July 2, 2009

As I sit here, at the airport, waitng for a delayed flight, because all flights today are delayed, thanks FAA for down computers.  I watch a woman who know she can’t smoke hold a cigarrete in her hand at a bar, watch another man down tequila shot after tequila shot while his wife watches and smiles and I hear a couple talking about all the places that they would love to go but cannot afford.

I sit thinking about people and how boring tha vast majority are.  Most people are so perfectly content in their little worlds, complaining about how they want better for themselves but unwilling to try, and I don’t get it.  Why are so many people so afraid to make a call put in the effort to better themselves and actually achieve their dreams?  Why would they rather sit and watch television for five hours a night rather than take two or three of those five hours and do something productive, just for themselves, learn someting new, create something, improve themselves, whatever.

Maybe the airport bar is not the best place to sit and watch people and ask why they are not better.


Whipped cream and Rootbeer

April 20, 2009

Call me spoiled but it’s rare that I find an ice cream shop that makes whipped cream with a whisk.  Aerosol whipped cream is fine and dandy but it’s essentially the parsley of dessert — more there for appearances than for flavor. Hand-whipped cream is almost like mousse, thick and textured enough to smother marmots, a perfect velvety transition from the ice cream as long as you don’t think about the dead marmots too much.

My problem with root beer is that not too long ago somebody informed me that it tastes like tooth paste.  I wish they had not.  I had managed to survive some twenty three years having never made that connection.  Once I was so graciously enlightened, BAM, there it was.  I still like rootbeer but now everytime I indulge in one, there is that brief pause andmoment of recognition before I can enjoy it.