Random Stuff LXXVII
I haven’t done one of these in a long time. The following vignettes go back all the way to April.
There are lots of people who consider themselves “old” who yet were born in the age of microwave popcorn. I maintain you can’t really consider yourself old unless you’ve cooked Jiffy Pop on the stove. It was a solemn ritual: the parents would deploy a pie-pan-shaped container of Jiffy Pop, give it to us kids, and leave us to it. Gleefully we cranked up the nearest heating element to “Nuclear,” and started shuffling the Jiffy Pop back and forth on top of it so that it would warm evenly, using the metal (!!) handle provided for this purpose. But this was forty years ago, so the stove took forever to heat up, and we invariably got bored waiting for it; we’d leave the Jiffy Pop on the stove and walk off to watch TV, vowing to be back “in just a minute.” And without fail, the black smoke pouring out of the kitchen would call us back to the kitchen. In this respect, Jiffy Pop is exactly the same as today’s microwave popcorn.
Only after we’d controlled the blaze would the grownups show up to find out what was going on. (And yet we survived.)
What impressed me about Jiffy Pop, though, was that foil top that billowed outward as the kernels popped. Pretty ingenious technology for the 1960s. I like to think it was a spinoff of the Apollo project.
My local 7-Eleven has a big sign in the window reading “Check Out Our Low Tobacco Prices!” Do they really think it’ll change anything? About 97% of people who get close enough to read the sign are going there to get tobacco in the first place. It’s about as big a game-changer as the DMV advertising “Check Out Our Long Lines!” That store makes about 60% of its non-lottery revenue from tobacco-the other 40% coming from malt liquor and Wild Irish Rose.
Whenever I go to a picnic I make sure to bring two kinds of snacks: a longtime favorite and something I’ve never had before that looks intriguing. That way, if I don’t like the second one I can just “forget” it and leave it there. My trial snack for Memorial Day was this month’s weird, experimental Doritos: Pizza Supreme. They were okay, but oregano and corn chip are two flavors that will never feel quite comfortable in each other’s presence.
What’s up with that ultra-stinky mulch that people make flowerbeds out of? It must be fantastic at encouraging plants to grow if expert gardeners are willing to put up with that stench. I just hope that before I retire, and am obliged to take up gardening as a hobby, some genius develops a substitute that has all the beneficial properties without smelling like lion shit.
A while back we received an invitation to a wedding that began “We request the honor of your presence….” At first glance I though it read “We request the honor of your pancreas….” As it happened, I was able to provide both. But I wouldn’t for just anybody.
There are lots of people who consider themselves “old” who yet were born in the age of microwave popcorn. I maintain you can’t really consider yourself old unless you’ve cooked Jiffy Pop on the stove. It was a solemn ritual: the parents would deploy a pie-pan-shaped container of Jiffy Pop, give it to us kids, and leave us to it. Gleefully we cranked up the nearest heating element to “Nuclear,” and started shuffling the Jiffy Pop back and forth on top of it so that it would warm evenly, using the metal (!!) handle provided for this purpose. But this was forty years ago, so the stove took forever to heat up, and we invariably got bored waiting for it; we’d leave the Jiffy Pop on the stove and walk off to watch TV, vowing to be back “in just a minute.” And without fail, the black smoke pouring out of the kitchen would call us back to the kitchen. In this respect, Jiffy Pop is exactly the same as today’s microwave popcorn.
Only after we’d controlled the blaze would the grownups show up to find out what was going on. (And yet we survived.)
What impressed me about Jiffy Pop, though, was that foil top that billowed outward as the kernels popped. Pretty ingenious technology for the 1960s. I like to think it was a spinoff of the Apollo project.
My local 7-Eleven has a big sign in the window reading “Check Out Our Low Tobacco Prices!” Do they really think it’ll change anything? About 97% of people who get close enough to read the sign are going there to get tobacco in the first place. It’s about as big a game-changer as the DMV advertising “Check Out Our Long Lines!” That store makes about 60% of its non-lottery revenue from tobacco-the other 40% coming from malt liquor and Wild Irish Rose.
Whenever I go to a picnic I make sure to bring two kinds of snacks: a longtime favorite and something I’ve never had before that looks intriguing. That way, if I don’t like the second one I can just “forget” it and leave it there. My trial snack for Memorial Day was this month’s weird, experimental Doritos: Pizza Supreme. They were okay, but oregano and corn chip are two flavors that will never feel quite comfortable in each other’s presence.
What’s up with that ultra-stinky mulch that people make flowerbeds out of? It must be fantastic at encouraging plants to grow if expert gardeners are willing to put up with that stench. I just hope that before I retire, and am obliged to take up gardening as a hobby, some genius develops a substitute that has all the beneficial properties without smelling like lion shit.
A while back we received an invitation to a wedding that began “We request the honor of your presence….” At first glance I though it read “We request the honor of your pancreas….” As it happened, I was able to provide both. But I wouldn’t for just anybody.