Sunday, February 22, 2009

Shopping at Costco takes some getting used to

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My parents gave my wife and I Costco Club memberships for Christmas last year. No doubt, it's been great. Yesterday we got a 3-pack of frozen pizzas, an 80-pack of fruit snacks, and a tub of salsa big enough to wade in--all at a reasonable price.

However, there are some things about Costco that I've found rather interesting...

On our first trip we turned in our gift card for a membership card. The process of applying for a membership card at Costco is similar to getting a drivers license at the DMV. You even have to get your photo taken for the card's picture ID. I tried to look cross-eyed for mine.

I'm also pretty sure they run a background check to make sure you're a white, SUV-driving suburbanite. At least that seems to be who fills the store.

My favorite part about going to Costco is trying to get past the membership card checkers at the entrance without showing them my card. I put on the facade of an angry man ready to snap at the next person that crosses my path, and they haven't stopped me thus far. My wife thinks my little game is stupid, though.

Before we had our Costco card I heard a lot about the free samples. However, I've been rather disappointed. When the samples are being prepared, nobody is in line. Instead they're all hovering close by, acting like they're interested in some nearby product. The only difference between them and the people in line at a soup kitchen, I guess, is the soup kitchen doesn't require a membership.

Once the samples are ready, though, you have to box-out soccer moms and shoulder-check CPAs just to get a chance at a 1-oz cup of granola. I guess knowing your cart full of groceries is going to run you 300 bucks makes you want to milk everything you can out of the free samples.

As a member of this wholesale club, I'm also entitled to bulk goods--right off the pallet. Of course Costco outfits you with a 100-gallon shopping cart that is willing to swallow up whatever you want throw in it; be it a 4-pound bag of Sunsweet prunes or a 96-pack of toilet paper... or both.

At checkout Costco is a mix between your neighborhood lemonade stand a 5-star hotel, in that they only take cash or Amex. They also don't bag your groceries, probably because they don't want to be held responsible for smashing your bread (I used to be a bagger at a grocery store, and I've seen nice old women start foaming at the mouth upon finding their bread smashed).

After checkout comes my second favorite part about Costco: trying to sneak past the Sharpie-toting receipt checkers guarding the exit. Then comes my least favorite: hauling unbagged groceries up the stairs to our 3rd-floor condo.

Sunday, February 15, 2009

My Utopia

I spend plenty of time in my car--mostly because of my commute. About a year ago I decided to start listening to books on CD, and it has generally made driving much more enjoyable.

So a few days ago I was at the library looking for another book on CD. The library was closing in a couple minutes, and I couldn't find anything interesting. On my last glance I saw Sir Thomas More's Utopia and decided to give it a whirl.

Bad mistake.

I'm sure it's a great literary work and all, but it's as boring as C-Span. The book, written in 1516, is essentially More's ramblings (in very old English, mind you) as he describes the political arrangements of the imaginary island of Utopia to some other boring guy.

If you consider getting stuck in traffic to be lame, getting stuck in traffic AND having listening to Utopia is like salt in the wound.

Anyway, More goes off on the way this Utopia, or perfect society, should punish criminals, conduct sheep farming, monitor excessive fashion, etc... His dissertation got me thinking of how my Utopia would pan out.

What would not exist in my Utopia:

www.theonion.com
1. People that wear bluetooth headsets all the time
2. The Clinton's
3. John Mayer

What would exist in my Utopia:

www.show.me.uk
1. Domesticated penguins
2. A college football playoff
3. Carbonated water running through all culinary water pipes (for some reason I've always wanted to take a shower in club soda)

You may not sign up for everything in my Utopia, but I promise it will be more interesting than Sir Thomas More's.

Sunday, February 8, 2009

Should we start looking for new heroes?

I played baseball for 6 consecutive years--mostly little league. I was flat out horrible at the sport, though. Memories of hitting RBIs or fielding grounders are lacking. In fact, my most poignant memories are bloopers:
  • Having the third-base coach yell at me for missing a chance to score a run because I was staring at my cleats instead of watching the hitter
  • Lying on the ground after missing an easy pop fly, then deciding to just remain on the ground for a while and act like I'd injured my shoulder
Indeed, I preferred chewing the rawhide off my glove in some abandoned corner of right field to manning some infield position. I think my coach invented the "rover" position just for me:

Coach: "Listen, I want you to go hold down that patch of weeds under the bleachers and watch for stray balls. If you get bored there, feel free to wander over to the ditch behind the field and catch garter snakes."

Me: "Sure coach, but will you send someone to the ditch to tell me when it's our turn to bat?"

Suffices to say that the Capri Suns at the end of each game is the only thing that kept me playing the sport. Unfortunately, that's not the only juice being served after baseball games these days, nor the only "juice" that keeps guys in the sport:

A new report says Alex Rodriguez tested positive for 'roids in 2003--the year he won the AL home run title and MVP award. So add A-Rod to the growing list of baseball stars that have been on the juice.

It makes me wonder how real their feats are. Would McGwire and Bonds have hit as many home runs if they weren't on the drug? Granted, no amount of steroids would have made me a successful ball player--a foundation of basic talent is certainly necessary--but I have to wonder how good these tainted athletes really are.

And then we've got the recent Michael Phelps drama. The only thing we're used to seeing him smoke is the competition, and I don't recall Mary Jane being the name of one of those guys on the French swim team.

In America we love our heroes. We want them to climb out of the gutter and into success, but we want them to be squeaky clean in doing so. Are our standards too tight? It was F. Scott Fitzgerald who wrote "Show me a hero and I will write you a tragedy."

Knowing darn well that our sports heroes will make a mistake, maybe we shouldn't judge them so much by what they do wrong, but by how they respond to what they do wrong.

Sunday, February 1, 2009

I try to eat well, but is it worth it?

Photo: http://scrapetv.com/News/Images/

A couple nights ago I decided to make myself a double cheeseburger. But when I opened the freezer, I realized we had both hamburger patties and Gardenburger patties.

I was faced with a health-vs-taste and fiber-vs-protein decision. What did I choose? Let's just say I sat the fence; my double cheeseburger had one hamburger patty and one Gardenburger patty.

It was probably the first time the American Beef Council and PETA had met between two buns.

That's kind of how my diet goes. I do a descent job of eating healthy, but I can never go all-in. For instance, I don't think I'd ever be able to cut ginger ale out of my diet. I know, I know, most people my age are chugging Mountain Dews and Red Bulls, but I think ginger ale is the best drink ever made. I need about one a day to keep my spirits up.

(Random triva: today's ginger ale was developed during the Prohibition and although it's not popular in vending machines, it's a best-seller in airlines and assisted living centers.)

At work is where my diet really fails. I bring a square meal for lunch, but throughout the day I consume a ton of empty calories. By the day's end, the trash can in my office is full of empty fruit-snack pouches, Hershey's Miniatures wrappers, and crumpled-up sketches of army tanks. The night custodian probably thinks an 8-year old works in my office.

Overall though, I feel I make pretty good choices. For example, I like to buy the Dryer's ice cream that has half the fat of regular ice cream, because I know I'll eat at least 2 servings worth at every sitting.

However, most people I know get upset with me whenever I say anything about how I should eat better. That's because I have the metabolism of a gerbil, and bulk clings to me like snow to a hot tin roof.

I don't count that as a blessing, though. My steadfast scrawniness is probably the only reason I'm not playing in the NFL right now. Plus, being funny is an up-hill battle for skinny guys, because fat guys are naturally funnier:



That begs the question, should I have gone for the double cheeseburger instead?