MASTERCHEF

READER BEWARE - RANTING AHEAD

Hey there sagacious reader.  I considered long and hard about airing my rather heated opinion on the latest episode of MasterChef.  But then I figured, what the heck.  You don't have to read it.  And if you do read this and for some odd reason disagree with me, well, I will never know.  Ah, the beauty of blogging.

So in going forth I will just presume that since you are such an intelligent, educated, fair-minded and savvy group, you will be in total agreement with my (righteous) assessment of the complete and utter disappointment that was MasterChef. 

Just the way that whole thing came down; the inherent wrongness of it; I CRY FOUL!!  Shame on those three judges.  Personally I see them as the 3 F's.  I shall give you partials, and you, smart readers that you are, can fill in the rest.  (I have extreme confidence in your abilities.)

First we have the bald f...   Then we have the fat f...   And last (but not least) we have the foreign f...    So now we know where we're at, right?  

So I would ask those three, "What the hell's the matter with you? How can you be so unfair to one of your home cooks and yet coddle others who, I might add, are completely undeserving?  I don't get it. Nope.  Not at all.  So wrong!  Shame, shame, shame.  Don't you watch the footage?  Do you see (and hear) what we do?  Are you crazy?  Not playing with a full deck?  I just don't understand your decision and I don't trust your judgement anymore. 

James should not have been sent home. At least not then. Not that way. Those 3 F's pretty much stole his win right out from under him.  

Hey, James, congratulations, you've made it into the top 4.  Er, just kidding. We can't possibly send either of these two delightful (gag, gag, barf) ladies home when they cooked their little hearts out now can we? They did such a fine job we just can't decide who to send home.  You understand, right? So we'll just negate the whole 'winning' thing.  Have a do-over, ok?   Aargh! Where's the justice?  Where's the fairness.  I know, I know.  In a perfect world, maybe. But not this one.  And definitely not this show.

Ah, I have been informed that due to the litigious nature of our society, my freedom of speech is not as free as it once was.  So this is not the blistering diatribe I had originally intended (and still feel) but rather a watered down version.  So sad.  But I'm sure you get the drift.  You, I have faith in.

Thank you, my readers, for indulging me.  I feel much so better now.   :-)

But, to the 3 who made (in my not-so-humble opinion) an egregious error in judgement, I must shout out a most vehement BITE ME!

THE ERRANT SHOPPING CART

Hey there sagacious reader.  I have often wondered about all the shopping carts that are left willy-nilly around parking lots and sometimes even inside stores.  I have my ideas on what's behind this mystery as I'm sure you do.

I find the ones left abandoned inside grocery stores the most perplexing. Where are the people who propelled them to their current location?  It could be the produce department, the bakery, or down the canned soup aisle. Apparently there is no rhyme or reason to the abandonment of shopping carts. 

One day while grocery shopping I came upon a cart with a few "goodies" in it sitting smack dab in the middle of the bread aisle.  I could tell by its contents that it wasn't waiting to be 'restocked', and there were no employees in the immediate area.  In fact there was no one in that aisle except me. And yet there it sat, right in the middle of the aisle. All alone; forlorn, forgotten.  Curious.  I took my time perusing the many different baked goods on display keeping an eye out for whoever may come to claim it.  I stole surreptitious glances at the cart taking special note of the dairy products and fresh veggies that it contained.  I don't know about you but I wouldn't leave my perishables hanging around for long unless I absolutely had to.  (An emergency trip to the bathroom comes to mind.)  My curiosity was piqued.  

I must have spent a good 5 minutes or so in that aisle.  Still, no one came. For me, time was up.  After all I still had my shopping to do.  I moved on.  A little while later, on my way to check out, I passed by that aisle.  The cart was still there.  Wow, really?  So much for those dairy products.  By that time they had surely warmed to room temperature and were ready for the trash (at least I hope so).  

I still wonder about the original operator of that cart.  What happened? Was the checkbook left at home?  No cash or credit cards?  Forgotten coupons? Alien abduction?  Who knows.


On to the shopping carts abandoned in parking lots that I find most irritating. Now I know I'm old and cranky but I can't see any legitimate reason for people not returning their carts to the cart return corrals provided or if none are provided, returning them to the store.  (Whew, that was a really long sentence; I'm exhausted!)

I have seen people load their groceries or what-nots into their cars and then leave their carts right there in the parking space.  Really?  You can't walk the 10 feet or so to the corral and put your cart there?  Afraid you might lose a pound or two?  Most of the people I've seen would benefit from the exercise. (Listen, can you hear it?  ... Moo)  How lazy can you be?  I return my carts all the time, even in the rain, and I'm one of the laziest people I know. (Don't tell anyone, ok? It's a well-kept secret.)


The absolute worst thing is when you're in the parking lot of a busy store where finding a place to park is difficult to begin with and you see what you think is an available space. Then, just as you're congratulating yourself on your good luck, you find a stupid shopping cart parked right in the middle of your spot. Aargh! I hate that.  I suppose if you drive a clunker you might consider using your car to shove the offending cart out of your way. But most of us choose not to go that route.  

And if you're alone, just getting out of your car to move the shopping cart is a pain in the ass.  You can decide to be nice and pull up and over to the side thus allowing all the other cars hunting for spaces room to go around you. But if you do this, beware!  Because as soon as you get out of your car and move the cart out of the way, some jerk will invariably take this as an invitation to park there. It won't matter one whit that you were obviously moving the cart so you could park.  People are like that. Most of em can't tell their ass from a hole in the ground. 

A few people do leave their cart somewhat out of the way, parking it to the side of the parking space instead of smack dab in the middle, giving you enough room to squeeze into the spot. Whether or not you will be able to open your door, well, that's not their problem, is it?  After all, what's another door ding or two?  (Buttheads)

In closing, I say to those who abandon their goodie-laden shopping carts in the middle of grocery stores, What happened?  Where are you?  And to those who litter parking lots with the carts they are either too self-centered or too lazy to properly return, I say BITE ME!

THE BANK TELLER

Hey there sagacious reader.  I want to tell you about something that happened a while back that I can actually still remember to this day (amazing!). An event as bewildering as it was ridiculous.  I mean does this stuff really happen?  Apparently so.  Ah, the mysteries of life.  Those little moments that leave us wondering, what's next? 

I was working at a motorcycle shop and part of my job was dealing with the bank.  I went there on a daily basis to make deposits and get the necessary 'change' for the shop.  My boss liked to keep a cash box in the office with small bills and coins.  This money was used to 'make change' for the parts counter.  I typically got ones, fives, tens and sometimes quarters, nickels, dimes, etc. (ho hum, I know.) So, enough of the background. 

This particular day started the same as every other.  I gathered my deposit material, checked to see what 'change' I needed and headed to the bank.  I usually went around midmorning cuz by then I was more than ready to get out of the office for a bit.  (My boss was a hair 'anal' and any chance I had to escape was eagerly embraced.) Anyway, I got to the bank, waited my turn in line (I had way more patience in those days) and took care of business.  I then headed back to the shop.  A typical bank trip.  Or so I thought.

When I got to my office, I pulled out the cash box and prepared to put the money I had gotten from the bank into the proper slots in the box.  This required concentration and attention to detail. (yeah, right)  I mean Heaven forbid, an errant penny should be found in the dime bin.  Yikes!  A total catastrophe! (that anal boss thing again)  All went smoothly until I got to the ones. These we had bundled in packs of twenty for our convenience which the bank obliged us by doing.  However this time the bank made a boo-boo.  Or rather the bank teller made a boo=boo.  

I didn't notice anything amiss immediately but knew something wasn't quite right.  Then it hit me.  Oops.  The teller had accidentally given me twenty twenties instead of twenty ones.  Now I will admit that I considered for a moment or two (ok, ok, maybe three) to keep quiet.  I mean who doesn't like a $380 tip?  (Can you sing, "I'm in the money"?)  But no, my mama raised me right.  I went to the boss and told him what happened and took myself and the money straight back to the bank.  Upon arrival I waited for the same teller to become available which did get me more than a few curious looks from the other people there. Can't say as I blame them. After all, who waits around in line, letting other people go before them? 

Finally it's my turn with my teller.  I approach. She gives me a 'funny' look. I think she recognized me from less than an hour or so before.  Good memory, hm? So I explain what happened and that I am there to return the twenties and get my ones.  Well, she is having none of that!  She tells me that she will have to close down her window and reconcile her cash drawer to settle the matter. Really?

So, I'm left standing there, waiting for her to do her thing, and all the while she's casting snarky looks my way as if I'd done something wrong; as if I'd robbed the bank, or swindled them somehow.  Again, really?  How many people do you suppose go into a bank and try to force money on them? I'm sure it happens all the time, right?  (No, no Mr. Bank Manager, you got it all wrong. I'm not here to rob you, I'm here to give you money.) 

It's not that I minded being out of the office and away from my workload, far from it. But I did mind being treated like something she'd scraped off the bottom of her shoe. After all, I was doing the right thing here and felt totally unappreciated for it. 

Of course, I knew her drawer was going to come up short.  And sure enough it did. So I wasn't trying to force money on the bank after all. Imagine that! At this point part of me wished I'd just kept the money.  I mean, jeez, what an ingrate!  Once she realized her mistake, she actually stopped glowering at me and even issued a reluctant thank you. I think it only hurt her a little and there may have been the glimmer of a smile hovering around the corners of her mouth but I'm not sure.  She was that type of teller.  She did, however, give me my twenty ones and I was released from the bank.

So in closing, I would like to extend my appreciation to the bank teller who made me feel like some kind of criminal and doubted my integrity, by issuing a very personal BITE ME!

THE NEIGHBOR

Hey there sagacious reader. I will readily admit that I am not an in-your-face kind of neighbor. I'm not the type to bake pies or casseroles and have 'welcome to the neighborhood' parties. Never have been.  It's not my style. I'm more of the live and let live sort. But don't get me wrong. I don't go out of my way to avoid my neighbors. Most of em anyway. I say hello and smile (usually) when I see them.  And if someone needs something, as tempting as it can be, I don't run and hide behind closed doors. I believe in offering a helping hand. 

I have encountered my fair share of, hm 'intriguing' neighbors in my time as I'm sure most of you have.  I mean the crazies have to live somewhere, right? But as for sheer audacity, I hit the jackpot with this one. Talk about balls! Picture the state of Texas and there you have it.  Here's what happened.  I'll let you be the judge. (Just get it right people!  You should know how I feel about judges.)  ;-)

My neighbor had some bushes (yeah, right) planted along the fence line between our backyards.  These "bushes" grew to be, oh about 15' tall.  At the time they were planted a 4' white picket fence (so cute!) separated our yards. This was soon replaced by a taller (not so cute) 6' wooden fence. The choice was made by my neighbors.  I guess they got tired of looking at me.  I don't know why. Who wouldn't want to look at me?  Anyway, the fence went up and that was that. Time went on.  

And then one day I came home from work to find a huge surprise in my backyard. Apparently one of the "bushes" outgrew its ability to anchor itself to the ground.  In that particular battle, gravity won. The bush (tree) lost. Can you say "timber"?  And there it was, this huge bush (tree) lying in my yard, having easily taken out the fence on its way down.  I just stared at it, feeling relieved that at least my dogs and cats were safely inside.  The thought of any of them being enmeshed in those branches was not something I wanted to deal with.

I decided to wait for my husband to get home.  I didn't call him. I didn't want to ruin the surprise. I mean I shouldn't have all the fun (just most of it). He came home; he saw; he was not happy, didn't appreciate the surprise in the least.  He was, however, very calm and collected as he usually is.  Not the least bit cranky.  (That's my department.)  He strode over to the neighbors house and was back soon enough with the neighbor in tow.  I was waiting on the back steps, curious to see the neighbor's reaction though how he could not know about the 'crash' is beyond me; I know he was home at the time. Obviously, by his actions (or lack thereof) he didn't know.

Instead of offering to help deal with the fallen tree (bush), my neighbor just stared for a moment or two, shook his head, muttered something inane and went home.  Really?  

We just stood there for a while, speechless, thinking he would be coming back to help or offer ideas, equipment or something!  But no. Nothing, nada, zilch. Just the two of us, our pets and the tree.  (At this point I refuse to refer to it as a bush. It left bushdom long ago.)

Now the tree was planted in his yard, was his property and as far as I'm concerned, his responsibility.  I'm pretty sure he had the necessary gardening tools to cut that tree up quickly and dispose of it in the green waste (we like to recycle when we can!) while all we had was a small hand saw and some pruning shears.  I guess he figured that since 90% of the tree was in our yard it was our problem to deal with. What an ass.

Needless to say, it took us (well, my husband) several weeks to get the entire mess cleaned up, one branch at a time, with absolutely no help from the neighbor.  Not even the use of his green waste bin. Totally unbelievable, but true.  And if I ever do decide to bake pies (unlikely), that's one neighbor who definitely won't be receiving one.  Unless I bake a Castor bean & humble pie... ;-)

So at this point, all I can say to my neighbor and all the others out there like him, is BITE ME!

THE 'BLACK SHEEP' OF THE FAMILY

Hey there sagacious reader.  Brace yourselves.  I have some shocking news. You may want to sit down for this.  Unless, of course, you are sitting down.  Ready?  All right, here goes.  (drum roll, please)   I have been considered by some as the 'black sheep' of my family. Unbelievable, right? But true. Of course I do come from a mostly conservative family, (how the heck did that happen?) so I suppose it's understandable that I would be the one who stood out from the crowd. That's ok.  I can take it. I mean someones got to keep the family gatherings interesting.


However, there is one member of my extended family who should be considered the blackest of all the black sheep even by the most conservative of my family (and you know who you are).  Whereas I may be a little 'colorful' at times, basically I'm a nice (if somewhat cranky) person.  I try to do right by those around me.  Most of the time I think I'm successful.  (Don't listen to my family, they don't know anything!)  ;-)

Now most families, I'm pretty sure, have a character or two that do not quite fit into the family photo album the way the rest of the clan does.  This is normal, right?  But every now and then something goes horribly wrong and the family is stuck with someone who not only doesn't fit into the album but makes the family want to burn the whole damn thing! And, sadly, that is the case with me and mine.

I will mention no names here although I'm sure this 'sheep' would never recognize himself in this narrative.  To be perfectly honest, I'm not sure he would even get beyond the word 'sagacious'.  Though he would like the picture.  Not the sharpest tool in the shed.  However, it's the way he treats his children that has incurred my wrath.  Justifiably so.  And here's why.  His children never (and I mean never) come first.  They fall somewhere on his list of priorities below the latest computer and electronic games.  (I think he gets that from his mom.)

This particular 'sheep' works full-time at the same job he has held for many years (amazing) but never seems to have the money necessary to buy his kids luxury items such as clothing, decent food, school supplies, personal hygiene products, etc. You get the picture.  Yet he shares a house with two other (somewhat functioning) adults so his part of the rent should be reasonable. His TV, phone and electric services have been shut off numerous times for 'lack of payment'.  And I don't know how many cars he's had repoed over the years. I mean, really. Who lives like that? Can you say, irresponsible? Immature? Selfish?  Yes to all of the above.  The man (boy) needs to grow the f*** up!

Now I've never been a big one on 'growing up'.  It's not all it's cracked up to be; tends to suck all the fun out of life.  But really, there is a limit.  You have to be responsible for yourself and your children.  Otherwise, what the hell good are ya?  There are too many parasites in the world as it is.  We don't need any more.

So, to all of you, whether or not you are the 'black sheep' of the family; you who do not or will not take responsibility for the fundamental welfare of your children; you who will not put their needs above your own, I most vehemently say BITE ME!

THE HIGHWAY 'CHEATER'

Hey there sagacious reader.  One of the (many) things that drive me crazy when I'm on the road is the people that use the left or right hand-turn-only lanes as their personal pass to jump to the head of the line.  This happens often and most times these drivers get away with it. So unfair.  Where's the justice?

One day not too long ago I set out for my local Wal*Mart.  Where I live, it's easiest to take the highway and there are only a few traffic lights along the way. Most of these have a left or right-turn-only lane. (only being the operative word here) I suppose it's for the convenience of the drivers wanting to turn left or right and to alleviate some of the traffic build up, but who really knows what goes on in the minds of the road planners. No matter.

All in all it was a good day. The weather was nice; warm and sunny.  I was in a good mood.  Really.  It happens from time to time.  I made it all the way to the highway, which is a good half mile or so from my house without getting pissed off once.  A miracle in itself!  So I had high hopes for a happy, peaceful trip to the store.

There was quite a bit of traffic on the highway that day which I found unusual. It was early afternoon in the middle of the week.  What, doesn't anybody work anymore?  Anyway, I'm (slowly) driving along in the right lane, listening to my music, minding my own business, patiently (aargh, so damn difficult) biding my time.  Now this highway has only two lanes which may be why they incorporated the turn-only lanes. (Again, who knows?) So I crawl my way closer to the 2nd light which does indeed have a right-turn-only lane.  And it's a long one.  Probably a quarter mile or so.  At this point, I'm closer to the back of it in my respective lane than the front.  And there I stop as the light has turned red and all the people in front of me have stopped.  (This was obviously not going to be the day of traffic mutiny.) 

As I'm sitting there, I see this guy go by in the turn lane.  He was driving some kind of black sports car.  I had a feeling about that dude, I just knew he was going to try something.  And I never thought for a moment that he was going to turn right. Especially when he made no move to do so when he had the chance. A true indication of his (devious) intentions.  And sure enough he did not let me down. The light turns green and off he goes. Pedal to the metal, rubber-burning, smoke-belching jump to the front of the line! Surprise!

No, not really.  Not surprised at all.  Happens more frequently than it should. And I don't know why it bugs me so much.  But it does.  So be it.  Get over it and move along.  I did.  After all, the store was still there, the shopping still needed to get done.  The world moves on.

Still, it bothered me and put a crimp in my good mood.  I felt disgruntled and resentful.  Silly, I know.  But there it is.  I turned up my music and forced myself to calm down, take a deep breath, accept the reality of the world as it is not as it should be.  Feeling somewhat mollified I continued on to the store. When, lo and behold, up ahead I came upon a wondrous sight. 



Over on the side of the road, I spied a highway patrol car, lights flashing. And in front of the cruiser, the black sports car.  Yep, the very one!  Can anyone say "Ticket Time"?  Well, let me tell you, that brought a big old smile to my face.  Finally.  After all this time.  Someone actually got spotted. Caught in the act. Nailed! So, if he was in a big hurry for one reason or another, I guess it didn't do him much good, hm?  HA!  I loved it. Just loved it.  Somehow I felt vindicated.  Don't ask me why. Don't know.  But I will tell you this, that was truly a beautiful moment. My good mood completely restored, I continued on.
 
As for the rest of you (and you know who you are); you who choose to use the 'turn only' lanes to jump ahead of the crowd; you who have thus far managed to avoid the long arm on the law, I say BITE ME!

THE "ME FIRST" DRIVER

Hey there sagacious reader.  Now, of course, I don't know where you live but here in southern California we have some unbelievably rude drivers. Well, lots of rude drivers really and I've been around the block a few times! I've driven through most of the western states and have run across my fair share of questionable drivers, but as for the totally unaware, uncaring or just plain rude, there's no place like home.

Now I will admit, I do suffer from a mild yet constant case of road rage.  I can't help it.  I don't fault myself.  Not really.  It's all the idiots around me on the road.  They don't seem to understand that when I'm driving. it's my road. (Ha, gotcha!)  Just kidding.  (maybe)  I can hardly make it to the end of my street before I'm fuming about one thing or another. 

However, for today I will concentrate on the freeway drivers who think it is ok to bypass all the slow moving traffic that the rest of us so obviously adore and move (butt) over whenever they want to.  Really?  I often wonder what is going through their narcissistic, tiny little minds.  Do they think we like sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic? Maybe they think that gives us the time we need to apply our make-up, reconcile our bank account, read the latest best seller?  I don't know.  They obviously think we don't mind waiting patiently (aargh) for our turn to merge over and go about our day.  And I am giving them lots of credence here; I'm not convinced they think at all!  On that note, sagacious readers, feel free to comment.  :-)

Back in the day I would have generously shared with them vigorous hand gestures coupled with choice expletives.  But not anymore.  I have matured. Really.  Just ask anyone!  ;-)  Now I just (somewhat) quietly endure, all the while entertaining delicious thoughts of inflicting bodily harm.  Alas, thoughts they must remain.  It's that 'healthy fear of imprisonment' thing again. 

But there are two types of situations that really piss me off.  
1) the last minute move over to exit, and 
2) the last minute pull over to enter. 
Now I'm pretty sure everyone knows where they're going when they start their drive so they ought to know what exit they need to take.  And everyone knows that you have to merge into traffic when entering a freeway.  I mean, really, onramps don't last forever!  People have plenty of time to move on or off the freeway in a timely, polite fashion.  So what the hell's the matter with em?

I swear I can smell these people coming from a mile away.  And a quick peek in the rear view mirror usually confirms it.  I just know they're going to try to cut in front of me at the last second.  And you know what?  (Of course you do) More times than not I'm 99.9% right.  So, what do I do?  Well, I must confess, I tend to hug the bumper of the car in front of me, quietly declaring war; just daring them to go for it.  And they don't disappoint.  Oh no.  I mean, where's the fun in that?  It's way more fun to play some form of 'chicken' when the other driver (me) is in a VW bug and you (asshole) are in something bigger, as most vehicles are.  It's that 'law of gross tonnage' thing - a story for another time.  

Anyway, I've had more close calls than I can remember.  I know, I know, that's not saying much (damn old age - memory all shot to hell!)  Sometimes I win, sometimes I lose. If I wasn't so fond of my little blue bug, I might just put up more of a fight.  I just hate it when I have to surrender!  (I don't go easy)  And if it weren't for those pesky auto insurance regulations, I'd have way more wins!

But as it stands now, all I can say to those who willfully wait til the last possible moment to cut in, unaware or uncaring, with complete contempt for the rest of us is BITE ME!

THE DRIVE-UP ATM

Hey there silent reader.  Well, actually, I have received one (such a lonely number) comment thus far in my journey so will no longer refer to you as silent reader. You have a voice and I have heard it.  I have considered my options carefully and have decided upon the perfect greeting.  So on that note read on.

Hey there sagacious reader.  Today was a day much like any other.  Nothing terribly exciting, just a few errands to run which included a quick stop at the bank.  As I would rather avoid going inside (so cold and uninviting), I appreciate banks with drive-up ATM machines.  Even walk-up ATM's are better than going inside and what the heck, I can consider the walk my daily exercise.  :-)  However, I do wonder about the (dubious) character of the people who design and those who install the drive-up ATM machines.  Which leads me to the following diatribe.

I drive a 2003 VW Beetle, not the biggest car on the road, I know.  But really, I should be able to drive up to the any ATM, conduct my business in a timely fashion and be on my way.  It should be an easy, hassle free chore.  But no. Just getting close enough to the ATM without scraping paint off my side-view mirror is challenging in itself.  Then in order to work the machine I have to do one of two things:
1)  put the car in neutral (it's a stick), put on the emergency brake, unbuckle my seat belt, roll down my window, hang half-way out the window (ouch, painful), or
2)  put the car in neutral, put on the emergency brake, unbuckle my seat belt, open my door, lean half-way out (soo awkward);
all just to be able to insert my card into the machine.  Yikes!  And that's just for starters.  The machine has so many options and questions and then more options and questions.  And there I am, either leaning out my door or hanging out my window madly pushing buttons trying to put an end to my ordeal, a tiny part of me wanting nothing more than to put my fist through the screen. Not that i would ever do such a thing....  ;-)

Now I have always preferred smaller cars.  (So sue me.)  I like the feel and handling of them.  It's just the way I roll and I should not be punished for it, right?   So why do I feel as if I am every time I go to a drive-up ATM?  All those people in their bigger cars and SUV's and such, now they don't have that problem.  No, not them.  Just us little guys.  What's up with that crap?   

I say they should install ATM's at different heights to accommodate all of us.   No, I demand it!  (Can't help it, it's the rebel in me...)  Maybe they could have separate lanes like A for small, B for medium and so on.  You get the picture, right?  Or, better yet, install the machines a foot or two lower and let the 'big' guy deal with it - drive a mile in our shoes; see how it is for the 'little' guy.
I mean really, why should the big guys get all the breaks?  Why should they get to do their banking sitting comfortably in their cars while I'm hanging out of mine, painfully or awkwardly, contorted this way or that, being ushered from screen to screen in what seems like (deliberate, malicious) agonizing slow motion?  It ain't right, and I can keep quiet no longer.  (As if I ever could.)

So, to all of those who design the endless morass of maddening machinery that is ATM and those who install the drive-up version, I say BITE ME!