I wonder what percentage of the food bought and brought into American homes just ends up getting thrown out. I mean, I know at our house we’re constantly throwing away leftovers and stuff that’s spoiled because we bought and never used it. Whole tubs of old chili right down the disposal, a half-eaten hunk of cheese that’s now mold-ridden, a steak that stayed too long in the freezer and is caked with ice; we don’t discriminate on what we waste, we chuck it all. It’s something I’d really like to get better at, if not for the sake of knowing there are people in the world who are sick with hunger, at least for the more American reason of maximizing our food expenditures. It’d be interesting to see if big companies like Wonder have statistics on how much of the bread they produce will ultimately end up, uneaten, in a landfill. I bet it would be pretty shocking.
I hate it when you get a defective coffee cup, you know, one that leaks around the little paper seams? No matter which way I turn the little drinking-hole, some coffee still seems to dribble out from that mysterious breach. Now I’ve got coffee on the keyboard, and all over my hand. Stupid Starbucks, for $1.17 you’d think I’d get a commemorative brushed aluminum mug every time or something. Back in the good ol’ days (and when I say that, I mean what I see on Andy Griffith), a cup of joe cost a cool nickel – free if you were a cop (I would surely qualify due to how often I’m laying down the law). Now I’m paying 25 times that for some beans that were probably hauled down a mountain by barefoot children, Starbucks’ whips cracking at their backs.
Tonight we went over for dinner and cocktails at Pat & Cynthia’s place (oh my, how 70s of us all… dinner, cocktails, and a game of Scrabble). Indian food was on the menu, and it was the yum. Keeping with the 70s theme, after dinner we all slammed several lines of coke and danced until we were sweaty, then went home with each others’ partners. It was a night thick with curry and dirty, unprotected sex. And for the drug users in my readership, I realize that you can’t “slam” lines… the verb just sounded funny.
I saw or read a story once, either on Rescue 911 or in Reader’s Digest, about a guy who got trapped under a his tractor. His wife was away and he lived miles from anyone, so he was basically stuck and left for dead. The story went on to talk about how the guy’s dog saved his life by keeping him from dying of thirst. The dog would run down to a pond, get all wet, and then run back to his trapped master who would suck the water off the dog’s fur. Apparently, the dog did this over and over to keep the guy from dehydrating to death. This went on for something like a week before the man’s wife finally got back home and found him. That’s a good dog right there. Maybe not the ultimate best dog, who would’ve also rolled in mashed potatoes and gravy, but pretty darn close. All the dogs I’ve ever had only roll in roadkill.
Wow, four paragraphs, and not a single one on the same subject. Sorry for the randomness, at least I wrote. I can’t believe that my wife read the blog… verbotten!