Tag: Humor

Bubonic Plague, Cynicism, Facts, Health, History, Humor, Media, Medicine, Pandemics, Smallpox, Social Commentary, Swine Flu

One Flu Over The Cuckoo’s Nest

Posted on by Bake My Fish

My wife and I were sitting on the couch the other evening watching TV. When I got up to get a soda, she noticed what appeared to be a blister on my butt. Immediately I screamed, “Oh no!! It’s Smallpox! It’s Bubonic Plague! I’m gonna die!!!” It turned out to be just a contact lens we thought was lost forever.

My panic attack was probably caused by just having watched Episode 6 of Season I of Deadwood, which was dedicated to the Smallpox epidemic that swept through the town during its infancy, not to mention a general fear of dying from one of the Pandemics we seem to hear so much about these days.

My intention is not to ridicule the seriousness of various ailments in our history. The Black Death killed more than 25,000,000 human beings throughout Europe from 1347 – 1352; an average of 5,000,000 a year, which was 1/3 of the population. One of every three people someone knew at the time keeled over. That’s kind of scary and kept the Cadaver Patrol quite busy. It is estimated that worldwide up to 50,000,000 people expired from the Spanish Flu of 1918. Probably more people died from that outbreak than smoking. The Asian Flu of 1957-58 caused the death of more than 70,000 in the US. Asian Flu is still around but hasn’t circulated in humans since 1968. That means if it rears its ugly head again, no one under 40 is immune. And we are living through the Covid-19 Coronavirus Pandemic, which as of February 28, 2023, has killed more than 6.8 million people. Pandemics are devastating. Many people die, and many more become seriously ill.

What should we do? Wash our hands more often? Kill our neighbors if they seem ill (or are mowing on our side)? Wear a surgical mask 24 hours a day? What? My suggestion is just “Go with the flow.”

I’m not picking up any dead birds on the street. And I’m not planning to pal around with any sick chickens (we still don’t know why they cross the road). Avian Flu is real, and the most troubling strains start within fowl. My precautions are warranted, because our feathered friends are here on earth to kill us all. Influenza A viruses use wild birds as their host. Unless the virus undergoes Antigenic Shift, it is harmless to humans. When it mutates, we are at risk.

 

How many of you get a flu shot every year? And how many of you who felt immune got sick, anyway? I’d venture to guess more than should, considering we tend to believe the inoculation is the shield. Is it really? The immunization contains three strains of flu to protect you. Influenza genes are composed of RNA, rather than DNA, and are more prone to mutation than DNA. When Antigenic Drift occurs after the vaccination, it is ineffective.

Personally, I don’t trust science over viruses. Germs, squiggly things and potentially deadly microorganisms have been around longer than humans, and their ability to adapt to hostile threats is far more superior than our own. Birds evolved from dinosaurs; they were here first. We can’t win.

I just hope Home Depot carries plastic bubbles big enough to cover my house.

With Love,

Bake My Fish

6
Food, Humor

The Beaten Path To Squid Roe

Posted on by Bake My Fish

In 1997, I discovered the Internet. Like most people at the time AOL was my Service Provider. I liked them. It was easy to navigate through their landscape. Kind of like Internet for Dummies. When I first signed up, they gave me the screen name Philro78@aol.com. Kind of boring, right? After becoming aware of the flexibility of screen name anointment, I began to have fun.

I signed on as BakeMyFish, OnlyOneCannoli, BeefTongue, LOLmyArse, XmasAtKmart, LightsOnNotHome, WeirdGeezer, BagODonuts, TonyToetag, and my favorite . . . BeatenSquid. Entering a chat room (I really enjoyed Men Wit Minds) usually produced a LOL or two from a few of the participants. Occasionally a LMAO, ROFL or ROFLMAO was typed at me. But the best was LOLOL!! because it made me feel like a comedian. Beaten Squid now occasionally hangs out on PokerStars.com, at the 5/10 Play Money tables.

Yesterday I stopped at an Asian Grocery Store in Ellicott City looking for a few items. My favorite station is the Deli with all the different pods of strange foods I know nothing about. Always curious and fairly willing to try practically anything, I asked the nice lady standing behind the counter which of the choices contained squid. She pointed to the extremely large bowls sitting on the table behind me, with cellophane somewhat covering them, flies hovering close by, and sticky tongs to be used for scooping. “The red one,” she uttered. Being polite, I noddingly pretended to understand and turned to see six giant bowls, three of which were “red ones.” My memory of squid is based on a knowledge of calamari, smoked, soup, dried, shredded, and sushi. I do not recall the “red one.”

Feeling foolish, I did the “Eeny, Meeny, Miney, Moe,” slopped up a healthy helping of the “red one” into the container and handed it to the Counter Lady to be weighed. She gave it back to me, and the label read, “Seasoned Squid Slice.” Whew! I did good. There was a 66.7% chance of being wrong.

Well . . . . this stuff is awesome. I guess it’s an appetizer. Sweet and spicy. Really tasty. Low in calories, high in protein; with reasonable sodium. My wife hated it. She thought it was too hot. More for me.

 

So, the next time you venture to your local Asian Grocery Store, go to the Deli counter and pick up some Seasoned Squid Slice. The dish looks something like red-glazed pasta. If in doubt, just ask for the “red one.”

With Love,

Beaten Squid
Guest Contributor

1
Food, Humor, Media

Mr. & Mrs. Popeye Celebrate 94th Wedding Anniversary

Posted on by Bake My Fish

Bridgette and Doyle Popeye will be celebrated their 94th wedding anniversary on November 28, 2022. Bridgette Squeaky Moonloop was born in Corncob, LA on February 29, 1908. Her husband, Doyle Isakiah Popeye was born in Vegetable Leaf, MO on February 29, 1904. They met at the National Society of Leap Year Babies celebration on February 29, 1928, and just nine months later they were man and wife. On January 17, 1929, their son, Aristotle Ezra Popeye, who became a comedic star using the name Popeye The Sailor Man, was born.

Vegetable Leaf, MO was known for the abundant spinach crops each and every year. During the 1930s and 40s, spinach was a slang word for nonsense (there is no significance for this story, just interesting). Doyle Popeye’s family had the largest spinach empire in the State; just over 27,000 acres of greenery.

One day in the summer of 1937 while visiting his grandparents, Aristotle was chasing the family’s pet rat, Phoebe, through the rows of crops. Becoming exhausted from the frivolity, he rested a moment and witnessed Phoebe gnawing on some spinach leaves. Phoebe perked up with enthusiasm, daring young Popeye to chase her. Aristotle, being not a particularly bright child, decided to chew on a leaf as well. His forearms grew immense, and he developed a hankering to smoke a corncob pipe. His increased speed allowed him to catch Phoebe and they snuggled for hours. Aristotle Ezra Popeye knew he had happened upon a miracle weed (not that kind of weed).

After years of spinach-induced mayhem, and kicking a lot of ass in High School, Aristotle figured he could parlay his strength into a career. He brought his idea for a hit series to famed Hollywood Producer, Bluto Tandrum, who insisted on a part in any of the movies, cartoons, or other media invented during that time. Since Bluto was a very large, imposing fellow, it made sense he assume the role of villain. Popeye agreed to Bluto’s demands, and a series was launched.

Another son, Doyle Isakiah Popeye, Jr. was born on January 30, 1930. Doyle, Jr. could not stomach spinach. His parents tried hiding it among other foods, like spinach dip, spinach ravioli, spinach juice (they called it lime), and other dishes. But he was not fooled. As a result, Doyle, Jr. refused to eat any green leafy vegetables, and it was he who coined the term vile weed to emphasize his hatred of spinach. Eventually, the term was used by Newman in a Seinfeld episode in reference to broccoli.

Although Doyle, Jr. never developed the large forearms and affinity for corncob pipes, he did understand there is a lot of money to be made in the entertainment business. Adopting the screen name, Gene Hackman, he became a famous, Oscar-winning performer. His early success was realized at the age of 41 in the film French Connection, in which he played Popeye Doyle, a cantankerous police detective, bent on destruction of the heroin trade through France to America. He was very tough in the Popeye tradition, even without the spinach.

Bridgette and Doyle Popeye have lived a long life. Both are centenarians and most vegetable authorities attribute their longevity to lifelong spinach consumption.

The Popeye name has been branded throughout the world in products such as Popeye’s Chicken and Popeye Spinach. There is even a club in Chester, Illinois devoted to the Popeye Picnic; an annual event, which includes music, food, games and such; all in the honor of Popeye. Somebody kill me . . . . now.

With Love,

Bake My Fish

6
Boomer, Humor

Mine Is Blue

Posted on by Bake My Fish

See the suitcase? That’s mine. Only blue. Don’t laugh. I’m serious. What do I know? I haven’t required a big suitcase in eight years. On my business trip to Florida in 2008, a larger than usual piece of luggage was necessary, so I ventured to the basement, cleaned up the familiar Samsonite and went about my business.

I like the handle and wheels, which makes it easy to lug. Nothing can penetrate it. And it makes a good seat if necessary. My wife added a red ribbon to the handle for easy identification among all the other blue luggage that was populating airports in the 90s. Finding my bag was not a problem in February of 2008.

When we arrived in Ft. Myers, one of the cooler guys in our group saw the case coming down the chute and commented (not knowing it was mine) about the old commercial with the gorilla jumping on the luggage. He was having quite a chuckle. Then I walked over to retrieve it and he laughed. We both did. It was really funny. I had no idea of the archaic nature of my satchel.

Further ridicule was set aside during the stay at the hotel, since the satchel was hidden in my room. Then came the day we had to leave. Everyone had their luggage in our meeting room due to checkout requirements. My trusty Samsonite looked like a broken thumb among all the other clothing luggers. It escaped my notice, because I was trying to learn my trade and was blubbering through role play. Then we had to go to the airport and Sammy would be alone among more common conveyances.

After returning to Baltimore, we had to pick up our bags. Not as many people noticed during the trip to Florida, but back in Baltimore, the Samsonite looked silly among all the other cases. The red ribbon had no place. “Poor Little Sammy” couldn’t be mistaken. There it was with the solid handle, waiting for my touch. I thought, “Maybe I can let it go around the carousel a bit and no one will notice (and honestly I didn’t want people to set their sights on the sissy ribbon).” But no, my friend had to yell, “Here comes your bag!” as he laughed his ass off.

The most biting rib was, “Bake, Bake, Bake, Bake. That’s the same suitcase my parents used to have.” That was particularly funny, and I laughed, while slinky, ferret-like snatching my case from the conveyor. “Yeah, it’s mine” I thought in a decidedly dorky moment, fumbling with the bag and trying to get it quickly out of sight.

Alright, so trendsetting is not my forte, but I really was naively unaware Sammy was ancient. Sure, the luggage in the stores all seemed to be the soft baggage. I was not devoting an inordinate amount of time to thinking about the change, because I wasn’t looking to make a purchase. The transition to soft suitcases (if that’s what you call them) caught me by surprise.

I’m sure the embarrassment of being the only turd in the entire airport of two cities to be toting around the Samsonite bag will eventually subside. It will not fester in my craw for eternity.

It’s OK. I enjoy a good laugh. Even at my expense. But we will be buying the soft stuff for the May trip.

With Love,

Bake My Fish

6
Cynicism, Food, Humor, Social Commentary

What’s with the Nuts?

Posted on by Bake My Fish

In February 2008 I took my first flight since 2000. That seems like a long time between launches, but I like to drive. It’s the Jim Ignatowski in me. I think during my last journey, the airlines still provided passengers with meals. This particular trip was from Baltimore to Florida and back, so not such a long flight. Food was not a big priority. The airline did supply us with a pack of dry roasted peanuts.

After receiving my mini-bag, I started reading the wrapper. Ingredients: dry roasted peanuts, salt. The Disclaimer – “Produced in a facility that processes peanuts and other nuts.” Their italics, not mine. They wanted to place serious emphasis on the statement that peanuts were produced in a facility that processes peanuts and other nuts.

The moment I read it I knew liability concerns are out of control. Either that, or they really think the general public consists of blithering idiots who don’t understand that peanuts are peanuts. I know some moron will cut his hedges with a lawnmower and be forced to sign his “x” with a nub. So, yeah, they need to put a warning on the lawnmowers for that guy. And some fool will use a bungee cord to smash his head on rocks lining the riverbank below the bridge he felt the need to use as a launching pad. Go ahead, print the distance limitations of the cord for that guy. To assume we can’t figure out that peanuts are produced in a peanut factory, brings visions of mindless zombies walking around with ice cream cones stuck to our foreheads.

I ate the handful of nut kernels and chuckled inside, showing the wrapper to those nearby. They thought it was silly, of course. The fallacy was exposed. Do you remember the Wendy’s “Parts is parts” commercial? Well, “Peanuts is peanuts” (I just wanna slap somebody).

Please understand, my whining has nothing to do with a like or dislike of a fine legume. I love peanuts, cashews, almonds, walnuts, pistachios, pecans, filberts, macadamias, etc. All nuts are OK by me. No, my complaint is “we have to stop treating ourselves like fools.”

Eventually there will be no name on any products, because the nutrition and warning labels will be the packaging. I know peanuts and other foods do cause allergic reactions. If you are allergic to peanuts, I am sorry. The alert really isn’t meant for you, because if you see a wrapper that reads dry roasted peanuts, you assume suicide is unpleasant.

If the dangerous stuff is hidden within another product and sensible people may not know, then it should be revealed in warnings. I can kind of figure out that milk is produced in a facility that processes milk products. Or that wheat crackers are produced in a facility that processes wheat products. So goes the peanut reference. There’s no need to spend the time or effort rubbing our noses in it. We get it. Nuts is nuts.

With Love,

Bake My Fish

2
Boomer, Facts, Food, Health, Humor, Social Commentary

Soy To The World

Posted on by Bake My Fish

I have really been enjoying soy products lately. Tonight my dinner was Peanut Butter Noodles made with soy pasta. Add a little spinach and/or Bok choy to the recipe, and you have a home run. Mmmm. You might be turning your nose up at the thought, but it was really good. Tasty.

I’m by no means a Vegan. Meat is a part of virtually all my meals. The occasional nibble of a hunk of jerky is within the realm of my dietary kingdom. I haven’t chomped on the side of a buffalo lately, but I do eat meat. My joy for soy is not because there is any particular concern over chewing on carcass. It’s just that soy products are so healthy and are now more like familiar food. And honestly, they please the Buds of Taste (sounds like a movie).

When I was a kid, one of my favorite journeys was to the Chinese restaurant with my sister and parents. We always got a kick out of my father eating the hot mustard and pretending the beads of sweat were not rolling off his brow. “Naaa, it’s not hot. It tastes good,” so he said. We knew better. His red face and fire-eyes were a dead giveaway. Dad was cool.

When the food came, the first thing I reached for was the soy sauce (bet you do, too). If I had known then my sauce would turn into Peanut Butter Noodles as an adult, I would have prepared myself for the evolution.

Soy crisps make a great substitute for potato chips. A dripping, sloppy cheeseburger; with a side of Roasted Garlic Soy Crisps, is healthier than a dripping, sloppy cheeseburger; with a side of dark russet oil chips; probably about 70 calories.

It seems with all the diets there is an emphasis on high protein. Soy contains hearty amounts. The standard grocery chains are carrying more and more diverse soy products. You don’t necessarily have to go to the natural food markets and pay an exorbitant price for healthy food. It has always bothered me that to eat healthy, you have to pay way too much. It’s as though you need to take out a loan to live. Why is that? I know supply and demand economics is at work here, but is it really fair?

When I saw soy noodles on the shelf it was exciting. I love pasta, and this gives me a chance to eat it and get the near equivalent of the protein contained in meat. Another really good dish, Spaghetti Aglio e Olio, is great using soy pasta. The recipe calls for minced garlic, but if you slice it real thin and brown it in olive oil, it’s better. Maybe use a little more because the chunks will be bigger than minced garlic, which emits more flavor than sliced.

As a society we have grown bigger and broader. The clothing industry and models of the clothes seem to be telling us we shouldn’t be allowing this to happen. Yet, we continue to expand. Obesity is a major concern, and our health is challenged by our abnormal growth. “Fat is not where it’s at.” We do little to counter the expansion of our torsos. Food made with soy will help. And for the tree hugging, animal saving public, it can be the answer.

Soy ice cream is terrific. We can feed our fat fetish, while saving our hearts. It seems to me that is a good way to go.

With Love,

Bake My Fish

1
Boomer, Facts, History, Humor, Larry David, Media, Seinfeld

Seinfeld Gang, Come On Down!!

Posted on by Bake My Fish

Last time we talked, I was lamenting about the Beatles not being Boomers. Eventually, I’ll get over it. After all, I’m not dancing in the streets to Revolution. There’s this thought that hanging my hat on the memory of the best musical group in the History of Forever might get me a seat on the bus to Boomer Heaven, but I can live with the notion there is not such a place. My salvation is realized in the fact all the actors in the Seinfeld series are Boomers. Alright!! Life can go on. Hello, Newman.

I don’t want to drone on about the popularity of Seinfeld. Personally, I can’t get enough. So, what if I have watched all the episodes a zillion times? Every rerun cracks me up. The diner scenes still make me laugh. Big salad, indeed. Is it just me, or is Elaine hot? Even today, at 62? It must be the French part of her that gets me. That baguette under her arm makes me crazy. And then there’s the dancing. Go, Elaine. You rock!

Every episode is funny. My wife and sister-in-law love the “Low Talker/Puffy Shirt” one. My nephew thinks the “Chinese Restaurant” episode is great. The only thing I liked about the restaurant scene was when the Maytla Dee shouted, “Caultlight!” I thought of Hoss (Boomer reference).

Larry David is a genius. He and Jerry Seinfeld created the show, and since it’s conclusion, Larry has gone on with Curb Your Enthusiasm, which is a lot like Seinfeld, without the censorship. Hilarious. I really like that Larry David graduated from the University of Maryland. A terrific school and my Alma Mater. He’s a Yankees fan, which might make some Orioles fans crazy. Regardless, he has a great mind. Do you remember the episode where Elaine was wearing the Orioles hat, while sitting in seats provided by George Steinbrenner? That was a riot. Especially when Kramer was hit in the head by the foul ball.

Cosmo Kramer flies into the room and we all laugh. The difficulties with his stand-up act notwithstanding, he was the show. The only episode in which he was not included was the Chinese Restaurant scene. That explains why it’s at the bottom of my list.

The neurosis of George Louis Costanza was Larry David personified. George is so annoying you love him. He always seemed a donut-hole away from exploding. It was particularly grating during the last season, when almost every episode ended with George screaming in the air, and the camera panning away from him in a Heavenly direction. The technique was overused and got on my nerves.

This Boomer Club I have recently been touting is still accepting applications. We’re not that strict and will allow WWII-era children, as well as Desert Storm babies. I feel good we have broadened acceptance.

Sounds like America.

With Love,

Bake My Fish

P.S. Check out the Seinfeld Video section in the sidebar.

0
Beatles, Boomer, Facts, History, Humor, Media, Rock and Roll

The Beatles Are/Were Not Boomers. Who Knew?

Posted on by Bake My Fish

I was surfing through Google Images, looking for a picture of Linda McCartney to add to my slide show Some Famous Boomers Who Have Passed. Then I searched her history on the Web to discover she was born in 1941. Officially, being born before 1946 does not qualify as a Boomer. That seems odd to me. Then I searched for the boys in the band, and learned none of them are, either. Even Stuart Sutcliffe and Pete Best. All of those left are “Old Dudes.” Not groovy.

My first dance (with someone other than myself) was to I Want to Hold Your Hand. It seemed to me the guys singing it were in sync with me. Then She Loves You became my favorite, and I was in Heaven. At that time, I thought, “These guys are really hip.” Now realizing they are much older than me, the magic has waned.

Boomers are the 60s. The Beatles are, too. Why then is there some official definition of who is or is not a Boomer? I thought of John, Paul, George and Ringo as “my guys.” Aside from genealogy, we are the same. Now, I can’t be seen with them.

My nephews, aged 31 and 30, are Beatles fans. They are 40 years my junior, and I am younger than any member of the band. Does this mean I should be doing the Charleston at dance clubs in tribute to music forty years prior?

The Beatles really were catalysts in the Hippie Movement; nevertheless, they were born too early to be considered Boomers. Weird. Most of the drivel in the 70s, like Maharishis and Hare Krishnas, were directly influenced by the inertial karma of the Beatles. Yet, they are not allowed in the Boomer Club. Paul, we love you and you know you should be glad. But please stand behind the rope. You’re not on the list.

Recognized as the first born among official Boomers is Kathleen Casey-Kirschling. She just filed for Social Security benefits on October 15, 2007. The assault on your tax dollars has begun. I’m proud to run point for the Boomer Army.

And here’s another bit of Bummer Information for you. The Monkees don’t qualify, either. And guess who else (this’ll kill ya)? Gilligan.

Welcome to our club.

With Love,

Bake My Fish

0
Facts, Food, Health, History, Humor, Roman Empire, Rome, Social Commentary

Rome Wasn’t Filth in the Day

Posted on by Bake My Fish

Our bathroom habits are routine. We have privacy whenever and wherever we want. There is never a necessity, other than a serious emergency, for us to use an outside facility. During the realm of the Roman Empire your routine would have been challenged. Sitting on the bowl in the wide open, waving at Julius Caesar (he made such a great salad) during a Triumph through The Aventine, would be a stunning scene in today’s world. Considering the Roman diet was decidedly higher in grains and fiber than ours, these holes would have been put to good use.

I can’t imagine sitting on a pot with the person next to me, scrunch-faced and chatting as if we’re waiting for a bus. No walls, no barrier, just our bloomers around our ankles, shooting the breeze. It’s tough enough remaining quiet when there are stalls. In the open, you can’t be mum. The guy sitting on the adjacent hole may want to talk. You can’t be rude and avoid the conversation. Otherwise, you will be considered a jerk. I suppose it was fairly awkward reading slate tablets, rather than the newspaper or a magazine, but without the solitude, you had to lay down the newsoid and listen.

I’ve written about the over and under TP roll. Sitting in the open during number two, beats any lack of proper materials or the direction of the pull. Are the mores of today any better for us than during the days of open potties? We think it’s nasty, but for the Romans it was the norm. Louise Pasteur wasn’t around, so they didn’t really know about bacteria and stuff. Our exposed genitalia wasn’t considered as naughty and disgusting as now. We were humans, with normal needs. Society didn’t really care that we emitted waste.

Fortunately, the lack of stalls eliminated most of the bathroom graffiti. It is important to note; however, that the series of privy poems about The Young Man from Nantucket or Azores, originated during the reign of Caligula. The felt-tipped pen wasn’t invented before this period. Potty Laureates had to be creative.

A friend came into my office the other day to discuss “Urinal Protocol.” I do agree with him that indeed we have developed habits. If a man walks into an empty bathroom, which receptacle does he use? If there is more than one user, with more than one trap, where do you line up? In Ancient Rome it was no problem. For us it is perplexing.

Imagine a day at the Coliseum during a Gladiator/Wild Beast massacre with 50,000 spectators drinking wine, eating whole grain bread smothered in Garum, a hunk of cheese, and some kind of carcass from the stadium vendors; all of which were very likely bacterial-infested. I would guess they might want to visit the facilities on occasion. Now, I could probably live with the idea of sharing a booth with another person, given the culture of the time. But 50,000? I’m glad to have been born a Boomer.

With Love,

Bake My Fish

1
Boomer, Edgar Allan Poe, Facts, History, Humor, Media, Poe Toaster, Social Commentary

No Bank Ever Gave Me a Poe Toaster

Posted on by Bake My Fish

There is this mysterious character in Baltimore dubbed Poe Toaster. Every January 19th, which is the anniversary of the birth of Edgar Allan Poe, some guy leaves three roses and well-branded cognac at Edgar’s grave. Nice tribute. Please leave barbecue pork rinds and Evan Williams bourbon in the field where my ashes will be strewn. Don’t forget napkins. Also, leave a DVD player for any movies I might want to watch in the hereafter.

I love Poe Toaster. What a cool idea. This started in 1949, has always been a media event, and the guy never dies. I’ll bet there are more than one. Probably an underground society of Poe Toasters plotting to take over the world and force us all to live under a swinging pendulum.

During my youth (I always dwell on that) Vincent Price was my hero. He was in all the Poe-based flicks. Vincent was scary. Everything I ever read or heard about him as a real person, is that he was a super nice fellow; the kind of guy who would fix your flat tire if he happened upon you in dire need. Go, Vincent! My kind of people. Nevertheless, he was freaky.

I find Edgar Allan Poe fascinating. In today’s world, he would be shunned. An opium eater, drunk most of the time, and sleeping in alleyways. The legend is that his last bar stop before his mysterious death was at The Horse You Came in On which wasn’t given that name until 1965, almost 200 years after it was establish in 1775. Every time I get down to Fells Point, I make sure to have a drink at the Horse. Despite his constant inebriation Poe was a gifted author. Don’t get me wrong, I love Eddie. And to this day, someone leaves a tribute at his grave. Live poetry.

It’s not a Baltimore thing. I just like him. E. A. Poe would have been viable in any city of the world. His talent is universal. Baltimore is honored to claim him as their own. One of his best characters, The Raven, became the local NFL franchise’s mascot. You can’t be given any better tribute than to have a billion-dollar sports franchise named after a subject of your poem. Edgar lives on. I’m just glad they didn’t name the team “The Potters” because the logo on the helmet would be kind of lame.

In my travels, I often drove past the grave of Edgar Allan Poe. Sitting at the light, I glance over just to look. I never see anything sitting on the grave. So, I wonder. What happened to the cognac? You know someone is drinking it. Savoring the beverage left for Edgar. It’s good stuff. Well-liked by those who partake of cognac. Well? Who’s drinking it? Huh? Someone is. I think it warrants investigation.

With Love,

Bake My Fish

4
Humor

Roll One For Me

Posted on by Bake My Fish

Few things are as thrilling in an otherwise exciting life, as to walk into my bathroom and see a short roll on the wall. This presents an opportunity to reload with the pull coming from under, rather than over. I usually exhaust the short roll, whether or not it’s ready, simply to enjoy a victory in the domestic competition of Roll Reversal.

Now, it is most likely understood that to install the roll with the pull on the top is a thriftier method than pulling it from below. I am sure there is some statistical evidence to prove it. When pulling a strand from above, it tends to break off too soon. From below, I get as many sheets as desired without being hindered by gravity. A thick barrier is my preference, so the monetary waste is not a concern. Trying to save on paper is outweighed by the need not to be hygienically-challenged.

With regard to paper towels, there seems to be the same thinking. She likes over, I like under; causing me to spend more time waiting for the slight turn of her head, giving me the chance to redirect the next roll. It may seem insignificant to you, but to me it is important. The pull of the roll makes all the difference. I must win. But, the battle never ends. There is no winner. This conflict probably takes place within numerous households all over the world.

Differences in toothpaste tube-squeezing are not as pronounced as the installation of the roll. I like to squeeze the tube from below, forcing the paste toward the top, and she likes to squeeze it from the top, forming the tube into some gnarling, twisted plastic gob, leaking stuff from all sides. That waste offsets my paper abuse. Even so, she’s still winning. The amount of paper used during the lifetime of a tube of toothpaste, is far more significant. I am causing more of a financial burden than she.

When visiting family or friends, I never take it upon myself to change the direction of their rolls; usually refraining from using their facilities, unless there is no alternative. If the unwelcome opportunity presents itself and a roll is encountered going in an anti-direction, I just let it go. Changing it is not my place. It’s not my home. They can continue the economic pull as long as they want. Spend the savings on a softer seat.

Public restrooms are the pits. The worst are those that offer a few sheets here and there, in those little, silver dispensers that make you pull out a square at a time. The management of whatever stall you are using, really doesn’t care about your comfort as much as they care about paper savings. Avoid them, especially the ritzy office buildings in cities. Those building owners have their own bathrooms, and really don’t understand the burden. It’s best to just buy a large cork and avoid public restrooms altogether.

If you are like me and feel the need to redirect a particular roll at any particular time, try to be discreet. The person causing your irritation may be serious about the pull of their roll. Being caught changing it could prove embarrassing and lead to difficulties in a relationship. Make sure you whistle or otherwise make a great deal of noise during the switch. They may suspect your intentions and be listening for the click of the dispenser.

Sorry, I have to stop now. I think she hears my typing, and may know the transfer is being made. I don’t need to bicker about the over or under.

With Love,

Bake My Fish

4
Boomer, Facts, Humor, Media, Medicine, NFL, Social Commentary, Sports

What’s That In Your Pocket?

Posted on by Bake My Fish

Now, don’t snicker when you read this. I’m here to discuss a serious matter. It’s not the end of the world, but to some men it may seem that way. Macho no mo’ is not a reason to jump off a bridge or drive your car into a wall. There is hope. You can get assistance from several sources. Medication is available; although it’s quite expensive. And, not covered by Health Care plans. They consider it a luxury drug, meant to solve a luxury-less problem; unnecessary in the eyes of those determining what to allow. They’re probably not getting any, so it doesn’t matter to them. Spending all their waking moments finding ways to deny coverage leaves little time for romance.

Research indicates there are several causes of libido malfunction: smoking; diabetes; high cholesterol; too much alcohol (when was the last time you were drunk and the man?); high blood pressure; venous leak; depression; and a tiny wee wee. There are several other reasons, and most likely some yet to be discovered. Basically, any condition causing restricted blood flow can be the culprit. After all, it’s an organ, not a bone.

Much money is being made providing chemical solutions to men suffering from this traumatic experience. The drug companies developed at least three pills, and many herbal enhancements to keep the motor running. There are creams, devices, implants, and other remedies to make it possible for afflicted males to enjoy continued activity with the “love of their life.”

The most interesting, yet frightening remedy is a potential cure based on the venom of an aggressive and extremely deadly creature . . . . the Brazilian wandering spider. Now, I don’t know about you, but it seems to me to inject poison or any other potentially paralyzing agent into the body for the sake of six or seven minutes of “Oooo, baby, baby” is a bit risky. Pass on the spider toxin. Temporary rigidity isn’t worth chancing permanent paralysis.

If you are having difficulties, and the woman in your life is becoming frustrated with your inability to be her ideal mate, see your doctor or therapist for relief. They’ll gladly give you samples of medication and a prescription. Don’t be embarrassed to ask. The pharmaceutical companies give the samples to the doctor to be handed out. They want you to be hooked on their new miracle drugs. No one is complaining about the cost of the product, because they don’t want to admit they’re users. It’s like the first time a guy thinks of a vasectomy. The thought goes through his head, “Will this be the end? Will I be impotent from this procedure?” Guys have difficulty thinking they are less than virile. Either you take something or continue making love with a rope.

If you need it, just ask the physician. Maybe they’ll even give you a badge to wear proudly to proclaim your allegiance to taking care of business. It is estimated that 30 million men suffer from this syndrome. During football season it grows to about 40 million. The increase is most likely caused by excess alcohol, overeating, lack of attention, and many other conditions resulting from six months of College and NFL football TV viewing (including preseason games).

Well, I gotta run. The game’s on, and I need to pour a cocktail so I can take this little blue pill. She’s waiting for me, and both should have kicked-in by halftime.

With Love,

Bake My Fish

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Boomer, Bowling, Facts, History, Humor, Sports

Bowled Over By Fashion

Posted on by Bake My Fish

When I was a kid Saturday was the greatest day of the week. The Capitol Heights Seat Pleasant Boys Club had Duckpin Bowling Leagues and heading to the lanes was a perpetually anticipated trip. If you are reading this in some areas of the country, Duckpin Bowling is foreign. To learn more, go to Duckin‘ and check it out. The game is fun; but I really like the shirts.

Some of you may not think of a person in a bowling shirt as a Paragon of Fashion. Well, you’re wrong. The shirts have a distinctive look, resembling Italian knits or Banlon, without the exposed underarm stitching. Typically, in two colors, emphasizing wide stripes, but often times multi-colored; they invariably have the embroidered name over the left nipple. Mine always read Bake or Mr. Fish, depending on whether or not the league was a “first name basis” or more formal institution.

Great thinking goes into the design. Consideration has to be given to comfort, style, fabric breathing, ability to withstand numerous wears, metamorphosing of the body caused by mass consumption of beer, and perspiration absorption (I don’t think they use aluminum like in deodorant).

This distinctive apparel can be recognized from miles away. Any criminal act while wearing a bowling shirt could lead to swift capture. Witnesses will surely recall either the stitched name, or the design and color. There can’t be more than three people in the immediate vicinity of the crime wearing such apparel, narrowing down the suspects. The point is, don’t commit a felony in Bowlwear. You will not escape.

To test the durability of a shirt in bowling shirt competitions, the contestants submit the entry to the committee three weeks prior to the judging. The item is subjected to 500 hours of exposure to bowling conditions. On the day of the competition, the shirts are tested for fraying, and that with the least, wins the award. Tie Dye and Best Color Combination are obvious. At the Mob Musuem in Las Vegas, Nevada they sell bowling shirts for $80.00.

Although one of Baltimore’s best duckpin enthusiasts, Babe Ruth, was not considered to have made much of a fashion statement, his subsequent career in Major League Baseball overcame his lack of bowling attire style.

One day the world will appreciate Bowlwear. It will take all of us, working together, to make it happen. I urge you to stop by your local bowling alley and survey what is being worn. Stop anyone who is not wearing bowl-worthy tops and tell that person there is a Bowlwear movement in progress and win them over. This will work. I assure you. There will be Pradaesque bowling shirts.

With Love,

Bake My Fish

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Boomer, Coffee, Energy Drinks, Facts, Food, History, Humor, Social Commentary, Starbucks

Caffeinated Nation – Pick Your Buzz

Posted on by Bake My Fish

Mmmmm. Coffee. Love it. Can’t get enough. I took a thermos to work; about five cups of my favorite dark roast. If I have any leftover (it’s good for 24 hours), I take it home and make iced coffee.

Some years ago, coffee was considered evil. Caffeine killed. That’s what all the research said. Now we crawl on our knees for the next jolt. Bzzzz. Zzzzttt.

Coffee is the liquid fuel I prefer. My favorite blend is Espresso with French Roast (kind of the same thing). Then there is this Italian Roast branded by the local grocery store, but I think it’s the same as Espresso. The strength bar at the self-help coffee station grades it to the far right, for “most intense.” Dark stuff. Kill me with flavor. I’ll live with the indigestion. The buzz is the thing. Give me the coffee zing.

Can you sling a cat through the air and not hit a coffee shop or stand? They’re everywhere. Name a mall or shopping center, and if someone asks, “Is there a coffee shop?” you can say, “Hell yeah, there are three.” Forget about the muffins and scones, because within pastries lies evil. Guzzle the coffee. Live on the upswing. Caffeine is your friend.

In 1988, we visited Seattle for my daughter’s High School graduation. At that time, they had push carts on nearly every street corner selling coffee. Every morning I walked across the street from our hotel to get coffee for the morning wake up. There were shops, paying hard rent, around every corner, too. This visit was our discovery of Starbucks. The first Starbucks was opened in 1971 across from Pike Place Market; probably the coolest market in the country (I sat in the stool at the Athenian Inn used by Tom Hanks during the filming of Sleepless in Seattle). Starbucks had recently announced a plan to expand, and did they ever? Their 2006 revenue was $7,786,000,000. You read that right. 7.786 billion. Selling coffee. Juan Valdez is rolling in his grave.

A few years ago, I was having coffee with a friend of mine. He drinks his black, and I add dairy and sweetener. In this kind of sinister, yet comical way, he said, “I drink coffee. You drink a coffee beverage.” I laughed, but he made a good point. It seems most people like their coffee blended with something sweet and creamy. Frappuccino, Cappuccino, Crapuccino. Name it. Someone likes it.

Since coffee has now been embraced as a good thing, we have the invasion of energy drinks. Love them, too. I know . . . Mountain Dew (diet) and all the other buzz-worthy drinks are considered a young indulgence, but I can’t help myself. My favorite drink is my favorite for three reasons: I get a lot for the same price as smaller versions, it’s sugar free, and low in sodium. OK, analyze that. I’m worried about the sodium because of blood pressure, but the purpose of energy drinks is to increase blood pressure. If you see me out and about and you know CPR, please stand near. I’ll gargle just in case.

A person can spend hours wading through the choice of energy drinks available at any given store. Many of them come in a sugar-free diet variety. Your brain can explode from the intensity of the drink, but you will be thin in the Emergency Room. At least you’ll look good. That’s what we want. Always to look good. And to buzz through life.

I like that we are lenient regarding the amount of ingredients allowed in a drink. Let us adults make our own choices. Monitoring the use by children is probably a good idea, but if we want to cause self-induced aneurysms, allow it. Don’t hold my hand and tell me what I can and can’t drink. If I want to go to my grave with a Jolt Ultra in my coffin, don’t tell me I can’t.

But don’t you think it is a little odd that some of the drinks emphasize the evil intent? Maybe we should be cautious, but we won’t. They go too well with vodka.

With Love,

Bake My Fish

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