Reactions to Monica Lewinsky

Recently Vanity Fair magazine announced that Monica Lewinsky had written an article for their next issue. This has generated quite a few reactions from around the country.

Mel Robbins, CNN: "Stop judging Monica Lewinski."

Maureen Dowd, The New York Times: "Monica is in danger of exploiting her own exploitation..."

Ruth Marcus, The Washington Post: "(she) saw her life irreparably shattered..."

Cliven Bundy, Nevada Rancher: "I want to tell you one more thing I know about the 24 year old White House intern..."

Smoothie, Schmoothie

While sitting in my doctor's' waiting room last week I happened to pick up an issue of  MyInternetWebDoctor magazine. Dr. Jake is a camper and hunter, so this issue lurked among other publications with titles such as Outdoor Rx and Field and Stream and Autoimmune Diseases, along with a well-thumbed copy of a book called  Off My Meds: A Journey Alone.

I wouldn't call this issue of MyInternetWebDoctor a recent issue (unless they haven't published anything since 2012) but since it was a magazine with which I was unfamiliar I thought I'd give it a browse.

Inside there was a very compelling article about the myriad common, everyday items that could kill you in an instant, and another about how coffee can both cause and cure cancer. But the one I found most interesting was an excellent story about food preparation devices, primarily because it included a stunning photograph a rather muscular smoothie making machine standing next to the elegantly attractive blended concoction it had wrought. The two of them together looked like a pair of Hollywood stars standing on a red carpet at some obscure, food preparation device awards program.

Let me digress for a moment to say that one of the things I most admire about us Americans is our unique ability to find names for things that don't have names. A "smoothie" might have been called a "squash-ie" or a "mush-ie" but "smoothie" just seems so appropriate and I have to give kudos to whoever thought it up.

My first stop after leaving the doctor's office was the local appliance store and soon I was hurrying home with visions of frothy healthful mixtures in my head.

"Look," I proudly said to my wife as I walked into the kitchen holding up my treasure.

"What't that?" she asked, looking up from her book. "A blender?"

"It happens to be a smoothie maker," I instructed. Then added, in case she didn't quite understand the technology involved, "It's for making smoothies."

"Hmmm. Thanks for explaining that."

 I quickly un-boxed the instrument, glanced briefly at the instructions which were much too complicated and loaded with warnings, and dove right in to making my first smoothie.

I quickly filled the blending vessel with yogurt, strawberries, and ice cubes.

"I think you're supposed to use crushed ice," my wife said helpfully. "Did you read the instructions?"

"I think I know how to make a smoothie, dear," I replied, "and these cubes are pretty small . More like cube-etts, really."

"I don't believe I've ever heard of cube-etts," she said, "but it's your blender."

"Smoothie maker," I muttered as I pressed the "Go" button.

There was a brief whirring sound, followed by a harsh grinding sound, followed by a very long silence sound. I pushed the "Go" button a few more times, but it was clear that the device was no longer functional.

"Sounds like you might have to return it," my wife noted.

Apparently she had forgotten that I do not come from a people who are returners. If, for example, we are in a restaurant and something is brought to our table that we did not order, we just eat it. I once saw my mother eat a children's platter of macaroni and cheese when she had actually ordered a chef salad because, as she put it, "I don't want to make a scene."

So the idea of returning a smoothie maker which I very well may have caused to malfunction was not exactly in my comfort zone. Still, it was painfully clear that something had gone wrong and steps had to be taken.

When I got back to the store I managed to track down the salesman who had sold me the mechanism of betrayal, a man named Dale.

"Dale!" I said heartily, "I have a little problem here."

"What, with the blender?" he said.

"Smoothie maker," I said. "It just stopped working. I'm thinking it may be defective or something."

"Let's have a look." He took it from me, glanced inside the glass container, shook it a couple of times, and said, "Has someone been putting ice cubes in this?"

"Ice cubes?!" I exclaimed incredulously. "Of course not."

He looked again, more carefully. "How about cube-etts?"

### 

EndNote

It turns out the smoothie got it's name in the 1960's from the California Smoothie Company. The California Smoothie Company is located in Paramus, New Jersey.

No word yet on who invented the cube-ett.

The Accidental Beggar

I got up one morning last week and realized there was no coffee in the house. I'm no good until I get that first cup in me, so I pulled on an old pair of sneakers, some grey sweatpants, and my favorite yellow shirt, then set out for my local coffee bar.

Upon arrival I impatiently placed my order and when it was ready I eagerly grabbed the sacred libation from the barista, spilling a bit on my shirt, and strutted out into a glorious Spring morning. I wouldn't say I guzzled the drink, but I certainly wasted no time in consuming it. I was just looking around for a trash receptacle in which to deposit the empty paper cup when I noticed my left shoe was untied. I got down on one knee to tie it, placing the cup on the sidewalk in front of me. At that moment a matronly woman happened to walk by and drop a dollar bill into my cup. "Get yourself something to eat, dear," she said kindly. As I looked up she smiled sympathetically.

She walked on a few steps then stopped, thought for a moment, and came back. She looked down at me sadly, opened her purse, pulled out a five dollar bill and also dropped it in the cup.

"And get a clean shirt," she advised confidentially. "It will make you feel so much better about yourself."

###

When I got home and told my wife what had happened she helpfully remarked, "Looks like you've got $6 to put in the poor box at St. Joe's."

When I agreed she smiled and added, "I'll bet they'll take that shirt off your hands, too. If you beg."

What The Good Book Says

I was speaking to my spiritual advisor the other day and I happened to mention how foolish people seem to be these days.

"I believe The Good Book may be able to offer some words on this troubling matter, my seeker." He spoke not so much in sentences as in pronouncements, with a voice of such stentorian timbre that it was as if the words were being delivered by the Deity Himself.

He paused a moment to gather his thoughts. "As the Book of Leviticus tells us," he began, gazing off toward some sacred horizon,  "'What fools these mortals be'."

I took a moment to grasp this, then replied, "I don't think that's actually The Book of Leviticus, Reverend."

"Excuse me, my supplicant?"

"I believe that's Shakespeare."

"Are you quite sure?"

"A Midsummer Night's Dream. I believe."

He considered this for a moment. "I imagine that seems pretty foolish of me, doesn't it? Yet I see this as a teachable moment, my initiate. For as St. Paul wrote in his letter to the Ephesians, 'You can fool all of the people some of the time...'"

"Um, that's not St. Paul, Exalted One. That's Abraham Lincoln."

"Saint Abraham Lincoln?"

"President Abraham Lincoln."

"Hmm." He looked off at the horizon again and contemplated. "I'm reminded today of the story of another Abraham, a story told in the Book of Genesis."

He took a deep breath and began his parable.

"One blustery day Abraham was walking with his friends Tigger and Eeyore..."

"That's the story of Winnie the Pooh, Holy Man, and it's not in the Book of Genesis."

"So Deuteronomy then?"

"No. More like the Book of Milne."

He reflected on this while continuing to stare into the Holy Distance. Some moments passed. He raised his eyes to the sky above and muttered what I took to be a silent prayer, then scanned the ineffable landscape with even more intensity.

Finally he turned to me and asked, "Do you remember where I parked my car?"

Culinary Perfection

It was my turn to cook dinner the other night and I thought I might try something different. Normally I'm a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy, by which I mean when I go grocery shopping my shopping list consists of two items: 1.Meat; 2. Potatoes.

But that night, determined to break out of my rut, I prowled the Internet for some ideas.

After being distracted by some delightful photos of kittens wearing hats,  I found a recipe that I knew would enchant and amaze my wife.

So when she got home and inquired, "What's for dinner?" I was beaming with pride when I replied, "Something new."

"New?" she said, suspiciously. "New like how?"

I paused a moment for dramatic effect. "How do Brussels sprouts in a vinaigrette reduction with brown sugar and pineapple-bacon garni sound?"

"It sounds pretty ambitious. What else?"

"Else?"

"Yes. You weren't planning on just having Brussels sprouts for dinner, were you?"

"Did I mention garni?" I asked.

"Sprouts and garni do not a meal make, my love," she said.

"Well, of course sprouts and garni do not make a meal," I over-inflected. "I am pondering many, many other ideas."

"I get nervous when you ponder. What ideas?"

"Oh, you know," I said casually. "I thought it might be nice to have some..."

"Meat?"

"Maybe..."

"Potatoes?"

"Perhaps."

"I can see it's a bold, new world, dear. I hope I can handle it."

###

The next day I vowed to expand my recipe assemblage. I turned for help to my local YMWCHA. Sure enough their website revealed a lecture series called "Culinary Perfection" scheduled to begin that very evening. I registered on the spot.

The class was held in the cafeteria kitchen which was in the basement next to a yarning and felting studio. Several students were already gathered around the teacher, identified on a small placard as "Chef Francoise". 

Chef Francoise spoke with a creditable French accent that made him sound very  much like a chef and a tiny bit like Hercule Poirot. "Welcome to Culinary Perfection avec Chef Francoise. I do not like the waste of the time, so let us begin."

He nodded toward a woman in a red and white long sleeved t-shirt and wearing a beret.

"Mademoiselle, can you tell me how many of the teaspuns are in the tablespun?"

"Three, Monsieur," she answered brightly.

"Oui, Mademoiselle. Trois. Bon."

I don't really like to answer questions in public, so I had artfully concealed myself behind two wide women toward the rear of the crowd.

With that unique ability to generate discomfort that only the French can master, Chef Francoise gestured toward me over the top of the two women. "And you, Monsieur," he said, "how many of the tablespuns are in the coop?"

"Well, Monsieur Le Chef Francoise," I said, sheepishly stepping out from behind the women, "I don't actually use the measuring spoons or the measuring cups."

"But how is it for you to know the proper amounts?"

"Oh, I usually just eyeball it."

"Ah-boll it?" he asked, doubtfully.

"You know, sort of a rule of thumb kind of thing."

"And this ah-boll and this thume, they are part of the recipe?" I believe I detected a vague accusation of cannibalism in his question.

"No, no. I just mean - say I'm adding salt. I usually just pour it in until it looks like I have added about a tablespoon."

"A tablespun of salt!? Into what recipe en le monde would you add a whole tablespun of salt?"

"That's just an example. It could be sugar or margarine or..."

"Attendez! Arrêter! STOP!!!' Chef Francoise's face had become quite rouge at this point. "Salt, sugar, margarine, ah-boll, thume? What  recipe du diable is this???"

"Eeew!" said the women who had unsuccessfully served as my shield.

"First of all," I said, growing indignant, "the eyeball and thumb are not part of this recipe ..."

"There is another recipe? With the ah-boll..."

"NO! There is no ah-boll in any recipe!"

"And the th..."

"No thume, either!"

"So only le salt, le sugar, and le," here he made a gagging sound, "margarine?"

"That is just part of it. Obviously a recipe needs more than salt, sugar, and" - I whispered so as not to upset him - "the 'M' word."

"And, s'il vous plaît Monsieur, please tell the members of the class exactly what would be added to complete this disgusting recipe?"

I looked around at their expectant faces. 

"I am pondering many, many other ideas."