The Decline Of Soda Contests

Does anybody remember when there was a contest with Mountain Dew where you could win a free 20oz bottle just by finding a winning cap? Now that was a deal. You’d just bring in your winning cap and come out with a Mountain Dew. Simple and effective, which of course meant that it wasn’t going to last long.

So it got cheaper. No longer could you win a free 20oz bottle. Instead, you’d get a “Buy 1 20oz Get 1 Free” cap. While definitely a downgrade, it was still a pretty good deal, although the only problem was you’d walk out with two sodas, even if you only wanted one.

True story: When I was working in Wisconsin, I’d occasionally have a friendly wager with one of my co-workers over the Packers/Lions games. However, during that time both teams weren’t very good, so neither he nor I had faith that our teams would win, and we didn't want to risk much. So, what we came up with was whoever lost had to buy a 20oz soda, and then using a Buy 1 Get 1 Free Cap that we already had, we’d get a free second and give it to the winner. This essentially meant that the deal was if you lost the best, you’d buy yourself a soda. Talk about your high rolling. (Note that I said it was a true story, and not necessarily entertaining or funny.)

Of course, the Buy 1 Get 1 Free deal has also ended. Now you get a code on the cap, which you’re supposed to enter on a website in order to have a chance to win prizes. Now I may be wrong, but this seems like a terrible idea. I’m assuming that once you register your code, along with an obligatory email address,, you’ll get spammed to the point of even if you won anything, it wouldn’t be worth it.

They even got rid of the NCAA basketball contest, where you’d get the name of a college under each cap, and if you got the eventual tournament winner, you’d get some sort of prize. This was always fun, mainly because you’d never get good teams, and instead teams with absolutely no chance of winning, like the Southwestern Idaho Fighting Porcupines or the North Central And A Little Bit Of Northwestern Kentucky Mighty Earthworms. At least I found it amusing. I’m not sure if anybody else did.

Anyway, the era of good soda contests is over, at least in my mind. It’s fallen by the wayside along with Airheads, which are now about a quarter of their original size and more expensive, and penny candy, which is really now fifteen cent candy.

Oh well. I probably shouldn’t be drinking soda anyway. It makes me jittery and keeps me up at night. Plus, Airheads are so chewy they’d probably pull out my fillings. And, now that I think about it, this topic will give me something good to complain about when I’m a crotchety old man, say in about ten years: “Why I remember when I was a kid, you used to be able to win a free bottle of pop, not like today, where you use your dang phones for everything and nobody remembers their manners and kids don’t respect their elders and – hey! Where are you going? I’m not finished!!”

So I should probably just go gnaw on some broccoli and quit living in the past, even though it's hard, since the past was so darn tasty. And inexpensive.

Challenging the Sandman

Just one more page.

Just one more page.

Just one more page.

At some point you realize you’re just kidding yourself. You’ve gotten to a point where you’re going to have to finish the book. It’s kind of like a rollercoaster, except with much less screaming and much less chance of throwing up. You began by buckling yourself into the seat of commitment, followed by the slow climb of character and story development, and now you’ve just gone over the tipping point of setup vs. payoff and are hurtling down the steep incline of extreme reader satisfaction, powered by the gravity of plot resolution, hoping desperately that you don’t hit a rough patch of cliché storytelling that upsets your stomach of enjoyment and ruins the entire ride.

Unfortunately, it’s late. Much too late. Tomorrow morning is coming soon, and the longer you stay awake the worse it’s going to be. However, it’s not like you really have a say in the matter. You are physically unable to put the book down.

So you keep reading, the final chapters falling away before your ravenous eyes. The real world is quiet and dark, illuminated only by a single bed lamp, but the world you’re immersed in is bright and alive and exciting and full of plot twists that aren't so contrived that they make you roll your eyes.

Ah! Oh! Holy crap! He wouldn’t! He did! How could he! Now what? Now what? Oh! I see! Ha ha! That’s great!

Then suddenly it’s over. A bittersweet moment, indeed.

You slowly put the book down, stare up at the ceiling, and just soak it all in for a while. Then you remember tomorrow is almost here, so you reach out and turn off the light. You are definitely going to pay for this. There’s absolutely no question about it.

The next morning you’re downing coffee at an astounding rate. You’re moving about in a fog, and even though thinking is still technically possible, comprehending is a much tougher challenge. Your eyelids are drooping, and mumbling is as articulate as you can be. Basically, you fought the Sandman, and he dropkicked you down a flight of steps. Still, it was worth it. It’s not often you find books like that, so when you do, you enjoy it and to heck with the consequences.

And maybe there’s a sequel. But only after you get some sleep.

On Winter Driving

Well, what little snow there was in the cities is now quickly melting, thanks to sixty degree temperatures in March. Not that I’m complaining. It’s just got me thinking.

I haven’t lived in the U.P. for a long time, and ever since then I’ve been treated to the easy winters, at least in terms of snow accumulation, of Wisconsin and Minnesota. This has come with a price, however, and it’s the degradation of my winter driving skills.

When I was in Michigan, I could drive in anything. Blinding snowstorms? Check. Behind cars whose owners didn’t bother to clean off their roofs, thus causing a mini blinding snowstorm behind it? Check. Through the aftermaths of blinding snowstorms, where your bumper was pushing snow and if you stopped you were never going to get started again? Check. No big deal. Heck, sometimes the hardest part of the winter was figuring out which lump of snow your car was parked under after a blinding snowstorm.

But now I’m here in Minnesota, and I’ll admit that my winter driving skills have dulled some. It’s like a muscle, if you don’t use it, you lose it. I am proud to report, however, that I still remember a thing or two. Driving to and from Michigan Tech a half hour each way over a four year period when winter takes up 90 percent of the school year isn’t something you just forget. Take, for example, the first snow of the year in Wisconsin or Minnesota, which is always comical. This is when about half of the cars go in the ditch, and the other half crawl about in the right lane at 4 miles an hour, their drivers wide eyed and white knuckled. I however, relying on my veteran experience, just laugh as I fly by them all in the right lane, going 6 miles an hour, my knuckles still their normal color for the most part. It’s not much, but I guess it’s something.

I blame part of my degradation on my car. It’s fairly new, which means it’s made of all plastic, which means its lighter, which means instead of actually going through the snow, it pretty much floats along top of it, going in whatever direction it feels like, which does not necessarily correspond to the direction that the tires are turned. (I can complain all I want about the old cars I drove in Michigan, but they could at least handle the snow, what being weighed down by all that rust.)

Overall, I guess I’m not too concerned. If I ever move back to the U.P., I’ll just purchase some gigantic gas guzzler of a vehicle that weighs about the same as three of my current cars put together and I’ll be fine. Plus, with technology progressing the way it has, I’ll probably be able to always work from home anyway.

On Pistachios

Seriously, this is about pistachios.

I’m not kidding.

But realize that I never said it would be good.

Anyway, recently I realized that I like pistachios. The reason it took so long is because they aren’t manufactured by Nabisco and packaged under the name Oreo. However, I’ve now realized that they bring with them their own set of advantages:

1)      They taste good.

2)      They’re healthy.

3)      You have to work to get them, since they’re in their shells. I’ve read that this helps you with portion control, since it slows you down when snacking, plus you get to see all of the discarded shells, which is a trigger to make you think about how much you’ve eaten.

4)      When you’re snacking at work, it takes all of your concentration, because of said shell. Multitasking is not possible. You must leave your work behind and turn your focus entirely to snacking. Some may call this unproductive, but I think of it as a favorable derivative of healthy eating.

Besides all of the above, there’s something else that I’ve found I like about pistachio eating. Now, this contradicts point 3 above, but this is my blog, and if you have a problem with it then you can just make like a banana, if you know what I mean.*

Anyway, it’s when you find a pistachio that’s already worked its way out of its shell. This is like finding gold without having to dig, although probably not worth the same in a monetary sense. The point is that the work’s already been done for you! It’s a freebie! You get to pick it out and consume immediately. I’ve found that these “naked” pistachios are few and far between, so you always feel lucky when it happens, plus it makes the experience that much sweeter. If you don’t believe me, try it.

Unsurprisingly, this is the most that I can write about pistachios. So, I’ll see you next time, when we’ll delve deep into the exciting world of almonds.

Just kidding. I hope.

*Split! Har! #ProbablyNotWorthAFootnoteSinceIt’sAnOldJokeButOhWell

The Business Of Lunch

So what would ruin a good lunch? I can think of a few things: If it’s Mushroom Surprise. If it’s overcooked. If it’s undercooked. If you’re charged by a rhinoceros right before you take the first bite. Or it could be a business lunch.

Up until today, I’d had the good fortune of never having to attend a business lunch. To me, that’s the mark of good career management, because it most likely means that you’re still flying under the corporate radar, doing actual work, and not getting caught up in what I call Corporate Window Dressing. (“Look, a Powerpoint presentation that really says nothing!” “Look, some statistics manipulated to make us look good!” “Look, a bill from taking somebody out to lunch!”) Unfortunately, that all changed. Along with a co-worker, I went to a restaurant representing my company and talked shop with people from another in the hopes of strengthening our current business relationship and thus bolstering the chances of future collaboration that would profit both companies. What a way to waste a perfectly good lunch.

Not that it was the fault of the people who were there. They were all perfectly nice and polite. It’s just that I feel very strongly that lunch should never be mixed with business. Lunch is a save haven for me, a brief respite halfway through the day where I can do anything but think of work. If not for this business lunch, for example, I’d have gotten to escape into a good book for thirty minutes, but instead I ate a chicken sandwich and talked about accounts and mailings and databases. Ugh.

Our conversation switched between business and light-hearted chatter several times. I laughed on a few occasions, although usually just to fit in. (“And that was our corporate stretch goal. Do you believe that? Ha ha!”) I was also the new guy, as everybody else already knew each other. That meant that I got to answer the question, “So, what’s your background?” which was basically a way for the other company’s representatives to ask, “So, are you at all qualified to do what you claim you do, or are you essentially a glorified paper weight that’s going to make us regret ever coming to you guys in the first place?” Combine that with trying to eat in a dignified manner so I didn’t remind anybody of a hungry caveman, and it was a real hootenanny.

But luckily, it’s all over now. In retrospect, I didn’t handle it well. I should have spilled my lunch on one of the clients, or flirted shamelessly with the waitress in an unprofessional manner. Then maybe I’d never be asked back. There’s more than one way to fall beneath the corporate radar.

Celebrity Awkwardness

So Steve Yzerman was recently at a home Michigan Tech hockey game, where he was either scouting or had gotten really lost and had to get out from the cold. From what I understand, this created quite a fuss, which isn’t that surprising since he’s a Michigan legend, plus in the U.P. celebrity sightings are rare, aside from possibly running into Deve at Dawn at the gas station or something. Anyway, this got me to thinking about meeting famous people, and how I would be absolutely terrible at it.

Let’s say that I was at the Michigan Tech hockey game and I was able to meet Steve Yzerman to get an autograph. (Assuming he gave autographs, of course.) First, it’d be weird because I wouldn’t actually want an autograph. I just don’t see the point in them. (“Hey, this guy signed his name on a piece of paper just so I’d leave him alone! Awesome!”) Second, I wouldn't have anything to say to him, since I'm bad at small talk and don't know enough about hockey to talk serious shop. So basically I’d wait in line to meet Steve, and when it was my turn, I'd just politely nod and walk away.

(No disrespect intended to Steve here, by the way. I remember him playing on one leg in the 2002 playoffs. It was nothing short of inspiring.)

Now, if you think that’s bad, consider this: If I ever did have something to say to a celebrity, things would be even worse. For example, a few years back I watched George Strait in concert. It was fantastic, but if I’d hypothetically been granted a backstage meet and greet, it would have been a disaster. My full awkwardness would have showed itself, and I’d probably have said something like, “I was just watching you from a distance for a couple of hours and it was one of the highlights of my life! I hope that’s not weird! Is it weird? It can’t be weird! Everybody else was watching you, too! But I enjoyed it more than them! Which isn’t weird, is it? Also when you sang Amarillo by Morning, I almost cried.” That makes a non-autograph and a quick nod seem pretty darn good, doesn’t it?

Since I’d be horrible at meeting celebrities, one of my goals in life is to someday have the opportunity to meet one and then ignore them completely. Hopefully it’d be some egotistical celebrity who craves attention. I’d walk by and not give them a second look, as if to say, “I’d stop and say hello to you, Mr. The Situation, but I have a lot of anything but that to get done today.”

How fun would that be?

Now, in an effort to invoke audience participation, which will most likely fail miserably but is still worth a shot, what celebrity would you most like to ignore? Hint: Carrot Top.

It Could Happen...

The place: A long rectangular room with no overhead lighting, paid for solely with taxpayer money. The only illumination is the flashing of hundreds of computer screens. Slouching before every monitor is an analyst, intently studying the data scrolling by. Some have cups of coffee on their desks, others small meals, still others soda or snacks. The clacking of keyboards continually washes over the room.

Analyst 1: Hey, I’ve got something!

Analyst 2: {Wheels over to Analyst 1’s desk} What is it?

Analyst 1: This blog. FromTheDeskOfCurly.blogspot.com.

Analyst 2: What about it?

Analyst 1: It hasn’t been updated in almost two weeks.

Analyst 2: So?

Analyst 1: You don’t understand. It’s updated every week like clockwork, even if the content is sub-par, which it usually is.

Analyst 2: So whoever runs it is an attention hound?

Analyst 1: On yeah. The worst kind. It’s all about quantity, not quality.

Analyst 2: And this guy’s late with an update. What do you make of it?

Analyst 1: I dunno. But it could be something.

Analyst 2: Maybe he just got busy or something.

Analyst 1: No. He makes sure he updates each week. It’s obviously a priority with him. Look here, a few weeks ago he posted a poem about having writer’s block. Who does that? I mean, if you don’t have something to say, then don’t say anything. He obviously continually posts to make himself feel important.

Analyst 2: All right, you’ve convinced me. He should have posted by now. Something is definitely up.

Analyst 1: The question is, what?

Analyst 2: You thinking something sinister?

Analyst 1: Oh yeah. This is the kind of guy that’s writing a blog one day and then decides to take over the world the next.

Analyst 2: Still, he writes bad poetry. Do you really think he wants to take over the world?

Analyst 1: Do you wanna take the risk and ignore it?

Analyst 2: {Thinks it over} No.

Analyst 1: I thought so. I think we better see if we can find him.

Analyst 2: Well, his name is Curly. Think it’s a Three Stooges reference?

Analyst 1: Too obvious. It’s probably a red herring meant to throw us off.

Analyst 2: {wheeling back to his desk} I’m gonna start looking into this over here.

Analyst 1: Good.

Analyst 2: {After looking at the blog for a while} Wow, he makes lots of jokes about giant slugs. Sheesh, learn to quit while you’re ahead, buddy.

Analyst 1: No kidding.

Analyst 2: Hey, wait a minute! There’s a new post!

Analyst 1: I see it! I see it!

Analyst 2: Whoa. This is just about two guys talking back and forth in a room for what seems like hours. It doesn’t even make sense. Is this supposed to be funny? I don’t get it. All right, I’m changing my mind. If this guy has the time to write this then he’s obviously not thinking about taking over the world. Or if he is, he won’t have the slightest clue how to do it.

Analyst 1: You’re right. He’ll post just about anything, won’t he?

Analyst 2: Yup. All right, forget this. I’m going to lunch. You coming?

Analyst 1: Yeah. Let’s get out of here.