Back to the Future and Back.

Okay, I've given a little more thought to an entry for The Skwib's contest. Vintage ad art, to which the contestant adds in a futuristic vision...and one not of their own making, but rather one in the popular culture (books, TV, Movie, etc.).

Here's one for you Ann Rynd fans:

And let's not forget Ray Bradbury:

And, for you Woody Allen fans:

And while perhaps not technically following The Skwib's rules, I do like this one:
It's got it all...a post-apocalyptic future, a retro look, my Minnesotan-born wife's favorite house feature and damn dirty apes!

Doubtless I could come up with more, but my kids are calling for help with their Pinewood Derby Cars. The race is this Wednesday, so we've got to get working on some wood!

And while I go work on cars, YOU go check out humor-blogs.com!

Vintage Ads Redux.

Mark Rayner has a blog site called The Skwib. It's a site which I check out occasionally when I need a good laugh. Recently Mark offered up a contest in which he invited readers to find vintage ads and create fictional products of the future. Not being one to miss on a chance to Photoshop my way to hilarity, I've taken up the gauntlet, and am working on my own entry.

It's a shame Mark's contest doesn't allow for a contestant to simply take a vintage ad and 'doctor it up' with new verbiage. Because, if it did, I'd be all over that:

Watch this space for my final entry!

The Skwib and other funny blogs can always be accessed by clicking onto humor-blogs.com.

Our Latest Product Placement.

I've been known to wear my heart on my sleeve...both personally and professionally. The later can be proved by the fact that Garretson Wine Company is now the official winery of the Tailhook Association!:

Naval aviation and wine...seems a natural combination, huh? And in case you're wondering...yes, this is serious.

When real Airdales aren't catching the 3 wire they're looking for laughs. Look no further than humor-blog.com.

Foods I'd Kill You For.

I freely admit it. I'm an omnivore. I've yet to find any food that I have a real aversion to...and, sadly, I've the physique to prove my point. Certainly, there are those foods that don't, at the mere thought of them, elicit a Pavlovian-like drool from me. Lutefisk comes to mind (and you can read my review of this Norse classic by clicking here), as does poorly-prepared chitlins (if you don't know what those are, don't ask).

Traveling as much as I do, I've encountered enough exotic and downright bizarre foods to give Andrew Zimmer a run for his money. There are, though, those foods that I truly love so much that I oft times find myself craving them. Having grown up in The South, most of these foods naturally hearken to this part of the world. But my passion for these foods is derived not out of blind bias, but, rather, an preference born from having tasted all other offerings.

So, without further adieu, let me share with you foods I love so much that I just might kill you for them:

1.) Soft Shell Crabs.
I've got a real soft spot for these soft shells. They'd definitely be on the menu if I was afforded one last meal before visiting Old Sparky. I adore these tender crustaceans...fried and served in po' boys, in a sushi bar Spider Roll, or delicately sautéed in butter and served au natural.

The good news is that we're about to get into the season for these beauties...May through July. Let's Eat!

2.) Old South Bar-B-Q in Smyrna

There are some that hold that Smyrna Georgia's greatest contribution to the fine arts was serving as the birthplace of Julia Roberts. They're sorely mistaken...it's Old South Bar-B-Q. I've been going there since 1978, and it still serves as my 'go-to 'cue'. Nowadays I make it a point to stop there for lunch on my way back to the Atlanta airport, and I always order the same thing: barbecue pork salad, a cup of Brunswick Stew and an order of ribs. Same as it ever was.

3.) An F.O. at The Varsity.
When I took Amie back to Atlanta for the first time we were met at the airport by my parents. As we drove through Atlanta I asked my dad to make a stop at the Varsity. "No!" my mom protested, "you can't do that to Amie! Not on her first visit!" I could, because, one, I was hungry, and, two, it was a sure-fire way to determine if Amie and I were destined to be. Nearly 12 years later and now it's Amie who shouts out for a Varsity stop on our return to the Peach State.

We both adore an F.O., also known as a Frosted Orange. It's like a cross between an orange cremesicle and a milkshake. It's the ideal accompaniment to the sweet yet greasy rings and oh-so-delicious dawgs that are practically de riguer on game days...or return trips home.

4.) The Lemon Caper Sweetbreads at Bayona
If you ever had a notion to do me in, find out where I'm going to eat and poison the sweetbreads. I'm a sucker for them...if they're on the menu, you can bet they'll soon be on my table. I've had them everywhere, all across the U.S. and Europe. On fine china in five-star restaurants to grease-stained paper bags at a farmer's market.

So it should come as no surprise that I consider myself quite the connoisseur when it comes to lamb and/or calf thymus gland and/or pancreas. Of all the incarnations of the same I've ingested, none have made me so delighted as those served by Susan Spicer at Bayona in New Orleans. Susan has a deftness with sweetbreads...light, ephemeral orbs that have just the right touch of crispness on the outside, with all that tasty sweetbread goodness on the inside.

5.) The Lumière Cheese of Sweet Grass Dairy.
Sweet Grass Dairy is an artisan cheese producer based in Thomasville, Georgia. Certainly my initial interest in Sweet Grass was due to the fact that they were based in GEORGIA. But, after tasting their products I came to realize that Sweet Grass was the 'real deal', and their cheeses rank up high as some of the best made in the U.S. They also hold their own on a world stage.

My absolute favorite* is an ash-covered goat's cheese they craft called Lumière. It haunts me. In a good way. Go get your own by checking out the Sweet Grass Dairy website.

6.) Steamed Crayfish.
Call them what you will: crawfish, crawdads, crodgers, or (my favorite) mudbugs...just be sure to call me to the table when you serve them. Get a group of friends around a steam pot full of these critters and a cold keg of beer and you're bound to have a good time!




7.) My mom's corned beef and cabbage.
In retrospect I have to say that my mom wasn't a real adventurous cook. Don't get me wrong...I never went hungry, but to my parents food was seen as a necessity of life. Dinner was a well-balanced meal of a protein, a starch and a vegetable, no more, no less.

Every St. Patty's Day mom would get out the Crock Pot and prepare a traditional corned beef and cabbage dinner. Red new potatoes, carrots and rich, dark bread with butter would serve as accompaniments. I loved this meal so much that it became my traditional birthday dinner growing up. I still love it...and Amie sees to it that it's still on my birthday board of fare.

8.) Alan Benton's Hams and Bacon
Three years ago I was invited to be the guest winemaker at the Southern Foodways Alliance weekend at Blackberry Farm in Walland, Tennessee. One afternoon a number of us boarded a van and made a trip to nearby Madisonville, home of the best cured pig meat on this (or any other) planet, Benton's Smoky Mountain Country Hams.

Since that visit, I'm proud to say that I've gotten to know proprietor Alan Benton better. Alan is a gracious, soft-spoken man; a man visibly passionate about his craft. His efforts rank right up there with the very finest Serrano, Ibérico, or Parma. Nowadays, Allan's pig meat is in such high demand that it's often difficult to procure. Lucky for me, he loves my wines! Try to get your own by visiting the Benton Hams website.

9.) The Chicken Wings at Taco Mac.
There was a time in my life that half my body weight consisted of Taco Mac chicken wings. Taco Mac was started in Atlanta back in 1978 by two boys from Buffalo, New York. I can tell you for a fact that their wings are every bit as good as the Anchor Bar's (the Buffalo-based restaurant that was the original Buffalo chicken wing purveyor). My preference was for 30 hot, bleu cheese and a wheat beer.

I say 'was', because these days, while I still crave Taco Mac wings, they've been known to play serious havoc with my gastrointestinal tract.

10.) Homemade Pumpkin Pie.
You may have noticed by now that none of my favorite foods employ the use of my sweet tooth. Truth be told, I don't have much of one. If I were to have to claim allegiance to one sweet, it'd have to be pumpkin pie.

Back home in Atlanta, my passion for pumpkin pie is the stuff of legend. The legend started the night before Thanksgiving, 1977. My mother had baked four pumpkin pies in preparation for our Thanksgiving guests. I awoke in the middle of the night feeling a bit peckish. I entered our kitchen, and came face to face with four - count 'em, four! - beautiful pies. "Who's going to miss one small slice?" I rationalized to myself. That kind of rationalization led me to another, and then another slice. It finally dawned on my teenage brain, "Perhaps it's best if I eat the entire pie. Maybe my mom will forget if she made four or three pies?"

The mother entered the kitchen Thanksgiving morning not questioning her memory, but her children. "Who ate the pumpkin pie?" she asked us all. Not being able to tell a lie (well, perhaps not a lie...just that lie), I fessed up. My dad was a bit shocked, asking, "Mat, you ate the entire pie?" When I told him I did, he put another pumpkin pie in front of me. "I don't believe you. Show me." Now, my dad had tried (and, obviously, forgotten the outcome of) that routine with me five years back with a six pack of beer. I quickly devoured a second pie...just as quickly as I had the six pack.

To this day, every time I'm back with my family for Thanksgiving my mother makes two extra pumpkin pies just for me. Try as I might, I haven't been able to recreate this little piece of family folklore for over 12 years.

* Dear reader, please understand this: to choose an 'absolute favorite' from the SGD lineup is like saying, "Who's prettier, Rita Hayworth, Sophia Loren, or Audrey Hepburn?" Picking one in no way diminishes the others...they're all beautiful.

Want to get your belly full of belly laughs? Go check out humor-blogs.com.

She's Built...Like a Battleship!

Living where I do has its benefits. In this part of California the scenery is incredibly beautiful. A drive less than 30 minutes can find you at either mountains, desert, jungle or coastline. Also, it's not nearly as congested as cities to the north, south and east of us. But there are shortcomings, not the least of which is that there are few stores to do some serious personal shopping.

Now lack of shopping isn't too much of an issue for me. I'm out of state on business at least once a month...providing ample opportunity to visit a Nordstrom or two. While it's not a major issue for me, it is for my wife. Since her arrival to California, Amie has done most of her clothes shopping via the internet. As a result, my wife gets catalogs. A LOT of catalogs.

Yesterday's mail call included a catalog from a clothing company calling itself Newport News. As my wife perused its offerings, I couldn't help but wonder why on earth would anyone pick the name Newport News for a line of women's clothing?!? I'm sure that if you mention the name 'Newport News' to the majority of Americans, the first image that comes to their mind is not of fashionably-clad runway models.

Newport News is home to a real-life 'arsenal of democracy', one of the largest ship-building companies in the world. Hundreds of troop ships, aircraft carriers, destroyers and battleships were constructed in these yards. And they still are.

In my mind I began to recall terms like 'battlewagon', 'garbage scow', and 'tin can'. These terms can be used to describe ships of war...and, for the seafaring misogynist, women. I couldn't help but wonder: is this the kind of imagery that the folks at Newport News Clothing had in mind?

I for one smell a conspiracy!

And now that you've finished reading this bilge, why don't you get your tin can over to humor-blogs.com, swabbie!

To Go Where No Man Has Gone Before...Boldly.

Last night I was checking out the internet, and happened to log onto the 15 Minute Lunch blog site. In his latest post, blogger Johnny Virgil (a pretty funny guy in his own right...check him out) had posted about occasionally discovering 'Klingon food' in his kitchen pantry.

That naturally got me thinking of a story.

About 12 years ago I traveled to Dallas, Texas for the winery I was working for at the time. I had come to Dallas to take part in our distributor's annual trade tasting. I had also come to Dallas extremely late in the evening, thanks to a delayed connection out of LAX. I arrived at the Marriott a little after midnight, and as I tried to check in I was intercepted by the manager, "I'm terribly sorry, sir, but we're overbooked. I have taken the liberty to provide you an Executive Suite at the nearby Hilton for the length of your stay...and, of course, we will pick up the tab." Crisis averted, I thanked the man for his efforts, and was driven over to the Hilton.

I entered the lobby of the Hilton at 1am dog-tired and ready to hit my head on any pillow they offered. As I finished checking in, I felt a strange presence all around me. I slowly turned my head and noticed I was surrounded by Klingons. Yep...Klingons. And not your "Star Trek Original Series' Klingons", but those hemorrhoid-headed, "Next Generation" types. And beyond the Klingons were scores of folks dressed up in various Trek regalia. It quickly dawned on me: I am staying at a hotel that's hosting a Star Trek convention!

Now, let me digress to say that there was a time in my life that I was a BIG-TIME Star Trek fan. "How big a fan?" you may ask? Big enough to have been the president of a Star Trek fan club, a club which had members in such faraway places as Japan and Yugoslavia. Big enough to get confrontational with anyone who dared to call me a 'Trekkie'. I was a Trekker. Trust me, there is a difference*. Yes, I was a fan...and I guess at a certain level I still am. But then I entered puberty, and began to date girls. I left behind the passions of my youth for other, more Earthly, um...passions.

There's a certain unease that comes with being in a lobby full of Star Trek geeks. I imagine it's a bit like feeling claustrophobic: all you want to do is get yourself to a bigger space. I kept my eyes focused on the elevator, walking quickly to its doors in hopes of entering sanctuary. I entered the elevator and breathed a sigh of relief, thinking to myself, "thank gawd I never got that obsessed." It was then I noticed a young lady, about four feet tall looking up at me from glasses that resembled the bottoms of Coke bottles. She was dressed as a lieutenant from "Star Trek: The Next Generation". "Earther lifts," she murmured, "I hate Earther lifts, don't you? They're so jerky," to which I replied, "yeah...I know the feeling." She then came a little closer to me, smiled and purred, "I like turbo lifts...they're much smoother, don't you think?"

Have you ever been hit on by a midget Trekkie? Take my word for it, it's a very disturbing experience.

The next morning I awoke in my hotel bed, fully rested and ready for breakfast. I shaved, showered, dressed and headed down to the hotel's restaurant. Riding in the elevator, I half wondered if my late night foray into the final frontier was some twisted dream. That theory was shot to hell as soon as the elevator doors opened.

As during the night before, the lobby was full of Trekkies. I entered the restaurant and ordered some coffee. Perusing the menu, I couldn't help but notice a group of Klingons looking over the breakfast buffet. They might very well have been the same Klingons I encountered the night before, but you know Klingons: they all look the same. The 'lead' Klingon (and I can only assume he was the leader because his faux-Klingon hemorrhoidal forehead was incredibly realistic) sniffed loudly as if smelling a newly-minted dog turd. "Earther food?!" he complained for all of us to hear, "I can't eat this Earther food!!"

Dude, if only that were true. Then you would starve and die. One less Trekkie would be a good thing, right?

After a very productive day at the trade tasting and a hosting a winemaker dinner, I made it back to the refuge of my hotel room. At 3am in the morning I was awoken by the sounds of Trekkies out in the hallway. They were chatting - loudly - about random Star Trek trivia. Hadn't these kids heard of decaffeinated cola...or SpectraVision? It was then when I heard one of these guys state, "Chet, you're such a phaser-brain that you probably don't even know what the "T" in James T. Kirk stands for!"

Awoken from a deep sleep and highly pissed off, I swung open the door of my hotel room, looked at this group of prepubescent boys and whispered through gritted teeth, "Guys, it's three o'clock in the fucking morning! Some of us have jobs, some of us have a life. Go back into your rooms and keep the noise down...and by the way, it's Tiberius." Just as I was closing the door, one of them proclaim, "Hey! He's one of us!" I swung the door back open, gave them all a serious look, and whispered, "I was never one of you," and slammed the door.

I finished that night sleeping like a rock...or maybe it was a Horta*?

* To those of you uninitiated, a Trekker is a serious student of all things Trek. They realize that the television show was just that...a television show. On the other hand, Trekkies are geeky twerps who spend their lives dressing up like their favorite characters, hoping that one day they'll be transported to the bridge of the real Enterprise.

* A Horta is a rock-eating, silicon-based creature that is indigenous to the planet Janus VI. The Horta made its appearance in the original Star Trek episode, Devil in the Dark. Ohmygawd! How in the hell did I remember that crap?

"Beam me up, Scotty...or at least get me over to Humor-Blogs.com!"

My New Best Friend.

Here's the latest installment of my (seemingly) never-ending series of "Interesting People I Meet on Airplanes." On my last flight east I had the chance to sit and chat with actor Bill Paxton. Helluva nice guy...although as we were getting ready for landing, he wouldn't shout, al la Private Hudson in Aliens: "Express Elevator to Hell...Going Down!"

Still...nice guy.

And if you'd like to ride an express elevator to funny, check out humor-blogs.com.

Little Miss Pissy.

Airline travel isn't pretty. Flights are always overbooked and, increasingly, canceled. They fall victim to the whims of weather and flow control, and, by market necessity, a need to be value-priced. As a result, not only has the quality of airline travel declined but so has the quality of airline employees.

In the course of my travels I am always amazed by the number of passive aggressive airline employees I encounter. You've no doubt encountered the type...perpetually pissed off. Pissed off about everything. Now I try to empathize with these folks. They take a lot of crap from equally pissed off customers. Although I'm at my airline's highest level of frequent flier status (and therefore, judging by the attitudes of my fellow elite status fliers, expected to be a demanding asshole), I go out of my way to be nice to airline employees. These folks get beat up so often on a daily basis that they need a smiling face every now and then. It can make their day (mine, too), and can very often work to my advantage when it comes to missed connections, etc.

But then their are those airline employees that are so pissed off at life that they're beyond hope. They view their jobs as a way of pissing off the customer, playing little games of exercising what little power they have.

Last weekend I was flying home from the east coast. My flight was delayed into DFW...so late that I knew I had missed my connecting flight to LAX. As soon as we landed I powered up my phone and called the Executive Platinum hotline. I explained to the agent that I needed to see about getting re-booked on the next available flight to LAX. She was extremely accommodating, getting me the last available seat on the very next flight out...a flight that would (if it arrived on time) still allow me to make my previously-scheduled final connection for the trip home. "I almost hate to ask," I confided, "but any chance for an upgrade?" "You've got the last available seat...and that's in First Class, Mr. Garretson." It's the little things like that keep me a happy customer.

So, I deplane, board the tram, and hike over to the gate for my flight out of DFW. I walk up, hand over my ticket jacket, smile to the gate agent and say, "How are you?" Without looking up from her keyboard she says in a monotone voice, "What can I help you with?" "I missed my connection, but should already be booked on this flight," I told her. "Really?" she said as she finally looked up, "we'll just see about that."

It quickly dawned on me that this lady was obviously in the aforementioned camp of those pissed off employees beyond hope.

She spent the next three minutes (yes, I timed her) typing on her keyboard. "Wow, that's a lot of typing for one ticket," I said. Her response was a smirk. The agent next to her pulled up my ticket...which clearly was marked "First". As this agent handed it over to me, my agent intercepted it and tore it in half. "Is there a problem?" I asked. "I'm putting you back in Coach," she informed me, "First Class has already checked in full." "If it had already checked in full, then how could you have issued me the ticket you just ripped up?" I queried. "Oh, there is one seat left, but that's for an elite flier." she smirked. "Hmmm, last time I checked I was an Executive Platinum customer...aren't I?" I smiled to her. "Well...if you want, I could put you on the upgrade list," she offered. I asked her to do this, she complied, typing away, and then said, "You're first on the upgrade list."

Less than two minutes later she called me back to the gate, and handed me my First Class ticket. "Was all of that really worth your wasted time and effort?" I asked her, to which she said, "It was...to me."

Amazing. Little power plays like that are a waste of everyone's time. Makes me wonder if I shouldn't be more of an asshole frequent flier.

And you'll be upgraded to some First Class fun if you click onto humor-blogs.com.

Ten Things in My Life That I Hate.

That I wasn't a business traveler back in the heydays of the airline industry. Now even first class isn't so classy.

Idiot multi-taskers who include in their multi-tasking driving their car anywhere near mine.









The public's seemingly-endless fascination of those who are so obviously mindless.







Barbecue that's beef. When it comes to 'cue, it's all about the pig.








Beer that isn't.




Cats and kittens. All shapes, sizes and colors...









...especially cats dressed up like a clown.








Hair-obsessed rock bands of the eighties...with a special loathing towards those trying to make a come back today. Hang it up, dudes.








Clowns in general...
















...but specifically this one.













What I can't do without is checking in to humor-blogs.com at least once a day. How about you?

Spring Fever!

Ah, yes. Spring is in the air, and this boy's mind turns to...football. I used to welcome Springtime as it brought me baseball, and that meant Braves' games. But, with the strikes, the rampant use of HGH, and the fact that the Braves ain't the same team they used to be, I can't say that I get all too excited about professional baseball.

College football is another matter entirely. Especially Georgia football.

The University of Georgia Bulldogs began its final week of spring drills yesterday, and things are looking good. Damn good. This Saturday, my Bulldogs will play their annual "G-Day" game 'tween the hedges. 19 of Georgia's 21 starters - including QB Matt Stafford and RB Knowshon Moreno - are back this year. UGA finished the 2007 season ranked number two in the nation. We'll start the season either one or two. There's a LOT of anticipation amongst the Bulldog Nation that this may be the year. I wouldn't bet against them.

I don't know about you, but I'm counting down the days. Only 152 more days until Georgia plays its first real game of the 2008 season!

And while you're waiting for kickoff, log onto humor-blogs.com for a chuckle or two.

Easter Fashonista.

This is a picture of my siblings and me taken during the first Easter Sunday that I can recall. The time is 1968, and the place is Cherry Hill, New Jersey. That's me with the red herringbone jacket, black shorts and knobby white knees. I still remember that suit...and wish I had a jacket like that today, but in a 52L. I've still got those knees, though...and they remain knobby and white.

I can still remember my mother taking me to a store to try on that suit. I didn't have a problem with trying on the jacket, but trying on those black shorts was a different story altogether. We were standing in the middle of the store when she held them out to me and said, "Take off your pants and try these on."

Now being seen by my twin sister in my 'tighty whities' was an embarrassing enough occurrence...parading around in them? In a department store full of complete strangers?? Not only was I terrified of that, the shorts them self did nothing to reduce my anxiety: they were lined with a silk/rayon lining that printed in paisley. My mom was setting me up for big-time humiliation. I tried to reason with her...which, being a five year-old meant screaming my head off, "No!" My mom countered this with her own rebuttal: a quick smack on my fanny (should I say, rebuttal?) and a whisper - through clenched teeth - of, "Put these on. NOW."

My mom sure knew how to reason with a little kid.

And I can honestly say, looking at that photo of me on Easter Sunday, 1968, that my mom was right. I was quite the dandy in that outfit. I hope that your Easter is a dandy one, too!

And you'd be a dandy too if you'd just click on humor-blogs.com!

Talking (Potato) Head.

This morning, on the 5th anniversary of the beginning of the war in Iraq, Vice-President Dick Cheney was interviewed by ABC's Martha Raddatz during the network's "Good Morning America" show:

Cheney: "The surge has worked. That's been a major success."
Raddatz: "Two-thirds of Americans say it's not worth fighting."
Cheney: "So?"
Raddatz: "'So?'?? You don't care what the American people think?"
Cheney: "No. I think you cannot be...um...blown off course by the, ah, fluctuations in the public opinion polls."

Fluctuations, Mr. Vice President? Actually the polls have been pretty consistent over the past few years. The overwhelming number of U.S. citizens - people whom you work for, Dick - are against this war. Even those of us (myself included) who were initially of the belief that invading Iraq was the right thing to do, have come to realize that the handling of this war has been a complete disaster. It's been five years since Cheney's administration got us into this debacle, and all we've to show for it is nearly 4,000 Americans killed, an unprecedented rise in Islamic extremism, an all time low opinion of our country in the international community and trillions squandered.

"So?"

Excuse me, dear reader. I was taught manners by my parents. I was taught to never talk finances, religion or politics in public. But, when the Bush/Cheney administration continues to raise its level of hubris ever higher - as if it thinks it's competing in some reversed limbo contest - it's high time to say 'enough!'

When our Vice-President clearly states that he'd rather listen to the voices in his head than the voices of the overwhelming majority of the Americans, nothing seems as funny anymore.

America HAS spoken... Humor-Blogs.com is a wealth of funniness.

Bank. Robber.

This week I received a check from a buddy of mine, written on his company's checking account. His account was with Wells Fargo, and - as I don't have an account with them - I decided to drop by the local branch to cash the check.

After a 10-minute wait in line, there was finally a teller open. I presented the check, and my driver's license. "I'd like for you to cash this check, please," I said. "Do you have an account here?" the teller asked. "No, I don't," I countered "but the check's written on a Wells Fargo account, so there shouldn't be a problem...right?"

"I need TWO pieces of identification, please," was her reply. I handed over my passport. She took both pieces of identification in hand, and went to another room, returning with a small ink pad in her hand. "You'll need to provide a thumbprint to get your money," she declared. "Really? After giving you two government-issued I.D.s you need a thumbprint as well?" I asked. "Yes, sir, we do." I'd come this far, so I thought what the heck, I'd oblige her.

"All seems in order," she said, looking over my driver's license, passport and thumbprint. "That will be $5." "Five dollars? For what?" I asked. "Well, this is written on a company checking account, and we charge $5 to cash those checks," she informed me...to which I replied, "What if it was written on a personal checking account?" "Those we cash for free," she stated. Feeling a bit of a smartass, I asked, "So, in other words, you really put the screws to your business customers - and their customers - don't you?"

"That's how we do business, sir," was the teller's explanation, "if you don't like it, you don't have to do business with us." I explained that I don't do business with Wells Fargo...and for good reason.

What a load of crap. At most banks Business accounts are already assessed the highest fees going on the front end. At Wells Fargo they seem to want to get it from both ends.

I know...that's two posts in a row where I come across as "old man grumpus". Guess it must be my old age starting to show. I'll do better next post. I promise.

Substantial interest penalty for not checking out humor-blogs.com

Flying Garbage Dump.

There was a time that I really liked to fly America West Airlines. They offered very reasonable fares, and direct service from my home base of San Luis Obispo to Phoenix (as opposed to LAX) and points beyond. The planes they operated and the folks that manned them were bright and cheery...the hallmark of an airline whose employees seemed to enjoy their jobs. It was an airline that was going places.

Unfortunately, where they went was into a merger with U.S. Airways.

I recently had the unpleasant need to fly U.S. Air on two separate round-trips. If there's a U.S. airline with dirtier planes and surlier flight crews, I sure as hell pity those passengers. I flew on six different U.S. Airways' planes, and every one of them looked as tattered and dirty as a college frat house after a week-long kegger. Threadbare upholstery, layers of dirt in every nook and cranny...just the kind of upkeep that screams: "You think this is bad, you should see the cockpit!"

On one outbound leg from Phoenix to Las Vegas we were advised by the captain that the internal power unit which assisted engine start was inoperative. "No problem, though," he assured us all, "we can use the ground unit." Two hours later and no engine start. Seems the ground APU was trashed, too. Like the unkempt interior of their planes, this was another sure sign that this airline is on the ropes financially, and corners are being cut.

And as for the flight attendants, gate staff and pilots I met? Let's just say there's no more of that eye of the tiger gleam in their eyes I'd see on America West flights. These days it's more like the eye of the dairy cow. The expression of a U.S. Airways' employee was either that of, 'don't fuck with me, I'm union' or 'just biding my time until something better opens up'.

I know, I know...bemoaning the state of U.S. Airways is like shooting fish in a barrel. It's too easy a target. But it was either bitching about them or raggin' on Elliot Spitzer...which is what every other blogger seems to be writing about right now.

Word to the wise: don't give U.S. Airways your business.

"Thanks for flying us...buh-bye now...and check humor-blogs.com out. Buh-BYE!"

Rear Window.

I was driving in Phoenix rush-hour traffic yesterday. Being in bumper-to-bumper isn't something that's an everyday occurrence for me. Frankly, it gets me jumpy...like Rodney Dangerfield jumpy. I admit it: I've become a 'Country Mouse'. No doubt living in a metropolitan city has some advantages...driving in traffic sure ain't one of them.

It was while in the midst of all this traffic that I took notice of a growing and disturbing trend: rear window obituaries.







No doubt you've seen them, too. Little memorials of a loved one, a family member, a beloved pet, stuck on the back of a car window.

Am I the only one who thinks this is more than a little weird?

Please don't get me wrong. Bereaving your loss is an important part of the healing process. But when did it become acceptable to share that loss with fellow drivers - complete strangers - bestowing upon it the 'dignity' we would normally reserve for a bumper sticker? A bumper sticker like, "How's My Driving? Call 1-800-BITE-ME"?

Perhaps it's just another sign of American's love affair with their cars, or of our 'on-the-go' mentality? Clearly it's an attempt on the part of the driver at memorializing a loved one. For me? I see it as one more sign that far too many of my fellow Americans have really bad taste.
Logging on to humor-blogs.com is infinitely more rewarding than sitting in rush-hour traffic.

Lucid? Eet Sertainely iz.

I've always had a soft spot for Pastis...you know, the anise-flavored apéritif from France? Call me a croissant-eater, but I love the stuff. Especially in the summertime. It's a civilized way to slide into an afternoon. Pastis had its beginnings in the criminalization of Absinthe, a similar-tasting, yet hallucinogenic beverage that was all the rage in late-1800/early-1900 Europe.

Some of the best painting and poetry of that age can be attributed to the fact that the responsible artist was under the influence of "The Green Fairy"...in much the same way LSD contributed to the rock music of the late 1960s. When he had accidentially 'invented' Champagne, French monk Dom Perignon is rumored to have shouted, "Come quick, my brothers...I am tasting stars!" I've no doubt that whatever monk invented Absinthe probably mumbled, "Come quick, my brothers...I can't find my legs." While Absinthe led to some amazing artistic advances*, it also destroyed a LOT of lives, and was outlawed in all but a handful of countries. Art has never been the same.

Being a big fan of Pastis, it was only natural that I had an interest in sampling this illicit beverage, Absinthe. Portugal - a country that never outlawed the drink - is also the world's leading producer of wine corks. In the wine business it is fairly well known that if you order your corks from a certain Portuguese company, they are only more than happy to smuggle a bottle or two of Absinthe in the corks they shipped to you. It was through this method that, 13 years ago, I finally was able to experience real Absinthe.

I was hosting a party at my house when a guest spotted the bottle. "Wow! Absinthe! Can I try some?" he asked. Ever the gracious host, I popped the cork. While I wasn't exactly in the mood to switch from wine to wormwood, I figured the bottle would soon be drained. It was now or never. I poured both myself and interested guests some Absinthe. Nope, I didn't burst out into a creative urge of impressionistic painting, nor did I pen some profound lines of verse. It just slowed me d-o-w-n. A lot. It was if my synapses were firing at glacial speed. The next day I received a call from a friend thanking me for a wonderful party. "It was great, but you seemed a little sad," she said. "Sad?" I replied, "No, I wasn't sad...I was on another planet."

It was an interesting feeling. Not something I'd want to do on a regular basis, but it was, shall I say, unique? But in this 'everything old is new again' world, Absinthe is back!

That's right. It appears as though 100 years is long enough to forget the past, and producers around the world - including the U.S. - are again distilling this mysterious green liquor (at least openly). And so it was that I was having lunch with Peter Kasperski (the restaurant übergod...see my last post) when he plied me with a post-repast shot of Lucid, a French-produced Absinthe.

Within a minute of imbibing, I began to feel as if a strong-handed Swede was giving me a deep-tissue shoulder massage. A general feeling of calm washed over me. By the time I had finished my beverage, I could feel my synapses shifting from high gear to low. "Oh no," I thought to myself, "this day is over." I could imagine visiting wine shops and restaurants with a catatonic blur on my face. Not a good look if you're trying to sell some wine.

Luckily, this feeling was short-lived. I was able to get up from the table, stand on my own two feet, and resume my workday.

Interesting stuff, that Lucid. Nice...but I'll stick with my Pastis, thank you very much. My favorites are Casanais and Pastis 51. Ricard will do in a pinch, too.

* "amazing artistic advances" Yes! my weekly alliterative quota has been met!

And while you're fulfilling your quota, go check out humor-blogs.com, won't you?

Shameless Music Plug.

Hello from Arizona!

I arrived into the Sky Harbor Airport late Monday night, and have been running around like the proverbial rat out of an aqueduct*. Yesterday I met up with one of America's most erudite restaurateurs (and all-around great guy, raconteur, wordsmith and one of my favorite people on the planet), Peter Kasperski. Peter is THE man. His restaurants, Cowboy Ciao, Sea Saw and Kazimierz World Wine Bar are wonderful.

Over lunch at his latest creation, Digestif, I asked Peter, "So, what music are you listening these days?" Word to the wise: when Peter Kasperski tells you what he's listening to...you best run out and get yourself a copy. That night in my hotel I logged on to iTunes and looked for one of Peter's stronger suggestions: James Hunter. I found one of his albums, "People Gonna Talk", and quickly downloaded it, and synced it on my iPhone. On my way to Tucson this morning, I finally listened to it.

Ohmygawd! Where in the hell have I been to have missed this guy?

Listening to James Hunter is eerie. On one level you listen to it and think, "Oh, yeah...I remember that song from the early sixties." But then it dawns on you, "Noooooo. It's familiar, but this is new."

To me, James Hunter is a soulful blend (channeling?) of Sam Cooke, Otis Redding and Jackie Wilson, with just the right touch of Johnny Rivers. Amazing, hip, cool sounds here, folks. This is a man who deserves a wider audience (and appreciation) than he currently has. Or maybe he has...but I just wasn't aware of it. Wouldn't be the first time.

So, do yourself a favor. Go out and buy (or download) a copy of James Hunter's "People Gonna Talk".

You'll be glad you did. Thank you, Peter Kasperski!

*I know. A Monty Python reference. Forgive me...I've been reading Michael Palin's Diaries: 1969-1979. A great read.

And ALL cool cats read humor-blogs.com while listening to James Hunter.

Trendspotting.

Most Sunday Mornings find my wife and I enjoying a Garretson family tradition. We wake up, fix each other a cup of coffee, and watch CBS Sunday Morning. It's one of the rare times in the Garretson household when the boys are quiet, and the TV isn't tuned to a kid's show. And there are those Sundays when Jack and Thom decide to still in (or remain preoccupied with their toys) that we can top off our unfettered enjoyment of Sunday Morning by following it up with - dare I say? - Face the Nation!

I know...my wife and I lead a wild life, huh?

This morning allowed us to enjoy the CBS double-header of both morning shows. It was while watching Face the Nation that I happened to take notice of what might be a newly-emerging trend. Host Bob Schieffer had as a guest New Mexico Governor Bill Richardson. What's old Bill been up to since he dropped out of the race on January 10th? Growing a beard, it would seem.

I'm happy that he's found such a worthwhile, time-consuming hobby...a hobby which seems to have become all the rage amongst Democratic has-been presidential contenders.


This recent Democratic trend began nearly seven years ago when former Senator/Vice President/presidential candidate and inconvenient truth-teller, Al Gore came out of hiding after the 2000 election.

I think Al carries the "Brawny Man" look off a helluva lot better than Richardson does. At the time he had adopted his facial hair, Gore was also a visiting professor at the Columbia Graduate School of Journalism...a role which literally begs for a beard. And a corduroy blazer with elbow patches. That and the fact that Gore hails from "Good 'Ol Rocky Top", a.k.a. the State of Tennessee. It's practically de rigeur to sport whiskers in those parts.

Perhaps the growing of a beard for these two are a means for them to express their laid back, devil-may-care attitude towards their very public defeats? Or is it that these ex-pres candidates are taking the figurative use of the word 'beard' to a literal conclusion? A beard can also mean "one who serves to divert suspicion or attention from another". Perhaps they're trying to divert attention from the ass-whoopin' they took at the polls?

This trend amongst Democratic also-rans could of course lead to a very disturbing development:
I dunno, though. On second thought, it looks pretty good on her.

And while you're waiting on your whiskers, check out humor-blogs.com.