The Hellhole

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

A thread on a forum I frequent reminded me of my experience with Radish Man many years ago.  Have I ever told you guys about Radish Man?  If I have, it's probably been long enough that you don't remember either. One day I was shopping at one of the warehouse stores and got in line to check out.  In front of me was an older gentleman who was buying one thing and one thing only:  radishes.  But he was buying what must have been every single radish in the store - seriously, the belt was completely full of radishes - radishes and nothing else, not even a keg of ranch dressing.

Of course I didn't say anything to him because I think it's rude to comment on the purchases of strangers, except maybe to ask where they found a particular item, but I wondered then, and still wonder, when Radish Man happens to cross my mind, what on earth someone does with that many radishes.  If I saw someone buying copious amounts of fruit, I'd think jam or jelly making, or maybe canning.  But this was a metric shit-ton of radishes; even if you were making crudite platters for 1,000 people, you wouldn't need anywhere near the amount of radishes that he was buying.  BTW, these were the tiny, round, red radish variety, so he wasn't making horseradish sauce; that's a different radish.  While it's certainly possible for someone to have a deep and abiding fondness for radishes, it seems like so many would go bad before he could consume them, as much as he was buying.

Seriously, Radish Man - what were you going to do with that many crates of radishes???

Sunday, February 01, 2015

Rush is touring this year and it's rumored that it may be their last big tour.  Matt, Bo and I are huge Rush fans and have been for many many years, since before we were teenagers.  Because of varying circumstances through the years, we have never been able to go to a Rush concert together, all three of us.  A couple of times we were all at the same show, but not sitting together.   In 2012,  Matt and I went to Clockwork Angels together, but Bo had a gig himself and couldn't attend.  This time, though, we are all free of extraneous obligations and all have enough money for tickets, so THIS TIME, we all get to go together!

Except TicketMaster had to ruin things.  I was online, logged in to my account well before the 10:00 AM start time of the sale.  I have a TicketMaster account tied to a valid credit card with plenty of credit so it should have been a simple matter of clicking 6, clicking best available and done.  Except.  This is the email I just sent TicketMaster, which you have to read in this guy's voice, and if you don't understand why that's necessary, I don't know how to help you:

I don't have a question; I want you to know that I hate you.  My brothers and I have been Rush fans since before we were even teenagers but because of various circumstances, we have rarely been able to attend a Rush show together.  This time we were going to, but thanks to your horrible website and both your visual and audio captchas rejecting me EIGHT times, even though I am obviously not a bot, I was not able to buy tickets until almost 10:20 and now we have utterly crap seats.  You have ruined for us what is rumored to be Rush's last big tour.  I will not close by threatening never to use Ticketmaster again; we both know that I will when some band that I cannot bear to miss goes on tour.  But I will not like it; I hate you and your terrible purchasing process.  Worst.  Ticket-buying. Experience. Ever.

I know they won't care, but it made me feel better.  TicketMaster.  I hates them.

Talking on the phone to my brother Bo, who comments on the above:  I understand that you guys want to be money-grubbing, thieving bastards, but you're so bad at it!

Monday, January 19, 2015

Several years ago, my phone rang and it was The Boss.  He said, utterly without preamble and completely devoid of context, "Hey, what kind of soup do I like?"  I suppose it says something about the longevity or the closeness of our relationship that I didn't even need it narrowed down to a specific cuisine before I answered, "Hot and sour soup.  And you want fried won ton strips."  The client placed the catering order and all was well.

Subsequently, I found a FANTASTIC recipe for hot and sour soup (email me if you want it; it's truly fabulous) and when I make it, I usually bring him a few containers of individual servings.  Today, I took advantage of my day off to make a Crock-Pot of lovely soup, and I emailed The Boss.  "I am making Chinese soup today if you want any."

He replied, "Is that pints or quarts?  I need to know which cooler to bring."

My boss is a Chinese soup pig.

In other sports news, my Chinese soup recipe requires organic tofu.

As opposed to what, exactly?!? Man-made plastic tofu?!?

Errgh, honestly.

(My dog says he wants, and I should use, bacon tofu.  I don't think he gets the point.)

Sunday, January 18, 2015

"I hope I never get so old that I can go into Toys R Us without seeing tons of stuff I want!" declared I, as I exited Toys R Us with a giant bag after having spent $70.58.  No, it's not a niece or nephew's birthday - I needed a Rocket Raccoon plushie, a Rocket Raccoon action figure, a dancing baby Groot and a wee plushie mooshroom.

Actually, that's not true; the mooshroom was for Alan.

The dancing baby Groot has a built-in tune, but he also reacts to ambient music and sound.  I'm going to try to upload a video to Instagram later of him dancing to "California Sun" by the Ramones, because each time they get to the lyric, "They twist, and I twist", baby Groot actually twists.  Yes, watching Guardians of the Galaxy re-cemented Rocket Raccoon as my favorite Marvel Comics hero.  (My favorite DC Comics hero is of course the incomparable Neil Gaiman's Sandman.  I still love you too though, Batman.)

Currently reading Amy Poehler's memoir, Yes Please.  I haven't formed a definitive opinion just yet - it's interesting enough and entertaining enough for me to keep reading, but I find her constant whinging about how hard it is to write a book tiresome.  It is not hard to write a book.  It is pathetically easy and facile to write a book; I think what Amy actually means (and I'd agree with this) is that it is difficult to write a good book.  But those are different things.

That griping aside, Amy Poehler has written the funniest sentence I think I have ever, or will ever, read.  She is discussing her inherent tendency to snoop and writes about finding, in her parents' room, "...some well-worn copies of Playboy that seem positively charming compared to the up-close butt fisting that pops up on my computer these days when I am trying to order salad tongs from Target."

Saturday, January 03, 2015

So on Tuesday, I find myself down at the pub drinking with Matt (and our families) when Notre Dame beats LSU by a field goal in the last few seconds of the Music City Bowl. And yet, blows were not exchanged, no harsh words were uttered, happiness and goodwill prevailed.  Leftover Christmas cheer, or deep and abiding sibling love?  You be the judge.

Tuesday, December 23, 2014

Tonight I was grumbling because I'd ordered a new Patagonia sweater (Patagonia is my new thing - if they had feety pajamas I'd live in them) and I'd just done a whole bunch of laundry, so everything we owned was clean, and I did not have the right size or type hanger to hang my new Patagonia.  My mom has spoiled me because since she's been volunteering at a consignment charity shop, she's brought me lots of round plastic hangers upon which people donate items, but they don't use those hangers at the shop; she brings them to me and I've been throwing out the wire ones from the dry cleaners. But everything was clean so I didn't have any good ones.

*grumble grumble grumble* went I. 

Alan:  You know, they sell them at Target.  You can buy some.

Me:  Go to Target?!?  The one by the mall?!?  On Christmas Eve eve?!?  Are you MAD?!?!?!

Alan: [in a total space commander voice] Perhaps.  But that's not important right now!!!

Here are some more pictures from the Atlanta Botanical Garden holiday lights, taken by Alan:

Cornfield of lights.

Dale Chihuly sculpture that tops a fountain.

Sunday, December 21, 2014

On Wednesday we went to see The Hobbit:  Battle of the Five Armies in IMAX 3D.  This was my first IMAX 3D experience, though I've seen several movies in the last few years in 'regular' 3D.  Even though it's a bit more expensive, if you're going to see the movie I highly recommend seeking an IMAX showing.  Incredible.

******** HERE MAY BE SPOILERS ********

 - if you haven't read a book that was published in 1937 or kept up in any way with a fantasy/pop culture phenomenon that's spawned animation, movies, fanfic, card games, video games and etc. -

Before the movie, we grabbed dinner at TGIFriday's.  Alan had ribs, so the waitress had placed a large stack of napkins on our table.  After we'd finished eating and paid, and were about to leave for the theatre, I reached over to the pile of napkins and put a couple in my purse.  Alan looked at me quizzically.

"Well," I said, "I know I'm going to cry when Thorin dies.  Maybe other times too, but definitely when Thorin dies."

Alan looked at me wide-eyed, an expression of absolute horror and desolation on his face.  "Thorin DIES?!?"

"Nice try, buddy.  You've only read those books about once a year since you were twelve or thirteen."

[affronted sniff] "Eleven."