My super brainy brother in law Larry Snyder insists on going to Chipotle every time he is in Atlanta. For some reason, call it my resistance to a company that used to be owned by McDonald’s, I never indulged. That is, I didn’t indulge until about 2 weeks ago. I should have known better. Larry is one smart guy.
My wife says that I have a sickness. I stopped by Chipotle one day for lunch just to see what the big deal was. As it turns out, I ate there 5 more times during the next week. I have never done such a thing. I rarely eat at the same place twice in a given month. (ok, maybe “FM”, but that’s about it).
After living in San Francisco, I became a bit snobby about burritos. Chipotle is the burrito snob paradise - all of the chicken, beef and pork that they serve was raised without all the normal pharmaceutical injections that are standard in our livestock production in the U.S.
I’m not vegetarian anymore so I’m psyched to find a place that will be less likely to pass on antibiotics and steroids when I do choose to partake the dead animal flesh. And thanks, Larry, I should have listened to you sooner!
You might have received an email lately, or several of them, that states something like:
Cell phone numbers going public tomorrow
REMINDER….all cell phone numbers are being released to telemarketing companies tomorrow and you will start to receive sale calls.
….YOU WILL BE CHARGED FOR THESE CALLS
Well, according to Snopes, that claim is false. Specifically, it still remains illegal for auto-dialers to call cell phones. There is a drive to have a national cell phone directory service, but it is by opt-in only. Do nothing and you won’t be listed.
Having said that, you can still go to 888-382-1222 to get on the national “Do Not Call” Registry. You can also file complaints there or at donotcall.gov. That should take care of the marketers, or at least most of them. But if you expect to have private cell phone conversations, that’s a different story.
It’s been awhile since I have posted here, mainly because I have been focusing on my other blog for the last month or so. But after my posting about the crows, I had to include this. As a side note, a pair of red shoulder hawks have moved in across the street, high in a pine tree. They’re cleaning up. But on to the present ridiculous story…
I started a new job and have a fancy new office in the Vinings area of Atlanta. I took a couple of weeks to settle in before my wife came to meet me for lunch. We met, went and picked up some food and came back to eat in the conference area of the office. But on our way back into the parking lot, I noticed 2 men standing behind a pickup truck. One was making some tugging and gyrating movements. He looked to be sawing……something….
I had to pass by them to get to my parking area. One man was dressed in business attire, the other, an Elmer Fudd costume. Between them lay a dead turkey, with missing legs. The man in the country attire waved to us with his free hand. His other hand held two turkey legs.
“So, are there always people in your parking lot sawing the legs off turkeys?”, asked my wife. No, just today. But it just goes to show - even in the hip, trendy and upscale parts of Atlanta, you’re still in Georgia.
Forget Wrigley Field, this landmark of Jackson, TN had it’s 50th season in 2007 and it’s hard to imagine its closing. My brother forwarded me a clip from the Jackson Sun.
For scores of Little Leaguers who grew up on Lions Field, there is a touch of sadness in the news of the sale. The field was considered one of the nation’s premier Little League parks when it opened in 1957. In its heyday, Jackson had close to 20 Little League teams. It sent an all-star team to the Little League World Series in 1974.
I was on the “Kelly Foods” team for 3 years. I think I learned all of my first hard lessons about winning and losing there. My first at-bat against Carlos Sampson scared the crap out of me and all I wanted to do was avoid getting hit. My first championship game was lost there. My first home run was there. And my first championship game was won there as well. I couldn’t imagine a better coach and life teacher than Don Jordan.
They say you can’t ever go back home and it’s true. My dad’s restaurant, the Coffman’s barn and much of the area where I grew up were flattened by tornadoes in recent years. And the next time I go back to Jackson, Lion’s field will be just another softball field at Lambuth College.
Tomorrow brings the unusual combination of “Super Tuesday” as well as “Fat Tuesday”. Some will be blowing it out in New Orleans, getting all of their sins out of their system before lent. Others will be voting in primary elections. Maybe they’re the same thing (hey - it’s an easy joke!). For me, Mardi Gras always meant rugby.
It has been 22 years since I made my first trip down to New Orleans for the annual LSU Mardi Gras Rugby Tournament. I never really intended to go to Mardi Gras (I didn’t even know what it was), much less play rugby. But I didn’t get much playing time during the Saturday football games and my roommate was helping to start the first Rhodes College rugby team. I went to one or two practices, just for fun, but didn’t give it much thought. It seemed like backyard football to me.
One Sunday morning in the fall of 1985, after having too much fun at some late night party, Rock ‘em Sock ‘em Rusty B. barged into my room and announced that I was needed for that day’s rugby game. We were playing Ole Miss. I quietly complained about the noise, the light and my pounding headache. Clearly, that was not the right answer. Rusty yanked me out of bed, tossed my cleats in my direction and said something along the lines of, “Get yer ass up and get dressed - you’re playing!”
Rusty was about 6′3″ and weighed in at 275 lbs. He was a starting offensive tackle on Saturdays. At the time, I was a strapping 162 lbs. and, although I was speedy, I couldn’t escape his demands.
Within an hour, I was reluctantly on the field. The Ole Miss game quickly had me sweating, however, and I felt less crappy as the game went on. I didn’t know the rules and was called for a number of penalties such as diving on a loose ball and ‘knocking on’ - i.e. dropping a ball forward. I was certain that this would be my last game. I really didn’t enjoy penalizing my team every few minutes.
The game was tied 0-0 and the clock was winding down. Ole Miss was getting ready to score and it looked like we were doomed. But one of the Rebel players tried to turn the corner on my side when I tackled him, picked up the ball and sprinted the distance of the field for a try. The whistle blew and we won 3-0. I was hooked!
A few weeks later, we took the ultimate road trip to Baton Rouge where we played rugby by day and went to Mardi Gras parades in New Orleans at night. That was my first trip to the Big Easy and many more were to follow. The LSU Mardi Gras Rugby Tournament became a staple road trip. Here’s a great video one of my old teammates just sent me comparing rugby to soccer. I don’t remember it being quite so much like the UFC, but the home team always did supply the keg.