the internet anytime soon?”
All of those are valid post-flight questions which I’m happy to answer: no; not so much; thankfully not; hell no; and I’m holding out for movie rights.
In fact, the trip bordered on pleasant. Leaving home I got on what looked like a brand-new plane, found my seat quickly and realized it was a window seat with a fantastic view of … the propeller.
Sometimes when you talk to people much older than me, you’ll hear them talk about how they feel more comfortable with a propeller – people the age of say, Bob Newhart. Propellers, in my world, are for helicopters.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t ‘mind’ propellers and there is something soothing about the monotonous drone of them, but at least with a jet, if it stopped working you really wouldn’t know (right away). Everything would “look” fine out the window. The last thing I want to be able to read while actually in flight is the warning on a propeller blade.
Still, it was new and when we landed in Jersey so I’m pretty sure it was up on blocks with the tires missing before I made it inside.
While at the Jersey airport – one of the world’s most awful ‘walking around’ airports - I was inclined to jot a note about those airport golf carts for the old, infirm or morbidly obese that have become so ubiquitous at our nation’s air facilities over the last 20 years.
In almost every airport I’ve ever been in (quite a few actually) airport employees drive those things like race cars and more importantly like they’re immigrant New York City cab drivers – using the horn as if the grating noise was the friction that kept the wheels turning.
In New Jersey, the nation’s, and perhaps world, capital of loud and/or obnoxious – you would expect these things to come with pit crews and air horns. But the drivers drove them slowly, almost courteously, and never once, in SIX HOURS, did I hear them use a horn. They would politely (For a Jersian) ask people to move out of the way, and I was only nearly hit by them twice. In neither occasion would anyone have faulted the driver of the cart.
So, from a travel perspective, that was my equivalent of a Wonder of the Modern World.
I feel it an obligation at this point, as my first blog of the new year, to make quick note of “The Resolution.”
As a challenge to myself for the new year, I’m going to try to run 500 miles. 10 miles a week should be doable, but I fully expect to be about a month behind by May – perhaps sooner, but I’m thinking three times a week will do the job. I only mention this because I’ll probably mention it in future and I think you should be warned. (Motivational funding in the form of a U.S., Canadian, or UK - monetary unit per mile run are always welcome – proceeds will be used on an absurdly lavish Lego set for the children.)
I noticed on this trip I’m starting to become one of those people who take notes of dumb stuff – because I just can’t remember it all. There weren’t many notes for this trip which is really good. Here’s why.
There are two entirely ridiculous questions people ask you when you are involved in long-distance travel. The first can ‘almost’ be excused, but not really.
“So, did you fly?” No, I took a cab and it cost me 15 thousand dollars. Of course I flew. It’s 2,000 miles and the last time I drove…well, you might remember how well that turned out. Hell, the cab ride probably would have been cheaper.
However, “THE” most ridiculous question is...
“Did you have a good flight?”
The plane landed and I walked off. It was a good flight. Any plane trip that doesn’t end in a ball of fire at the end of the runway or require the use of dental records is a good flight. A more appropriate question would be, “did you have an annoying flight?” or in some cases, “were you annoying others on the flight?” Also perfectly acceptable when dealing with air travel are these:
“Were there screaming kids on board?”
“Was the enormous muffin top of the fat guy next to you intruding in your space?”
“Was the person behind you forever kicking the back of your seat”
“Did anyone sleep on your shoulder – whom you did not know?”
“Will we see TSA-nudes of you on the internet anytime soon?”
All of those are valid post-flight questions which I’m happy to answer: no; not so much; thankfully not; hell no; and I’m holding out for movie rights.
In fact, the trip bordered on pleasant. Leaving home I got on what looked like a brand-new plane, found my seat quickly and realized it was a window seat with a fantastic view of … the propeller.
Sometimes when you talk to people much older than me, you’ll hear them talk about how they feel more comfortable with a propeller – people the age of say, Bob Newhart. Propellers, in my world, are for helicopters.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t ‘mind’ propellers and there is something soothing about the monotonous drone of them, but at least with a jet, if it stopped working you really wouldn’t know (right away). Everything would “look” fine out the window. The last thing I want to be able to read while actually in flight is the warning on a propeller blade.
Still, it was new and when we landed in Jersey so I’m pretty sure it was up on blocks with the tires missing before I made it inside.
While at the Jersey airport – one of the world’s most awful ‘walking around’ airports - I was inclined to jot a note about those airport golf carts for the old, infirm or morbidly obese that have become so ubiquitous at our nation’s air facilities over the last 20 years.
In almost every airport I’ve ever been in (quite a few actually) airport employees drive those things like race cars and more importantly like they’re immigrant New York City cab drivers – using the horn as if the grating noise was the friction that kept the wheels turning.
In New Jersey, the nation’s, and perhaps world, capital of loud and/or obnoxious – you would expect these things to come with pit crews and air horns. But the drivers drove them slowly, almost courteously, and never once, in SIX HOURS, did I hear them use a horn. They would politely (For a Jersian) ask people to move out of the way, and I was only nearly hit by them twice. In neither occasion would anyone have faulted the driver of the cart.
So, from a travel perspective, that was my equivalent of a Wonder of the Modern World.
I feel it an obligation at this point, as my first blog of the new year, to make quick note of “The Resolution.”
As a challenge to myself for the new year, I’m going to try to run 500 miles. 10 miles a week should be doable, but I fully expect to be about a month behind by May – perhaps sooner, but I’m thinking three times a week will do the job. I only mention this because I’ll probably mention it in future and I think you should be warned. (Motivational funding in the form of a U.S., Canadian, or UK - monetary unit per mile run are always welcome – proceeds will be used on an absurdly lavish Lego set for the children.)
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