The Great Northern California Corn Shortage: The Beginning

 

 

Honestly?  I don't know what's going on.

I guess I could blame it on something if I really wanted to get into a conspiracy theory frame of mind.  I could blame the new COVID variant, or Trump.  The overwhelming proliferation of home repair shows or the bevy of medication television ads.  Climate change.  Any number of things could be fair game.  I mean, the list is potentially endless.

What am I talking about?  I'll tell you what I'm talking about.  Corn.  Sweet corn, specifically.  And, more exactingly, sweet corn right here in Northern California.

You see ... last week? It was 10 for $1 at the local grocer.  Grab as much as you want.  10?  20?  A couple cases?  No matter, knock yourself out.  It's all for the taking, corn o'plenty.  It was almost a corn free-for-all.

This week?  It was a different story completely.  This week (and the sale ended this Tuesday past) corn was 4 for $1, limit 4 items.  Four measly ears of corn, take it or leave it.  What the hell happened ... !??

The brakes got put on the cornucopia, such that it was.  That party got cut short.  Those halcyon days of maize got the kybosh put down, chop chop.  The grain got grounded.

And it's all the public's fault.  Thanks, public.  Thanks a lot.  You went kernel crazy and now we're going to be paying for it.  Literally.  And with conditions.

Today, if you want your fiber, vitamins, minerals and antioxidants courtesy of that staple corn you're going to be paying a lot more for it.  Because the buying public succumbed to the frenzy of 10 ears for a buck.  10 ears weren't enough.  You needed more than enough, you greedy bastards.

And so, here we go.  Thrust right into the throes of The Great Northern California Corn Shortage: The Beginning. 

And, if you haven't felt the pinch to date, you're going to experience it first hand in the coming days.

Courtesy of the greedy public who decided it needed more ears than it knows what to do with ...

 

.......... Ruprecht ( STOP the greed)

For God's Sake ... We Need To Reorder Pepper RIGHT NOW ... !!!

I really like pepper.

And I really love fresh ground pepper.

Fresh cracked pepper on a turkey or a tuna sandwich, good stuff.  Pepper, along with other condiments, makes the omelet for me.  Fresh, fruity pepper on a perfectly cooked steak ... nothing better.

The smell of it, the pungent aroma of it when its newly ground from a mill, gets the 'ole taste buds salivating.  Goes without saying I use it in a majority of my recipes. And liberally.

Regular table pepper (when I can't get the freshly ground stuff) is a necessity at a meal.  Even in a fast food joint, I pepper where it's appropriate.  French fries, for example.  Curiously (or, maybe, not so much) I might use more pepper on my fries than I do salt.

Which is exactly the case while dining at The Melt in Folsom recently.  I nabbed a couple packets of pepper to spread on my order of fries and happily began partaking.

In front of me were a couple of unused packets of pepper and I looked them over while eating ... and noticed something rather curious ...

See the photo above?  Take a look at the top packet and, in particular, the following wording printed on it: "reorder #4043295."

Odd, I thought.  I mean ... think about it a moment:  When Melt needs more pepper, think they pick up the errant packlet out of a box of many and look for the order number on it in order to acquire more?  Or do you think they already have some sort of form available to resupply more?  Don't you think that's a bit odd?

You don't have a reorder number on the bottom of your favorite shoes so when they begin to wear out you can easily requisition another pair, right?  You don't find any sort of identification anywhere in you car stating "To get another, here's the send off number to make it easier for you! You're welcome!"  There's nothing on the side of the pen barrel you're using for fill out that report indicating "At some point you're going to run out of ink ... so you better get to gettin' and put a request in for this, your very favoritest pen."  How 'bout an imprint on a banana stem saying:  "Is this your last banana?  Avoid the annoyance of running out by accessing this code right now!"

Or ... maybe I'm just thinking about the imprint on the pepper packet a bit too much ...

 

.......... Ruprecht ( STOP thinking so much ...)

I Was Wrong Wednesday: The Missing Concert Ticket Edition

You know, no one likes being wrong.

And yet ... even I don't know if that's completely true.  I'm sure there's someone out there that likes being wrong.  Maybe even just part of the time.

But I'm not one of those people.  And, while it pains me to admit (in this particular instance) that I'm wrong, I'm still going forward in doing so of my own volition.

So ... here's my tale.  Which concludes in the admission I was indeed and in fact wrong ...

On March 14th, 2023 I purchased tickets through Ticketmaster for a Sunday, May 21st Oakland, California concert featuring the band Love And Rockets.

Now, understand this is a band I've wanted to see since I first discovered them back in the 80s.  They've continually escaped my seeing them live over the many years with one small exception; their alter ego Tones On Tail - which featured 2/3 of the members of Love And Rockets - played in a small club in Hollywood years and years ago.  That show I did get to in the flesh ... and, while the band performed nary a tune from the L&R catalog, I was at least a bit satisfied I caught a derivation of a band I felt connected to.

So ... tickets acquired, I hurried up and waited to see a show still a couple months hence.

And then?  It was time.  That very morning I got on my computer and searched for the electronic tickets that would afford me entry into the show.  But it was to little avail as I couldn't find them to save my life.  

The account I had with Ticketmaster (where my electronic tickets were housed) wasn't cooperating and didn't let me access the tickets in question.  Tickets for another upcoming show - Tears For Fears - were handy and accessible but my Love And Rockets tickets were nowhere to be found.

Now, I had the foresight to print out a copy of my receipt for my purchase.  And that included the order number, the date, the amount paid for, the venue the seats ... just about everything that I needed.  But the receipt stated it could not be used to gain entry into the show.  So I went on a hunt to see how I could go about getting my tickets for the show later that evening.

The response I got back via e-mail was that someone from Ticketmaster would contact me within 24 to 48 hours with a response, zero help in that the show was a scant 10 hours away.  I did everything I took could to try to get in contact with Ticketmaster some other way but to zero avail.

Now?  I had a decision to make.  Do I drive 2 1/2 hours to Oakland and try to get into the show with the receipt I had in hand containing the very seat numbers printed in plain view as proof of my purchase, even though there's a statement on the receipt saying I couldn't use the receipt to gain entry into the show?  Did I commit to a 7 hour round trip to and from Oakland which might yield nothing for my efforts?  Or do I just admit defeat and see what I could do about getting reimbursed for the tickets?

I decided not to waste my time in going to Oakland. And I immediately began the process of trying to get a refund for the extenuating circumstances.

One of the first things I did was access my account that shows upcoming and past events on the Ticketmaster app.  Nowhere did it show there was anything to do with Love And Rockets.  That in itself was curious.  Additionally, I had the foresight to purchase insurance on the tickets should anything come up.  So I had that peace of mind going for me.  (Or so I thought.)

Little did I know months of reimbursement attempts would get me nowhere.

Round and round and round I went with Ticketmaster complaining I had no access to my electronic tickets.  The fact there was nothing on the Ticketmaster app saying I even had Love And Rockets tickets I felt was proof enough there were extenuating circumstances to the situation, proof I couldn't access my tickets.  But Ticketmaster wasn't budging.  They stated it wasn't their fault that I couldn't access my tickets.  I tried reasoning with them, I asked how I was supposed to access tickets that weren't there.  Weeks of attempts from different viewpoints led to one single conclusion: It was apparent I would need to hit up the insurance I'd purchased for the tickets to get reimbursement.

But even that wasn't a solution to the situation.  According to the details and fine print of the insurance, my particular situation wasn't one that culminated in reimbursement.

So almost three months after purchasing the tickets, I finally got access to speaking with an actual person at Ticketmaster as opposed to a chat session or e-mail.  The lady I spoke with was very attentive and understanding, acknowledging exactly where I was coming from with my explanation.  She took copious notes and told me it would be three to five days for a response to get back to me, which I was satisfied with.  I mean ... this is the furthest I'd gotten with Ticketmaster since the whole situation started.

But ... when I got the response, I was told my tickets were accessible and there would be no refund.

So back on the phone I got and spoke with another woman at Ticketmaster.  And this, in three months of attempts, was the first time I got some conclusive and definitive reasoning why I couldn't access my tickets. 

The woman had noted she could see my tickets in my past events.  So I asked her why I could not?  She asked me to verify my e-mail address and, when I did, she stated that wasn't the e-mail address used to access my Ticketmaster account where my Love And Rocket tickets were housed. The only other e-mail address I had I gave to her and she said that was the one where I could actually see my tickets.

So come to find out, months later, I had been working with an incorrect e-mail to access my Ticketmaster app.  At some point in the distant past I had to have purchased some tickets through my secondary e-mail and completely forgot I had done so. For whatever reason it was that e-mail I purchased the Love And Rockets show, thus my ultimate demise in not being able to access the tickets.

So, the insurance didn't help me get a refund, my many, many explanations through all forms of communication with Ticketmaster didn't help me get a refund. 

It was my own faulty blunder, plain and simple.

No refund, no satisfaction ... just the glaring realization I had to admit that, on this particular Wednesday, August 2nd, 2023, I was wrong.

.......... Ruprecht ( STOP )

IndiaOppen JonesenHeimer: A Tale Of Two Showings

 

The vast majority of the time I will maintain the best way to see a film is on a great big movie screen inside a theater.  It's personal, immersive, grand, sometimes overwhelming and often gratifying.

Of course there are exceptions to almost every rule, however.

One of those exceptions was when I went to see Indiana Jones And The Dial Of Destiny a few weeks ago on its opening weekend.

The venue was our local theater, in and of itself not a bad locale by any stretch of the imagination.  The audience, in this case, "made" the movie I'm sorry to say.  And the theater contributed, too.

The few seats we were able to obtain for the Sunday afternoon showing were in the very back row, high up in a theater that housed maybe a little more than 100 patrons.  Not that I minded sitting that distance from the screen as the screen itself was large and wide, plenty of viewing area with no blockage from anyone from down below us.

Within the films first 20 minutes or so there's lots of action, as was showcased by a woman to my right a few seats down from me.  A surprising sequence elicited a "Whoa!" that practically echoed through the theater ... followed by another in short order.  

And this would continue throughout the movie, more than a half dozen times.  Some of them were short bursts of exclamation, others long and loud and annoying.

Then?  There was the parent who was quickly scooting a small child down the longest path possible through a row of seats in an attempt (I surmised) to get the kid to the bathroom before he exploded from the drink he obviously need to finish 30 minutes into the flick.  And then?  Afterward, here they come back again to reclaim their seats.

But that wasn't all.  

10 minutes later, there they came again, practically running down the aisle.  Mom at the rear urge the kid on as quickly as possible.

This happened no less than 3 times in 45 minutes.  I don't know if the kid genuinely had to go, if he was sick or what.  But it turned just as annoying as the "Whoa!" lady to my right.

Half way through my bag of popcorn, I began to sweat.  Profusely.  I just sat there, trying to concentrate on the film and ignore the beads of moisture forming at my temples, threatening to roll down my face as soon as the accumulated enough moisture to do so.  What the hell?  Why was I sweating?  Was it the damned leather chairs that seemed to be baking my back and backside into a stew of perspiration?  Was I having a reaction to the popcorn?  And then, I realized, it was hotter than hell where we were sitting because we were all the way in the back row, closer to the ceiling than anyone else.  With zero air conditioning supply units anywhere near us.  Dead, hot air going nowhere.  No wonder it felt like the beginnings of a sauna ramping up on its way to the "Hell" setting it was obviously set to.

But wait ... there's more.  All of a sudden I'm blinded by some ditzy woman at my 11:00 o'clock position while she checked her phone and began to text.  I was in no mood for that and began to slowly boil.  But, just as soon as I almost grumbled out loud, she doused her phone.  

30 seconds later, it was back on again.

And then ... off once more.  I waited for a third offense but it didn't come in short order because, if it had, I was going to leap from my seat and give her what for.

Sure enough, she was on her phone once again a minute later.  That did it.  

I actually leapt from my seat (as much as the leather would allow me to leap while attempting in vain to contain me in its sticky confines) and rushed over to her.  I got right down on her shoulder and scared the bejeebers out of her as I said: "Hey!  You're phone is blaring right in my face.  Turn the damned thing off!"  Startled and half out of her seat herself as I griped at her, all she could do was squeak out an "Okay!" meekly and bury her phone in her lap.  I trudged back to my seat and plunked back into it just as the lady a few seats down yelled out yet another "WHOA ... !!!" at something that happened on screen.

It was one of the worst experiences I've had in a movie theater.

 

And then?  Yesterday we headed to Oppenheimer at a larger theater in Folsom.

Incidences during that 3 hour film?  Exactly zero.  Not a one.  

Two different theaters, two different genres, two different clienteles.  One horrible showing, one excellent showing.

Just goes to show you: They can't all be gems.

Oh ... and the films themselves?  The Dial Of Destiny was miles above Indiana Jones And The Kingdom Of The Crystal Skull but seriously ... how is anything expected to beat the grandeur, awe and excitement of Raiders Of The Lost Ark?  It was reasonably enjoyable with some typical Indiana Jones-type action and some satisfying acknowledgements to past events ... but greatly lacking in one particular casting situation.

Oppenheimer was exactly what I expected ... long, somewhat convoluted, intriguing and a great testament to Nolan's writing and directing chops.  (And, oh ... what a cast!)  Downside?  Problematic for those who are easily distracted or aren't paying attention. 

But a nifty film nevertheless ...  

 

.......... Ruprecht ( STOP )

Decapitation By Guacamole

 

 

 

I pulled the frozen guacamole out of the freezer to lop off a chunk to go with the omelet I was making.

I have a small cleaver and a cutting board. I place the guac on the board and I stick an end of the cleaver into it to begin working a piece of the rock hard stuff free.  I'm successful from the get to and continue to do so until I get several pieces released from their confines, enough that I'm satisfied I have enough for my recipe.

From behind me I hear Missy state: "You know ... you should use something else before you decapitate yourself."

Now ... I've done plenty of kitchen prep work over the course of my life.  I mean ... I like to cook, so there have been countless times I've had the opportunity to chop and slice and pare and skin and drain and peel and separate and grind and more.  

But never, ever, ever (and, yes ... I used the word "never" there, something I rarely, rarely use) positioned my neck between a knife and what I'm cutting when I've prepped food previously ...  using your neck as a cutting board, for Pete's sake.

 

 .......... Ruprecht ( STOP using your neck as a cutting board, dammit)

 

Glory Fade

 

 

 

So, yeah ... it's finally be time.  Time for the old Faded Glory shoes to give up the ghost.

They've been a faithful companion for far more than 20 years.  They've gone through thick and thin, been glued together at the sole, at the heel and elsewhere at least a couple dozen times over their lifetime.  They've weathered mud and rain and all sorts of weather.  Each gouge and scuff mark tells a story.  There are places where they're threadbare, the anterior heels are worn down to a nub. The material lining the insides of them (what little of it is left) has long since frayed and given way to almost nothingness.

 

Surprisingly, the soles of the shoes themselves are not that worse for wear. 

 

 
Regardless, one more gluing, one more repair, one more modification to keep them wear-worthy just isn't in the cards.  You can see the repairs I've made to them everywhere, all sorts of different glues oozing out the heals.  The rubber of them is has actually begun rejecting mending and restoration.  I'm pretty certain that time last year when I chased an escaped dog for a mile and more was truly the start of their ultimate demise.

 

They've housed many different feet, hundreds of thousands of steps, an extended life that should have seen them tossed many moons ago. 

 

So long, old friends.  You've been faithful and true ...

 

.......... Ruprecht ( STOP )

A Lusty Tale Of That Scallywag Blackbeard The Pirate ... or not ...

 

 

It wasn't too long after coming down with Covid I decided to go free for all rogue.

With my beard, that is.  Yep ... shaving be damned.

Now here's the thing: Missy doesn't like me bearded.  As a man of a certain age, it comes in way more gray than salt and pepper.  She says it makes me look older. 

But I don't care if it made me look older.  I just wanted to have the beard again.  Because I could.

So ... razors?  Trimmers?  Begone.  I've no need for you for a few months while the growing commences.

Now, this time, as my beard got thicker and thicker, I saw a transformation in Missy.  She didn't complain about it as she had in the past.  "I hate that thing."  "When is that coming off?"  "You know it makes you look way older than you are."  All were commonalities I heard daily, little asides I think she'd hoped would bury in a crook of my mind and nurture there into some form of common sense. 

And yet she knows one of my superpowers is stubbornness, so I really didn't get the barely audible gripes and what purpose they were meant to serve. 

Realizing her complaints were going in one ear and out the other, she formulated a new tactic.  As things proceeded along, I was given an ultimatum.  One where the beard would come to its end of days.  I decided to prolong that date a bit longer and made a deal with Missy:

"Look ... even I get tired of it after a while.  Tell you what: Give me until the end of April, one more month, and I promised it will be gone."

Missy countered something like this:

"Well, since you put it that way, I'll make you a deal.  I'll give you the extra month ... but you have to Grecian Formula your beard at the end of the month so I can see what it looks like. Deal?"

We shook on it.  

And then?  The end of the month loomed.

As it happened, we were scheduled for an outing with The NorCal6 on the final weekend of April to the Sacramento Grilled Cheese Festival.  (You can revisit that tale here.)  So I told Missy I would Grecian up that Saturday morning before we left for the Fest.

Let's just say the results were, well ... interesting.  Here's the beard before coloring ...

 ... and afterward ...

Zoinks!

Just gotta say: I don't know whose idea it was to get BLACK Grecian Formula to wash into my beard ... but, well ... WowZah!

When Missy saw me I couldn't help but notice her mentally take a step backward.  Admittedly, it is a bit shocking.  "You know you weren't supposed to go so heavy on the stuff.  You should have just sprinkled it in here and there so there was more of a salt and pepper effect ..."

"But it wasn't doing anything that way" I offered.  "It just sat there like gunmetal grey goop, doing nothing.  Besides ... I've never done this shit before so how was I supposed to know ... ?!?"

And, if you look closely (actually you don't have to look that closely) you can see where the dye leached onto my skin, around my mouth and outside my beardline ... SO THAT IT DYED MY SKIN ... !!!

 

GAAAAAAHHHHHH ... !!!  

Was this stuff gonna come off??!?  Or had I inadvertently (possibly permanently) tattooed myself ... ?!???!!?

I immediately began scrubbing the areas.  After applying more than just a bit of elbow grease (and about 25 minutes later), the majority of my dyed skin was free of blackface and, luckily, only slightly irritated and red from sandpapering the stuff off.  *whew*

Missy convinced me to powder up my newly-colored facial hair with some grey-covering concoction to lighten up the garishness of it all and it seemed to do the trick.  But I found out in short order the cover-up wasn't all it was cracked up to be; it seemed to be reacting with the dye itself and appeared to be melting off my beard!  (It was simply the grey-covering goop sloughing off, not the dye itself.)

Well ... I was in for a penny, in for a pound at this point so, like it or not, it was onward to the Grilled Cheese Festival, newly colored facial monkey business in tow. 

See?  It doesn't look THAT bad ...

But I'm not of 100% certainty Laurie isn't laughing at me ...

And while friends Grant and Peter chuckled at my new and comical appearance, it didn't look all that bad in the outdoors ... despite the fact I kinda sorta looked like a G.I.Joe Land Adventurer with Life-Like Hair & Beard ...

 

 

.......... Ruprecht ( STOP growing and dyeing your damned beard already )