Non-linear Non-subjective

You shouldn't assume that this post is a strict progression of cause to effect but is, actually, from a non-linear non-subjective viewpoint.  That is to say; what follows is a bunch of stuff, presented in a rather random order, that I've been collecting for use here but haven't found the time (or space) to upload.

Until now!

The foremost paleontologist from the western Carolinas descended his mountaintop retreat for a spring break visit back home amidst the rolling foothills of Reily Township.  We grabbed a pizza from Bruno's this past Monday night and when we were run out of there at "closing time," approximately 10 pm, we ambled over to Mac-n-Joe's whereupon we were nearly run out of there, at 10:15 pm, because they wanted to "close up" the lower level.  Since when did my hometown roll up the sidewalks at sunset?  Well, during the academic year, I mean.  And since when did Mac-n-Joe's play the most deity-awful, pop-starlet music one has ever been subjected to?  It wasn't until nearly 1 am that we were treated to one Appetite For Destruction-era GNR song.  My, how times have changed.  For those of you teetotalers out there, I nursed one-half a Labatt Blue from 10:30pm to 1 am.  At any rate, I spied the Doctor Who themed license plate above on a car parked illegally in the alley between CJ's and Mac-n-Joe's.  I'd have notified the local authorities of this scofflaw but she was cute and she had a nice smile when I complimented her for sophistication.

Peculiar closing times notwithstanding, the food and beverage was good.  And yet, odd things have been occurring all across my food spectrum lately.  Take the mid-meal, inflation-adjusted downsizing that happened to me recently at a Bob Evan's:

I asked for a re-fill of my Coca-Cola and promptly was presented with a glass noticeably smaller.  I'd peg the difference at 8%.  If anyone was concerned with where all the polar ice has [not] disappeared to, look no further than my glass.  Methinks my re-fill was about 77% less than the first round.  Of course, there are those communists in Washington who claim that, despite printing more greenbacks since 2008 than there are stars in the universe, there's no inflation.  The unassailable inflation barometer that Lou and I have used is the McDonald's double cheeseburger.  Possibly the yummiest variant of its genus, it formerly was also the best deal going; $1.  At least, that is where it was priced as recently as two years ago.  Today it can be had, locally, for a penny under $1.40.  My Reily math tells me that's approximately 40% inflation.  Lou and I infrequently patronize McDonald's rival Burger King, seeing as there aren't any conveniently located.  As it happens, I infrequent BK less (or should that be more?) than does Lou.  The Home of the Whopper once offered a $1 double cheeseburger to compete with Ronnie Mac's.  Recently Big Brother Lou hit up the BK drive-thru in a distant jurisdiction and was shocked at the bill:

My Reily math can't calculate how much inflation this represents.

The Good, out of all this Bad and Ugly, was finding this sweet treat (below) on the grocery store shelf:

A new offering from the humanitarian folks at Hershey, this caramel-and-vanilla candy receives my highest praise.  Of course, as an homage to my good friend Mad Mahler aka The Svengali of Zwingli, I pronounce the name of this candy as (LANK-astir) and not the more common (LAN-caster), to the infuriation of all who are unfamiliar with Fairfield County, Ohio and its unique dialect.  Of course, I also pronounce the type of candy itself as (KAR-muhl) and not (CARE-uh-mel), so make of that what you will.  Perhaps best of all, the recommended serving size of Lancaster is seven - I said seven - pieces.

This past weekend I missed a golden, skillet-fried culinary opportunity:

"U-Judge-It Bacon Cook Off."  [The ubiquitous Hog Heaven pun has been omitted]  I'm not familiar with the advertised musical acts for Baconfest but I can imagine what it may have sounded/looked like.  Such is my dedication to work, I forwent indulging in mountains of bacon in favor of earning a paycheck.  I was rewarded with this discovery:

Thanks to my extensive travels throughout the region lo these many decades, long ago I became enamored of the old one-room schoolhouses which dot the Miami Valley.  My introduction to these noble artifacts of bygone centuries came via the Reily schoolhouse which formerly stood at the intersection of Sample and Dunwoody Roads before such elemental forces as fire, wind and barbarian vandal spelled its doom a few years ago.  I snatched one of its hand-formed bricks one summer evening during the final demolition.  The Oxford Township schoolhouse you see pictured above was constructed in 1877 and today rests undisturbed on a private farm, near the end of a three-quarter mile long gravel-and-dirt driveway, behind a gate and beyond a few dozen No Trespassing Under Penalty of Immediate and Painful Death signs.  Therefore, I will not share with you its exact coordinates.  However, I will share with you more photos of this dignified relic:

In an effort to place this schoolhouse it its broader geographical context, I snapped the photo below with my R2 Android Unit but the image was somehow corrupted by a software glitch:

You can see, just barely, the schoolhouse in the lower left section of the image above, in the distance and at the right side of the driveway.  Fortunately, the image below turned out better and offers a more clear view of the serene setting in which the old schoolhouse passes its days in undisturbed repose:

Later that same afternoon, while waiting patiently at a traffic signal I spied a vehicle cruising the mean streets of Ox City which I could not readily identify.  This is a rare situation to find myself in as both a result of my profession and also as a long-time subscriber to Car and Driver magazine.  Further, the small red hatchback appeared to have a license plate of (initially) undetermined origin.  This mystery I had to solve!  Luckily, and without violating any established speed limits, I caught up to the mystery car at the next red light.  On approach, I first discerned a "Chevy" script logo in an unfamiliar - one might go so far as to say "foreign" - font style (at right, below, near taillight). Finally, I approached a range close enough to read the rear license plate:

Mexico!  

Dios mio!

This was, evidently, a Mexican-market model of car based upon the (Chevrolet) Geo Metro.  The coachwork is somewhat different, and the absence of a factory-installed rear wiper seemed strangely missing, but the overall proportions and style said "Metro."

After the third-snowiest winter on record in these here parts, Spring hath finally sprung with the arrival of not Swallows returning to San Juan Capistrano nor co-ed hemlines raising to driver distraction-inducing heights but rather with Reds Opening Day tickets appearing, yesterday, in my mailbox.

Cue Handel!

With news of two niche restaurant's on the brink of bankruptcy at The Banks - Toby Keith's Dude, I Love This Bar (country and western; I wouldn't be caught dead in there!) and Mahogany's (soul food; I've had chicken and waffles there!) - I think it's time that All-Century and Hall of Fame catcher Johnny Bench goes back into the restaurant business.

Roll the credits!