Tidbits

—1) At the vaunted Canandaigua YMCA..........

I am cranking the one-and-only arm bicycle.
Pony-tail is next to me blasting away on an elliptical of sorts. Her machine has a cardio-theater. She has it tuned to reality-TV or something.
I glance over, and I see a helicopter shot of an errant bulldozer smashing into everything. So far it has crumpled a car or two, and smashed a few buildings. Apparently it is driverless — reminding me of the time a bus took out a wall.
Every night when we pulled in we parked our buses in a conga-line in front of the bus-wash building. Therein the buses would get washed, swept out, and refueled.
We were supposed to shut the buses off, but didn’t in deference to the poor bus-washers. Once off there was a pretty good likelihood a bus wouldn’t start; in fact, it was so dead, it wouldn’t even crank.
So we’d leave ‘em runnin’. Set the brake and put ‘em in neutral.
Only problem was, -a) just because you levered it into neutral didn’t mean it was actually in neutral — it might still be in gear.
Plus -b) the air might leak down and release the parking-brake.
So a driver pulls in, kicks it into neutral, pops the parking-brake, and goes home. Still in gear, of course, and the air leaks down releasing the parking-brake.
So driverless the bus wanders across the yard and takes out a wall.
The driver has been home at least three hours, and gets a call from Transit. He’s fired of course. Them mindless management minions gotta blame (and fire) someone.
We get a notice from the mindless management minions about the kerreck procedure is to shut off the buses after pulling in. So we do that for a couple days, driving the poor bus-washers up the wall.
But no way are the mindless management minions gonna take the fall for that errant bus that was still in gear, and leaked off its air.
The Union (perish-the-thought) had to save that poor guy’s job.
So here’s this driverless bulldozer lumbering about. It crashes into a hardware, and then they put a giant 89-ton road-grader in front of it, which just gets shoved aside. The bulldozer is rumbling down the street — we get shots of crumpled stop-signs and brush.
From overhead we see the bulldozer, now trailing billows of steam from its radiator (it’s probably overheated) smashing a dump-truck.
For crying out loud, I think; it’s only doing about 1 mph. I think my brother-in-Boston would jump aboard and stop the sucker. In fact, I bet I could even do it myself though I’m 64.
The treads aren’t moving that fast — in the time ya climbed aboard the treads ya might advance three feet.
BALONEY ALERT! —This ain’t reality TV; this is destruction of a Hollywood set.
Pony-tail finishes and gets off, but the cardio-theater remains on — still reality TV.
We’re now in a squad-car; the cop has his video-cam aimed out the windshield.
A crotch-rocket passes, and the rider has it screwed to the wall. The cop is in hot pursuit, but the crotch-rocket is well over the limit.
He passes a couple cars on a curve, crossing the double-yellow, but gets away with it.
I turned away. I can see where this is headed. Crotch-rocket will head-on a car innocently coming the other way, and kill himself, or perhaps tumble over an embankment crashing mightily in flames.
How many times have I seen SUVs tumbling into pieces for the cop video-cam? (Once I saw a Corvette rear-end a stopped semi, and the ‘Vette was doing 150+.)
You-Tube has trains crashing.
Used to be promoters would head-on two engineerless steam locomotives out on the prairie, and the boilers exploded.
I’ll take the soaps, or perhaps Ty Pennington’s blue-helmeted minions napalming a perfectly good house.

—2) At the mighty Canandaigua Weggers.......

I’m perusing the analgesics to find lo-dose (81mg) aspirin with a safety-coat.
I used to take much larger aspirins: 325 and 500 mg, but my doctor suggested that was overkill — that I could get by with lo-dose.
So now it’s one lo-dose in the morning, and two at night if I exercise — only one if I don’t — two in the morning if it’s after walking the dog.
My lo-dose is running out, so I need more.
An old geezer is in front of me also perusing the aspirin, and says “these things sure cost less at Wal*Mart.”
“Yeah,” I say; “and it costs me more than that to just drive there.”
Apparently old geezer lives east of Weggers, so can hit Wal*Mart on the way. I don’t. For me Wal*Mart is an added trip.
So aspirin might cost a dollar more at Weggers, but I wouldn’t have to find them, since I know the store. I’m also going to Weggers to buy produce anyway, so I might as well buy aspirin. It saves me an added trip that would cost more than I would save.
*If there’s ever any reason I’ll try Wal*Mart it’s because Weggers has decided to discontinue selling Ben & Fat Jerry’s chocolate ice-cream.
Häagen-Dazs is okay, but it ain’t Ben & Fat Jerry’s.

—3) RE: The new machine at the YMCA.......

20 minutes yesterday (Wednesday, February 13, 2008); 25 if you count the five-minute cooldown. 25 minutes (with five-minute cooldown = 30 minutes total; their time-limit) is within range. But they only have two machines.

—4) Egg-follies.......

We have taken to buying brown eggs from an independent egg-place on 5&20.
This is because Linda doesn’t wanna patronize an egg-factory.
Weggers had an egg-factory, but had to get outta the business because the animal-rights crowd was always invading.
Egg-factories put the hens en masse in cages, and collect the eggs en masse. The hens are often debeaked, and treated inhumanely. Sanitation is usually compromised.
What matters is egg-production. It’s the slammer for the hens. And if a hen stops laying, it’s tossed.
So now we’re patronizing an egg-guy along 5&20 (the way to Canandaigua) — with hopes they’re humane to their chickens.
I’ve never seen them free-ranging. They must have them inside in sheds in the back lot.
Weggers sells honky eggs; the egg-guy brown eggs. An egg is an egg. The egg-guy’s eggs are varied sizes; Weggers eggs are all sized — but they don’t have that fancy-dan “Eggland” sticker. (My wife always wonders how they get the hens to do that.)
A visit to the egg-guy means driving down a long driveway, mounting a deck, and ringing a bell.
I always get a hearty welcome from the famblee dog when I do that.
The egg-guy means I can also recycle the egg-cartons — no styrofoam cartons from Weggers. These are formed paper (or cardboard — I don’t know; I’M SURE THE ALL-KNOWING BLUSTER-BOY CAN TELL ME.)

—5) Pizza for Valentine’s Day.........

The local TV news did a report on a pizza-place making pizza for Valentine’s Day.
“How much is it?” the reporter asks.
“$8,500,” the owner says.
“For crying out loud,” I laugh.
“Marcy, it’s everywhere!” I say.
Hold it; this is a special pizza — heart-shaped with heart-shaped pepperoni-slices.
Still, eight-thousand five-hundred smackaroos for a pizza? They have to be kidding!
So the reporter interviews the pizza-shop owner. He drones on — I can’t believe he’s serious about this. “Marcy, it’s everywhere!”
A youngish patron walks into the pizza-shop, and orders the “St. Valentine’s Day special.”
“That’ll be $8,500,” the clerk says.
Patron rifles his pants-pocket, producing perhaps $1.78.
“Can’t do it!” he says, and ambles out utterly defeated.
Worse yet is if patron calls the pizza-shop to order.
Does the pizza-shop have to rent a Wells-Fargo armored truck? Is it delivered by dippities with pistols drawn?
This is even more outrageous than White Flower Farm, which wants $385 for a basket of pine-cones.
“You just gave me a story,” I shout.

RE: “Reminding me of the time a bus took out a wall......” —For 16&1/2 years I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service, the transit-bus operator in Rochester, N.Y.

“My brother-in-Boston” is Jack Hughes. He is a manager at a power-plant.

A “crotch-rocket” is an extremely fast and powerful motorcycle.

“Ty Pennington’s blue-helmeted minions” is ABC’s “Extreme Home Makeover.”

“Weggers” is Wegmans, a large supermarket-chain based in Rochester we often buy groceries at. They have a store in Canandaigua.

“Ben & Fat Jerry” is Ben & Jerry.

“The new machine at the YMCA” is a semi-elliptical where you can vary the step-length.

“5&20” is the main east-west road through our area; State Route 5 and U.S. Route 20, both on the same road. 5&20 is just south of where we live.

“Linda” is my wife of 40 years.

“Honky eggs” are white eggs.

“The all-knowing bluster-boy” is my all-knowing, blowhard brother-in-Boston, who noisily badmouths everything I do or say. He’s the power-plant manager.

“Marcy” is my number-one ne’er-do-well — she was the first I was e-mailing stuff to. Marcy and I worked in adjacent cubicles at the Canandaigua Daily-Messenger newspaper, from where I retired. A picture of her is in this blog at Conclave of Ne’er-Do-Wells. Marcy married Bryan Mahoney (ex-reporter from the Daily-Messenger), and together they live near Boston. Marcy once asked me how I saw so much insanity. “Marcy, it’s everywhere!” I told her.

White Flower Farm.