Two eggs, two tiny strips of bacon, and piece of toast is a common breakfast option provided in US diners. As far a a breakfast meal, I would suggest it is the quintessential breakfast order. I don't understand how that meager provision is adequate to satisfy someone at the start of the day. Six eggs and six full-sized bacon strips makes more sense. And I want four pieces of toast, buttered. If you can get that stacked into a sandwich, I'd sub English Muffins.

I don't trust those "one-poached-egg" elitists. They aren't hungry because they consumed the livers of human children before leaving their lair.

You can skip 7up Tropical. It won't kill you to drink it. It is a change of pace. But you will not feel you're living your best life by including it into your recreational consumption.

Fuck United for not providing entertainment screens. Fuck United for putting a bracket in the back of headrest where I can put my own device, useful only if I download their bullshit app, which can only be downloaded before takeoff. Hustle, hustle cattle.

Let's all be thankful we aren't military aged males in Russia. If you haven't kept score, check out the kill and casualty stats that Ukraine has racked up.

I found a half-bag stash of regular sugar above stove top. It should have been in the pantry or freezer, which is why I thought I was out.

In celebration, I broke out my Yeti pitcher Christmas present. I was uncertain if it was the correct capacity to make a full packet of Kool-Aid. Last time I tried to verify, the lighting was too dim for me to read the tiny print on the bottom indicating fluid capacity. This time I was able to decipher that wonderfully perfect All-American amount of 64 oz. 64 oz is a 7-11 Double Big Gulp of my youth. Ah, the memories of picking up a Peach and Dew or Punch and Dew en route to High School. It was a good omen if Beast could shoot the loop on the way.

But now, I needed to confer with my Kool-Aid packaging. Nothing on the back except "large plastic or glass pitcher" was advised by the instructions. All this writing crammed onto this tiny rectangle of packaging. I mean, who the fuck needs to be informed that Kool-Aid powder is "Gluten Free"? Idiots, that's who. But where or where can I find a hint of optimum water measure? Ah, right down there at the bottom corner of the front: 2 qts. I am not going to lie, I withheld my percolating enthusiasm, until I double-checked the equality of those measures. America! Fuck ya! Well almost. The Yeti pitcher was designed in Texas, but made in China. At least I avoided an import tariff.

P.S. Powdered sugar isn't optimal for use in Kool-Aid. But hell if I didn't want to make some frosting while I was looking at it.

P.P.S. I don't have existential dread.

I no longer do self-checkout. It is for the same reason that I rarely rack my shopping cart in the parking lot collection spaces. Fuck them for making me do what they are already charging me to be done.

There is an increasing amount of gas stations and grocery stores that go beyond asking to see ID to purchase alcohol. Now, they think they are entitled to scan the strip on (capturing the additional information and tying it to your name) the state issued ID for their database and information selling endeavors. I am already pissed that some twenty-something asshole is looking at my white beard and demanding ID to sell me booze. Then, those jackasses try to take physical custody of my ID, without even asking if they have my permission. My local grocery is the worst.

"Do you think I am 19 or 20?!"

"I have to swipe the ID, sir."

"No you don't. You have to deny teenagers trying to purchase hooch. Do I look like a teenager to you?"

-----------------------

On Wednesdays, this same bullshit, on the verge of failure, suburban equivalent to a bodega without any charm or charisma or decent homemade food, wants to boost their action by offering the 55+ crowd a percentage off the final purchase price.

"Are you 55 or older, sir?"

"You think I might be at least 55 years old?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is there any chance that I am under 25?"

No response, but I didn't pause long.

"But if I walk over to the booze aisle, retrieve a beer, and try to buy it, you're going to ask my ID aren't you?"

"Well, I am asking about you age because we give a--"

"I am well aware of your discount. What I am trying to determine is the level of IQ it takes to ask if I am in my mid-fifties, but then deny my purchase of alcohol that would only be illegal if I were under 21 years of age."

[Insert Dumb Stare]

I didn't press it, since a poor lady was waiting in line behind me. I left with an over-the-should comment about cognitive dissonance. Fuck people, generally. Fuck those kind of people extra hard, right in the ear.

At times like this, I think of childhood pranks. Ice cream in the bottom middle of the cart, then fill the rest with bottled booze and single beers that they will not let me purchase. I abandon the full cart, knowing they will just roll it into the back to address later. But later is when their lazy asses get to wonder why it is dripping strawberry ice cream.

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I estimate that I would rank around the 65 percentile of all Wheel of Fortune contestants.

Vanna holds onto that paycheck like a dangling backpacker grips the frayed remnants of a gorge-crossing rope bridge after sudden failure.

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I was told about a dog trainer who fed his dogs steak supplemented with a few other natural foods. No dog food. I might feed the dog venison out of the freezer if I am maxing out on the deer harvest, but to buy beef, even if it is by the quarter or half, to feed to dogs is outright insane. It makes me giggle to think of stealing those dogs and selling them to a restaurant in Vietnam to feed people.

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As a life-long connoisseur of Kool-Aid, I had never bought the plastic containers with pre-mix sugar and Kool-Aid. I was always a packet guy. Seeing an enticing sale price on the pre-mix combined with my intrigue regarding this alternate method of enjoying a favorite beverage, my buying impulse was triggered. I was not disappointed, but I don't believe that there is real value in buying up-priced sugar under the Kool-Aid brand umbrella. I will stick to the packets. I bought packets this week. Of course, I am out of sugar. Fuckin' sugar-hungry Cheerios, I blame you!

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I am taking this six-week season off from my regular poker game. I need to break it up a bit to keep it fresh. Plus it will be much warmer weather when I rejoin.

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It might be something that has seen its day, but I still think about the lifestyle of carrying a flask. I don't really drink that regularly, but it feels like something a guy who has reached a certain age might turn into a way of life. Then, I remember that I am carrying a firearm, and I don't need the bullshit from law enforcement. But if I ever get to the goal of traveling only by train and ship, I am going flask + firearm. Are there metal detectors on cruise ships? Amtrack? Of course, that is not what is truly meant by train and ship traveling. I will travel by boat, canoe, and kayak for shorter legs of a journey.

I assume that a flask needs to be filled with a whiskey of some form. Rum is rarely a sipping beverage. Clear stuff can go in a shot glass, but I feel like more substance is needed. What about schnapps or brandy? Problem of low proof. If I found out a guy was tugging on a flask of Jagermeister, I might give him a little extra berth.

When you realize that Sean Penn isn't in this movie because you're watching Boyz in the Hood, not Colors.

Angela Bassett was a fox.

Ice T is pushing aftermarket car warranties on broadcast, late night TV. He needs to hire his own makeup person. They have turned him yellow in the most recent run.

Are there any old TV or movies that you watch where you realize that all the people on screen are now dead? There are claims that the original laugh tracks for sitcoms were all recorded in the 50s, so odds are that all you fans of Seinfeld and Friends were listening to dead people laughing the entire time. Oh, and Matt Perry is dead because he was a drug addict with a hot tub.

I went kayaking on an unfamiliar section of the Grand River last weekend. It was beautiful weather – sunny, clear, low 70s. I checked the weather before setting out. Conditions matched the weather report, except an unexpected and consistent wind whipped up once we were around the first bend. We tried to use the trees on the banks as a buffer, but as the river made its twists, we only found momentary respite. That day I experienced a new situation on a kayak: Paddling with full force, really digging into the water, in concert with the flow of the river, gusts of head winds were bringing me to a stand still. Without a full effort, I am convinced the wind would have sent me backwards, upriver. I’ve dismissed the local minor league baseball team name since its selection. I never thought that West Michigan Whitecaps was a name reflective of the east side of Grand Rapids, as the white-capped waves on Lake Michigan are a 50 minute drive from the stadium at legal speeds. But my ignorance was exposed, as I found myself paddling into white-capped waves that would have swamped my kayak if they were coming from the side. We had to cut our excursion short.

Something else that surprised me was the accumulated deer carcasses along both banks. A full clean skeleton, two in the river water caught up in dead fall trees, and another eight or nine dry on the bank mostly intact. A couple had the holes burrowed into their body cavities where the scavengers were snacking on the innards. But there were plenty of live animals, including Bald Eagles, Cormorants, Egrets, Bluebirds, Crows, Mallard Ducks, along with dozens of Map turtles that were sunning on logs. Also, a black cow chewing its cud. We will hit that section another time to make the complete journey from Lowell to NW Grand Rapids.

The cost of new vehicles generally, and pickup trucks in particular, is baffling to me. At the extreme, who is the buyer that will purchase a pickup with a six-figure sticker? I don’t understand who would buy these pickup trucks for $50k. In the second quarter of 2024, the median weekly wage for full-time workers in the United States was $1,143. This translates to a monthly income of $4,935, or $59,228 per year. Using Des Moines, IA as a stand-in for a “median” city, that unmarried median worker would take home just short of $47,330. That’s no IRA contribution. As of October 2024, the average rent in Des Moines, Iowa is $979 per month, which is 37% lower than the national average of $1,556 per month. How many months would that median worker need to finance? Do they eat at soup kitchens so they can make their vehicle payments?

What is the profile of the guy buying a top trim F-150 Raptor going for $110k (a price which assumes the dealership hasn’t tacked on $5-$30k of extra above sticker)? I don’t feel that the well-to-do, especially those who have to contend with the cramped streets of large cities, are out buying pickups of any type. Maybe the wife gets the top-of-the-line SUV with a Lexus or Cadillac badge on the side, but what rich guys that would buy a truck would buy something gaudy at that expense? People that need trucks to work don’t waste money on silly frills without value that is represented by that Raptor. If you are a youngster who loves to spend the weekend mud-running, you don’t have the money for that truck. Plus, mud-runners are like rock-climbers, purpose-built for technical success, not use as highway commuters, grocery getting, nor as storage shelves for rubber duckies (yeah fuck Jeep and its $90k Rubicon 392). And fuck any version of a pickup or Jeep that is electric battery powered. If you’re buying garbage like that, you’re doing it wrong.

A friend of mine expressed interest in having a pistol in the home for defensive purposes. I’ve been shooting with him a couple times. During a conversation away from the range, he made a non-sequitur about how he didn’t think he’d want to shoot a rifle. I was surprised anyone that had already shot firearms would have that thought rolling around in their mind. It reminded me how ignorant he still was about the basic facts of firearms. The tonnage of firearm ignorance and misconception held by large swaths of the public is what most threatens to cripple American’s rights and civil liberties. What is worse is the intellectual dishonesty that they use to excuse their silly notions. Do you need an AR-15? I don’t, but grandma will find that it will be the easiest weapon to successful defend herself. That is not to say that I would turn down the option of a 7-1/2” barrel in .300AAC Blackout with a whisper pickle and green dot (caret).

I just watched the first season of the Anne Rice inspired The Mayfair Witches. I never read any Rice books, but the two Lestat movies were each entertaining to me because I don’t try to link them or their continuity. (RIP Aaliyah). When I finished the season of Mayfair, I figured it was probably a one-and-done, especially on Netflix. But it appears season two has been green-lit. That pleases me. This might be the only witch show that didn’t have me rolling my eyes in the first five minutes. I admit to watching way too much of the original Charmed, but turn of the millennium Milano was too tasty to fully resist. And don’t forget it was peak McGowan (before her Harvey trauma) and Cuoco (before Superman exposed her messed up inner-self). Thanks goes out to Eilish Zebrasky and Daniella Gschwendtner, the individuals responsible for dressing those stars for success. I had a private laugh at the more recent reboot of the series that was one of the full-blown DEI casted shows. They acted like Charmed was just about “the sisterhood”, and the viewing public would appreciate bland actresses in layered, boxy outfits. Wasn’t one kind of chubby? Wouldn’t know, because they were draped with the entire 50 over 50 catalog line. But my interest in the Mayfair Witches has nothing to do with attractive women. They are cast to represent a cross-section of an interesting family, not as eye-candy. The leading actress is good looking like the mom in Gilmore Girls, which is to say not ugly, but easily overlooked if you put her on with the cast of Buffy in their prime. To sum up, it is any interesting story because of the lore that is established throughout. I want to see how the situation continues to unfold.

[I had a comparison picture put up here, but this platform screwed up the post. You have Google, figure it out. Trust me: Buffy>original Charmed>reboot Charmed -- wait! I found a local save, see below]

My blind pig found a truffle in the DFHMFFL this weekend. Tip of the hat to Longsnapper Cole Kmet.

I was in New Orleans for work a couple weeks ago. Most interesting place I had an opportunity to visit (there was not much time for opportunity) was M. S. Rau. Check out the webpage. I think everything in there was museum quality plus. And nearly every item cost more than a 2025 F-150.

Having changed my own oil for much of my life, I find it difficult to fully trust the grease monkeys at the oil-change shop to execute their mission without error. I am happy we have the real deal for actual mechanic work on retainer. Okay, mechanics don’t work on retainer, but the relationship has been built up for decades and we don’t wait long if we need him to deal with an issue. I feel bad for people who haven’t found a trusted car mechanic. I feel a little less bad for the subset of those people who are men who never bothered to figure out how and why a car works. From an actual exchange I’ve had:

• Quasi-man: “I think there is an oil leak on the bottom of the car.”
• Me: “Is the filter not tightened?”
• Quasi-man: “No, I think it is coming out of the very bottom thing.”
• Me: “The oil pan?”
• Quasi-man: “Yeah...yeah, the oil pan.”
• Me: “Is the drain plug tight?”
• Quasi-man: “I don’t know. I am taking it to the dealership on Tuesday to see.”
• Me: “What?! All you need is a ½ wrench or the metric size for that Honda. Don’t you even own a wrench set?”
• Quasi-man: “I tried, but the car sits too close to the floor.”
• Me: “Well, yeah. Did you jack it up?”
• Quasi-man: “No. I don’t trust those jacks that come with the car. They are so small—”
• Me: “You don’t have a floor jack, do you? Kinda like you might see in a NASCAR pit stop, but not so massive.”
• Quasi-man: “They sell those? Where would a guy buy something like that?”
• Me: “I am disengaging from this conversation. I cannot trust you with more information because you are likely to kill yourself looking for an oil leak. Jesus. You are lucky that you make a decent enough living to pay someone else to take care of you.”

Reminder: Count Chocula is in stores now (unless they are already sold out). I pulled two boxes off a pallet of mixed monster cereals in a wide aisle at the grocery store. I didn’t realize that every cereal seems to get a special Halloween treatment and they added a new Monster Cereal named Carmella Creeper. It’s green. That must look great coming out. Anyone ever drink a 32 oz Hi-C Ecto Cooler?

The pallet was stacked four layers high, so about my chin level. The only Count Chocula I could see was on the bottom layer. A few fearless devotees had already stripped the outer layers of the two-wide row. I could see the three levels about starting to take a lean outward due to the lack of supporting boxes on the outer edge. I was not about to be denied. I pulled the next Count box to the edge and rotated it 90 degrees to provide support with a pass-through space for mining the next two boxes for the cereal box cavern. I retrieved my prizes without catastrophic cascade failure. And to let you know how swell of I guy I am, I advised the manager at the end of the checkout line that trouble was brewing in the Leaning Tower of Halloween General Mills. Because you know that I wasn’t the last person on a knee that would be fishing those Chocula boxes out.

I went to Iceland at the end of August. I went during the Jazz Festival in the capital, and was at concerts each night at Harpa. It is an exceptional piece of architecture. However, the best fun was flying in a helicopter beside the newly active volcano. It was something right out of the movies, with roiling red lava shooting up into the air and long, slow rivers of lava flowing and darkening. I also spent four hours on a boat watching for whales. A baby Minke Whale played around our hull for a while, surfacing on various sides. We also caught a pod of Bottlenose Dolphin playing between our boat and another. It was great being out on the bay. We could see the gases from the volcano and the unique landscape along the coast. I found a hamburger place near the docks that had Founders cans in the cooler. But they also made crazy milkshake flavors, so I ordered a birthday cake milkshake. It was then that I caught the Diabeetus. Here is a picture that this platform will only display rotated 90 degrees:

Do you know how happiness manifests in the physical world? I bet you said it was the Delmonico I grilled to perfection on Friday. That is not a wrong answer, but the preferred answer is the forgotten bottle of sake I happened across in the liquor closet while desperately searching for something to catch my fancy. For reference, I most fancy Junmai.

Tonight's drinks: The Poet, 2 cans; Cane Sugar Pepsi, 1 can

I made a nice run to the table consolidation and a little bit thereafter. But the increasing blinds suffer no idleness or bad luck. We start at 5-10 blinds, so even with the bonus chips earned throughout the season, at 2500-5000 things become a little hairy. I took my final plunge by doubling the blinds to 10000. I wasn't holding premium, but K-10 might be the last non-garbage hand I would see before being blinded out. I was hoping just to scare the few 5000 limpers out, but the guy just after me held on with the call. The board came A-6-J. I passed, not trying to press my gut-shot. The guy next to me went all in. He had me covered. I didn't like throwing for two chances at a miracle Q. But I was probably pot committed, and thought maybe a K might be enough to win it for me. I called off the rest of my stack. 4th Street: Q. 5th Street: A. My opponent's holding: A-6. Fuck me raw. I was  $$$ bubble boy, as top 5 are paid on Jackpot week.

Things on the bi-weekly menu rotation if I could afford a proper chef to cook for me: Lobster Bisque, Grilled Beef Teriyaki Steak, Chocolate Mousse, Abalone, Crawfish Etouffee, Double Cheeseburger with fried egg topper, Tempura Shrimp, Butter Garlic Pan-seared Sea Scallops, Fried Grouper Sandwich, 4-Cheese Lobster Macaroni, Grilled Steak Kabobs with Bell Peppers and Mushrooms, Charcoal Grilled Turkey with Mashed Potatoes (and the leftovers for sandwiches), French Toast, Ham and Mushroom Omelette, Fried Egg and Bacon Breakfast Croissant Sandwiches with a rotation of cheeses, Lox and Cream Cheese on Fresh Sesame Seed Bagels, Pork Stir-Fry, Rotation of Milkshake Flavors, New England Clam Chowder, Oysters on half-shell, Meat/Cheese Ravioli. I already make most of these items myself, but having the money for the chef means I have the money to regularly source these ingredients and a busboy/washer to clean up after, too. I might have a general contempt for groups of people, but I am a big fan of the American supply chain.

It is interesting to see the career choices of people I knew as youngsters. I happened upon a PBS channel weekend outdoors show where the show host chartered a fishing boat for an afternoon. A guy I played football with in high school was the captain/guide on that fishing boat. The show was taped last April, so i am sure it has been replayed before. I just don't hang out watching PBS outdoors programming very often, but without cable sports for college hockey or basketball or NFL football, one looking for background noise on the weekend has to make due. Stopping on PBS defends me against the Allegra commercial assaults. They get dumber with each iteration. There is an angry girl in headphones trying to shout-sing while marching around town, fighting for vocal dominance against the voice-over lady talking about the medicine selling points. It ends in a closeup scowl. Not sure what the writer/director was attempting to accomplish. I was very happy to find like-minded critics on Reddit.

I enjoy two grocery store items that are not constantly available. First is Count Chocula. It was completely phased out with all the other Monster cereals some time after General Mills went "whole grain" to keep the thin veneer of "healthy" applied to their sugarbombs. They were gone for years. Recently, there has been a resurrection of the Monster Cereals during the Halloween season. And lo, the multitudes rejoiced!

Less reliably forecast is the canning and shelving of Baja Blast. Fuck Toxic Hell and their grease-flavored sand. So when Baja isn't on the grocery shelf, it doesn't exist in my world. Well, guess what is back on the menu! I picked up two sleeves this morning while I was buying lox for my bagel run. I unloaded one into the mini-fridge that is easily accessible to my work surface. The other will be chilling in the coolness of the garage where the temperature reliably hovers in the 40s most of the winter. The speed bag is a little stiff to hit at those temperatures, but we can't have it all, all the time.

I took off next Friday afternoon to catch a movie, on the principle of it. Not the movie, but cutting out early on a Friday. I need to do this more often.

Something I need to do more often: Drink scotch The Balvenie. I found a Balvenie 12 year single barrel, numbered 81 of 300 in case 19038. I have been in mourning since Balvenie discontinued their 10 year, seemingly in favor of the 12 year DoubleWood. That double cask wasn't bad, but that 10 year was perfect price point in the low $30s. I've since tried the 14 year Caribbean run cask by Balvenie, but it didn't move me. I guess they have a French Oak 16 and a Portwood 21, but I haven't seen them in person (not that I've been searching). But this 12 year single barrel really takes me back to that 10 year of my Indiana and Miami years. I am not enjoying this out of nostalgia, though. I am straight grooving on the flavor profile. Yummy, warm in my tummy. For the old Simpson's fans, enjoy that Balvenie Maltings is located in Dufftown.

So here is the line-up I long ago typed, in response to food chains dead to me (and lost to a misbehaving internet browser interface), recreated in spirit, if not identical form, including the original follow up request by Cyrus: Which fast food chains are on the bubble? Which chains are still alive and well?

Add to DEAD TO ME: Outback. So dead I forgot it existed. If still in business, put Papa Johns on there, too. Worst pizza, ever. White Castle also sucks my ass.

Food chains on the bubble:

Burger King in on life support. I cannot imagine a scenario where I will choose to walk into one or drive up to a window. The one nearest to my residence is an especially poorly run establishment. The one that was closer was torn down to build a car-servicing business. The one closer to me than both is now a one-off Mexican joint with a perpetually empty parking lot that I though would fail, but post-Covid has show some parking lot life. I might have a Burger King if I am back on Ibiza some day. Only for late night convenience if I'd been eating local for a few weeks. And I am on the wrong end of the island (San Antonio).

Marco's Pizza is like a pizza leper to me currently. Something in their sauce. Supposedly they have great ingredients, blah, blah. While I am not a fan of most pizza crusts these days, Marco's isn't going to win on that column, either. Even 2 for Tuesdays isn't enough to entice me.

TCBY and I have not crossed paths in probably a decade. When it first came out, the quality was so good. Now, I think all self-serve frozen yogurt places have raced to the bottom. I think the closest TCBY to me is on the other side of the county. Maybe they are out of business.

Five Guys rarely lives up to the hype. I imagine when the founding family was cooking, the quality was at the level to impress. Now if you want a dry burger in a brown bag with some middling french fries, but you need way over pay, Five Guys is the place! I would throw in a jab at the wait times, but I have been skipping Five Guys for years.

Cinnabon can right fuck off, but I've only had it once, in an airport, and it was my best option at the time. So not dead to me, but there have to be some extreme circumstances for me to step up to that counter.

Chipotle Mexican Grill. I will defer if my social group insists, assuming there isn't something next door I can substitute. Everything about that place is screaming food poisoning, and those stupid "making a cauldron of the shitty green stuff with a giant spoon" commercials don't allay my concerns.

Little Caesars should be dead to me. Hot and Ready is the ONLY thing that keeps them occasionally in the game. And if you ask me immediately after eating their product, yes, I would be interested in firebombing their locations to end the scourge. Does that hyperbole enough to put this never-visited blog going on a government watch-list now?

Jersey Mikes does the best job for chain deli sandwiches, but $20 per sub has discouraged me as of late. Not to mention their proprietary pop options absolutely don't move the needle.

KFC. Is. Disgusting. You are forced to eat the chicken skin to get the flavor of the Original Recipe, which is the ONLY reason to want to eat that chicken in the first place. With the GMO Super Rotisserie Chickens available at Costco for $5, KFC would be dead in the water if they didn't also have biscuits. I know it can't be only me who notices this, and please tell me if any of you know the answer, but why do KFC chicken pieces have the bones of an 89 year old woman after walking a gauntlet of big-leaguers taking practice riffs with weighted bats? Shattered. Without fail. Is that the supplier contract? "We want a 50% discount for shattered-bone chickens, and we only want discounted chickens." But sometimes you are sick of everything else and it might be paired with same-building Taco Bell (where you can get Baja Blast).

Arby's won't ever completely die, unless. Unless they pull curly fries and jamocha shakes. I'm still getting my sandwich from a different, nearby place. They used to have a hot ham and swiss, but they killed that. And that was the only sandwich from Arby's that I could choke down.

Biggby Coffee is laying at the bottom of the grave and I've started dumping dirt on top. They are straight trash. But I could see being some imaginary place where there was a huge line at the only other coffee place and I wasn't going to stand in line to get fucking coffee of all things. Because fuck standing in line.

Long John Silver's was dead to me when they went to the "healthier" no-trans fat oil.  Years later, I dug that zombie up. The chicken planks are the only thing I order when I drive to the window. NEVER go inside, if avoidable. Unless your Jheri Curl needs a grease infusion. The thick, heavy air will smooth ashy elbows. Good therapy for your leather coat.

Wing Stop is another place I will put in an order to get along with the group. I don't live really close to one. If I lived a block or two away, I might have it more. I've never ate their wings, then afterward said, "Damn fine meal that was!" I am usually just short of regret.

Chick-fil-A is a one-trick pony whose trick I don't want. I will have a grilled chicken sandwich, but I don't want any of their sugar-sauces. All their menu has is blah chicken covered in sugar-sauce. And once again, fuck waiting in line. These places always have a back-up and there is no payoff at the end of the rainbow.

Noodles and Company skimps on the serving sizes. Otherwise, I might be a bigger fan.

Red Robin. If this is in the first three suggestions of where to go to lunch, I don't need to eat lunch with you.

Anything with a name that starts with "Taco". I don't like tacos. I will eat a burrito. Your "Taco" place better not be a one-tricker, because I will dump the grave dirt on your face. Then finish with 3 yards of concrete. Your food joint doesn't avoid this rule with an obnoxious "El" or "Del" in front of the "Taco".

Jack in the Box. I don't even live on the West Coast, but that place in an emergency only if I have a full dose of antibiotics and a ready-to-go cocktail to remove heavy metals from my system. Likely only if I need to take cover there during an extended gun battle standoff/hostage situation.

Hooters. There is nothing but garbage on this menu. And this ain't 1992. If any of these are still active (I am looking at you Port of Miami), the "talent" is not worth the price of floating bags of ice beer pitchers. Better off going to that place where the talent is wearing the extra short kilts. Tony and I went to one in Indy once, if I remember correctly.

Denny's had the crypt door closed around 2000 because it was one of the only places to eat at my over-night job. The convict ratio in the kitchen didn't help. But because of visiting family, I was forced back into the Coral Gables location in the early 2010s. It wasn't a buster, so I guess I am not completely against it in theory. Rather hit a truckstop diner any given morning, and I will never be in a Denny's after 11am.

Dickey's Barbecue Pit. There is no reason to go there if there is one of those parking lot barrel grill rigs set up anywhere in your metro area.

Village Inn. It wasn't that great in college. Still isn't. Rarely even think about ordering from here.

Cold Stone is a one-trick pony that wasn't that cool in the first place. Their trick requires that all their ice cream be extra gummy. Not a flattering texture for ice cream. If I want shit spun into my ice cream, I'll get a Blizzard. Regular ice cream shops have cake batter flavor and cheesecake flavor ice cream, too.

Current Active Lineup: Jet's Pizza (Detroit-style only), McDonalds (for Sausage McMuffin with Egg, only), Panera Bread (not often, but not against it, I get even at the coffee dispensers), Smashburger, Big Boy (had first encounter in 20 years just before Christmas and pleasantly surprised, served by 70% Zendaya), Culver's (was on the downturn, but I've refined my ordering parameters to improved outcomes), Einstein Bros. Bagels (only able to access while traveling), Popeyes (warily, if traveling), Hardees (again, only when traveling as none are nearby), Firehouse Subs (none nearby), Waffle House (for the gun play and domestic assault), Dairy Queen (ESPECIALLY if it is one of those original shacks that sell hot dogs and hamburgers; Blizzards are always Top Shelf), Au Bon Pain (when in a city that has one), Whataburger (none nearby), Starbucks (occasionally for sugar mochas or fall specialty flavors). Are there any A&Ws left? If so, I'd eat at one. I guess that covers most of the chains.

These are my finishes during the previous season in my Monday night poker tournament.

Week 1: 10th of 14, 4th to be knocked out, zero knock outs

Week 2: 1st of 16, won it, 5 knock outs

Week 3: 9th of 17, 9th to be knocked out, 1 knock out

Week 4: 1st of 15, won it, 5 knock outs

Week 5: 11th of 15, 5th to be knocked out, zer0 knock outs

Jackpot Week: 1st of 19, won it, 5 knock outs

I had the largest accumulated points (62) on the season, so I started with Jackpot week with the largest bonus chip stack. I managed to build a formidable stack by the time the tables condensed to one. But there was a the time during three-way action when I had less than the big blind left. Double up, then triple up, and after that, I was too strong to automatically buffalo. One of the best hands from the season was my A-K on the button. After four limped in, I put the price to play at around four times the big blind. I got four stubborn callers, the big blind and three of the limpers. I was not excited, until the flop dropped a 7-A-A. It checked around to me and I doubled my bet from before. Fold, fold, doubling raise, fold, to me. I was cursing my shitty luck for probably running into A-7, or more vexing, someone who called those raises with pocket sevens. Of course, I am not folding three Aces with a King kicker. At least not yet. Or fucking never, because fourth street was a big fat bastard of a King. Even better, my caller went All-in which I snap-called, picturing those three sevens finding their buddy on Fifth Street. My relief was immediate when I saw the opponent's A-Q hit the table. I was a big stack consuming another big stack and some juicy pre-flop calls. Rarely does a poker hand come together so completely.

When it was all tallied up, I won the first place money for the Jackpot week, which was augmented by the weekly rake from the season, plus my high-loser (A-A-A-Q-Q) hand managed to hang on for four weeks, so I was paid out for that, plus I was the target of the knock out bounty for the week (having the most accumulated points up to that point of the season), so winning allowed me pocket the uncollected bounty on my head. All this happened on a season where the buy-in had been raised 33%. Inflation, don't you know. So, all-in-all, I finished last season on a great rush.

Tonight, a new season started. I had no delusions of equaling my previous performance, however, I did stick with my commitment not to piss away chips when I knew better. I also doubled-down on my plan to over-bet consistently to punish the hanger-ons and pry their straight-and-flush-seeking hands from the cliff's edge. That reminds me: Tonight, on back-to-back hands, I took suited cards through a gauntlet of heavy-betting to suck out on the River. It was recklessly wonderful. When it was all said-and-done, I scooped another tourney win tonight. 1st of 13 with five knockouts. I will be the bounty again, next week. Hope to keep riding the wave.

Cy, I will respond to the restaurant questions soon. I just haven't had the heart or time to rebuild the rant you set me on with those questions. I will say that I resurrected Hungry Howie's from the Never Again because I needed a change of pace (it has since been put in Siberia status, maybe to finally die forever). It had to have been over a year, and I bet more like three, since I telephoned the local Howie's. When I gave the guy my order, he asked, "Is this Cyrus?" Yes it is. Yes it is. I bet there are at least six pizza places in my vicinity that have my mobile number in their system under the name "Cyrus", no last name. For sure Palermo's and Jets. Peppino's and Lombardo's are highly likely, but I am not sure if they keep a database as such. Plus I rarely use their services, but more often than Howie's, so probably. There is a Cottage Inn in Southfield that has me in the book as "Cyrus". Marco's on Port Sheldon for sure. And whenever I am at franchise location, I never miss an opportunity to see a Starbucks employee's interpretation of the spelling of "Cyrus". Weirdest started with an "S", had a double "R", and put the "Y" where the "U" should have been. She had asked me how to spell it, and I responded, "With a 'Y'." I usually say, when asked, "Just like it sounds." That generates the bulk of my mirth.

On an unrelated note, I went into the Cabella's Bass Pro only because I found out via telephone (having to re-dial five times to get answered by the relevant department) that they were in possession of a couple new FN 510 Tactical firearms at a reasonable price. That place is depressing like an Indian casino with no poker room. After standing at the counter for a few minutes, I assessed that the idiots at the counter ratio to the yokels milling about the floor was tilted against getting any quick resolution to my firearm buying urge. I then watched a guy shoot the QR code on a sign next to the counter. According to the sign, I had to shoot that with my phone to stand in line for service. Fuck QR codes generally, and theirs most specifically. I walked into the used section to find a Fudd that possibly would be anti-technology to assist me the old-fashioned way: by getting the fucking gun out of the vault and selling it to me. My hopes were squashed when the Fudd explained I had to sign in on some shit Apple pad and the line was something like 14 at the moment. Fuck YOU! I'll let the Mom-and-Pop take my order and then wait at home for them to call me when it arrives at the store before I sign up in your electronic queue behind a line of shit-sippers that want their new scope mounted to their deer gun. A goddam Friday evening and they cannot staff the place so a person trying to purchase a thousand dollars worth of bear-stopper doesn't have to stand waiting for an hour? Talk about restaurants on the Dead to Me list, fuck Bass Pro's Cabella's train wreck as a Dead to Me retailer. When will we get Amazon shipping same-day firearms? Don't get me started on the bullshit rule twisting the ATF has done with 80%ers.

The post I uploaded, seems to have vanished into the interwebs. Sorry, Cyrus. I will attempt to recreate at a future time.

Better cards, better focus, more gin = Week 2 winner, with five eliminations. I almost took down the Omaha game, too. If it hadn't been for the re-buy rule, I would have.

Trying to pin down the next big trip. Hiking in summertime Switzerland or scuba diving in late fall/early spring Belize? Either is certainly a reason to recover cardio and shed pounds.

Nebraska opens the season against Minnesota tomorrow evening. The ember of college football is almost extinguished within me.

The grocery store on Tuesday evening had some Covid-esque empty shelves. So far, the new school year is getting the blame.

This past weekend I made an unscheduled stop at a Wendy's drive-thru after seeing a traffic pile-up at the Culver's. My passenger and I just wanted burgers and a cement mixer. Instead, we got hockey pucks in the shape of a square that presented like freeze-dried food and an excuse that only the strawberry Frosty machine was in operation. I wasn't sure if I should just throw my puck out the window or drive back and throw it through the drive-thru window. Wendy's is dead to me.

Off the top of my head -- chain food that is dead to me: Chilis, Applebees, Dominos, Pizza Hut, Wendy's, Bricks (gas station), Casey's (gas station), Olive Garden, Red Lobster, Fazoli's, Steak n' Shake, Subway, Taco Bell (but I will drink the Baja Blast MD), Buffalo Wild Wings, Sonic, Hungry Howies, Texas Roadhouse, Logans, Brann's, anything Coney Island Chili Dog based...