Double (Stuf) or Nothin'

The Health Food Tyrants have gone too far.

Have you seen a Double Stuf Oreo lately? I mean, have you actually taken the time to examine the ratio of mystery cream to bland cookie before stuffing it in your face?

There is no way Double Stuf are doubly-stuffed. They are barely single-stuffed.

Double Stuf? I don't think so.

A math teacher (with too much time on his hands) actually weighed and compared Double, Single and Thins in 2013 and – indeed – found that Double Stuf do not contain twice as much Stuf as Single Stuf. But that's not my point. My point is that Double Stuf don't contain as much Stuf as Double Stuf used to. I'd go so far as to say you have to eat double the Double Stuf to get half as much Stuf as Double Stuf used to have.

(BTW: Don't even get me started on “Thins” which look like someone whispered “stuf” from the other side of the factory as the stacks of cardboard cookie shapes were packaged.)

(While we're off the subject: Yes. I did walk five miles, uphill – both ways – through snow, while being chased by velociraptors to get to school.)

I did not buy Double Stuf Oreos because I was being health conscious. I did not buy Double Stuf Oreos thinking they were a low-calorie food. I did not buy a family-sized (Pfft! Family of pigmy mice, maybe!) package of Double Stuf Oreos, sneak them into the house under cover of darkness, hide them in the back of the cupboard behind the expired canned goods, then quietly open them at 6:30 a.m. after my morning workout while everyone else was sleeping, because I thought they were good for me.

No. That's what the bananas, which are conveniently located on the counter – splotchy brown and drawing fruit flies – are for. That's what the shriveled up apples in the crisper drawer are for. That's what the bag of mushy, liquifying, slightly grey and fuzzy . . . well, I'm not sure what it is/was . . in the veggie drawer is for.

You do not need a PhD in nutrition to know that Double Stuf Oreos (or any Oreos) are not a type of health food. Nothing that creamy and delicious, nothing that melts so delightfully on your tongue, leaving that slightly buttery, vaguely nauseating film in your mouth could be good for you. Without even looking at the package I could tell you the ingredients for that mysterious but crave-able filling are, most likely: sugar, sugar, fat, soylent green, and more sugar.

And I'm OK with that. In moderation. On occasion.

I bought this particular package of so-called “Double Stuf” cookies because I was feeling a little down and needed some comfort food. I needed to do a little emotional eating. I needed a chance to wallow in a bad food choice and then regret it and vow never to eat them again. Or until I was feeling blue again.

What was I sad about when I bought them? I have no idea. See? It worked.

Why am I sad now?

I'm out of cookies.

Top 5 Reasons I Should Interview Billy Joel

I've been watching videos on YouTube of Billy Joel interviews and master classes to prepare myself for his upcoming concert at Wrigley Field... because you can never be too well prepared. (And because if I wasn't watching Billy Joel videos I would have to be doing laundry, washing dishes, or otherwise cleaning house and generally doing stuff I really don't want to do.)

And it occurred to me that I should try to wrangle a personal interview with Billy Joel.

I mean, why not? I'm an up and coming blogger with a readership of literally fives of people (on a good day). I'm working on those numbers and fully expect that any day now I could reach – dare I dream it? – tens of people!

And, I mean, why not? What's the worst that could happen? (Besides being slapped with a restraining order. Really? How much farther away from Long Island could I get than Iowa? In a philosophical sense, anyway.)

Face it, worst-case scenario: the answer is no or I get no reply. Please. I'm a mom. I'm used to people ignoring me. It's like they sing in South Pacific, “If you don't have a dream, how you gonna make a dream come true?” (Or have an reason to reference “Happy Talk”?)

After much thought, here are my Top 5 Reasons Billy Joel Should Agree to an Interview with Me:

1. I'm cute and spunky. Who doesn't like cute and spunky? (Besides Lou Grant from “The Mary Tyler Moore Show.” And he doesn't count, because he really did like Mary.) Obviously I'm spunky because despite the fact that an unknown blogger has absolutely a snowball's chance in hell of landing an interview with Billy Joel, I'm going after it! And obviously I'm cute, because spunky people are always cute. (And I have great legs. Just sayin'.) And I have a great sense of humor. Obviously.

2. I'm fresh off a 3-day return engagement as (acting)Editor of the West Liberty Index weekly newspaper (circulation: more than my blog), so my interviewing and writing skills have been re-honed to my previous razor-sharp editorial... razor-sharpedness.

3. I am the kindest, gentlest interviewer you will ever encounter. In my brief but fabulous tenure as the Arts and Entertainment Editor of the Iowa City Press-Citizen, all my years at the Index and the West Branch Times --  heck even as a high school teacher, speech coach and speech contest judge – I have never made anyone cry. And a few of them deserved it, believe me.

4. Talk about a softball interview! Who doesn't like to be set up for a guaranteed success every now and then? Not that Billy Joel needs to be set up for success. You don't get much more successful than what, a bazillion sold-out concerts in a row?

But he has, in the past (as I learned from those YouTube videos) had issues with reviewers and critics. With me? No issues. None. Nada. And it's not because I'm on the take (or would be swayed by his presence, talent, or general adorableness). It's because I'm a genuinely nice person (who happens to be a cute, spunky, talented writer with great legs).

5. The timing is perfect! Billy Joel is going to be in Chicago, I'm going to be in Chicago (because Billy Joel is in Chicago). Unless I get lost on the way there, in which case Billy Joel will be in Chicago and I'll be God only knows where swearing, crying and generally making a scene. Vegas odds are not in my favor; but if I do make it, I could be in the chips!

Do I really think I'll get to interview Billy Joel? No. Do I really believe anyone will read my email request? No. But this little exercise broke my writer's block (and provided divine-inspiration for my dual-language summer camp story lead).

And writing this was a hell of a lot more fun than doing the dishes.

Rough Draft

As I look back over my spotty record of bloging, I am shocked! Shocked and appalled at my inability to blog regularly and consistently. Well, no more! No more, I say! I shall sit here and type until my fingers are nothing but bloody stumps. Or until I finish a blog entry. Whichever comes first. And I'm not getting up until I'm done!

After I sort the laundry, that is. I can take short laundry duty breaks. And potty breaks, of course. And food breaks. To recap: laundry, potty, eat and blog. That's it for the day.

I had a vision the other day. A beautiful vision that filled me with happiness, contentment and...

What? No, we're not out of juice. Look in the.... No, no, next to the.... Oh, for heaven's sake. I'll be right there.

So, as I was saying. I was zipping along the interstate when I saw...

Clean shorts? They're in the dryer. No one will see you if you run downstairs in your undies. Haven't you ever seen "Risky Business?" Of course not. Just a minute, I'll get them.

... the most beautiful thing! At first I thought it was a mirage, a trick of the morning sun reflecting off a dip in my caffeine level.

Speaking of caffeine, maybe a little sum-sum would be a good "perk" me up about now. Heh, heh, heh. A little coffee humor there. I crack me up sometimes. Can't type and drink hot coffee at the same time, so maybe I'll check my email quick.

But there it was, shimmering up ahead in the distant traffic. Well, not really shimmering, because it was brown...

Crappity crap crap! I forgot all about finishing up those reports for the church!

...a brown beacon calling to me from...

What do you mean the file's too big to email? I don't have time to drive to the church, fire up that computer and download everything to a flash drive. "Computers will make your life easier" my fanny!

... just up ahead. I put on my best NASCAR moves and pulled up right behind...

Of course we can have lunch now. What would you like? No, we're not going to Olive Garden. Let me rephrase that: What would you like that we have in the kitchen?

... a big, beautiful, 18-wheeler. Emblazoned across the back was...

Oh, jeez! I forgot to call the Queen Mother this morning. She should be back from lunch by now, but not completely in nap mode yet.

... the single most enticing word in the English language.

EEEEP!!! You're dripping all over the floor! Get a towel! NO! NO! Not with those muddy feet! Stay right there! I'll get it! Don't move!

Coffee.

If it takes the kids 10 minutes to get every bucket, pail, squirt gun and shovel out of the garage, why does it take so much longer to pick them up?

Forget the Porsche. Forget the Mini Cooper. I want my own, personal semi-tanker filled with coffee.

Dinner? Didn't we just eat lunch?

For a brief, blissful moment I just cruised behind the Holy Grail of coffeedom, fantasizing about driving my own tanker truck of coffee. Just me, my rig and an endless supply of java, making our way 'cross the U.S. of A.

Holy Crap! That's the smoke alarm!

It would be WAY better than those dinky, drink-holder hats. I mean, they only hold two cans. A mere 24-ounces. This would be an entire tanker-full!

Could someone please get the phone?

Yeah, I'd have to work out the whole freshness thing.

Hellooo. Phone's ringing.

And I'd probably have to hit every rest stop along the way.

Hey! Ya' phone's ringin'!

Plus a few gas station restrooms in between.

Oh, for the luva... Yes. No. No. Hmmm, Culver or Branstad? I'm waiting for door number three. The biggest problem facing Iowans today? Too many friggin' political calls! Hello? Anyone there?

Then I pulled close enough to read the fine-ish print.

Bed time! Bedtime, bedtimebedtimebedtime! Bed. Time. Now!

It wasn't actually a tanker full of coffee. It was a gas station tanker advertising...

Of course I'll tuck you in. Yes, and tell you a story. And rub your back.

... "best coffee on the..."

Oh well. Maybe tomorrow.

Celebration Blog Dance

The following was written in Dolby Digital Surround. To maximize your reading experience, you are encouraged to break into spontaneous cheering, singing, fist-pumping and random dancing. Warning: you may want to close the door and pull the curtains first.

O.M.G! Woo Hoo! Woo Hoo! Woohoowoohoowoohoo! WOO HOO!

In the immortal words of Mister Parker in "A Christmas Story," I have won a Major Award! And yes, I am considering hanging the framed certificate in my front window.

I do not see this as bragging or boasting. I am sharing my excitement over good -- GREAT -- news with friends. Come join the celebration folks. It may be noisy, because I'm tooting my own horn.

You know how I hate to cut to the chase. So let me tell you the story behind the winning.

Sometime back in the dark, dreary days of the last Iowa winter, I was feeling the need to confirm that I was, indeed, a semi-productive member of society (it had been a particularly difficult day of herding kindergarteners – I mean substitute teaching). I decided that in lieu of finding a cure for the common cold, I would finally enter a writing contest I found on-line.

After months of planning my entry, (Actually a year and months. It was a biennial contest.) I waited until the last minute to write my story. By “last minute,” I mean the email had to be sent by midnight and I finished it at 12:01 a.m. The entry form had two classifications, “local” and “national.” I figured people are people, but my little musings may not be of interest to someone living in California (heck, they may not be of interest to my next door neighbor) so I checked the box marked “local.”

As I clicked “send,” (at 12:03 a.m.) it occurred to me that Ohio (where the entry was being sent) is on Eastern time. This would make my entry one hour and three minutes late, not just three minutes late. A quick check of the contest web site confirmed my fear. It also revealed that “local” referred to Dayton, Ohio, not “local” in the sense of “limited scope of interest.” I figure my entry went directly into the file marked “DUH” for “slack-jawed mouth breathers too stupid to follow directions.”

Chagrined, but not disheartened, I found a link to another contest: the National Society of Newspaper Columnists was adding a blog category. After much consideration and input from the Little Princess, I selected three blog entries from the past year, printed them off and managed to get them to the post office before closing time. Then I sat back and waited. And promptly forgot about the whole thing.

When I received the first email stating my entry had been selected as one of the top three, I looked for the fine print that would tell me where to send the wire-transfer for my “cozin in Niarobi” to help "make speeding the red of the will."

There was no fine print. I started to do a little happy dance.

I was caught between a bump and a grind when I started to wonder how many entries there were. This was the first year for the "blog" category. Maybe no one else knew about it. Was there really much to celebrate if mine was the only entry? What if I got third place out of three entries? I decided I really didn't care and went back to my happy dance.

It was a deadly combination of Midwestern modesty and low self-esteem that kept me nervously checking my email. Every day I expected to find the message "Ooops. Sorry. We were trying to contact the author of 'Sandwich Mom on Bly,' a fan-blog for the poet Robert Bly." Or "Ooops, sorry. We're looking for a blogger named 'Ju Ann'." (To which I could reply, Dude! That is so totally me! The lawn care people have addressed our bill to Ju Ann for the last three years! I've thought about not paying it, but I'm afraid they'll come reposes our lawn.)

Finally, finally, finally the official announcement was made at the NSNC conference, and the official announcement email sent out and received. (Get ready to dance) Yes, indeed, your's truly did receive third place in the blog category! And there were two honorable mentions, so there were at least five entries! And all the other winners work for name-brand publications! First place even went to Roger Ebert -- the Roger Ebert, movie critic, not Roger Ebert, alligator wrassler (although I'm sure he'd write a fine blog, too).

The judge's comments were so nice I had to check to make sure that I wasn't related to him, or that the King hadn't recently written him a very large check. No and no. What followed next was a world-class session of happy dancing, hooting and hollering that rattled the windows and shook the walls. It also caught the attention of the Little Prince and Princess.

"What are you doing?" the Little Prince asked, looking confused and a little frightened.
"I'm dancing!" I said, stating the obvious.
"Don't," he said.
"Ever," the Little Princess added.

Thank goodness I have them around to keep me grounded.

Grounded, but still dancing.