The Free Lunch...

It was a long time ago. JFK was in the White House. I was in fifth grade, maybe sixth.

Uncle Jack, my dad's younger brother, one of two, would often ask me to help him out with certain chores and projects, typically weekend things at the family cottage out on Lake Ariel. The cottage was just that, a cottage, meaning it wasn't built for year round use.

Windows had to be shuttered with plywood panels, plumbing had to be drained to avoid freezing and bursting. The lone toilet would get one last flush, then be filled with a gallon of anti-freeze. The boat and canoe had to be dragged from the water and stored beneath the cottage's porch, itself then boarded shut.

It was a day's work. It was fun. It was also an education.

Jack wasn't preachy. Quite the contrary. He was, however, a great storyteller, like his father.

Jack had his own kids, then two sons, but at that point they weren't really old enough to be climbing ladders and such, or doing any genuine heavy lifting. Besides, Jack was my godfather and I tend to think he felt some obligation to spend a little time with me on occasion. It was fine by me.

Jack was a cool guy.

Not that my father wasn't cool. He was my father, and I loved him dearly, but father's can't play the cool role and function effectively as the male lead in the family drama, or comedy, or farce, as can be the case.

Jack was also teacher. During those autumn cottage close-downs, I learned things, two of which never left me, and when I really look at those two ideas, they were both huge factors in the path my life has wandered.

We can all them the Two Rules of Uncle Jack:

1) - Never stay in a job you don't like. No matter how much you think you might want any particular job, if you get it and find you really don't like it, move on. Jack had done this countless times and it served him very well; he made a good living and amply provided for his family, and he loved going to work each day. He died owning several of his own businesses, all small, but all concerns he thoroughly loved operating.

2) - There's no such thing as a free lunch. The origins of the "Free Lunch" can be found in politics. Back in the "olden days," the "Free Lunch" was typically provided at a saloon, wherein those sliding that plate of food before you were, in truth, persuading you to vote for their candidate. Free lunch + free beer = your vote. Jack cautioned to always remember that there is no such thing as a free lunch.

And there isn't.

Cynical? I suppose. Negative? Perhaps. True? Very much so.

Little in life is without a price tag, regardless of what guise that price tag may take, or even when it might appear. It's really no more than physics insisting that for every action there is a reaction.

I read today of a gathering tempest in a teapot over a bagel. A bagel whose retail value is placed at a $1.30. I guess you could say it's a gathering tempest in a coffee cup, since it revolves around a doughnut shop, free coffee, and a police officer.

A lousy cup of free coffee and a lightly buttered bagel could lead, and let's be honest here, to who knows where. Given the climate within this county's politics and government at present, Uncle Jack's admonition on the free lunch seems to have the potential to cast a very long shadow.

The free lunch will cost you somewhere somehow.

The coffee may have been free, the bagel's true cost has yet to be determined.

The Hot Dog and Us...

"a hot dog makes her lose control..."
Patty Duke Show Theme 1963-66

News that Scrantonians eat lots of hot dogs wasn't exactly a shocker to me. News that Terre Hautians probably love hot dogs isn't much of a headline either.

Americans love hot dogs.

While most all of the world's cultures have some sort of ground meat and spice stuffed into casings or otherwise shaped and formed, the hot dog is pretty much ours. You can call it the German-sounding frankfurter until you're chili sauce red in the face, but the hot dog as we know and love it is as American as corporate greed. Without bun, it's simply a type of sausage.

Once on or in a bun, it's a hot dog. I'd guess that what we now know as a hot dog became such because you could stuff it into some sort of bread, then cover all its inadequacies with mustard, onions, relishes, and even ketchup. Many consider ketchup on a hot dog a misstep demanding some sort of bloodletting punishment. Not me. I love ketchup on a hot dog. Ketchup up one side, mustard down the other.

I'm American. I love a hot dog.

Before we work on that dog, grill, fry, or boil it, then dress it, let's explain what happened right before Labor Day: Ball Park brand franks released its Top Ten Hot Dog Eating-est cities in the country and Scranton came up #8, a slot it was forced to share with Harrisburg. What's that all about?

NYC was #1, LA #2, and you can fill in the blanks by clicking on Top Ten above.

Here's a big problem; we deep-fry our hot dogs. Yep, Ball Park says we do. Again, what is that all about?

We don't deep-fry, of course. Now, now, wait, hold it a second. A deep-fried hot dog might be right fine, but it's a stranger to us. Flat-top fried is likely the method we all know best, because those Coney Island and Abe's dogs are done on the griddle. In the world of short order cookery, insiders call it a flat-top.

We can now go back to the best hot dog.

I've long had this theory, one with which I am not alone. Other hot dog lovers agree that, while some hot dogs may be better than others in terms of what's inside, and you really never do want to know what's inside, the proper combination of ingredients makes most any hot dog taste good.

Should a decent bun and basic condiments be the delivery system for that dog, heck, cheaper is better. That's the theory.

Kidding? Not a chance, buy the cheapest hot dogs you can find. I have a pack or two of cheap dogs in the fridge right now. Both cost roughly a buck per pack - one dollar American - a single chlorophyll George. Eight in a pack, we're talking a little beyond a dime apiece, a bargain at twice the price.

Sitting alongside those cheap doggies is a pack of rather expensive German-style franks complete with natural casing. When going bun-less, and we often do, those pricey franks are delightful. Then again, no bun, no hot dog, right? It's having a hot dog that really isn't a hot dog. Now the situation is getting complicated, and the hot dog is the very definition of simplicity, which is where we shall keep it.

While being thrifty about it, buy buns on sale, which they usually are, they kind of add to the cheap charm of the hot dog. It's a ton of taste for so very little.

I bet you now want a hot dog, right? Yeah, me too. Just don't rat me out to your doctor.

Go cheap.

Merciful Mother of Us All, It's Labor Day Already...

Labor Day. Summer is over. Many schools are back in session. Halloween's traces are beginning to show.

Thanksgiving Dinner times and places are being discussed.

Could the dread over being behind in making Christmas cookies be just around the corner, can placing those precious Christmas kielbasi orders be far behind?

While we're at it, how about a Lackawanna County kielbasi maker winning the Plymouth Keilbasa Festival again? Adjudged "best" one more time was Bosak's of Olyphant. Luzerne Countians, mostly Wyoming Valley-ites really, are pretty smug about having the best when it comes to ethnic dishes, and they are largely correct, yet a northerner takes home the prize repeatedly. Born and raised in Lackawanna County, now making my home in Luzerne County, I am not about to take a side here, except to say that I spell it kielbasi and pronounce it the same way.

La Festa Italiana also rings a bell this weekend, telling us all that a season has ended. Huge crowds on Courthouse Square, the aromas of countless great Italian dishes in the air, so many aromas that I could likely gain a few pounds just by breathing heavily at the corner of Linden and Adams for a half hour. Once again the ever-popular and never-stopping Poets will be a key draw. These guys are good. These guys have been around since I was in high school. Just how old are they?

The telethon of all telethons is this weekend, another signal that summer came, was, and went. The Jerry Lewis telethon really is the telethon of record in the USA. Sure, there are others, all worthy, but Lewis and MDA essentially created, defined, and continues to define, what a telethon is.

The dogs got a bath today. Out on the deck, in the still warm sun, they got a rub, scrub, a rinse, then dried with a nice fluffy towel. Carol did the work. I watched. There, that was easy.

I had a chat with a local fruit grower just a few days ago. Summer fruits are still abundant, he tells me, but the apples are starting to come on strong. Apple fans, this could be a year to remember. Apples love water. This summer's rain will bring big and very juicy apples. Apples, pumpkins, both signs of the turning seasons. Dried cornstalks are another. For whatever reason, you need to stand a few by the front door, that way, I guess, everyone will know that you know that these are autumnal days.

Finally, Steamtown's Rail Fest was held again this Labor Day Weekend. Swinging by for a half hour or so, the big shocker was the crowd. The place was jammed. Good to see, it's very good to see. Again in town for Rail Fest was Amtrak. An Amtrak train-set in Scranton sends my imagination spinning some, if only for a few seconds. We should have Amtrak service here, rail options to NYC, Buffalo, Syracuse. This time around, a scrap of news that might prove apocryphal - some day. Amtrak's president and CEO, Joseph Boardman, spoke to a small crowd while standing before his employer's locomotive and handful of passenger equipment. Mr. Boardman made the claim that Scranton deserves Amtrak "connectivity" and that Amtrak is studying that possibility and is ready to make it happen, that all it takes is money. Come to think of it, that's really not much in the way of news, now is it?

Back to The Litter Box...

J. Garcia neck wear: Many have seen J. Garcia ties. J. Garcia was Jerry Garcia of The Grateful Dead, which he is, at least the dead part. While never a practicing Deadhead, I was acutely aware of their enormous success since they first emerged. Each time I look at a J. Garcia tie, I wonder just how it is that one of his legacies is a line of neck ties. Garcia is effectively the very antithesis of the neck tie, of suit and tie, of being "dressed." It truly is absurd. Garcia painted some and was pretty good at it. That said, J. Garcia ties are really decent. I own two. I've never owned a Grateful Dead LP, eight-track, cassette, CD, or MP3. I have never deliberately listened to anything Grateful Dead.

Were the flashers really necessary?: Like millions of other Americans, I watched quite a bit of Ted Kennedy's funeral, both in Boston and in Washington. As the funeral procession made its way through the streets of DC and on over to Arlington, I was struck by the odd fact that all vehicles in the procession had their flashers on. Was that really necessary? Did security types think Senator Kennedy's cortege might be mistaken for something else, that no one would notice it was his funeral?

Butterflies are indeed a no-show: Over the last couple years I've lamented the scarcity of butterflies in my backyard. Now, finally, there is some research to indicate that there is indeed a problem. Cause? As of now, unknown, although a wet summer may be to blame.

Michael Vick: We fielded a lot of "What does the SPCA think?" type questions regarding Vick's return to the NFL and the Philadelphia Eagles. Not being an attorney, the intricacies of NFL by-laws and codified rules and regulations governing "membership" are both unfamiliar and uninteresting to me, but my guess is that Vick could have successfully sued the NFL for reinstatement. It may have taken years and cost millions, and it might have failed, but it was an option. Reinstatement by the NFL didn't mean the Eagles, or any other NFL franchise, had to sign him. Shame on them both. What Vick did was unspeakable. You want tougher animal cruelty laws? Your state senator and your state representative are the people to contact. Tell them how you feel. You should know how we feel.

Research about Facebook: OK, just a dumb question that will likely never be answered - how long does it take the average individual to tire of Facebook and stop posting there multiple times each day? How much time passes before most realize that there really is no substantive benefit to social networking on the internet, that the more you conduct your social life on-line, the less you conduct it in person? If you don't have one-on-one personal contact with others, it's not really a social life. Proud to say, Twitter amused me all of about nine seconds.

Les Paul and Woodstock: Did anyone else catch the irony of Les Paul's death occurring as this country, maybe the world, prepared to celebrate Woodstock's 40th? No Les Paul, no Woodstock. No Les Paul, no electric guitar as it we've known it since the earliest days of that damned rock&roll nonsense. The Beatles, nah, they didn't change music, Les Paul did. Without Les Paul, it's entirely possible that George Martin, Beatles producer, would never have been able to create the sound that even kids in grade school still love today. And, of course, no Les Paul, no eight-tracks. Snicker all you like, but the clunky old eight-track and Les Paul were the very beginnings of sound-on-sound, of multi-track recording. It's likely most legitimate musicians today, especially rockers, all know the importance of Les Paul.


Crop Circles: They're still out there, new ones. Guys with boards on ropes made them all with their feet. That's the scientific dismissal of the phenomena. We just discovered a planet that spins in the opposite direction of all others. Probably guys with boards, too. We are clueless as to who and what we are.

Out of the litter box...