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T. Michael Barclay's "Asylum Earth" takes a slightly different look at people, places and events that shape the planet we are confined to. It's overwhelming evidence that the patients are indeed running the asylum.
Friday, July 30, 2004
MY MOST EMBARRISING RECENT MOMENT –
Hint; If You Want to do it Right, Draw a Crowd . . .
There is a definite art to embarrassing oneself and not just anyone should attempt to accomplish this fete without studying under a professional, so pay attention I won’t be giving another lesson for a week or so.
While on a routine shopping trip, I made a major purchase decision. I had been dispatched to the local supermarket to procure some mildew remover, and unlike washing detergent or softener, it was totally up to me which brand to buy. Taking my time, I read every label carefully before I spotted a ‘neck ringer’ that proclaimed that if I purchased their brand they would send me a coupon for a free bottle. Now, that was exactly the ingredient I was looking for.
Having made my $1.50 purchase, I hastened home to brag to my wife about the wise decision that I had made and queried her as to why she couldn’t find products with these kinds of ingredients when she was shopping. Having made my point, I retired to my office and began the arduous task of complying with all the rules of redemption.
First I recovered the sales receipt from the garage trash, which on occasion can also be the ‘In Transit Lounge’ for son’s latest diapered deposits, but for $1.50 you take your chances. I then circled the sales price, copied the UPC code in clearly readable print and added my name, address and daytime phone number. Then I ran a copy of everything (just in case they failed to comply and I needed to retain an attorney), carefully addressed an envelope and affixed a shiny new .37 cent stamp of postage. Having finished my assigned task, I then gave the entire form one more once over and was, at that point, struck by the cold chill of reality . . . The promotion ended three weeks prior to my purchase!
How could they? What kind of idiot do they think I am? Well, I would just show them that I am a customer to reckon with. They just thought that I would submit a ‘Mean Green’ coupon for redemption past the expiration date and look like a fool. I would show them who the real fool is and when I was through there would be no doubt about it.
Never mind that there was important work to be done and that my son had locked himself in his toy box, we’re talking a buck and a half here and I want, nah, I demand satisfaction as a consumer and longstanding fateful Brookshire’s ‘Loyalty Card’ holder. The very foundation of this grocery behemoth would shake at my feet before this day was over.
Hey, he’s got plenty of air in there; I’ll be back in an hour . . .
After the short twenty minute drive, I was back at the point of infraction. I walked in, head high and announced for anyone within listening distance that I wanted to see a manager. It was early afternoon and there were more store employees than customers, so a little higher degree of curiosity seem to permeate the staff than might happen during a busier time of day. A couple of employee looking types approached and queried as to my needs, but I assured them that if they were not ‘a manager’ I was waiting for, nah, expected senior corporate officials to deal with my pressing problem.
After a couple of intercom calls and some hurried trips up and down stairs, it was determined that the manager was in the back of the store and would be along in short order and, was there anything anyone else might do for me. “No”, I assured everyone with any interest, which by now was everyone, I would just wait right here for my justice.
Within a few minutes I was approached by a young man I recognized as one of their managers, but had never actually met, and introductions were made. He was polite and seemed resolved to handle whatever my problem was, because as you know, the customer is always right. I carefully explained my earlier shopping experience and produced the sales receipt to verify that I had made the purchase that very day. I then showed him the coupon form and pointed to the fact that it was July 28 today and the promotion ended on June 30. With a big smile and complete look of confidence I broadcast my plight for all of the staffers that had gathered and told them that while I was sure it was not their fault personally, they might want to talk to the supplier of these products as they were surely giving the store a bad name and extra trouble and work for his employees.
Having been so engrossed in my own problem, not to mention my own self, I failed to get the managers name, but the manager man studied the receipt and coupon offer with great interest. He then motioned to one of the few employees that wasn’t already gathered around us and asked her to go to his office and procure his calendar. She, obviously knowing the routine, asked him why he wanted his calendar. At this point, in a voice that could have only have been meant to inform everyone in the vicinity as well as to indicate that he was possible talking to a complete imbecile, he clearly stated, “Because I didn’t realize it was already 2006!”
“Great”, I managed, “I have time to buy another bottle” and slithered toward the cleaning isle, thinking that this would give me a straight shot at the back of the store.
“Boy”, I thought, “Remember my last trip to Wal-Mart”? “I sure hope the jump off this back dock doesn’t hurt as much.”
Wordsmith
Hint; If You Want to do it Right, Draw a Crowd . . .
There is a definite art to embarrassing oneself and not just anyone should attempt to accomplish this fete without studying under a professional, so pay attention I won’t be giving another lesson for a week or so.
While on a routine shopping trip, I made a major purchase decision. I had been dispatched to the local supermarket to procure some mildew remover, and unlike washing detergent or softener, it was totally up to me which brand to buy. Taking my time, I read every label carefully before I spotted a ‘neck ringer’ that proclaimed that if I purchased their brand they would send me a coupon for a free bottle. Now, that was exactly the ingredient I was looking for.
Having made my $1.50 purchase, I hastened home to brag to my wife about the wise decision that I had made and queried her as to why she couldn’t find products with these kinds of ingredients when she was shopping. Having made my point, I retired to my office and began the arduous task of complying with all the rules of redemption.
First I recovered the sales receipt from the garage trash, which on occasion can also be the ‘In Transit Lounge’ for son’s latest diapered deposits, but for $1.50 you take your chances. I then circled the sales price, copied the UPC code in clearly readable print and added my name, address and daytime phone number. Then I ran a copy of everything (just in case they failed to comply and I needed to retain an attorney), carefully addressed an envelope and affixed a shiny new .37 cent stamp of postage. Having finished my assigned task, I then gave the entire form one more once over and was, at that point, struck by the cold chill of reality . . . The promotion ended three weeks prior to my purchase!
How could they? What kind of idiot do they think I am? Well, I would just show them that I am a customer to reckon with. They just thought that I would submit a ‘Mean Green’ coupon for redemption past the expiration date and look like a fool. I would show them who the real fool is and when I was through there would be no doubt about it.
Never mind that there was important work to be done and that my son had locked himself in his toy box, we’re talking a buck and a half here and I want, nah, I demand satisfaction as a consumer and longstanding fateful Brookshire’s ‘Loyalty Card’ holder. The very foundation of this grocery behemoth would shake at my feet before this day was over.
Hey, he’s got plenty of air in there; I’ll be back in an hour . . .
After the short twenty minute drive, I was back at the point of infraction. I walked in, head high and announced for anyone within listening distance that I wanted to see a manager. It was early afternoon and there were more store employees than customers, so a little higher degree of curiosity seem to permeate the staff than might happen during a busier time of day. A couple of employee looking types approached and queried as to my needs, but I assured them that if they were not ‘a manager’ I was waiting for, nah, expected senior corporate officials to deal with my pressing problem.
After a couple of intercom calls and some hurried trips up and down stairs, it was determined that the manager was in the back of the store and would be along in short order and, was there anything anyone else might do for me. “No”, I assured everyone with any interest, which by now was everyone, I would just wait right here for my justice.
Within a few minutes I was approached by a young man I recognized as one of their managers, but had never actually met, and introductions were made. He was polite and seemed resolved to handle whatever my problem was, because as you know, the customer is always right. I carefully explained my earlier shopping experience and produced the sales receipt to verify that I had made the purchase that very day. I then showed him the coupon form and pointed to the fact that it was July 28 today and the promotion ended on June 30. With a big smile and complete look of confidence I broadcast my plight for all of the staffers that had gathered and told them that while I was sure it was not their fault personally, they might want to talk to the supplier of these products as they were surely giving the store a bad name and extra trouble and work for his employees.
Having been so engrossed in my own problem, not to mention my own self, I failed to get the managers name, but the manager man studied the receipt and coupon offer with great interest. He then motioned to one of the few employees that wasn’t already gathered around us and asked her to go to his office and procure his calendar. She, obviously knowing the routine, asked him why he wanted his calendar. At this point, in a voice that could have only have been meant to inform everyone in the vicinity as well as to indicate that he was possible talking to a complete imbecile, he clearly stated, “Because I didn’t realize it was already 2006!”
“Great”, I managed, “I have time to buy another bottle” and slithered toward the cleaning isle, thinking that this would give me a straight shot at the back of the store.
“Boy”, I thought, “Remember my last trip to Wal-Mart”? “I sure hope the jump off this back dock doesn’t hurt as much.”
Wordsmith
Sunday, July 25, 2004
KILLED BY THE BELL . . .
Or . . . Assassination by Committee -
It was late on that hot July night when Alex was awakened out of a deep sleep. He fiddled around in the dark trying to find a light and his glasses at the sound of the commotion coming from the rooms below. What could all that racket be at this ungodly hour and why at his house, he thought. Soon he would have his answers.
“There’s been a terrible incident and you’re wanted at the hospital”, was the message that greeted Alex when he reached the bottom of the stairs.
Even though he was not a physician or a doctor of any kind, this was not that unusual of an event as he was a leading citizen and noted academic who was called on for all manner of matters, not normally at this hour, but frequently enough for him to know that someone thought that he could be of some assistance. He hurried to dress and answer the call of his community.
Upon arriving at the hospital, Alex was informed that a patient that had been shot some days earlier and had taken a turn for the worse. All known procedures had done little to abate the approaching death. With little hope of a conventional remedy, it was anticipated that something in his arsenal of research might bring hope to an otherwise hopeless situation.
For what seemed like endless hours, the doctors had probed and probed with no success at finding the damning projectile that was thought to be buried within the patient’s torso. The only result of their efforts so far was the introduction of additional infection. Further exploration would only take them dangerously close to vital organs that would greatly complicate an already complicated state of affairs. Alex knew by the looks on the faces before him that he was now the last hope for the man that lay before him.
Alex’s mind was spinning with thought of how he might be of help to his fellow man given his lack of medical knowledge and expertise. What had he done in his research and which of his various mechanical contraptions would make a difference in this circumstance? Maybe, just maybe he might find salvation in something that he had only yesterday used in search of an object misplaced by his assistant. He reasoned the perilous position he as well as the dieing man before him were in left few options.
His assistant, convinced that he had lost his Masonic ring while at the shore, had implored Alex to help search for the item only some twenty-four hour earlier. He had taken a rather crudely designed electromagnetic gadget and scoured the shoreline in the vicinity thought to hide the item. With the response of conducting metal and just maybe some fortuitous luck, they had managed to find the ring in a matter of hours. It seemed to him that what lay before him might just be a much smaller and more well defined area in which to search for a similar conducting article. He dispatched his assistant to bring his new device as quickly as possible.
A short time later, Alex had his contrivance and was positioned directly over the prone patient. He very carefully passed the electronic apparatus over the width and breadth of the body and watched closely for any apparent magnetic activity. After what seemed like an hour, but had been less than half of that, he was positive that he had detected the offending object and declared that it was not only there but it was far deeper than they had originally suspected. With his assurance as to the exact location of the bullet fragment, the doctors made one final probe trying to approximate the depth as indicated by Alex’s instrument. The resulting probe unfortunately punctured the patents lung and hastened his death.
Wanting to take advantage of this radically new approach to finding something of this nature in future patients, the doctors decided to go ahead and surgically remove the slug. To their dismay no bullet or fragment thereof was located. After complete exploration and further scans by Alex’s device was it determined that he had actually pinpointed the location and depth at what turned out to be the metal spring of the hospital bed mattress.
History would assuredly show us that in today’s litigious environment, the actual perpetrator of the shooting would face a much lesser charge and the medical community would bare the brunt of the eventuality of this event. However in the day and time of this event nothing was said of the post trauma treatment, or mistreatment as it were, and the shooter was hanged forthwith.
It would also appear that our competency challenged historians chose to give our maverick discoverer a walk on this misstep in medical conduct as it gets little press in biographical offerings. However, as you dig through the attic or rummage around the garage looking for that old metal detector, you might be reminded that what is now an instrument for the leisure activity of treasure hunting had a most inauspicious beginning as the appliance that in July, 1881, was as responsible as anything for the death of James A. Garfield, the 20th President of the United States of America, . . . and did so at the hand of its inventor, Alexander Graham Bell.
Wordsmith
Or . . . Assassination by Committee -
It was late on that hot July night when Alex was awakened out of a deep sleep. He fiddled around in the dark trying to find a light and his glasses at the sound of the commotion coming from the rooms below. What could all that racket be at this ungodly hour and why at his house, he thought. Soon he would have his answers.
“There’s been a terrible incident and you’re wanted at the hospital”, was the message that greeted Alex when he reached the bottom of the stairs.
Even though he was not a physician or a doctor of any kind, this was not that unusual of an event as he was a leading citizen and noted academic who was called on for all manner of matters, not normally at this hour, but frequently enough for him to know that someone thought that he could be of some assistance. He hurried to dress and answer the call of his community.
Upon arriving at the hospital, Alex was informed that a patient that had been shot some days earlier and had taken a turn for the worse. All known procedures had done little to abate the approaching death. With little hope of a conventional remedy, it was anticipated that something in his arsenal of research might bring hope to an otherwise hopeless situation.
For what seemed like endless hours, the doctors had probed and probed with no success at finding the damning projectile that was thought to be buried within the patient’s torso. The only result of their efforts so far was the introduction of additional infection. Further exploration would only take them dangerously close to vital organs that would greatly complicate an already complicated state of affairs. Alex knew by the looks on the faces before him that he was now the last hope for the man that lay before him.
Alex’s mind was spinning with thought of how he might be of help to his fellow man given his lack of medical knowledge and expertise. What had he done in his research and which of his various mechanical contraptions would make a difference in this circumstance? Maybe, just maybe he might find salvation in something that he had only yesterday used in search of an object misplaced by his assistant. He reasoned the perilous position he as well as the dieing man before him were in left few options.
His assistant, convinced that he had lost his Masonic ring while at the shore, had implored Alex to help search for the item only some twenty-four hour earlier. He had taken a rather crudely designed electromagnetic gadget and scoured the shoreline in the vicinity thought to hide the item. With the response of conducting metal and just maybe some fortuitous luck, they had managed to find the ring in a matter of hours. It seemed to him that what lay before him might just be a much smaller and more well defined area in which to search for a similar conducting article. He dispatched his assistant to bring his new device as quickly as possible.
A short time later, Alex had his contrivance and was positioned directly over the prone patient. He very carefully passed the electronic apparatus over the width and breadth of the body and watched closely for any apparent magnetic activity. After what seemed like an hour, but had been less than half of that, he was positive that he had detected the offending object and declared that it was not only there but it was far deeper than they had originally suspected. With his assurance as to the exact location of the bullet fragment, the doctors made one final probe trying to approximate the depth as indicated by Alex’s instrument. The resulting probe unfortunately punctured the patents lung and hastened his death.
Wanting to take advantage of this radically new approach to finding something of this nature in future patients, the doctors decided to go ahead and surgically remove the slug. To their dismay no bullet or fragment thereof was located. After complete exploration and further scans by Alex’s device was it determined that he had actually pinpointed the location and depth at what turned out to be the metal spring of the hospital bed mattress.
History would assuredly show us that in today’s litigious environment, the actual perpetrator of the shooting would face a much lesser charge and the medical community would bare the brunt of the eventuality of this event. However in the day and time of this event nothing was said of the post trauma treatment, or mistreatment as it were, and the shooter was hanged forthwith.
It would also appear that our competency challenged historians chose to give our maverick discoverer a walk on this misstep in medical conduct as it gets little press in biographical offerings. However, as you dig through the attic or rummage around the garage looking for that old metal detector, you might be reminded that what is now an instrument for the leisure activity of treasure hunting had a most inauspicious beginning as the appliance that in July, 1881, was as responsible as anything for the death of James A. Garfield, the 20th President of the United States of America, . . . and did so at the hand of its inventor, Alexander Graham Bell.
Wordsmith
Monday, July 05, 2004
THE LIFE OF SPICE -
How To Save Yourself Right Into The Poor House . . .
In a far more typical move than not, I was shopping at a local food store the other day when it dawned on me that I had just paid twelve dollars ($12) for the ingredients for a recipe to cook ‘Chuck Steak’. Now that in and of itself may not seem so strange except for the fact that I had only purchased the two pound hank of beef because it was on sale for two dollars ($2).
This got me to thinking about the possibility of a mass conspiracy between the makers of rare spices and the meat industry, or for that matter, the makers of spices in general and all food processors. As I began to look back in my file of recipes I noticed that all of the lists of needed ingredients had one thing in common . . . nothing! This fact was easy to substantiate as I then looked at my spice rack, or should I say spice racks. I then looked at my spice shelf, or what might be better described as a spice cabinet. This led me to look at my spice drawer and then my spice pantry. Just how the hell did I end up with so much space dedicated to spices? And, why was I now looking for some type of spice that I didn’t already own?
No doubt about it, the spice industries and the food processors are in serious cahoots and I’ve got the proof. The eight dollar ($8) thimble of “Ground Hangnail of Gnat” called for in my Chuck Steak recipe does not appear in any of my 600 other recipes! Nor, for that fact, do any of the other seven ingredients like; 1/16 tbsp sauce of virgin soy, 1/5 c. blue vinegar, dash of dot, 3 tbsp Bestestershire sauce, 1/10 c. packed, but not really ready to go, brownish on the yellow side, sugar, 1-1/13 tsp. ground, and 2 tbsp rerun oil of Oley.
What exactly is ‘Ajwain’ and why do I have a jar of it? Oh, that’s right, here it is, the recipe for ‘Chicken that has been frightened to death’ distinctly calls for, a pungent and bitter, spasmodic, germicidal, antiseptic, digestive, antipyretic, expectorant and an extra ordinary tonic . . . how could I have forgotten that? Wow, a shaker of ‘Anis,’ but who really wants to go there . . . Now surely there has to be multiple uses for ‘Asafetida,’ or why would I have a large beaker of it? What must the vegetables have smelled like that I would have wanted to add a spice nick-named, “Devils Dung”? However, that does probably explain the ‘Burro Pepper’.
‘Nigella,’ hmmm . . . not sure what it is for, but there does seem to be something growing in it rather well, best just leave well enough alone. ‘Wasabi,’ oh right, I remember now, my ex-wife put that on a dish I called, “Hey, you forgot to cook the fish,” right before I threw her and the Sushi the hell out, gotta keep that one, great memories. ‘Wormwood,’ now was that something I put on a dish or took after I discovered what it gave me? I need to start writing these things down.
Who can live without stomped ‘Kaffir’ lime, ‘Greater Galangale,’ grated of course, or ‘West Indian goosefoot’ . . . well, apparently not me, because there they are, each missing some portion of a pinch. ‘False Cubeb’ pepper, what kind of recipe calls for False Cubeb pepper, fake Halibut with counterfeit Cucumber? Let’s see, way in the back there, it’s a jar of something called ‘Screw Pine.’ Says it goes with With Indies rice dishes, have I ever eaten a West Indies rice dish? Oh, right, I remember, I just liked the name.
It just goes on and on . . . ‘Lemon Grass,’ ‘Javanese Turmeric’ (not of course to be confused with Japanese Turmeric), ‘Hyssop,’ and 'Fenugreek,' or 'Greek hayseed' (obviously named after the guy who bought the premise that it was different from eighty other ground up leaves of bush being sold on the street). With any luck I will run into another recipe that calls for ‘Fingerroot,’ or ‘Grains of Paradise,’ with a dollop of ‘Chinese Basil.’
Of course maybe it’s an even bigger conspiracy between the restaurant folks and the spice gang. Once you do the math and figure out that your two dollar chuck steak meal idea has turned into a twenty dollar shopping excursion, eating out begins to look more and more economical . . .
Wordsmith
How To Save Yourself Right Into The Poor House . . .
In a far more typical move than not, I was shopping at a local food store the other day when it dawned on me that I had just paid twelve dollars ($12) for the ingredients for a recipe to cook ‘Chuck Steak’. Now that in and of itself may not seem so strange except for the fact that I had only purchased the two pound hank of beef because it was on sale for two dollars ($2).
This got me to thinking about the possibility of a mass conspiracy between the makers of rare spices and the meat industry, or for that matter, the makers of spices in general and all food processors. As I began to look back in my file of recipes I noticed that all of the lists of needed ingredients had one thing in common . . . nothing! This fact was easy to substantiate as I then looked at my spice rack, or should I say spice racks. I then looked at my spice shelf, or what might be better described as a spice cabinet. This led me to look at my spice drawer and then my spice pantry. Just how the hell did I end up with so much space dedicated to spices? And, why was I now looking for some type of spice that I didn’t already own?
No doubt about it, the spice industries and the food processors are in serious cahoots and I’ve got the proof. The eight dollar ($8) thimble of “Ground Hangnail of Gnat” called for in my Chuck Steak recipe does not appear in any of my 600 other recipes! Nor, for that fact, do any of the other seven ingredients like; 1/16 tbsp sauce of virgin soy, 1/5 c. blue vinegar, dash of dot, 3 tbsp Bestestershire sauce, 1/10 c. packed, but not really ready to go, brownish on the yellow side, sugar, 1-1/13 tsp. ground, and 2 tbsp rerun oil of Oley.
What exactly is ‘Ajwain’ and why do I have a jar of it? Oh, that’s right, here it is, the recipe for ‘Chicken that has been frightened to death’ distinctly calls for, a pungent and bitter, spasmodic, germicidal, antiseptic, digestive, antipyretic, expectorant and an extra ordinary tonic . . . how could I have forgotten that? Wow, a shaker of ‘Anis,’ but who really wants to go there . . . Now surely there has to be multiple uses for ‘Asafetida,’ or why would I have a large beaker of it? What must the vegetables have smelled like that I would have wanted to add a spice nick-named, “Devils Dung”? However, that does probably explain the ‘Burro Pepper’.
‘Nigella,’ hmmm . . . not sure what it is for, but there does seem to be something growing in it rather well, best just leave well enough alone. ‘Wasabi,’ oh right, I remember now, my ex-wife put that on a dish I called, “Hey, you forgot to cook the fish,” right before I threw her and the Sushi the hell out, gotta keep that one, great memories. ‘Wormwood,’ now was that something I put on a dish or took after I discovered what it gave me? I need to start writing these things down.
Who can live without stomped ‘Kaffir’ lime, ‘Greater Galangale,’ grated of course, or ‘West Indian goosefoot’ . . . well, apparently not me, because there they are, each missing some portion of a pinch. ‘False Cubeb’ pepper, what kind of recipe calls for False Cubeb pepper, fake Halibut with counterfeit Cucumber? Let’s see, way in the back there, it’s a jar of something called ‘Screw Pine.’ Says it goes with With Indies rice dishes, have I ever eaten a West Indies rice dish? Oh, right, I remember, I just liked the name.
It just goes on and on . . . ‘Lemon Grass,’ ‘Javanese Turmeric’ (not of course to be confused with Japanese Turmeric), ‘Hyssop,’ and 'Fenugreek,' or 'Greek hayseed' (obviously named after the guy who bought the premise that it was different from eighty other ground up leaves of bush being sold on the street). With any luck I will run into another recipe that calls for ‘Fingerroot,’ or ‘Grains of Paradise,’ with a dollop of ‘Chinese Basil.’
Of course maybe it’s an even bigger conspiracy between the restaurant folks and the spice gang. Once you do the math and figure out that your two dollar chuck steak meal idea has turned into a twenty dollar shopping excursion, eating out begins to look more and more economical . . .
Wordsmith
