Thinking of Pizza, leave it to the Professionals

So, after leaving New York City at rush hour last Friday night, my wife and I eventually got home around 7:30PM.  I didn’t want to cook anything, but then remembered I had a three-month-old Paul Newman frozen thin crust pizza sitting in my freezer.  I had never had one before, but I’d heard Paul’s stuff was very good, and with all of the donations their organization makes…good karma needed to be coming my way.  We normally cook and bake out of the smaller top oven in our new oven “system”. I started preheating and then noticed the instructions said, “Do not place pizza on a cookie sheet, place frozen pizza on the oven rack.”  I didn’t like that idea, especially since the top oven/microwave gizmo does not have any racks.  The wife says, just use the bottom oven, that has racks.  Fine, now I have to preheat this bottom oven, which took literally 40 minutes.  Modern technology is a wonderful thing.  Once it was done, I opened the bottom oven door and there was a large cauldron sitting on the racks which at that point was glowing red.  The intense heat coming off it steamed up the peepers I was wearing. The wife says, you’re lucky it wasn’t a quilt we were storing in there.  

So, I cooked my Paul Newman pizza and now have to get it off the oven rack.  Luckily there was minimal cheese spillage, but I still needed to figure out how to get it off the rack.  I had gathered a collection of weapons to address the situation, as well as a very thin plastic cutting sheet.  My thought was, sheet is very thin, but strong enough to withstand sharp cutting, it’ll be perfect to slide under the pizza.  Naturally, in the back of my mind I’m thinking, this plastic time bomb is going to explode into flames after about two seconds of extreme heat.  As it turns out, I was able to grab the edge of the crispy pizza crust, and drag it onto the thin, very thin plastic cutting sheet with absolutely no issue.  Euphoria has now enveloped me; I have single-handedly conquered the Frozen Pizza Challenge.  But then I got greedy.  As I was masterfully pulling my pizza out of the oven, I noticed a small chunk of burnt cheese sitting in the craves at the bottom of the oven door.  (Keep in mind, I’ve never been a waiter) I decided that if I just reached back down, while holding my pizza on the very, very thin plastic sheet, I could kill two birds with one stone.  Big Mistake!  Before I could reach the burnt cheese crumb, a combination of things happened - a complete report from the crimes against humanity commission is pending.  Said pizza got wings and flew off my plastic sheet onto the floor…face down.  For about two seconds I thought I’d be able to quickly pick it up and the crispy browned cheese topping would stay intact.  Then my wife pinched me and I awakened from that dream.  She then reminded me, she never said she was going to eat the Paul Neuman pizza, but I did.  I spent the rest of the night picking dog hair off my tongue.

Lessons Learned:  First, always order your pizza from a professional, and have it delivered.  Next, the fact that the Burn Unit didn’t play into the story speaks volumes to my personal growth.  And finally, you would think I’d know better.  I do an AARP presentation on Brain Health.  In it, there is a section on Tips to Help with Focus.  Number three is Avoid Multi-Tasking.  Like when you’re sitting in the family room watching TV and decide you’re going to walk into the kitchen and get a couple of cookies, that your wife thinks she’s hidden.  But along the way, you see a dust bunny trying to hide under a chair.  You then decide to go to the closet and get the vacuum cleaner because you’ve lit a fuse, and this has to be taken care of now.  And from there, you’re off to the races.  By the time you get around to those cookies, it’s 11PM and you’ve upset your stomach just in time for bed.  So much for restorative sleep.

Airport Cuisine and the new Terminal C

So Superbowl Sunday is approaching, and I am scheduled to hop on a plane out of Newark airport and head to SoCal to see a family member, some friends from school, and catch the Super Bowl.  At the last minute my ride to the airport had to cancel.  I was forced to attempt to grab a ride with Uber.  I use Uber about once a year, and each time I do, the learning curve is painful. I can feel angst brewing as I’ve never used Uber to go to the airport, and there is dangerously little time to spare.  You combine that with my overall distain for hand-held technology and my stomach now has something to be volcanic about.  

Miraculously, I connect with any number of potential Uber drivers.  It’s as if a dozen drivers are parked at the end of my street, waiting for me call.  They can all be at my address within three minutes.  My driver gets me to the airport in record time.  I cruse through security unscathed (pinch me, am I still alive), and walk to my gate in Terminal C.  

At my gate, the emergency door alert is stuck on.  The piercing high pitched noise is easily at migraine-pain level.  And my hearing aids are having a field day weaponizing the volume of the noise even further.  It’s as if they’re mocking me, saying, “Look how unbearable I can make this noise for you.”  God forbid they actually make a low-talker’s voice audible in a restaurant.  I’m at a point where it felt like I had two Ginsu steak knives going through my ears, trying to meet in the center of my brain.  

In an effort to escape the noise and avoid an aneurism, I decide to investigate the various new eateries within enhanced Terminal C.  I’ll be dining with the folks at “The Panini Shop.”  With my early arrival, I had the time to grab my meal and sit at a table to eat in a somewhat civilized manner.

My meal of choice is the Cuban Sandwich.  This hot, pressed sandwich has, turkey, ham, swiss cheese, pickles and mustard.  I’m not exactly sure what’s Cuban about this sandwich, but it seems like a benign consumable, which is mission critical at this point. I also purchase a bottle of ultra expensive organic raspberry ice tea.  I’ve never heard of the brand before, so it must be something new and extremely good, otherwise, why would they charge so much, right?  All told my panini and ice tea costs me $34.  Thirty-four-dollars!  I know, it was at the airport, and it was in the newly refurbished Terminal C, so somebody has to pay for that renovation.  But $34, come on.

So, I get my $34 meal in a bag and I find a table to sit at.  The chair is positioned a bit further from the table than it should be, but it’s made out of concrete. It doesn’t move. I sit down and pull my panini clamshell shaped container out of the bag.  What I didn’t realize was there was a decent amount of panini oil in the container, a container that I thought was hermetically sealed.  It was not.  The angle of me pulling the container out of the bag, caused a healthy amount of oil to pour onto the crotch area of my jeans.  (The only jeans I have for this trip, a 7-day trip.)

I did my best to clean up the situation with napkins, which only made it worse.  Then I opened the lid on my expensive ice tea, and tasted it.  I thought the panini oil had more flavor. I came to the conclusion that maybe it needed to be shaken first.  I twisted the cap back on the bottle.  I thought it was tight.  Again…it was not.  As I shook the bottle, I got my second shower of the day.  When I got on line to board the plane everyone gave me a lot of space.  Seems nobody wanted to stand next to the crazy old man who wet himself.

Anthropology and Expensive Rocks

In the words of Charlie Brown, during Halloween Trick or Treating, “I got a rock.”  

To level set this story, I’m not a social media superstar, not a rising star, not even a mundane asteroid.  When people ask me if I’m on social media, I get queasy.   There are just way too many screens and buttons that can lead to angst.  And considering my complete lack of technical aptitude, I’m sure I’d have an easy time breaking it.  Then I’d have to crawl to my wife and beggingly say, “look what I did, can you fix it?”  

So, my annual gift-giving trifecta from hell is fast approaching.  In less than a month, I have to come up with three creative, and thoughtful gifts to address my wedding anniversary, the wife’s birthday, and Christmas.  According to my calculations, I’m more than a little past middle age, and as much as I’d like to think of myself as creative, I’m not.  After thirty years of this torturous gauntlet, I have no tricks left up my sleeve.  I can do maybe, one clever gift a year, but three in less than a month?  Sure, and if Pigs could f...What I should do is have a LLADRO commissioned that depicts a bunch of pigs flying around.

It’s now the night before Thanksgiving.  My daughter and her husband have come over for dinner and some pre-Thanksgiving beverages.  After dinner we’re sitting in the family room talking.  My daughter announces to my wife that she wants to give her Mom her birthday gift early, as they won’t be with us during the actual day of her birthday.  I’m holding my breath, praying that she doesn’t go overboard with the gift, and thus wind up embarrassing me.  (Remember, it’s all about me.) 

My daughter is exuberant.  She explains that this gift is something she knows my wife was looking for, and really wanted.  Oh Crap!  This is not going to be good…for me.  My wife is very excited.  As she’s ripping the paper off the box, she says, “Colleen, you didn’t?  How did you get one?  They’re sold out everywhere!”  Now I know I’m really screwed.  I should have just gotten her a thoughtful card, taken my lumps and found an acceptable hotel to live in.

As the gift is emerging from the box, my wife, almost jumping out of her skin with enthusiasm, asks my daughter, “Colleen, how much did you pay for this!?!”  I tried to remind my wife that it’s not polite to ask how much a gift costs, but I was too late.  My daughter quickly responds in a proud tone, “Well it wasn’t too bad, I got it as part of a pre-Black Friday sale.  It was $300, but I got it for $150.”  The excitement between my daughter and wife was palpable.  

My wife reaches into the box and pulls out…a rock.  Yes, a rock.  It’s about five inches long, about three inches high and two inches thick.  It’s speckled, white and gray-ish, heavy on the ish.  And, it smells like perfume.  My daughter proclaims, “It’s an Anthro Rock!” from the Anthropologie store, which I’m guessing, must be a wonderful thing.  When I think of the Anthropologie store, the only thing that comes to mind is overpriced clothing which I’m unable to appreciate.  My next thought was, if the world economy collapses, I wonder how much the Anthro Rock will be worth.  I bet it’s more than a bitcoin. And along with that thought was, what is the return policy for the rock?  

My son-in-law is looking like he’s either very confused or in shock.  He offers up, “So we can use it to hold down napkins on the dining room table during dinner tomorrow?  My daughter replies, “No, it’ll be the center piece!”

I know better than to open my mouth and offer my opinion, as I’ve ruined many a family gathering by saying exactly what’s on my mind.  These days, even if I’m aggressively questioned, I no longer take the bait and speak.  I just do my best imitation of Marcel Marceau, and nod in agreement.  You can teach an old dog new tricks!

My daughter and wife are giddy as they ogle over the rock, discussing details about it.  Then my daughter, in a very jovial tone, asks us, “But you get why it’s so special, right?”  And with that, I took the bait and swallowed it whole.  I’m thinking, well I have a good shot at blowing up Thanksgiving this year, but she did ask. So I said, “I feel like I’m being punked.”  And with that, both my wife and daughter broke out into uproarious laughter.  

The Anthro Rock gag is being played out worldwide and videos of these events are being put on social media – mainly, Instagram and TikTok, neither of which I subscribe to.  My daughter dug this rock out of the garden in front of her building.  She washed the dirt and grime off said rock, and perfumed it with a scent she hadn’t worn in years.  And the cherry on top, to video this deception, she secretly placed a camera on our fireplace mantel amongst the turkeys and pilgrims.  All parts of the diabolical plan to deceive and embarrass us, on Thanksgiving. 

Fair warning my friends, evil lurks among us.