From initial thought to final product, a lot of work goes into the creation of an item whether it’s a car or a product in the frozen food section at your local Walmart.
And that’s where I saw this…lovely item.
These are Aunt Jemima Griddle Melts and as is obvious by the gigantic burst at the top-right of the packaging, they are a new item.
Now let’s go back the first sentence of this post: the work involved when creating a product. Crammed somewhere in the middle of all that is taste-testing and even aesthetics. It takes a ton of people, internal and external, to finally get an item to market.
All of that said, you mean to tell me that not ONE person involved in the process of the creation of Aunt Jemima’s Griddle Melts even stepped back to look at these things and say, “Hey, don’t you think these look a little like vomit on a slice of toast?”
With that thought in mind, there’s no way I’d buy these things. Besides, a bowl of cereal is enough to get my day going. I’m just not into greasy, heavy food for breakfast anymore and that’s exactly what these things look like they are.
I’m currently doing laundry but taking a break to discuss an important matter.
I wear them once and they seemingly disappear into thin air, never to be reunited with their mate ever again. In that respect, they are disposable: use once and throw away.
But the thing is that I don’t throw them away. They just never come back once in the laundry, as if they were trapped here longing for a more meaningful relationship with my feet and I just couldn’t provide it, so one made a run for it.
Granted, I shouldn’t complain too much about the wearing of socks during the summer months in California since I tend to wear one of my four pairs of flip-flops* during said period of time, but come on. YOU HAD ONE JOB, SOCKS.
It’s also worth mentioning that the only pairs of socks that do find their mates are always my black ones, or the ones I wear to work. The whites – I wear those for running – and greys are gone, gone, gone. This was even after I went through a bunch of mismatched pairs and threw them out, replacing them with eight new pairs of New Balance socks.
No dice. Maybe my socks are trying to tell me something: work more and run less.
We even tried a lingerie bag in the hopes of keeping them together, but the bag’s zipper was snagging all my pantyhose so I had to stop using it. Ahem.
At any rate, yeah. You just read a blog post about my socks.
I just wonder if the great Harry Houdini this problem.
*Before you think that $50+ is too much for flip-flops, then you’ve never worn a pair of Rainbows. Meh. It’s a California thing.
It’s normal for me to find things while I’m out running or cycling. Within the past year I’ve found two phones and I happily returned them to their owners, an easy task considering that neither phone was locked and there was a contact labeled Home in both of them.
Easy. The owners even gave me a little something for my trouble when it was no trouble at all.
But last Tuesday, I came across a few things, one of which was rather important.
Here you see an opened gift bag for Chinese New Year and a wallet. The gift bag was near the sidewalk of my usual rest stop for my BSR (Big Sunday Run of at least 8 miles) and the wallet was about 50 feet away and lying on top of a short cinderblock wall.
When I saw the gift bag I thought, “Hey, pretty cool” and put it in my pocket. What you see here is what was in it: four half-dollars. I figured there’s no way to prove who it belonged to or where it came from so there was no harm in taking it home. It was as I was starting to run again when I saw the wallet.
I looked at it and noticed that the owner’s driver’s license was on top of it along with their medical insurance card, almost as if someone had gone through it. In a standard case I would have just looked up the address and delivered it to them personally but the address on the license was nowhere near me – it was about 100 miles away.
And here’s where the adventure begins. Thinking I was doing the right thing, I put both IDs in the wallet and took it home. That was my mistake.
If you were a baseball fan in the ’70s then chances are you know about Oscar Gamble. Back then, Gamble had one of the most blown-out afros you’ve ever seen. I mean, it was tremendously huge but don’t take my word for it. Just click here to get an idea.
Sure, there were others like Bake McBride (always loved that name)…
…but nobody came close to Gamble, whose afro has almost gained cult status. In fact I have a shirt from Old Navy that is similar to this one and while it doesn’t state a team or his name, the implication is obvious.
At any rate, I got to thinking which generally means nothing good will come from it. It’s Christmastime again and I’m getting bombarded with commercials for Chia Pets who now shamelessly peddle Duck Dynasty* varieties. Fine and well but not for me.
I need something more up my alley, something with substance that I would enjoy much more that watching a beard grow.