A Safari, sort of.

We went to Jungle Jim's in Cincinnati, actually it is in Fairfield, a suburb. Since geography is so painful we will just call it Cincinnati, and since Cincinnati is so hard to type we will just say "We went to Jungle Jim's."  Though it doesn't matter, at all.

Jungle Jim's is a super market, a really super market. You can find almost anything.

In the section where they sell candy there is an automaton of a dog standing behind a fence, holding a guitar and singing "You Ain't Nothin' But a Hound Dog" by Elvis Presley. For some reason that makes me happy. Elvis is still cool, even after all these years.

And, they have a big canned soup guy, kind of a guy, kind of a big soup can, on a swing over the
canned soup aisle. And it talks, of course, almost everything talks at Jungle Jim's. Sometimes, though, it starts feeling its oats, and it starts talking trash. "Hey, you in the hat, the Red's hat, how would you like me to come down there and kick your ass?"*

"I'd like to see you try." No guy, no matter how mature, no matter how comfortable he is with himself, no matter how at peace he is, is going to take that from a talking soup can.

The soup can jumped down from his swing and swaggered over to the Reds (I should point out he was a baseball Reds fan, not a fan of the movie Reds movie starring Warren Beatty, though he might have liked the movie, I'm not sure, and it doesn't really matter) fan and shoved him into the olive bar.

No guy, no matter how peace loving, no matter how centered, no matter how spiritual, is going to take that. He jumped up and grabbed the Soup Can guy and tried to wrestle him to the ground. He probably thought punching a soup can the size of a barrel, a soup barrel if you will, was a bad idea.

Soon they were rolling around in the oil from thousands of olives. The counter person was screaming and jumped on top of both of them, cursing, and trying to gouge their eyes. It was an awful mess, and I decided to bust a move on out of there, I didn't want to have to explain that to my wife.

We love going to Jungle Jim's. You never know what you will see.




*Not really, I have never witnessed the Jungle Jim's soup can guy behave in an aggressive or hostile manner. He is always respectful and polite. I just made this up for the sake of a blog post, and I apologize to Jungle Jim's, the Cincinnati Reds, Warren Beatty and soup loving pacifists all over the world.

Days, not all of them, of the Week

Sunday, a day of reckoning. A gauntlet that must be endured before you can face Monday. A test to see if you are adequately equipped to endure a week of work, toil, drudgery. When Gandalf fought the Balrog in mines of Moria it was his Sunday. He came through, stronger, better suited to deal with the Monday facing him in Mordor. After a while, though, Sunday starts to take its toll. 

In your twenties the worst part of Monday is the pain from ill spent Sunday evenings. Headaches pounding on temples, roiling stomachs protesting hunger, and then food. Too little sleep, too much light, every noise an explosion. Monday evening and all you can think of is sleep, until work is over, and then a few drinks, some spicy food, and a lazy evening of televised re-runs and low level complaining.

Thirties and you start worrying about Mondays, all the weekends work in a big traffic jam on your desk, clogging up your inbasket, this was before email, piling up right behind your door. "Surprise!" It shouts, as you walk in, bashing you with to-do lists, envelopes, folders, orders that seem insurmountable, and overpowering. As soon as you wake up Sunday you start dreading Monday. Monday, the bane of Mankind, and Womankind. Alarm clocks, Mondays, television evangelists, and politicians, the modern day plagues.

Then you hit fifty, rapidly closing in on sixty, and Sunday becomes Monday's evil ally. Email brings evil reports, armies on the march, time running short. Monday is waiting, club in hand to bludgeon you with tasks. You are stuck in a programming loop, If Sunday, then Monday, repeat. Endless, infinity, no escape, no surrender.

Of course, if you can only hold on, Friday is coming. A reward for making it through the week, a glorious vacation before the weekend. Maybe things do workout.

See you on the other side, friends, together we can do this. Send me your best Monday or Friday picture and I will highlight them in my new movie. "Days of the week, explained."