With four cats, I have several bowls of kibble out and available, yet the cats will hunt me down to tell me, “I’m hungry. What do we have to eat?”
What they really mean is, “Give me a treat.”
420, Come & Gone
420 came and went. We had a lot of ads for marijuana conventions and sellers on the radio, but little else. Nobody had a parade around here. Hallmark didn’t put out any cards, and very few places had specials.
Which is really sad and short-sighted. Do restaurants not know that people smoking grass often want a munchie? They should have been all over that.
Don’t know where Hallmark Cards and the other card producers were for Weed Day, eituer. These companies have impressive holiday/recipient card matrixes. Need a card? What’s the occasion? How much do you want to spend? Do you want it to be funny or religious? Who is the recipient? Is it for you father, mother, sister, brother, uncle, aunt, or a step parent? Is it to a child? What age? The card is available!
But not for Weed Day. I couldn’t find a single card to send mom. As far as I know, only Denver really seemed to get behind it. Which is why I’m so ashamed of Ashland. You’d think this place, which celebrates beer, wine, and food, along with chocolate, movies, plays, and the outdoors, would have had some kind of celebratory marketing campaign.
Even as I write, though, I’m sure marketing mavericks across America are toking while thinking, “How did I miss that opportunity?” I’m sure they’ll fix it soon, I mean, look how quietly the SuperBowl started, and what it’s since become.
Oh, wow, now I see it: the Marijuana Bowl. The halftime show can be Jim Stafford singing “Wildwood Weed.”
Money
I know money can’t buy happiness, but sometimes it buys a pretty satisfying meal – like pizza and beer.
Wednesday’s Theme Music
Ever get a craving, and the craving stays with you, getting larger and more intense, demanding that you address it? I have one of those going on right now. It’s all about cheeseburgers.
Love a good cheeseburger. The ones that Miss Lee made in Osan City were pretty good for a dollar, when you’ve been out on the town and are heading back to the base to crash. Better were the ones we had at the original Fuddruckers. My grandmother was visiting, and we decided to take her. Once we got there, we were a bit hesitant because the place looked like a dive. But Grandma insisted, so we ate there, even though the burgers were pricier than what we were used to. They were revealed to be amazing burgers.
Next on my list of burgers that I enjoyed was at a place called Clark’s Mountain Broiler in Mountain View, California. They were most excellent. At almost three hundred miles, it’s a little far to drive for one today. So is the In ‘n Out Burger in Medford. Besides that, the lines there are ridiculous. If I were to drive to get a burger, I’d probably go to the Next Level Burger in Bend. The drive is shorter, easier, and more relaxing than the one to Clarke’s. NLB’s burger is plant-based, but it’s astonishingly good, and their fries were awesome.
But I’m not driving for a burger. Louie’s in downtown Ashland has a good burger, as does Flips, both of which can be changed into a cheeseburger (it’s almost magic!). That craving, though, drives me to share a song that’s been rolling around in my head for the last few days.
Hit it, Jimmy.
Scandalous
He’s wearing running shoes – with dress socks *gasp* – and an active-wear shirt when all he’s doing are the two double-yous – walking and writing. That’s not what a active-wear attire is for. What’s next, white shoes before Memorial Day and cake for breakfast?
The world is in a shocking state of decay.
Size Matters
You ever buy a package of food, and read their claim on the package that it contains two point five servings in it? So you look at it, and think, “No way. That barely has enough in it for me.” You ever do that?
Yeah, what kind of con are they trying to pull on us?
The Sniff Test
Have you ever been about to eat something when your cat comes up to smell it, so you let them sniff it, and they draw back with a dismayed look, and then seem to look disappointed that you’re still going to eat this food that smells bad to them?
No? Is it just me, then?
Pie Connection
You ever think about the genetic connections, moments of thought and experience, and the actions taken and not taken, the words said and heard, that allow you to arrive at the moment that a piece of pie comes, and you sit up with excitement and anticipation, and say, “Oh, boy, pie!”?
Naw, me neither.
The Sisters Dream
I dreamed of my sisters, sisters-in-law, and their daughters. My wife was also present, but ‘off-stage’, in the other room. Sometimes I heard her, but I never saw her. Only one male was in it; he didn’t enter until the end.
I was in someone’s house. I don’t know whose house. Toward the dream’s beginning, one sister-in-law entered. She and I hugged. She said, “How long until December?”
There was a calendar on the wall beside us. Indicating it, I said, “You’re behind. It’s already December. It’s almost the middle of December.”
She and I joined the others by a coffee table. Everyone was happy to see me, and I was happy to see them, but I knew it was a dream, and I was trying to understand why they were there, and what was going on. Bowls of finger-food and plates of sandwiches filled the coffee table. My two youngest sisters were beside it. The youngest was talking and laughing with several nieces, while the next oldest sister talked to me about the food and asked me what I wanted. I saw my older sister and my other sister in another part of the room. Multiple overlapping conversations were taking place, and there was a lot of laughter. I couldn’t hear much of what was being said. My sister-in-law sat close to me, trying to talk to me, but my sister was also talking to me, leaving me unable to answer either.
Taking a break from them, I went into another room. My Dad was in there, doing business. I was trying to understand what his business was, and what was he doing. Although I asked these questions, I couldn’t comprehend his responses. Eventually, I went back into the other room to find something to eat.
Which is where memory of the dream fades.
Michael Seidel, writer 