We have food trucks at work. That is about the most positive thing I can say about them. One of them featured Jamaican 'food'. One of my coworkers was talking to another, saying she didn't eat the curried goat because it's too spicy. To be honest, I don't eat the curried goat because it's
goat.
Because my wife tithes to Dunkin Donuts, I noticed their new HUGE banner for bacon guacamole flatbread. I'd like to order a bacon guacamole flatbread - hold the guacamole and the flatbread.
Speaking of which, we recently discovered that, in addition to water ice, the dog loves banana splits. To be specific, he loves splits, without banana in them. He's a chip off the old block. Have you ever seen a dog eat an ice cream cone? I always wonder what's going through his head.....
hmmm... this ice cream isn't water ice but it's really good. Since it's harder than water, I guess I should bite it - as he takes a bite out of my wife's ice cream
. She's flabbergasted but not flabbergasted enough to stop him from trying to eat the actual cone
. He liked the cone too.
Don't get me wrong - the only people food he gets is whatever lands on the floor before we can pick it up, just like the cat. Funny, both of them sit at my wife's feet while she's eating.
THE WAR
Speaking of work, I've apparently entered the War Between Workers. Nobody officially declared war or even bothered to tell me that we
have wars, yet here I am. The shame of it all is that it's a
silent war -
The War of the Trashcan.
Every day I launch things into the trashcan under my desk. It's quite a functional trashcan, black, and protected from my every day abuse by the ubiquitous clear baggie-looking-thing. Every morning I arrive and the aforementioned trashcan has moved out from underneath my desk to right by my cube's opening. This creates quite the issue when I stumble into work and attempt to throw a bit of trash into the can under my desk, totally and completely missing the can.
So my only obvious conclusion is that I'm in a silent war. My opponent is not only laughing at me because my morning trash winds up on the floor, but also because even when I aim it at its new (temporary) location, I
still miss the can. This is why I don't play sports. This and the memories of childhood friends, screaming, "HEY LEFTY - YOU'RE RUNNING THE WRONG WAY!"
I'm not typically a warlike guy, especially with coworkers (even the one who sighs wearily, snores and curses every ten minutes, driving me up the wall of my cube and onto the ceiling).... I sought a middle ground. I literally put the can halfway between the desk and the cube exit. And every morning, it's back in its other spot, as if some sort of Facilities Deity has declared it so.
Or it's just some sort of idiotic incentive (probably from my wife) to get me to move a little. Or at all.
SPEAKING OF CANS...
I live across the street from the House That Ate the Neighborhood. It used to be a nice house that blended into the neighborhood in a pleasant way. Then came the first add-on, a porch. Then an additional two-car garage. Then a porch that surrounded the house and the two-car garage. Then a third floor. The neighbors have been busy pulling plans and permits at the township - it turns out he has an underground swimming pool, three levels under the house, plus a Very Deep Level, where he keeps his armaments, food stores, and surveillance equipment. My wife is jealous, as she tends to use the Manual Surveillance Mode, whereupon she sits on the front steps and watches the comings and goings of the denizens.
"Hey, Patricia's home early from work."
So there's another house down the street which has had its porch under construction for a year. Mind you, this is not the type of porch that can be mistaken for an addition or another bedroom. It's a standard porch - the kind that should be populated with some rocking chairs, a swing, plus an occasional toothless relative. Two weeks ago, out of the blue, the porch had been completed. No idea whether it completed itself or had outside assistance.
Two days later we drove by to see that someone had started a large-ish extension on the side of the house.
Uh-oh.
It's (as they say)
ON.
The sensors across the street at the first house set off the alarm. Without declaring anything, the Silent War starts. It starts with an extension. Then House #1 counters with a patio. A
screened patio. House #2 parries with a heated sun room. The stakes rise when House #1 annexes the house next door, like Hitler took Poland. House #2, not one to be upstaged, calls in the township, which has laws about Stuff Like This. In addition to not being allowed to run Slinkys across your back yard, you also can't annex a neighboring house (Hitler notwithstanding). Pretty soon they'll be lobbing wheelbarrows and dump trucks at each other. The collateral damage will be horrendous.
This is not going to end well. Or soon.
[UPDATE]
I thought we might have seen it all but I was seriously mistaken. There is yet a THIRD house undergoing major reconstruction.
Neighborhood War I will be upon us in short order.
AND NOW, THE MUSIC
Today's musical gem is features Sass Jordan. She's one of my favorite female vocalists. Very few know that Sass was invited to spend some time at the Van Halen compound when they were looking for a new singer. I think VH made a terrible mistake in not hiring her. Gary Cherone?
Forgetting for a moment her model-like looks, the woman can just plain sing. She can do slow, she can do fast, she can Janis it out. She also has a great range. While she's more popular in her home of Canada, she needs to be heard round the world. I saw a video of her band recently, where she walked up to the mic with a beer and belched right into it. Who can NOT love a woman like this?
Make You a Believer is some straight ahead rock, starting with its main riff and going all the way through to its church-like refrain, 'I will make you a believer' at the end.
If you'd lke to hear her softer side, check out
You Don't Have to Remind Me. This lady has
balls.
