box mix and other observations

Last night, I did something that brings shame to the family, and a slight bit of embarrassment to me. I made potato pancakes... from a box mix. My father's mother would be horrified. My mother would be appalled. My friend who throws parties on Jewish holidays would shake her head. But you know what? They were fairly tasty and had good texture, and were just what the doctor ordered for a late dinner after work. I know that they're easy enough to make, and perhaps I'll try them from scratch next time. But the experiment was worthwhile, unlike with so many other modern-day conveniences.

Oh, and another thing -- latkes are traditionally served at chanukah as part of the celebratory rememberance of having more than enough oil to -- what? -- light the temple, I think, far longer than those inside thought possible. As such, these puppies are really greasy (but oh so good -- does the yogurt we spread on top counteract any of that good good grease?). I don't think we'll have latkes often, but they're good as an occasional treat.

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Today, I was in a Whole Foods near my old work location. I used to visit that store at least once a week, just to buy lunch or pick up a few necessities for the house. But it's been a while since I've stepped foot in there, and I was surprised that I didn't recognize anyone, either amongst the shoppers or workers. As I was trying to go out the out door, a crazed-looking woman was coming in, blocking my exit. She looked at me (I guess I looked ... convenient) and started babbling. She said "It would be absolutely full. I can't believe it. Absolutely full. If this was Newton, the store would be jammed." I restrained myself from replying, instead, just staring and perhaps raising one eyebrow. but had I been less in control of myself, I would have said "My dear, in Newton, people don't have day jobs. Of course they go shopping there in broad daylight."

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A few weeks ago, at my own personal day job, I agreed to help advise a very busy guy about a tough documentation problem. I was fairly busy at the time, but we agreed to meet. In the words of a fellow blogger, of late, this guy has taken to wearing a "dorky" bluetooth earpiece. He carries his PDA around and fondles it incessantly. The whole time we were talking, it was buzzing, and without even so much as an "excuse me," he'd just start talking at the thing. After a while, every time it buzzed, I started wailing like a baby -- waaah waaah waaah. He just ignored me and kept answering his phone. Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but (the rest of this sentence is left as an exercise to the reader). And no, this guy isn't younger than me, but he is a lot ruder.