Turn your Head and Cough up some Candy

Today's Weird Li’l SIS:  Egg my House, please! 
Date:                    Halloween, 2013
Location:                Fargo, ND

Okay, so technically this isn't a Weird L'il SIS, as it refers to an article I read rather than something I saw first hand, but I'm not changing the name of my blog to Weird L'il SIR. We'll just make an exception today for this special, holiday edition...

The letter above is an actual note a Fargo, North Dakotan intends to hand to trick-or-treaters tonight who she deems are "moderately obese." Needless to say, this concerned "village member" has been the brunt of a lot of verbal bashing on the news stations all morning, where they are calling her everything from a fascist to a self-righteous B*$^ch. Always the contrarian, I wonder if it is possible she simply may not have gone far enough?

If she's willing to provide this rudimentary health screening as a concerned member of her village and then provide a written report, I say, "own it!" In for a penny, in for a pound. Invite the adorable little Thors and Katnisses in. Have them queue up in the living room. Provide them with some outdated magazines to pass the time. Take them into the den individually and check them for scoliosis, hernias, myopia and perhaps do a little blood work. A blood pressure cuff and a hop on the scale on their way through the kitchen, and you've just provided an invaluable service I bet the rest of your villagers would gladly rally behind. 

And if I know kids, nothing screams Halloween fun like a thorough, preventative health screening.  So when the doorbell rings tonight, don't be surprised to hear, "Trick or Treat...me to a glimpse of my LDL and triglyceride levels!"

Happy Haunting!

USA Today Link


m. karvinen

Pear-ish the Thought

Today's Weird Li’l SIS:  Pear today, gone tomorrow
Date:                    10-26-13
Location:                My back yard
                        

As I'm standing here cooking breakfast, there's a deer outside eating the last of the fruit from under my pear tree. Stupid deer. I hate them. They shit all over my yard. If it didn't require extraordinary effort on my part, I would run right out and smack that deer upside the head with my frying pan. Of course I would never catch it, and I don't want to be known amongst the neighbors as that guy who chases deer with a frying pan. Especially since I'm not wearing pants yet.

To add insult to injury, my dog apparently believes that the tender little nuggets of deer poop are Milk Duds, and she scarfs them up like a suicidal diabetic. I believe the dog and the deer share the same stupid brain, and when she eats deer poop, I'd like to smack her upside the head with my frying pan too. The wife has a problem with that, though. She's fond of both the dog and the good frying pan.

But let's stay on course. The pears are the real enemy here. As much as I hate deer and deer-poop eating dogs, I really hate pears. Pears have no business being part of the biosphere, and should be rounded up and driven off a cliff like lemmings or Kardashians. And since I don't endorse mass fruiticide lightly, here's the reasoning behind my anti-pear stance.

Pears are Asymmetrical

Real fruit (apples, oranges, Oxycontin) look pretty much the same as you spin them on their vertical axes. That's harmony and balance achieved through evolution. Pears, on the other hand, have weird little tops that twist and turn like a Bill Clinton congressional testimony or, if Paula Jones is to be believed, his genitalia. (I realize that's a really dated reference, but pears have sucked for a very long time, so it's still in play.) Just so you know, contorted, asymmetrical protrusions are nature's way of telling you that you are a biological dead-end, and natural selection is probably not picking you up again for the fall season. By their very shape, pears are basically screaming, "Don't look at me! I'm a hideous mutant just waiting to go extinct." Anything that desperate should not be trusted.

Pears are Teases

They sit on the limb for over a month with their bulbous, come hither shape looking fairly edible.  Go ahead, pick one and take a bite.  I dare ya'. Remember the old balsa wood airplanes you could buy when you were a kid? Ever bite one? Same exact taste as a September pear. No big deal, you think, my fault. I just need to let it get ripe a little longer. Although that won't happen until sometime in October, you'd better pull up a chair, clear your calendar and start waiting now. Because when they do ripen, you only have about six seconds, at which point the weight of the swarm of bees that forms on a newly ripened pear causes it to crash to the ground and it immediately starts rotting. Within moments, all the pears from any given season are lying on the ground, turning into vinegar, and being jealously protected by a swarm of bees. But you still gotta' clean them up, or your yard starts to smell like a great big douche.

Pears Taste Like Shit

Pear pie, pear jelly, pear shortcake, pear upside down cake, pears in a blanket. You know why you don't know anyone with a good recipe for these desserts? They don't exist. And yet people preserve pears too, but not because they crave pears all year round and want to capture that taste in a bottle. No, people preserve pears because they hope they can store them long enough until someone actually comes up with something better to do with them. They are like the Walt Disney's head of fruit. Admittedly, there is one edible thing you can make with pears. It's a lot of work, but you can make pear sauce. With a lot of boiling, peeling, grinding and the right amount of added cinnamon, nutmeg and brown sugar, it tastes just like apple sauce. You know what else tastes just like apple sauce, though? Fucking apple sauce, that's what, and you can buy that anywhere for next to nothing! At their best, pears are posers.

Pears are gritty

Gritty? Really? Is that even a fruit adjective? Sweet, crisp, juicy, tart, mouth-watering: these are fruit adjectives. But gritty? That's not even remotely appetizing. Ever see a child eating an apple and the thing pops out of his hand and falls in a sandbox? If he picks it up and starts eating it again, he's pretty much eating a pear. In no version of reality is that appetizing. And if your kid enjoyed eating apples he dropped in a sandbox, you'd take him in for a psychiatric evaluation. We should do the same for people who say they like pears.

Okay, I'm done ranting.  I feel better.  I'm going to put on some pants now and go rake up the rotting pears, because even though it's mid-morning in late October, around here it's beginning to smell a lot like a Summer's Eve.

m. karvinen

 

Hang Up and Drive

Today's Weird Li’l SIS:  Drive by Hypocrisy
Date:                    10-20-13
Location:                Side of a late model Camry
                         Southbound I-75
                         Auburn Hills-ish

Amen, my brother.  How many times have I had that very same thought but just lacked the commitment to have it stenciled on the side of my car? 

Of course, the irony of me snapping that picture with my smart phone from the driver's seat while doing 70 down the expressway is not entirely lost on me either, but still, Amen.


m. karvinen

Slice of Heaven

Today's Weird Li’l SIS:  Saroki's Food Station
Date:                    10-13-13
Location:                Wixom & Loon Lake Road
                         Wixom?













God, I love pizza.  But not just any pizza.  Sadly, the Little Kaisers, Papa Porta-Johns, and DomiNo-way-in-hells of the metro-Detroit area have all but neutered our collective memories of what really good pizza means.  Yeah, there are exceptions like The Alibi over in Troy or Louie's down in Hazel Park, but I can remember a time when non-descript party stores used to sell wonderful, cheesy, thick and manna-like slices on nearly every corner.  And like me, they were cheap too!

A long defunct party store named Mr. B's over near Stoney Creek was my first true love back in the 70's.  They made some absolutely amazing slices, and if you took the time to actually order an entire pie, the box weighed in at about 10 pounds, and the steam pretty much had it disintegrated before you got it to the car.  And when you opened what was left of that box, usually in the parking lot, you were treated to an orgasmic sensory onslaught of smeared together colors, tastes and aromas.  I'm getting a chubby just thinking about it.  But alas, all first loves must come to an end.  I don't know what happened to the eponymous Mr. B., but I would definitely like to shake his hand or donate to a cloning initiative.

In the early 80's, Vico's Party store in Troy was my next 'Za d'amour.  Same kinda' deal as Mr. B's, but the edges of their crust were slightly more caramelized and the sauce was a tad more rustic.  And although we didn't even know what rustic sauce meant back in the 80's, we liked it.  As a bonus, they not only delivered, but they delivered beer too.  As minors with deep phone voices and absentee parents, we took advantage of that quite regularly.  Hmm, small wonder they went out of business.

From about that point on, the promise of the excellent party store slice had faded to nothing more than a glint in my mozzarella enhanced thighs, and I was pretty sure I would never again find a place to compete with the rose colored taste buds of my youth.  Oh, thankfully, how wrong I was. 

On an otherwise eventless Tuesday last month, in a gas station/party store plopped down unceremoniously next to a trailer park in Commerce Township (or Wixom) (or what the hell's the difference?) I was once again reunited with the pizza gods, and I have to tell you, thine name is Saroki. 

I was completely caught off guard by the discovery.  Because I suppose that I have self loathing tendencies, I sauntered over to the heat lamp display case perfectly prepared to be disappointed in what I might find there.  It's pretty much a sick habit of mine.  I immediately noticed some thin, round slices which did not look impressive enough to risk, as my heart has been broken before.  And the fact that they were rounds was just all wrong.  A real party store slice, I've always held, should have four corners.  But then something caught my eye on the top shelf: another slice of round.  Granted, wrong shape for a purist, but there was something oh so compelling about it. 

"Is this a Chicago Stuffed slice I see before me," I asked my inner bard?

My eyes were not deceiving me.  I was certain.  I threw caution to the wind and excitedly ordered two of the "stuffed" slices from the first paper hat I could establish eye contact with.  He quickly corrected me, calling it "Detroit Style."  Yeah, whatever, I thought.  Just shut up and give me my slices. 

This post is getting way too long, so I'll cut to the chase.  Those two slices of pizza were, hands down, some of the best slices I have ever eaten anywhere, let alone from under a convenience store heat lamp. Regardless of the proprietor's geography tourettes, they were definitely Chicago Style stuffed slices on par with Pizzapapalis downtown or Giordano's in the Windy City itself.  They were loaded with meat too: pepperoni, ham, sausage, you name it.  Imagine, a $3 slice just humbly waiting in a gas station with the power to not only electrify your taste buds but restore your beliefs in humanity, history and Jesus Christ himself.

Okay, maybe I exaggerate a little.  As I mentioned, I really like good pizza.  But still, I recommend you check it out.

m. karvinen

But it Burns when I Build

Today’s Weird Li’l SIS:  STD Contractors
Date:                    10-7-13
Location:                Huron Ave
                         west of Downtown Pontiac

You know, only in a country where capitalism knows no shame could you take something like contracting an STD and turn it into a business.

My dad always told me that if you do what you love, you’ll never have to work a day in your life. These people obviously have one messed up dad.

Oh, and it just stands to reason that if you are going to specialize in STD's, you'll probably find a big Johnson hanging around nearby.


m. karvinen

What's INA Name?

Today’s Weird Li’l SIS:   The Troy Luk Club
Date:                     09-30-13
Location:                 Big Beaver near John R
                          Troy

Aside from the word choice being incredibly offensive, whatever happened to a rabbit's foot or a four-leaf clover?

m. karvinen