Monday, September 19, 2005

Upscale Chinese?

Ever been to an upscale Chinese restaurant? I found one in downtown Denver last night. As you all know, I have an uncontrollable addiction to Chinese and I have to satisfy the overpowering need at least once a week. So I found a place called PF Chang's and gave it a try.

So how do you know when you are in an "upscale" Chinese restaurant? The wait staff is in white shirt and tie, the food is expensive, and there isn't one Chinese person working the place. The cooks were all Mexicans (I didn't ask) and the waiters were all white guys. And when do you ever see a long line of hungry people waiting to get in to your neighborhood Chinese restaurant?

Anyway, the food was great - as Chinese always is.

Saturday, September 17, 2005

Mile High

Work brings me to Denver this evening. I find myself on the eleventh floor of a downtown hotel, having just returned from a night on the town. Crowds gathered, waiting to get into area restaurants. Musicians playing their instruments on sidewalks for cash. Horses and buggies clip-clopping up and down the downtown Mall area. Great food. Beer. Wonderful weather. Snow-capped peaks of the Rockies shrouded in darkness off to the west. Vagrants.

A memorable night.

Friday, September 16, 2005

Hurricane Appalachia

It's amazing what can happen when the man who prints the money decides he's going to "fix" a problem. In the case of New Orleans and Hurricane Katrina reconstruction, "the problem" lies mostly with the mainstream media's portrayal of President Bush's response to the hurricane disaster as being feckless and his empathy for the plight of black people being lacking.

Well, ol' George has now been around the block. He knows how to fix that. He's going to spend money - as soon as his Treasury (our treasury) gets it printed up - in quantities the likes of which the world has never known.
U.S. to pick up rebuilding tab 
By Joseph Curl, The Washington Times

President Bush last night said the federal government will pay most of the estimated $200 billion to rebuild the hurricane-ravaged Gulf Coast in what he called "one of the largest reconstruction projects the world has ever seen."  
$200 billion.

All of New Orleans wasn't worth $200 billion.

That's past tense, of course.

But George ain't stoppin' there. He's going to right wrongs too. The systemic kind. He's going to end poverty. And put FDR, LBJ, The New Deal, and The Great Society to shame by comparison.
[Mr. Bush] said his administration will not turn a blind eye to the "persistent poverty" in the region that has led to a "legacy of inequality."

Addressing the hundreds of thousands of evacuees forced from their homes by the hurricane, the president said, "You need to know that our whole nation cares about you -- and in the journey ahead you are not alone." 
"Tonight, I also offer this pledge to the American people: Throughout the area hit by the hurricane, we will do what it takes, we will stay as long as it takes, to help citizens rebuild their communities and their lives.
Meanwhile back here where Hurricane Appalachia has devastated the landscape from north Georgia to western Tennessee through the mountains of Kentucky, West Virginia, and Virginia, people continue to abandon their homes and move their families north to find work. Our politicians make the front page of newspapers and get their pictures taken shaking hands with local officials after having brought in enough government relief to spruce up a park or they announce with great emotion that they've been able to keep a post office from being closed. They fund riding trails. Hiking paths. The creation of a job here and another there.

$200 billion.

President Bush is getting high praise this morning - especially from The New York Times, which speaks volumes - for offering up a bold initiative to end poverty. In New Orleans.

In the meantime, while the government begins construction on Taj Mahal Big Easy, the Bland Ministry is beginning its Christmas clothing and gift drive. It won't be long, I'll motor past their meager facility down in Bland and will have to slow my car because the line of Americans who will be there to receive Christmas gifts for their children and grandchildren will stretch down the sidewalk and out along Route 52. A line that will perhaps be a bit shorter this year as Hurricane Appalachia continues to wreak its inexorable destruction. More people have packed their bags and moved north in search of employment.

But it'll get no notice from CBS News. We won't expect a visit from Jesse Jackson. As long as there are no bodies in the streets and there are no slave traders (my term for those who have gotten rich marketing the problems black Americans face today) shouting about white folks hating black folks, the devastation will continue to be ignored. The Americans at Ethan Allen over in Dublin, Virginia are the latest to fall victim to the wrath of Hurricane Appalachia. The latest in a long and tragic line of victims at too many plants and businesses to count.

On the bright side, it won't be long we'll see the dump trucks full of sweet potatoes drop their loads in the abandoned car dealership parking lot in Bland for the citizenry to come and shovel and bag and take home to their children. That's always a festive occasion; one in which neighbors get together and, while gathering up the evening meal, they'll talk over the latest news regarding the cattle market and the price of milk, the new Bibles over at the Methodist church and the bargain on sun glasses at the Dollar General.

And about that $200 billion being offered up to Americans down in New Orleans.

I wonder how many sweet potatoes that would buy? Heck, I'll bet it would even pay for a new shovel.

Monday, September 12, 2005

For a Good Meal

Well, I made a complete embarrassment out of myself this evening. The Georgia Chopped Pork at The Fox & Hounds here in Pineville, North Carolina was just too delicious. To those of you back in Bland, you need to hop in the car and run on down here and try it.

I'm buyin'...

Friday, September 09, 2005

Exploring The Wonders Of The USA

I find myself momentarily stranded here at LaGuardia awaiting a plane to come in from somewhere; one that will - at some point in time - take me to Greensboro. That’s the plan anyway. I am therefore a temporary resident of the Big Apple.

I have to tell you, US Air doesn’t charge enough for the sightseeing excursion I was on earlier. In mid afternoon, with the reflecting sun glistening on the Atlantic below and a gentle breeze blowing in from the west, with excellent visibility for miles and miles (yes, it was a good day in the big city) we flew into New York from the north, passing directly over downtown Manhattan.

Off to the west, in the harbor, Lady Liberty, a dark silhouette rising above a shimmering sea, stood defiant. Her arm thrust skyward, she broadcast a clear and unequivocal message to any and all Islamist terrorists who might ever contemplate inflicting damage on the citizenry here. Her message: Never again.

Our plane passed directly over the Empire State Building. We were seemingly so close to the tower atop the skyscraper that I felt like I could have reached out and touched it. Almost. The view directly downward at the city’s tallest building (as of September 11, 2001) was enhanced by the attitude of our plane as it banked sharply in the direction of La Guardia. I found myself looking directly down on New York’s most famous building in America’s most expensive piece of real estate.

I craned my neck to catch a glimpse of ground zero where the World Trade Center once stood but our flight path prevented my getting even a glimpse. We had circled and turned northward and it was beyond my field of vision.

About this point in time, just after having passed over a blimp that was hovering above the Flushing Meadows stadium, jammed with US Open tennis spectators, we flew past Shea Stadium where the Mets play. We then crossed over the harbor and came down into LaGuardia.

So now I sit here in a terminal full of people destined for Providence, Charlottesville, Philadelphia, Norfolk, Richmond, Raleigh Durham, Pittsburgh, and parts beyond. Oh, and perhaps even Greensboro. Before dawn if I'm lucky.

Flying Should Be Fun

I found myself on my last two flights - the first to Chicago, the second to New Hampshire - sitting across the aisle from mothers with babies. Now, I love little babies. Except when they scream. Endlessly. In a small confined space. Within a few feet of me. God help, me I find it annoying.

There is nothing one can do, of course. I don't want the tiny tikes thrown overboard or anything. But it would be great if someone invented a muzzle of some sort. Or an incubator into which they could be placed while in flight.

Just some thoughts.

Thursday, September 08, 2005

On The Road Again

Work brings me to Manchester, New Hampshire this afternoon. As you all know, this is ground zero when it comes to presidential primaries. So I'm up here testing the water to see what my chances are, should I decide to run against Hillary. The way I see it, I have a reasonable chance of success. Heck, I can make promises I have no intention of keeping as well as the best of them (except perhaps for Wet Willy; he was the master at lying through his teeth).

Actually, I've got meetings scheduled here this evening - along with the obligatory consumption of booze - and more meetings tomorrow morning. Then it's off to New York.

Hey. Somebody's gotta do it.

Friday, September 02, 2005

Am I Being Too Harsh?

So I fly into Charlotte last night about 9:00 and head over to my hotel. On the way, I stop at McDonald's to get the good old number 1 (Big Mac, fries, drink) to go. The young man behind the counter seemed nice enough, although he could have been a whole lot cleaner. And the filthy hat could have been thrown away.

And I wish they'd furnished him gloves.

After having given him a ten, he hands me my change and a bag o' stuff. Then he passes me my empty cup with which I'm supposed to go find the coke dispenser and pour my own drink. Saves on labor costs, I guess.

It was the manner in which he handed me my cup that pissed me off. He held it with his bare, greasy hand by the rim, with four fingers wrapped over the rim and down the inside and his thumb braced against the outside. He set it on the countertop.

There was no way I was touching that cup. He might as well have run his tongue around the rim. I would have had the same reaction. Perhaps.

So I asked - politely - for another cup.

"What?" he asked.

"Your fingers were inside my cup, man. I'm not drinking out of that thing."

"Oh."

He didn't seem to be particularly flustered by my request. In all probability, I wasn't the first person that day that had requested that he not share his germs with his customers. He simply reached for another cup and set it on the counter, at least being careful not to ram his hand down inside this time.

I took my bag o' stuff, filled my cup with Diet Coke, and left for the hotel.

I usually enjoy the occasional Big Mac. But somehow, on this particular night, I was haunted by this recurring thought about ...