Tag: postaday2011

Ka-ching

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My motorized coin sorter has finally, finally come.  When I notice it sitting on the porch glider, I swoop it up, slice it open, scan instructions and start looking for batteries.

(Note to self: It is no bargain to buy a sleeve of 20 batteries at one time, unless you have a family of 5 who power up daily or your entire village is hunkering down for a ice-storm.) I go to the store to buy new batteries.

As I wheel down the aisle, I notice that big bags of little candy bars, the kind of Halloween candy that makes a house, a really good house – are on sale, 4 for a 10 spot. Such a dilemma. Here it is a week before Halloween and I’m going to actually buy candy? What the hell, I get four bags.

So the candy and the batteries – with coupons, the total comes to $11 something. Woohoo.  Still the afternoon can sour. If my new machine is a big dud, well – then, probably I’ll open at least one of the bags of the little candy bars.

I put in the batteries. I fit in the coin wrappers. I read the directions. Do 20 at a time — 500 coins for a session.  I turn it on and spill a handful of coins into its tiny bin, it gurgles and grinds and flips each one neatly into its coin wrapper. It is just so stalwart.

You gotta add it to your wish list. Though — those of you in the upper 1% may want to pass, your coin cache will tear it up .

Pam Am – I Yam

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I tuned in last night to see what the buzz was about.

I see a cluster of tightly clothed, young, smiling stewardesses, a gaggle of attractive flyboys and lots of well-heeled passengers hurtling through space in a sleek Pam Am airplane. Admittedly, I haven’t been here since the launch so am a bit behind in the story lines. Best I could figure out …

Stewardess A has discovered she is not in love with the love of her life and has to figure out how to retrieve the engagement ring she pawned which ended up in a Jazz Joint in Harlem, aided unwillingly by an endearing but socially inept junior pilot.

Stewardess B is about the business of attaching herself to an intriguing well-dressed foreign passenger because that is what she does.

Stewardess C is a pool shark and some kind of an informant to a quasi American government type who rocks a fedora. Her assignment is to snag the fingerprints of a Mata Hari who hangs out at a Monte Carlo casino.

Oh, and then the innocent young captain of the plane is seduced by a passenger who turns out to be the calculating mistress of a blustery Pam Am executive who has a fit when anyone puts their greasy fingerprints on his red jaguar.

So, see you next week.

I’ll have what she’s having

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I figure what I do to my own face is pretty much my own call. After all I am the one who wakes up to it every day. And if a look in the mirror makes it hard to keep my winning edge, I look for some kind of relief.

The giant cosmetic industry is more than eager to supply any matter of fixes. The constant flood of new products has on more than one occasion exiled my Pond’s Cold Cream to the back of the medicine cabinet. But generally speaking, the claims have far outpaced the products. Until now.

You see, I just don’t think I can resist an anti-aging wrinkle cream company that has a sense of humor. God knows that’s what we all need when girding up for a battle against the ravages of time.

0426-o

The Big Lucky

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It came in an officious-looking 9 x 12 manila envelope with Open Immediately  stamped on it. I rip it open and out falls a giant brochure announcing that I, Stevie Reynolds, am  a winner. I gotta admit, I like how they think.

There is a real key attached to the brochure, a key to my new (a 2008 Ford Fusion SE ) car. Other prize options are $15,000 in cash, a Walmart gift card from $5 to $2500, two tickets to a KU MU game on the 50 yard line or $75.

All I have to do is scratch and match. My lucky number is 992392, I take the key off the brochure and use it to scrape off the silver medallion for the big reveal. It Maaatches!

What threatened to be a day full of routine labor has morphed into a day of bright promise. I need to take my brochure and hustle into Bob Allen Ford to see if I, too, will join the lucky winners from Bristol, TN, Ellijay, GA and Osage City, KS.

And then it occurs to me, the big prize is a 2008 model? And don’t we all know this is 2011 and really – in car years, awful close to 2012?

Geeze, Bob Allen Ford. I don’t think so. Take my name off your list of winners. And really stop sending me this crap.

Stranger in a Strange Land

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Let’s see, we have Delicate Pearl,  Fuzzy Sheep and Pickling Spice. And then there’s Safari, Pine Cone, Light Sage. Hmmm.

Over here is Light Incense. Dark Linen. Alpine White. Dill Pickle. Dried Plantain. Pale Sea Mist. Polished Pearl. Dill.

Shiny Silk.
Ballet White.
Pillar White.
Sultana.

Alrighty. Here’s Aged Parchment. Polar White. Bagel. Princess Ivory. Sand Dollar White. Chai Latte. Orange Glow.
Kansas Grain.
Warm Cocoon.
And something called Serengeti Sand?

“Can I help you?”

“Yes, I think you can. I need paint. Point me in the direction of green, white and yellow, would you?”

Public Service Announcement

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1200_1006_IMG_3203Yogurtini, the self-serve frozen yogurt franchise, has a happy hour from 3 to 5, Mondays through Thursdays, 20% off.

Haven’t been? Oh my – give it a try. You control the lever(s) and add as much or as little as you want of rotating yogurt flavors such as mango, blueberry tartini, chocolate, key lime and birthday cake batter (a top seller).

As if that’s not enough, you then walk right by a serving table with dozens of things you can sprinkle, dribble or spoon over the top. Choices range from fruits to nuts and all things in between including gummy bears.

Finished? Put the cup on a scale in front of the cashier and pay the piper.

Yogurtini isn’t the only frozen yogurt franchise, there are a number of them, all cashing in on the same concept. Left on their own, customers tend to dish up heftier servings, experiment with toppings and leave humming, I Did it My Way.

Awkward

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This happens to me every once in a while. I’m in the grocery store or standing in the movie’s concession line and come face-to-face with someone I know and draw a complete and utter blank on his name.

I say something like,  Howyadoin? How long ‘sit been? Yeah, you haven’t changed one bit. Yeah, sure. Ha. Ha. Still up to the same thing?  I’m thinking, Whaaat? How do I know you? What in the hell do we have in common? C’mon, gimme me a clue!

We finally come to the end, “Nice seeing you again, take care.”

Awkward. But not anywhere near as awkward as this.

He’s standing in the foyer of a hotel in Manchester, when he spots a distinguished looking woman whom he knows that he has met, though he can’t remember her name. As she walks toward him, she says hello.

He returns the greeting and as he does he vaguely recalls that she has a brother. Hoping for a clue, he asks,

“Well — So how is your brother?”

“Oh, he’s just fine,” she replies.

“Good to hear,” he says. “And is he still in the same job?”

“Oh, yes,” she answers. “He’s still the King.”

(Sir Thomas Beecham, British conductor and wit, 1879 –1961)

Fast, Faster, Fastest

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If I want to rev’ up and get a bunch of things done around the house, I put on a house-party music mix and crank up the volume. Admit it, so do you. One of my new favorites,  Jog.fm, makes it really easy to find new tunes.

(I know, I know. The name is an instant put-off. I don’t jog, either.)

But this site is for anyone who wants to find music to help keep up or ramp up any kind of exercise, like cleaning or gardening, or walking or dancing in the kitchen.

Sign in and add the name of a favorite song/artist that motivates you to move; the site automatically figures the beats per minute of the selection, say –100 beats. It’s easy to find new music to maintain that pace: select 100 beats, scroll down, preview and choose songs for your brand new playlist. One click will send you and your playlist to Itunes if you want to buy on the spot.

Up the challenge for yourself by choosing faster paced music. What a painless way to find new music to love. And let’s face it, something about exercise should be painless.

Color Me

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If I could wear only one color, it would be black. I’d put on a black cashmere sweater set and black flared wool trousers. I’d slip a black leather vest over the sweater and add a black beret with an ebony pin stuck on the side. I’d throw on a black sequined scarf and tie it in a big floppy knot in the front. Then, I’d shrug into a black leather jacket and slip on flat-soled ankle boots to match my black messenger bag. And then — I’d add a long unbelted black trench coat.

Viva la fashion.