I beg your pardon, I'm only visiting the Rose Garden.

Exactly when did President O invite Mitt to the White House for chicken salad?
When I heard of the invite the first thing I thought of was, good, rub it in. "Hey Mitt welcome to MY House. I just got an extension on my lease for another 4 years!"  What a cool way to gloat and rub it in. Did Barry show him around? Let him swivel in THE chair. Give him a souvenir parting gift. "You like this letter opener used by Andy Jackson, it's yours!"

Apparently this rub it in your mitt moment did not escape Jon Stewart. On his Daily Show last night he referenced it and mentioned that the President even may have asked Mitt to join the administration. None of this meeting was caught on tape, iPhone or photos. Let that be a lesson to you Mitt. "Oh when you see Rudy (911), please tell him what we did was organize the community, Chicago style."

Our Menu Has Changed- or has it?

You can't call an 800 number and listen to a recorded message without the voice reminding you not to press a number until you hear the selections ."..as our menu has changed."

Does the menu really change? I don't think so but I am too afraid to press a number before I hear all the options for fear that I will lose my place after I have been on hold for 1-2-5-9 minutes.

Then of course when you press the number you have to SAY or ENTER your 19 digit account number. Once completed you anxiously wait for confirmation or I DID NOT UNDERSTAND THE NUMBER, please say or enter your 19 digit number. Once again I dutifully type in the number and press #. Same response, "I can't understand the number.... Please say, Associate".  "Associate, Associate, ASSOCIATE!"

Once connected the associate realizes I have to be transferred to another department. It is at this point that I realize I can probably do without.

It's That Time

On June 21, my last day as school principal I came home and took off my wristwatch just like I have done for 30+ summers. But this year it would be different as there would be no returning to school and no need to strap it on one more time come August.

I notice that watches get a lot of press right before graduation and at Christmas. The NY Times had 7 ads in the first two pages of the paper last week for watches that were big enough to take the place of Big Ben. They are priced anywhere from $495- $10, 000! Just to let you know what time it is.

With the advent of smart phones, ipads and digital this or that you'd think the watch would be obsolete. But never underestimate our need to make a statement about time but more importantly about ourselves and how successful we are. Unlike in humans, The bigger the face, the better. And of course there is the Hublot, King Power Unico, King Bold Carbon.... and the watch for the tattoo wearing private jet flyer, the Breitling Transocean Chronograph Unitime certified by COSC with a 5 year warranty, big deal! My Swiss Army watch has been keeping me on time for 15 years.

He robo caller rings thrice

For the most part we have given up answering the house phone as most of the calls are 800 numbers, someone in Oregon, Bridgeport or private caller. We also know that they call at dinner time. Thanks to caller ID and the Optimum feature that scrolls the name and number across the TV, we have not taken a call from a solicitor for months. We tried to be placed on a Do Not Call list but that has  not worked, somehow these persistent robo callers have cracked the code and the phone rings, 1,2,3 times before the hang up.

Every once in a while we answer the phone only to have a recorded message say in halting robot-ese, Hello, Would you like to.... Do they really think people stay on the line to listen to a "personal" message from a faux person?

The other night the following message was left on the answering machine, yes we still have an answering machine...  "This is a message from your neighbor Joe, who has lost his dog." He has lost a golden retriever named Jose. Jose is very friendly and if you have any information regarding Jose, please call Joe, he is offering a reward. Or go to Lostdoggie.com for further information.

Amazing now an Amber alert for lost dog! What's next?

Your friend John has lost his car keys, if you find them please hit the panic button on the key chain.
Your neighbor Tom has lost his glasses, if you see them please call...
Mary, who lives in your neighborhood has lost her mind.....

I imagine this new service has emerged because people are drinking less milk and the chances of spotting Jose from his likeness on the milk carton are so 2001.

Got to go, phone is ringing.

The Eyes have it

J has decided to change her look and to get new glasses. Three years ago, or about the time the lease ran out on our Passat J got some funky red glasses to complement her blond hair and artsy look. Now that we recently signed off on a new Lexus, J felt it was time to head back to the I glass store (s) to reinvent herself...again. So begins the quest for just the right frame. Add to this progressive lenses and all that that entails and your are staring down the barrel of a $700-800 bill.

From SPECS (both stores), to 20/20 Optical, to Oliver Peoples, to SEE, to Greenwich Optical we combed the stores looking for the right look. " I have a small face, my skin color doesn't carry this color, I want plastic frames, big frames, but not too big"."These are called cappuccino, coffee, starlet, Betty etc.

Back and forth, forth and back, let's just try one more store, day in and day out for a full frontal attack for at least a week. Finally we have a winner! Tortoise shelled, deep brown, almost black, fit perfectly on the bridge, this is it, well maybe not. "Please ,please let's get this done, I cannot tell one from the other, they all look the same."  "You are no help." "I need a girlfriend to come shop with me." "Fine!"

"No really this is it." YES! "That wasn't so bad and remember who comes with you every 36-42 months when you begin your never ending car search. " Gotcha!

Over the River

For over 20 years we have taken advantage of a No Stress Thanksgiving arrangement courtesy of the Mayers.

J's cousin has a lovely home in South Salem. On a lake the view is of a preserve in Ridgefield that will never be disturbed by NYC residents looking for a weekend getaway. A place to escape the hustle and bustle of the city with a $2 million unassuming getaway complete with high end bath fixtures and a three car garage. The view forever has been and will be,  trees, a boat house  with the beauty of each season shown in the tress.

Door to door it is a 20 minute drive on country roads. We refer to it as Vermont without the drive.

The guest list varied over the years as the two daughters both students at Ivy League schools would open their doors to foreigners and those from California, (same thing) who  couldn't get home for the weekend. Their father, a lawyer at a prestigious firm would also invite associates and others to join. The discussions and the wines flowed.

Over the years we'd show up, eat up, clean up and drive home. 365 days later repeat. 

We'd small talk, drink wine and associate with a group of people who otherwise had no reason to be in the same room. No yelling (Italian for conversation) about why didn't you call, It is your turn to take ma to the doctors or call me and let's have dinner sometime. Just 20-25 people together around the joy of eating and drinking. 

Since his death 4 years ago T dinners without the host have left  a void. Pre-dinner speeches have been curtailed and those who try to pinch hit have mostly grounded to second base, but at least they put their linguistic bat on the ball.

Still the anticipation of the day, the stuffing, that shrimp dish that always makes an appearance for appetizers, makes it all worth while. So too the after dinner and everybody has left aperitif  complete with analysis, the how good or thin, so and so looks talk.

No drama, no family rifts, no postmortems re: the latest election. However this year I'm sure there will be some talk about the Kardashian look alikes and how they brought the generals to their knees.

What a country.

Gimme some skin

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and it always brings back memory of Aunt Roz and her prized and delectable bird. The day before she would start the stuffing and begin to work her magic in her little pink kitchen on Tiemann Ave, Bronx NY.

During my high school years I'd go with some friends to the annual rivalry game between Mount and Hayes. My best friends were Hayes men, but as a Mounty it was always a friendly rivalry and great fun, except for the yer we were upset on our way to the division championship.

After the game I'd be dropped off at Mike and Roz's and no sooner did I open the finished basement door than I could smell the aromas of the 25 pounder sitting on the stove to cool down. In the 50's and 60's turkey skin crisp and crunchy was in the cigarette category, no one spoke about how bad it was for you. So once the bird was carved,  the dinner eaten and  the kids dismissed from the folding kids table in the dining/living room, today we call it "open concept",   we'd would go downstairs to hang out. I never missed a chance to grab a piece of skin off the carcass as I came and went. And I came and went a lot, inventing reasons why i needed to pass through the pink kitchen.

The second highlight of the day were the turkey sandwiches served on bread from Arthur Avenue with stuffing and cranberry sauce. Amazing and the quintessential comfort food.

50 years later I can still see that bird on the stove, Roz getting congratulations for a job and a turkey very well done and the tiny pink kitchen that could.

Happy Thanksgiving to all!

4 more hits to 2000, today is the day.

Night Moves

I drive to NYC at least twice a week to attend class or to pick up J after her classes. Taking classes is a senior thing to do.
These driving excursions require a steady foot on the pedal, steel nerves, a give them no quarter attitude and good old dumb luck!  The adventures harken me back to the days I was known as Johnny Bronx for my driving acumen. Unfortunately the destinations are in midtown, the gridlock capital of the world, except as I've been told, the far east. The classes are also scheduled during rush hour so it is inevitable for us to arrive when the hordes of workers are released form their desks and this plays havoc with the Cross/Don't Cross dance. There is no rhyme or reason to the time it takes to get from the suburbs too NYC. It could take 40 minutes, seldom does to 2 hours as it has all too often has. But it is for education and so it is a good thing.

As congested as it is during rush hour, a relative calm comes over the place by 8:00. When class ends and I go to pick up my passenger, the streets that were clogged with an, OK it is your turn to squeeze onto this street, mentality, gives way to smooth sailing. The most dangerous thing to deal with at this hour are the taxi jockeys who just two hours ago were creeping along and could cause little damage. but once the crowds subside they become video game pong drive a-likes.

Last night I saw another NY sight, a caravan of hot dog stands being pushed and pulled up Madison. With their colorful umbrellas, exotic aromas,  and their keepers shouting in a mid east dialect, it was reminiscent of a Bazaar, and a little bizarre at that. But you got to love the vibrancy and energy of the greatest city in the world!

...and counting, as of today I need 10 more hits to reach 2000, come on people, you can do this.

Who knows where the time goes?

I started college at St. John's University in downtown Brooklyn. Actually it was a 2 year program and in all honesty it was St. John's JC. Each morning I'd take the train from the northern most part of The Bronx, as I was living at home and travel on the #6, just like J-Lo to Schermahorn St. in downtown Brooklyn. There was nothing glamorous about this college "campus." But there were lots of Italian deli's, $$ stores and a "art house" movie theatre in close proximity to campus.

I'd arrive for a 10 o'clock class, attend perhaps 2-3 classes a day and spend the rest of the time in the student cafe, it wasn't even a Union. It was the late 60's and although I didn't realize it the world was changing. It was the James Bond heyday and the guys I hung with who came from all 5 boroughs were into the look. More into that then school, the war, the hippie culture, the drugs, or rock and roll. I left out sex as we were after all 18. In the fall I'd make sure I had the appropriate look regardless of the temperature. There were cords, herringbone jackets, with patches on the sleeves just like James. 

As for rebellion, the best I could do was perhaps hop off the uptown train at 59th street and venture into Bloomingdales for a new tie,  arriving home 1 hour late, Radical!

Last week I was in the city looking to spend 3 hours while J attended her class at MOMA. I decided to see how James had aged over the last 50, YIKES! years. so I went to see Skyfall at the theatre, I mean cinema across form Bloomingdales. I remember being at this theatre years and years and years ago with my first girlfriend to see at least one Bond movie and others. I might have seen Blow-Up there. Look it up, it was truly an art film and right for the times. In those days, driving to the city was an easy trip from The Bronx, parking on the street was a cinch especially for my version of Bond's Aston Martin, my orange Karmann Ghia, look that up too. It was a beauty.

No sooner did I enter the theatre and turn the corner to go to the auditorium when I encountered the wall of lights that Bloomingdales drapes from the building facade at Christmas time. It brought me back and I remember standing on line inside the theatre with my date as we waiting to see the movie. White cable turtleneck, tweed blazer from Paul Stuart, corduroy pants, looking cool and ready for a lesson in Bond-ing.  Not much had changed except that popcorn was $6.00, "for an extra dollar you can buy a medium", the seats reclined and ticket prices had gone from $2.50 to $11.00. One thing else had changed, I qualify for senior discount!

James now in his, 8th or 9th reincarnation still looks great. He has toned down his dalliances and is more business than pleasure, but his theme still plays whenever he says, "Bond, James Bond." My signature tune seems to change every few years and somehow has emerged into When I'm 64.

Why so angry?

All we heard about during the election process was the plight of the old, angry white male. This demographic, probably any guy over age 55, has seen his world implode and his status as the masters,  very small m, of the universe, dissolve as Madison Avenue, women and the job outlook have downsized their importance.

Perhaps the only place where they still hold a majority is in the halls of federal and local  government. But in an attempt to commit suicide they run out guys who have such antiquated ideas about, most everything. Luckily most of these 50 somethings with 1950's thinking are being rejected by the voters.

Add to this the remarks of their leader,  Mitt and his off camera remarks about the 47%, goodies from Obama and just a sore loser attitude that seems to encompass the plight of the AWM (angry white male). Now add to this the latest dagger in the heart, the loss of Twinkies, Sno-balls and Ring Dings, surely this is the end of the world as they know it.

Take heart AWM you'll always have Marilyn Monroe even though she would be 84 years old!
Apparently we just can't get enough of this icon, Playboy (talk about irrelevant) is publishing more pix of  the goddess, mistress of their hero JFK et al.

Get over it!

Be careful what you wear

One of the dangers of retirement and of not having to be anywhere at any given time is that you can fall into bad habits. Shaving every day is the first to go. While a two day beard comes off nice and smooth, trying to kiss your wife after 18 hours of growth becomes a challenge.

The brown corduroys and loose fitting teal blue school sweat shirt become the go to outfit, but just like the sweats outfit, they do give off an i don't care anymore vibe. While extremely comfortable I do notice a psych change when I am flopping around in this get up. So I vow to get up each morning, take an early morning shower another casualty of retirement,  shave, cause you never know when that Cialis moment will present itself, and get on with the day.

Dinky Donuts

In the 60's  The Graduate, Benjamin aka Dustin Hoffman, was advised to go into "Plastics."
At the turn of the century I'm sure some little old Greek grandmother told her grandson, "Donuts!"
And with this advice Donut Delight or as we refer to it Dinky Donuts,  was born. A local chain which rivals the big boy, Dunkin', Double D has built an amazing following. Our local shop in on Hope Street in a former bank. The bank never made this much money and I hope for convenience sake the vault was left in the basement because at the rate that they make dough they need an on site repository.

With indoor and outdoor seating and a 24/7 policy the place is seldom empty. On Saturday and Sunday mornings the lines for the drive up stretch for a block and often cause traffic jams as determined caffeine deprived customers wait their turn or try to skip the line. More people are on line for coffee, then for communion.

The place has a sign that requests that people adhere to a 20 minute seating policy. This is a recommendation, seldom adhered to especially by the regulars. There is the Mayor of DD, who arrives every day to hold court and occasionally grant you a seat at his table if the place is especially crowded. Just be prepared for a seasonal discussion of The Yankees, The Patriots and the general dismay he shows for the younger generation. "These kids will never amount to anything, pass me another chocolate frosted"

There is the senior couple who arrive everyday to have a coffee and a..... . Every day the husband reminds the waitperson about senior pricing. While waiting for his coffee he visits the paper rack, gets a copy of the News, Post and local paper, The Advocate, goes to his seat, reads the papers, and then returns them to the paper stand, complete with jelly stains.

The place oozes international as there is a steady flow of Spanish and Greek guests who spend lot and lots of time and very little money chatting I guess,  about the state of the world, in Greek. If one were to do a cost analysis of the money spent vs. the time spent chatting, the place would be in deep financial trouble. But not to worry because the long lines for the drive up surely make up for this.

This is predominately a guy place as recently I went there after the morning rush to get a coffee, and read a book. Naturally the place was full with every seat and table occupied, the Greeks had to sit outside in the cold as there were no tables inside. Too bad they didn't have coffee to keep them warm.
Men outnumber women in this place 4 to 1 and could have easily been mistaken for an exclusive men's club, except for the clientele, the decor, and the menu.

It is a slice of life in a very mixed neighborhood. The staff is very pleasant, the manager extremely hard working, the facility is very clean and there is a sense of civic responsibility as they often place boxes in the place to collect Toys for Tots, and most recently supplies for the victims of Sandy.

On the morning after, the morning after Sandy it was easy to see where the power had not been restored as the lines outside Dinky were even longer with people sharing stories of lost power and limbs, tree limbs.

A hot cup of coffee, the news both local and international, a meeting hall and a sense of community, not bad for a Dinky little donut shop.

Hit me 90 times!

No not some sadomasochistic command but a gentle plea to cross the 2000 hit mark since my blog was posted in July. Averaging about 400 views per month I think is a pretty good landmark. Especially since I still have not figured out all of the bells and whistles of blogging. Over the next few weeks I will be moving into uncharted territory like posting photos and who knows even a video documenting my new life, don't count on it.

What have I learned in my 4 months?
I have stayed with it and posted over 60 times
I still don't understand why I cannot generate responses to my posts
There is an entire new lingo I have to learn.
I enjoy this exercise as it serves as a diary for my retired life
Working is funnier than retirement
I have got to get out more!

Mayan your own business

Depending on which combination of 1-2 you adhere to there is a Mayan Theory that the world will end on 12/12/12 or 12/21/12. With these dates just around the corner, it might be time to prepare for the End is Near, maybe.

When I retired I told friends that the reason for my calling it quits was because  of the Mayans and I wanted to spend the last 6 months enjoying life not encumbered by the work of administering a school. I was under the impression that the end would come on the 21st and I complained that was too close to Christmas and could really put a dent in holiday shopping. Now if you believe dooms day is the 12th and you wake up on the 13th, then they are in the clear and can resume thoughts of sugar plums and lay away plans. Now for those of us who expect the end to come 4 days before Christmas there is a challenge. Go out and shop only to realize that it all comes to a crashing halt before you have a chance to wrap and distribute the goodies or wait and see. As I told my wife I will be holding out until the end and if we all see the dawn on the 22 then I will high tail it to CVS to buy gift cards.

Many of tried to debunk this theory and for the most part talk of THE END have dissipated. This is especially true in the north east as we try to recover form the Storm of the Century and the Nor'easter.  Some not so subtle hints from Mother Nature,who was partial to the Mayans, I hope not.

The least I could do

I remember Jon Stewart commenting on the involvement of the citizenry during the early stages of the 9/11 crisis and the war in Iraq.  He observed that people were doing as little as possible, perhaps flying a flag or chanting USA at rallies but little else. He said it as "the least you can do" emphasis on the least.

This past week, with the luxury of time, I decided to do my civic duty so I , drove people to the polls on Tuesday, every vote counts, and on Friday I was summoned to Jury duty.

 I woke bright and early put on my former principal clothes, save the tie and went to the Stamford Courthouse. Some things have changed and mostly for the better. The new facility has comfortable chairs, a small library with couches, a wide screen TV, coffee, vending machines and a cafe. Eight years ago when I was called to serve it was in the old court house complete with a basement waiting room, 2 folding tables, and folding chairs. This lifeless space was right out of Night Court or Barney Miller and it made the long day even longer.

What hasn't changed is the woman who for the next 8 hours would control my fate. Barbara, no last name, was in charge then and now. She rules the room with a no nonsense approach but with humor and in a constant state of motion. "Watch this video, did you sign in, come back in ten minutes, the following people please come to the desk".

After the video, 9:15 the waiting began. Approximately 70 people were called to serve and for the first 30 minutes you could hear a pin drop as we settled in on a potentially long day. Around 10:30 names were called, not mine as I hoped to be called for the disposition by attorneys, their is a french word for this but I can't spell it and every time it was mentioned, all I can think of My Cousin Vinny and Joe Pesce's pronunciation of the term. The first group called and DISMISSED! What? How did that happen?
Well back to my book. Currently I am reading a book about WWII pilots captured and spending time in a parishioner of war camp. I couldn't help but see the correlation between my fate and the sailors. Every time names were called I wondered, just like the prisoners, would I be going, on to the questioning or left to stew in my own seat. The hours ticked by, more names were called and the ranks thinned out yet again but not for me. Now it is 12:00 and Barbara is trying to find out what was going on. Despite her ability to command he room there are those above her who have more control over her and me and all those left in the jury waiting room. They weren't talking.

Finally the word came down at 1:05, there was a reprieve, we were free to go and the best part is that we could not be called back for 3 years, after all it is the least we can do.

+1000

During my annual physical last May my Dr. suggested a stress echo test to make sure the generator of my machine, my heart, approaching 64 years was in good working order. Never having any issues with my heart except when a murmur kept me out of the army, I put it off until yesterday. Hey I got time. So I went to the faux hospital in the neighborhood for the test. First there is the echo part with a ultra sound probe. Tickles a bit as I could hear my heart mimic the wash cycle. There was the familiar lub, tub sound of the muscle as it pumps to the the outer reaches of the body. Once done and the goop wiped off my skin I went to another room for the stress part. A very young nurse shaved parts of my chest, and all it reminded me of was the Seinfeld episode where Jerry shaves his chest hair. Kramer warns him that it will grow back with a vengeance but he does it anyway. How sad and has it come to this, a very attractive woman is paying close attention to me and I'm thinking Seinfeld!

"Hooked up,"a term which has become part of the vernacular  has a different meaning in the hospital. Wires and sensors were attached to my chest and after a few medical history questions, which after 7 decades I can still proudly answer, NO,NO,NO,.... I was ready to step on the tread mill, slower at first, the PA raised the angle and speed of the mill at least 5 times. Each increase brought a wake up call to my legs, but my pressure and vitals were all strong. The doctor came by read the monitor while I was on the mill and I saw him turn to the PA with a Why is this guy here?  look on his face. Usually a doctors pause raises a patients suspicion and a what, what, what do you see panic expression. But I could tell from how I was doing that he felt all was well. He quickly said you are doing great, you have the heart of a 20 years old!

After an abrupt stop, which nearly sent me over the handle bars, I laid of the stretcher for a check of my vitals. Once again great responses and a very commendable blood pressure reading. More goop to wipe from my chest and off to the doctors office for a post test eval. He reiterated that I was in fine shape, and I could and should exercise to lose weight. No restrictions, see you in 10 years. 

So today, I am unofficially, officially adding 1000 days, or 2+ years to my 7200 day, give or take calendar.  I'd officially change the name of the blog but that requires a whole other set of vital skills I have yet to master.

Even Community Organizers can grow up to be President, TWICE

I remember the mocking tone with which Rudy 911 Giuliani characterized candidate Obama at the 2008 convention. Well that year and this apparently proved that there is something about organizing the community that gets you elected President, TWICE. Take that Mr. 911, bitter old white guy.

All the talking heads seem to agree that the President and his organizers understood 2 years ago that the country had changed in the 2 years since 2008. The color and ethnicity of the country has changed and will continue to change to the point where by 2050 whites will be in the minority. A dramatic change in my lifetime.

Yesterday I spent a portion of the day driving voters to the polls. After all the mud slinging, false advertising, $6 billion campaigns, it came down to people like the women I drove to the polls who at 91 was still determined to make her vote count. She was well dressed, able to walk to the car with the assistance of a cane, and as we drove to the polling place, we talked about her upbringing, in the rural south, and the pride she had in her country. While I didn't ask her I imagined her pride that one of her own was the leader of the free world. Just as I will be proud when and if an Italian makes it to the White House. But it isn't the same as blacks still endure racism in so many ways, while, for now, whites of any background can assimilate.

At the polling place, in a minority neighborhood, it was great to see the faces of an up and coming political force, african-americans, Haitians, hispanics, all  waiting patiently on line, long lines, anxious to prove this is my country too.

Now on to what is so needed in this country, people coming together to solve problems. A 21st century skill that for now is lost in too much 19th century thinking.

Forward!

Trolling alert!

in the aftermath of the big one I went to the new, or not so new Fairways market in the SOTO section of Stamford. Yes just like SOHO, NOHO and DUMBO, and in an attempt to be hip, Stamford has named the area south of I-95, SOTO or South of town. Despite new condos, a Design within Reach furniture store and the quintessential gentrification institute, not including Starbucks, there is a Pain Quotidiens across the lot from Fairway. They do have the best Challah bread and to think that until 28 years ago I only knew Italian Bread, with seeds.

Picking up a 1/2 lb. of roast beef I noticed a sign inviting me to a Hosting The Holidays Food Sampling. This annual event, who knew? Will be on Nov. 3-4 at ALL Fairways stores including the one in SOTO.  OK! Free eats. Just a tip for those of you who like to troll the aisles at your upscale neighborhood food store.

I remember my firt venture to Fairways in NYC. The choice if not the prices were amazing and I dreamed of living in NYC and taking advantage of so much including Fairways. Well the fantasy of living, comfortably in NYC, has given way to the reality of retirement. But at least today I can go to SOTO and get a wedge of cheese on a cracker and for a moment imagine I'm in the hippest part of Manhattan-  SOHO

Panic mode

One of the byproducts of the big storm was the lack of gas, or so they say. Lines started forming in NJ stretched to Long Island and have come across the sound to CT. as those gas stations without power could not pump gas.

Having traveled but 40 miles in the last 4 days having enough gas was not an issue. With my new job, retirement, there would be no commuting to work, a total of 6 miles round trip.

Ever since gas broke the $4.00 mark I have not seen a full tank of gas, ever. I usually get $20 or 5 gallons of gas and that eases the pain a bit. However I do stop by the pump 2-3 times a week. Yet with the constant photo ops of long lines of people and cars waiting to get gas for their cars, generators, and perhaps motor boats,  panic mode is  beginning to set  in. Rumors have carpetbaggers from NY and NJ coming across state lines to waiting at OUR gas stations, waiting for MY gas! Sandy, smandy, don't come looking for gas in my backyard.

All the officials say this is a temporary thing and once power is up, gas shortages will be down, until then  NJ has instituted odd, even gas days. Ends in even, gas up today, ends in odd, see you manana. Those with vanity plates are considered odd. Truer words have never been spoken. So stay home more, read a book and  DN'T PANIC

Black eye peas

Where have I been and when did frozen peas become $2.50 a bag? Recently I have had to purchase bags of peas to calm down two swollen black eyes caused by some elective but necessary eye surgery.
Imagine my surprise when the cashier, said $4.98 for two bags of peas. Upon further inspection I noticed they were petite baby fancy grade A's. Anytime PETITE is on the label you are going to pay more because size, both big and small matters.  Perhaps if I went with the Green GIANT  brand, made in America would be cheaper?

At these prices, a slab of steak might be cheaper!