|When it snows...it doesn't amount to much.
||[Feb. 8th, 2012|04:09 pm]
Oh, it’s snowing in my bones already. I HAVE to start checking the weather on a daily basis. Yesterday it was hot as all get-out in my vealpen, so today I went with lighter clothes, and…of course…they’ve turned down the heat to normal levels, the window is beaming it’s cold, dreary and raw at me, and the oncoming weather is making joints ache, plus I’m completely failing to come anywhere close to seven hours of sleep a night, and blame it on the full moon or whatever, what little sleep I have gotten has been restless at best. |
(Please, save yourself from suggesting apps, pop-ups…THINGS…that will tell me what the weather is on my computer. You are assuming I even bother booting up in the morning and that if I DO, I will actually see what’s on my screen, while I’m in pursuit of something else. Unless you have an app for “Remembering to care”…which I could totally use.)
Underwriter’s Laboratory recently did a study of consumer perceptions and desires. They found that consumer’s primary safety concerns for food products were: foodborne illness, unsafe additives and unsanitary conditions. Well….duh. Because what’s left, really? I am afraid that my kale will creep up the stairs in the middle of the night and smother me while I sleep?
Which I totally am – especially that Lacinato/Dinosaur kale, which looks all uptight and repressed. And probably pissed off at being renamed Dinosaur Kale just to be trendy. Hey, DinoKale! I didn’t DO that. Don’t blame me. I have ALWAYS used your real name. Please do not creep up the stairs…I’m already having enough trouble sleeping, what with nightmares about zombies, the freaking cats poking me in the face to see if I’m as bored as they are, and remembering that I forgot to turn down the heat downstairs or press the “Go” button on the dryer, thus ensuring a complete wardrobe trauma the next day. But if you do, bring bacon and shallots when you do, because if I’m going to be done in by a vegetable, I want to go in a most flavorful manner.
But I obviously wasn’t one of the ones polled. I never get polled. #1. I tell the truth, which most pollsters find unnerving. #2. I’m obviously so far out there, that I would wreck whatever theory the pollsters were trying to prove. With my butter, animal fat, beef obsession and great cholesterol. With my precise television habit of only turning it on when I want to watch something and then turning it off as soon as the show is done. My comfort level with having ten year old computers, cars and gadgets.
But you already know that I’m poison to pollsters – because if I were a Nielsen family, we’d all still be watching Firefly and The Unusuals, and my responses to Arbitron would have kept WHFS swimming in ad dollars.
To be fair, Chico’s actually has me on one of their consumer panels. Apparently, they’re brave enough to handle comments like “Seriously, pink, beige and orange? Throw us sallow skin people a bone!” and “Fringe and crochet? I’m going to spend all season getting caught on my desk chair, trapped in revolving doors and attacked by cats. Do we have to revisit every ugly whim of the seventies? Where the hell are the beaded headbands…I could totally rock THAT!”
On the cider front, I continue my campaign against the abomination of Angry Orchard, that bastard child of alcohol and Jolly Ranchers. Pfeh. I’m extremely nervous as Miller Coors has bought Crispin…which aiyee, better distribution, better pricing, 50/50 chance of screwing it up, but at least it’s living in their Tenth and Blake craftbrew/import arm, so…fingers crossed. And we know that hard cider has mainstreamed when the boys at Anheuser Busch are bringing out a…wait for it…Mich Ultra Light Cider…which is at least one too many words for a brand name...FOR THE RECORD…and promises an entire new chapter of “double filtered through a horse to remove all vestige of flavor” jokes.
Finally, dear Federal Government. I get it. Last year, you screwed up during a major snowstorm and you turned the entire area into a snarled nightmare. I’m sure you’re still tender and bruised. And I’m not going to pretend that I’m the arbiter of when does a snow “event” (when the hell did a snowfall, or storm, because an event?) become serious. But I’m pretty sure there’s enough room between a possible ten inches and a possible one inch that leaves you enough wiggle room so that you don’t have freak out and tell people they don’t have to show up. This part of the country already has a well-deserved reputation for being a giant drippy nosed ninny. You are not helping.