Mock Apple Pie

I suppose this does sound more appetizing than "Ritz Cracker Pie" but somehow I don't see the need for a fake apple pie. Research tells me that there was some kind of apple shortage back in the 30's so America's insatiable appetite for apple pie apparently had to be addressed somehow back then. But has anyone under the age of 70 ever not seen apples at the grocery store?

How does someone come up with this idea, anyway? "I wish I had a slice of apple pie right now - but maybe cracker pie would be just as good?" I think I might be more apt to make a fake strawberry pie with a bag of Starburst candies. I guess I'm just not a forward thinker (except for the "microwave" refrigerator idea a few weeks ago).

Then again, I really have no room to talk because I could go for a bowl of Apple Jacks right now.

Shake it up

In this day of rampant professionalism, I have to admit that I am uncomfortable with extending my hand to shake hands. Although I'd like to say that germs may be a factor in this consideration, and have had my share of standing by the restroom sink washing my hands while coworkers will "do their business" only to walk out with palms dripping with invisible bacteria, I do feel strange as people I do know well attempt to shake hands under the guise of professionalism. Obviously, I return the firm shake with a haughty "how do you do" or "good to see you again" to make it even more insincere. Am I wrong that I prefer to keep my distance with my colleagues or do I have to continue to play this unusual game of dilbert-esque interaction?

I would not socialize with these individuals, nor would I spend more time than necessary, so why must I be subjected to shaking the hands of someone and act like I really enjoy spending more than a prefessional minute with them. Excuse me while I wash my hands.

Sweeping Changes at My Place of Employment!

As an employee of an engineering firm, it's not unusual to occasionally find a few employees poring over a large drawing. This afternoon I noticed our Quality Manager gazing at a drawing with one of our machinists - not an unusual sight. What struck me was the janitor peering over this drawing at the same time. I'm not sure what input he could possibly have or, for that matter, what vital information he may have been acquiring from the conversation. I can only guess that there were special janitorial needs for this particular project; must have been an especially messy part that required an extra pass or two with the sweeper.

Hormel's Not The Boss of Me

I personally think the folks at Hormel are getting just a little too heavy handed. It's one thing to tell me heat up a pork roast in the microwave for four minutes, but what's with this "serve and enjoy" business? I'll leave it up to me as to whether or not I'll enjoy my pork roast, thank you. If I choose to serve and gag uncontrollably - well, dammit, that's my decision!

Hello Doctor

My brother had a physical recently where I understand he received shots for tetanus, whooping cough and shingles. He seems like somewhat of a do-it-yourself kind of guy so this shingles thing doesn't really surprise me. However, I think I'd rather have a shot for maybe getting a bathroom re-done.

I guess he's also been told to get a colonoscopy. That's really the kind of thing that's best kept to one's self because once you tell a few people, you'll be subject to no end of jokes. Having gone through the procedure not that long ago, I have been treated to three offerings of a viral video of a singing colonoscopy featuring Lou Rawls "You'll Never Find Another Love Like Mine" with a disco ball rotating overhead.

And if, for exampe, one or two people in the lobby area may happen to mention you look like Richard Gere, don't bother telling anyone later on because, well... just don't bother.

By the way, I think I saw my doctor at the auto show this week. I didn't ask if he remembered me; I couldn't stand anymore jokes.

I'm Too Tired to Post Something Worthwhile

I've never really contemplated street naming, per se, but as I was heading into Barrington on Barrington road today, I started a mental list of streets named for various nearby towns. In the suburban Chicago area, we have Palatine Road that goes through the middle of Palatine and Schaumburg Road that goes through the middle of Schaumburg. However, Mount Prospect Road kind of misses the center of Mount Prospect where Elmhurst Road goes right down the middle. Elmhurst Road, of course, goes right through downtown Elmhurst but, for some reason, it has been renamed York Road by then.

In the south suburbs, 159th Street is a major road that goes through several towns - except South Holland. Upon leaving Harvey for South Holland, 159th Street inexplicably becomes 162nd Street; apparently three blocks further south without moving so much as a fraction of a degree of longitude. Naturally, once you leave South Holland for Calumet City, everything is right again as the 159th Street name returns.

Perhaps the city of Atlanta has found a way to circumvent all of the confusion created by streets with multiple names. I think most of the streets there are named Peachtree.

I HATE Chase Bank and Credit Cards!!!

I'm sure my recent experience is not that atypical of most banks and credit card issuers, but I must admit they definitely try my patience. After being charged $51 for late payment fees after having the customer service representative ADMIT they did not draw the bank transfer as indicated on the due date, I am completely dumbfounded when they claimed they could not reverse the charges. After three days of frustrating calls, and having them treat me like a kindergartener by explaining to me what interest is, and how it's calculated, I decided to pay off the balance and cancel my card. Unbeknownst to me, I realized that they still miscalculated the final balance (after just checking my account online), and still show me as being liable for $2.76! After another incredible call with a poorly trained senior citizen, know-it-all, who is trying again to explain to me why I would be charged because of the time value of money, completely forgeting my point in that the charge is erroneous. In fact, several times I attempted to interrupt the bastard, named Garrett (who refused to provide his last name or his manager, I might add) but he continued to ignore my pleas to listen and instead berated me for closing the account. Finally, after this idiot's tirade, he explains that he will, as a courtesy no less, waive the fee, but discovers that I have closed the account, and then refuses to do so since I apparently have not been very loyal to Chase. To which I request to be passed on to his manager. His response this time is okay, but he will have to put me on hold. After an inordinate amount of time, he claims that his boss is still busy, but I can wait. I will say that after a slight pause, he didn't have time to interrupt me this time as I told him to shove his headset up his fat hairy. . .

Cold as Ice T

I seem to recall having an inane (insane?) conversation with a curvy blonde one day over wind chill. She somehow managed to get me to think about wind chill, and whether metal or cars would "feel" wind chill. So when the temperature dropped down below freezing and forecasters are shouting out the wind chill factor, do inanimate objects actually feel the actual temperature or the much colder wind chill factor? I immediately tried to explain to her that objects do not "feel" wind chill, but only we do because we can sense the wind against our pores. To which she asked if dogs can feel wind chill? I suddenly realized why I was so attracted to her and completely recognized the value that she brought to this relationship. Nuff Said.

Do You Have Jumper Cables?

If the answer to the above question is yes, these are five words that you just plain don't want to hear. As a young pup I made the "smart" decision to invest in a set of jumper cables. I've never used them. On my car, that is.

Funny thing about jumper cables - people don't seem to need them on a sunny day with a temperature in the 80's. Or 60's. Or 40's, 3o's or even 20's. Watch the mercury fall below 0 though - then the fun starts. That's when you'll hear the dreaded question. Regrettably, I never found it within me to lie and answer "no". I finally had to resort to completely removing this evil accessory from the trunk of my car.

If you ever feel the need to purchase jumper cables, take my advice. Use the money to join a motor club instead. Trust me, it'll be well worth the extra money - even if you never do use it.

Beauty is relative

No this is not about your voluptuous cousin, you freakazoid! I would like to make an observation about attractive women. Now, I won't get soft and talk about "beauty is in the eye of the beholder" and overused cliches, but wanted to share a thought as I sit in my high tech department full of overweight, overlooked, overdone, over-aged, and over the top females. Of course, you would say, they may not be attractive because the industry doesn't attract that type of person. Instead, we are beset with horn rimmed glass bearing, "techy types" littering the floors. The majority sex of our staff is male, and no doubt, very little sex occurs in this group, at least if another party is involved (who doesn't have a tail, that is).

Now you may ask, why do I bring this topic up on an innocent Friday night? Well, I suddenly realized as I drove home that it is relative. After spending an inordinate amount of time in this environment, I realized that the flirtatious geek who is constantly in the copy room is not that unattractive. Sure, not exactly the complement that one of the opposite sex would like to hear, but hear me out. Compared to the other females in the department, she's not bad. However, she definitely no Heather Locklear, nor even a Katie Couric, but compared to some of the smelly Roseanne Barr type beasts around here, she's beginning to look awful. . . appealing. Again, it's all relative. If I were in Atlanta, Georgia or San Antonio, Texas, I would say that Britney Spears would not garner a second look.

The Next Cool Thing

I'm just not impressed with my microwave oven anymore. At one time it may have been a miracle to dive into a burrito only two minutes after it left the freezer, but now - that is just so last century.

Microwave ovens have been commonplace for thirty years or more. What I can't figure out is why hasn't anyone applied this same kind of thinking to the refrigerator. Say, for example, that I've just arrived home from 7-Eleven with a frozen burrito and a six-pack of Coke. (Editor's note: if this were a true story, I would have grabbed a cold coke from the cooler but that would render this example meaningless.) Once I place my burrito in the microwave, I discover that my ice tray is empty; so there I am, moments later, with a hot burrito and a warm coke. I hate warm coke.

This is where we need a microwave refrigerator. Something I can place my warm coke in only to have it ice cold in just two minutes. I can't believe this isn't on the shelves at Best Buy yet. Just wait, one day I'll seem like a visionary.

One of the Good Blogs

Now that the presidential election season is in full swing, political commentary is everywhere: TV, radio, newspapers, magazines and on and on. Each of these bastions of information dissemination are naturally serious journalistic enterprises. Often times, as I listen to or read what these journalists have to say there are dismissive (or derisive) references to "bloggers" and their uninformed non-journalistic opinions that apparently diminish the election process. "Don't believe everything you read on the Internet!"

Fortunately for us, there is no way in the world anyone could possibly take our blog seriously. Yes, we may be embarassed by it's content (and to our knowledge we still are unread by anyone who knows who we are) but at least we can take comfort that our blog is not among those that are so reviled by the political press. Of course, this is not to suggest that these true "journalists" would actually approve of our blog - there's just no danger of us infringing upon their territory.

Germain to the conversation

In recent years, I have become more of a germ-a-phobe. Right around the time I had heard that Howard Hughes, the richest man in the world - pre-Gates, had this weird, eccentric concern over germs. Not that I would compare to this wealthy weirdo, but I think he was ahead of his time. I think about all these anti-resistant bacteria that is permeating the world, and how our antibiotics would one day be powerless in the face of these super-beings. That is why I chose to grip the door handle with my right pinky and then carefully place it in my pocket as I rub on some Purell hidden securely in the inner reaches of my pocket so as to not bring attention to my sudden fear of those insidious germs.

Often, I am the one who will be running to the rest room to wash my hands after shaking hands with a stranger. I will not hesitate to use paper towels to touch the faucet handles rather than risk the touch of some errant stranger who may not be as careful as me. Would it be appropriate to purchase a plastic bag in order to venture out into this strange, strained world?

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year! I must have heard that a half dozen times this morning. I used to think it was a simple exclamation good for only a few minutes after the clock struck midnight on December 31. Boy, was I wrong.

Last Friday, the drive-thru attendant at a local Wendy's wished me a happy new year as she handed me my son's dinner. This morning, six or so people greeted me that same way in rapid succession. Maybe I'm old fashioned, but I figure that once the calendar shows January 2nd, we're back at "good morning" or "how you doing" rather than continuing to throw out that "happy new year" line.

Not that I'm complaining, per se. My response to the first and second greetings this morning was simply to repeat those very same words - happy new year. But I felt awkward. The next couple of greeters received a "same to you" in response. I think I then descended to "you to" or some such dismissive reply. Fortunately the greetings stopped before I dove further into "back at you" or "happy new year, my ass!".

I suppose I just need to give in to the popular lexicon and bring out the seasonal greetings myself. Let me be the first to wish you and yours a happy Martin Luther King, Jr. day!

Time to Go Worldwide!

We need to stop wasting our time with private (and occasionally esoteric) nonsense and go mainstream. I'm talking Nickelback of the blogging world. After all, how long can we hide our blog in shame because we're embarassed by the content? Some of it isn't bad. Perhaps we just need to do a little pruning or editing before approaching the masses.

What am I suggesting? That the writers actually tell someone they know about this blog (well, I actually already have told two people - they both claim the blog wouldn't display on their computer; I'll pretend they weren't merely trying to spare my feelings). I'll even dare my partner to publish the URL of this blog as part of his Linked In profile (and I'll further pray that he actually won't).

However, we both must have an appropriate co-worker or two that can be trusted to find some redeeming value among all this gibberish. Or maybe a neighbor. A relative? There must be someone! Let's get our act together and take it on the road!

That Shell Guy

My local Shell stations have installed flat-screen televisions on all their pumps thus providing quality entertainment as I fill my tank. However, aside from the occasional weather forecast I don't really find much of interest; and truthfully, I don't care that much about the forecast either. Since I'm already standing outside I already have a pretty good idea of the current weather conditions. I just figure that, most likely, more of the same is on the way.

I do find the greeting rather interesting though. Some Asian looking guy in a lab coat welcomes me to Shell and claims that it's "good to see me". Unless there are hundreds of this little guy scattered about the country, standing inside of each pump, I'm pretty sure that he's never actually "seen" me. Maybe he should say something like "It's good to have you here" or "Thanks for visiting" or "Bend over, you're about to get it in the ass again as we charge you $3.00 for a gallon of gas!" Or, for those gullible enough to think this guy actually does see them, maybe he could try that old trick of "Hey, look! That guy is trying to run off with your car!"

How are you, How are ya, Hawaii!

Notice how age tends to follow music genres? When I was growing up, the 50's seemed so old and unfamiliar. It was the music of your parents and grandparents generation. As I was musing about music, I suddenly realized that the youth of today probably think the music of the 80's are probably antiquated and boring. So I decided to go out and pick up a cd of a popular contemporary group, the pussycat dolls. "Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me," blares from my car stereo as I drift on by with my radio blaring and my windows down, impressing the young'uns that I may be aged based on the calendar, but I'm still young at heart!

Linc in Abraham

I recently discovered the incredible power of the web in using Linked In. In the short span of less than 24 hours, I was able to connect with some long ago colleagues and learned to impress them with small talk and drivel, no doubt honed from the long wasted hours spent on this blog. But I digress. What is truly amazing to me is how the network constantly expands with each new connection. I feel incredible as each contact grows exponentially. I feel the power surge as each Aunt May leads to another Peter Parker, and more importantly, a new Mary Jane.

I got the POWER!!!

Goodbye Doctor Post!

I've officially adopted a new moniker! Something more akin to a real pen name. And something less akin to the nickname of a 70's basketball player.

Doctor Post was an okay blogger name; and it garnered some serious respect when leaving phone messages with administrative assistants. But it was really nothing more than the further evolution of a derivation of Dr. J.

For a brief period of time, I was Dr. Pool. As in billiards. Not that I was any good at pool, but it did provide just a little bit of an intimidation factor. Miniscule.

Nathan Kinzel, on the other hand, just a good solid name. And not readily identifiable with any other nicknames, past or present. So goodbye, Dr. Post. All those prior references to Dr. or DP will now just sport an archaic feel as Blogger simply applies the new name to every prior post and comment.

Now if only the co-author could follow suit with an appropriate pen name. Maybe Rube something.

I Think I May Have Been an Underachiever

As if this blog weren't evidence enough.

I'm finding that my offspring receive report cards that, well, exceed my own at their age. This became apparent yet again as I attended the annual parent-teacher conferences only to be told what an excellent student my son was. While I certainly take pride in my son's achievement, this can't reflect well upon my own accomplishments - or lack thereof - while I was in school. I suppose I could escape this underachiever thing if I simply chalked this up to "he got my wife's intelligence"; but seriously, do I really want to do that? I think I'll keep the underachiever label, thank you.